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    Silas Marner
    Silas Marner
    Silas Marner
    Ebook259 pages4 hours

    Silas Marner

    By George Eliot

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    Silas Marner is the third novel by George Eliot, published in 1861. An outwardly simple tale of a linen weaver, it is notable for its strong realism and its sophisticated treatment of a variety of issues ranging from religion to industrialisation to community. The novel is set in the early years of the 19th century. Silas Marner, a weaver, is a member of a small Calvinist congregation in Lantern Yard, a slum street in an unnamed city in Northern England. He is falsely accused of stealing the congregation's funds while watching over the very ill deacon. Two clues are given against Silas: a pocket knife, and the discovery in his own house of the bag formerly containing the money. There is the strong suggestion that Silas' best friend, William Dane, has framed him, since Silas had lent his pocket knife to William shortly before the crime was committed. Silas is proclaimed guilty. The woman Silas was to marry breaks their engagement and later marries William. With his life shattered and his heart broken, Silas leaves Lantern Yard and the city. Marner travels south to the Midlands and settles near the rural village of Raveloe, where he lives alone, choosing to have only minimal contact with the residents. He comes to adore the gold he earns and hoards from his weaving. The gold is stolen by Dunstan ("Dunsey") Cass, a dissolute younger son of Squire Cass, the town's leading landowner. Silas sinks into a deep gloom, despite the villagers' attempts to aid him. Dunsey disappears, but little is made of this not unusual behaviour, and no association is made between him and the theft. Godfrey Cass, Dunsey's elder brother, also harbours a secret. He is married to, but estranged from, Molly Farren, an opium-addicted woman of low birth living in another town. This secret prevents Godfrey from marrying Nancy Lammeter, a young woman of high social and moral standing.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSheba Blake Publishing
    Release dateApr 28, 2017
    ISBN9783961895625
    Author

    George Eliot

    George Eliot (1819-80) was born Mary Ann Evans into the family of a Warwickshire land agent and did not escape provincial life until she was 30. But she was brilliantly self-educated and able at once to shine in London literary circles. It was, however, her novels of English rural life that brought her fame, starting with Adam Bede, published under her new pen name in 1859, and reaching a zenith with Middlemarch in 1871. Eliot was a devoutly moral woman but lived for 25 years with a man who already had a wife. It is indicative of the respect and love that she inspired in her most devoted readers that Queen Victoria was one of them.

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    Reviews for Silas Marner

    4/5

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    • 3/5
      Dickenesque plot, lots of sentiment and melodrama. It contained a lot of social commentary that made it preachy and outdated. More relevant as a historical document; though I would think that the author's class background would make her "insights" into working class values and mores less valid.
    • 3/5
      Re-read 9/20/17. Still meh. Reads more like a church parable than a story with interesting characters. Compelling to read but unsatisfying in the end. One too many bows put on the mysteries. Maybe I should give it two stars instead of three.
    • 4/5
      Still wonderful, a grownup child's story.
    • 2/5
      Simplistic.
    • 4/5
      Silas Marner by George Eliot was originally published in 1861 and I think this book has withstood the march of time remarkably. Silas Marner is a weaver who comes to the village of Raveloe as an outsider never quite fitting in. He spends much of his time alone with his only comfort being the gold that he has saved and now hoards. When his money is stolen he is left anxious and confused. But he rescues an orphan child whose mother perished in a snowbank, and, with the help of the villagers he raises this child with care and love. Eppie, the child grows into a beautiful young woman but when the local quarry’s water levels go down, a body is revealed and alongside the body is Silas’ gold. This body is that of the local squire’s never-do-well brother who not only stole the gold but was also blackmailing his older brother who had entered into a marriage with a barmaid. The woman who perished in the snowbank was that lower class wife and the squire has known that Eppie is his daughter all this time. When he finally reveals this to his wife and they decide to claim Eppie for their own, they realize that they have left it too late as Eppie will have no parent but Silas.With his gold restored to him, and Eppie entering into a happy marriage, the book ends with Silas realizing that money is best used to improve life rather to to be hoarded and worshipped. While the squire sadly realizes that he has lost his chance at fatherhood by ignoring his daughter when she needed him. Overall an interesting morality tale that I thoroughly enjoyed. I read this book through installments from Daily Lit and the story certainly held my attention through all 70 segments.
    • 4/5

      This is a book which countless teenagers have been forced to read as part of the school syllabus. For some reason I didn't have to read it when I was at school. I'm glad that's the case, because I've a feeling this would not have appealed to me very much when I was a teenager.

      As has been the case when I've read other novels by George Eliot, it took a while for me to become fully engaged with the narrative. But once the links between the various characters became clear, listening to the audiobook (beautifully narrated by Nadia May) became a joy. Essentially a story about the redemption which can come through love, the novel has something of the fairytale about it. Eliot might be criticised for sentimentality, but this is ultimately a feel-good story with an important moral. Added to this are Eliot's deft characterisation, elegant prose and the sure manner in which she evokes Victorian village life. Overall, listening to this was a most enjoyable experience.

    • 4/5
      Not as good as I remember, but wonderful nonetheless. The earliest section of the book (Marner's setup by William) felt oddly out of place with the rest of the book, but once you get past that, it's a great story. Silas's relationship with Eppie reminds me of Jean Valjean's relationship with Cosette to the point where I question whether the father/adopted daughter was a common theme of the era?
    • 4/5
      I would have great difficulty justifying to my seventeen-year-old grandson why he should read George Eliot’s Victorian novel “Silas Marner,” a part of which he might be assigned to read in a summer high school English class. Elliot’s verbosity and frequent ultra complex sentence structure were not meant for today’s broad-based reading public and certainly not for most high school juniors.Example: “A dull mind, once arriving at an inference that flatters a desire, is rarely able to retain the impression that the notion from which the inference started was purely problematic.”However, Eliot provides a heart-tugging story, compelling characters, and insightful commentaries about people true 200 years ago as they are today.At times Eliot is both perceptive and eloquent. Examples:“The yoke a man creates for himself by wrong-doing will breed hate in the kindliest nature …”“I suppose it is the way with all men and women who reach middle age without the clear perception that life never can be thoroughly joyous: under the vague dulness of the gray hours, dissatisfaction seeks a definite object, and finds it in the privation of an untried good.”“Nothing is so good as it seems beforehand.”The story is about the loss of trust in man and God and its rebirth. Silas Marner, a young man totally immersed in the beliefs of an unspecified strict religious sect burrowed away in a large 18th Century industrial city, is accused by sect leaders of stealing chapel money. They ex-communicate him. Silas’s love-interest rejects him and marries, instead, his closest friend, the actual thief. Silas leaves the religious community and settles far away in the “rich central plain” of England near the community of Raveloe, “never reached by the vibrations of the coach-horn, or of public opinion.” He begins a bleak life weaving fabric to be used for dress-making. The community views him with suspicion. He is an outsider. He is a near-sighted, peculiar-looking man given occasionally to cataleptic fits. Disillusioned by his former peers’ cruelty and God’s refusal to protect him, he shuns human contact.Silas’s life becomes one of incessant weaving and hoarding of gold coins. 15 years pass. One stormy winter night, while he is away delivering dress fabric to a client, Silas’s hoard of coins is stolen. Members of the community cannot determine who is the thief. On New Year’s Eve a two-year-old child crawls into Silas’s cottage to escape a freezing mist. Her mother lies dying unseen just off the path to his opened door. Silas, suffering a cataleptic fit, does not see her enter and notices her lying near the warming hearth only after he recovers. Because nobody in the village claims her, he takes ownership of her and proceeds to raise her. She changes his life.“The gold had asked that he should sit weaving longer and longer, deafened and blinded more and more to all things except the monotony of his loom and the repetition of his web: but Eppie called him away from his weaving, and made him think all its pauses a holiday, reawakening his senses with her fresh life, even to the old winter-flies that came crawling forth in the early spring sunshine, and warming him into joy because she had joy.”Other characters have varying importance. The author displays here especially her acute perception of human strengths and weaknesses. Godfrey Cass, eldest son of the Squire of the community, is a significant character. Cass is a weak-willed man with a strong conscience. He has made a major mistake in his life and strives to conceal it in order to win the hand of a desirable, respectable young woman. His subsequent aspirations ultimately interfere with Silas’s rebirth. I enjoyed additionally the theme of the novel, expressed inarticulately by the selfless, illiterate community do-giver, Dolly Winthrop, who has become Silas’s advisor and confidant. “’… there’s trouble i’ the world, and there’s things as we can never make out the rights on. And all as we’ve got to do is to trusten, Master Marner—to do the right thing as fur as we know, and to trusten. For if us as knows so little can see a bit o’ good and rights, we may be sure as there’s a good and a rights bigger nor what we can know—I feel it i’ my own inside as it must be so.’”
    • 3/5
      That was fine. Good. Nice. Pleasant. I really liked a lot of the writing, which was often witty and perceptive, surprisingly modern-sounding and good enough to keep me interested throughout what is, I guess, a fairly slim book (just under 200 pages in large print, although the print wasn't as enormous as some large print can be) but the overall plot was fairly pedestrian. As a result, this only gets 3 stars and goes on my pile of books to get rid of, as I won't be needing to read it again. I might, however, pick up other George Eliot books, should they cross my path, on the basis of the quality of the writing.
    • 4/5
      A short and appealing novel about the life and misfortunes of the title character, betrayed by his best friend and fiancee and finding new life elsewhere where he meets new challenges and joys. This has interesting things to say about the influence of religion over people's lives and how different people find fulfillment in different things in life. Early on there are also some good humourous scenes between two brothers, whose actions both before and during the action of the novel affect Silas's life in different ways. 4/5
    • 4/5
      I read this in high school, but somewhat haphazardly. I appreciated it more when I was in the process of reading all Eliot's books, which I eventually did--even Scenes from Clerical Life, which I managed to find, in two volumes, at a Library used books sale in 2012--acquried on the last day of the sale, when the books were free!
    • 5/5
      This book was excellent! I loved the way the fairytale and social realist strains came together and mixed and wove and you weren't ever quite sure which world you were in. Silas Marner is expelled from the society of his fellows because their religion makes unsound claims for unsavoury reasons. He becomes a Rumpelstiltskin, a mountain gnome with his gold. The world intrudes again, and he is left bereft and thrown back on the people, but luckily this time back in the village, where their suspicion of this eldritch figure with his inhuman clack-clack-clackery is trumped by their need to help. The collective in all its complex glory, building up as it tears down--not only Silas, but the gentry--Godfrey, who loses his title, his child; Dunsey, who loses his life. Eliot's sensitive, sad but equanamitous observations on that which buds within us and before we even know it's there is half-grown. The absolutely exquisite balancing of fates that makes Godfrey and Nancy neither better nor worse than they should be but still so sympathetic; similarly, Silas's failure to go back to Lantern Yard and receive revenge or revelation, and how it doesn't matter at all because the best narrative arcs bend towards happiness, and youcantalwaysgetwhatyouwantbutifyoutrysometimesyou mightfindyougetwhatyouneed (or YCAGWYWBIYTSYMFYGWYN). Silas Marner literally ends with the words "I think nobody could be happier than we are" and sells it. Reminds me of Thomas Hardy at his most sunny (least cloudy?). (Weirdly, it was also the inspiration for Black Snake Moan, in which Samuel L. Jackson keeps Christina Ricci chained up in the basement so she won't have sex wth boys.)
    • 4/5
      I liked this for lots of reasons that didn't relate to the plot or the execution of the plot: namely, for historical details about weaving (that one person in a village would have a loom set up in their house and would take in spun flax from the rest of the villagers and would turn it into cloth for them), about relative isolation of villages (that Silas Marner could seem like a complete otherworldly alien, not merely because of his profession, but because he came from over the hill and far away, and that you could have Dissenter villages, such as the one SM grew up in), for portrayal of drug addiction back in the 19th century (Godfrey's first wife), and for portrayal of a single, working parent--and a father at that--bringing up a child. That last part I found fascinating, though in terms of percentage of the story, it occupied a very small portion. Silas Marner must find a way to keep his adopted daughter Eppie out of harm's way while he's weaving. He ties her to the loom at one point; at another point he puts her in something like a high chair or a playpen. He also has to deal with disciplining her; he can't bring himself to mete out corporal punishment, and the thing he hits on as a replacement, on the recommendation of his solicitous neighbor, Eppie turns into a game. These details struck me as so realistic and charming! As did this portrait of toddler Eppie, who's wandered off one day:
      The meadow was searched in vain; and he got over the stile into the next field, looking with dying hope towards a small pond which was now reduced to its summer shallowness, so as to leave a wide margin of good adhesive mud. Here, however, sat Eppie, discoursing cheerfully to her own small boot, which she was using as a bucket to convey the water into a deep hoof-mark, while her little naked foot was planted comfortably on a cushion of olive-green mud. A red-headed calf was observing her with alarmed doubt through the opposite hedge.

      As for the story itself, and its execution. . . It bewildered me slightly. George Eliot spent an awful lot of time (from my perspective) on things like SM's early years in his first village, and his being falsely accused of a crime there--I understand why *some* time needs to be spent on that, but it felt like a lot to me--and on things like the pub scene, which seems to be there just to establish local color, or on the ladies talking together prior to the squire's ball. These were all interesting in their own right, but for me, they also bogged down the forward motion of the story. I liked the time spent in Godfrey's head. He was such a weak-willed guy, so capable of lying to himself and taking the easy way out, and George Eliot showed that perfectly. I wasn't as persuaded by her portrait of SM in his gold-hoarding days. I could accept what she was telling me about SM, but I didn't believe it viscerally. (Whereas, his transformation and his desire to parent Eppie--all that I did believe.)

      In the end, I thought this was a very engaging story, but not in the ways that GE probably intended me to find it engaging, and it failed (somewhat) in engaging me in the ways I think she intended it to be engaging. But still, I liked it very much. For psychological portraits, and for an interesting glimpse into history--and for the surprising single-male-parent angle--I think it's an excellent story.
    • 2/5
      Combines wordiness with sappiness.
    • 4/5
      Silas Marner is a strong and lovely little tale, with a blessed departure from all the tedious and repetitive society conversationsand obsessions which overruled the intriguing characters and stories of both MIDDLEMARCH and The Mill on the Floss.A happy ending was totally unexpected and welcome.
    • 4/5
      What a lovely book that I put off reading for far too long. Eliot weaves important themes through her tale of Silas and Eppie. We see human and earthly values put into perspective and we see humanity in its frailty and in its strength. It may have a bit of a saccharine element by twentieth century standards, but sometimes a little sugar is nice.
    • 5/5
      Solitary simple-hearted weaver Silas Marner has lived alone for 15 years amassing a hoard of money. One New Year's Eve he finds a baby girl left abandoned by his cottage; for the next 9 years he fosters her and she becomes all in all to him. It transpires that she is connected with the son of the village Squire. A novel of rural England before the Industrial Revolution. Filmed several times.
    • 5/5
      This used to be required reading in high schools. It doesn't seem to be any longer. I don't have a decided opinion on this, since most people hate the books they are assigned, but I loved it.Because of its concision, I go against the grain of received literary opinion and judge this to be George Eliot's best book. Its simplicity saves it. Eliot's characteristic periphrasis does little harm here, and the story redeems all the whole. Eliot (Evans) was surely an interesting figure in 19th century life. Her pessimism, "fearless realism," and principled opposition to romanticism can be seen very well in this great little novel. When I first read it, I was disappointed in the ending. I wanted it happpier. I wanted Silas's old friends in the religious sect to welcome him back. But that was tragic backstory, and, like in life, the story here is just happy enough. Not ALL possible plot points find idealized resolution.But then, I was a pious member of an obscure Christian sect when I first read the book. Twenty years later, it seemed perfect.And so it still seems, to me.
    • 4/5
      This too I had to read for a class when I was much younger, and I hated it!! Once again, I've read it on my own and I fell in love with it. Great book! One of my favorites.
    • 4/5
      A cult member, Silas Marner placaes his entire faith, literally and figuratively in the hands of his fellow sect members. They betray him in two ways - one his best friend frames him and persaudes his girlfriend to jilt him and two the other members of the sect believe the lies about him and expell him.Sials turns against human kind becoming a hermit and a miser; until he accidentally becoems the adoptive father of an abandoned baby. Through the child he returns to life, and society and he loves her deeply.However the child is not what she seems, eing in fact the legitimate heir of the local landlord. When this secret is discovered the issue arises - will she choose gold and social status over the plain love of her adoptive father and his fellows?More sentimental and less profound than Middlemarch, and occasionally straying into hyperbole and didactic moral fable-telling Silas Marner is nevertheless one of the classics of English literature. Its plot reveals hidden pockets of 19th century life including their very own version of what modern society calls cults, the class divide, the lure of greed over humanity and much mroe, under a deceptively simple disguise.
    • 5/5
      Silas Marner is a weaver who has cut himself off from the world because of a severe wrong done to him. He becomes a hermit and a miser who only cares about his gold. When his gold is stolen from him, he is devastated. However, losing the money actually wakes him up a bit because he has to converse with his neighbors about his loss, whereas before he would only talk "business".Soon a little girl comes into his life that opens up his heart and soul. Their love for each other as two "castaways" is truly heartwarming. Highly recommended classic.
    • 3/5
      This is a sweet little book about how one person's life is changed after he loses everything he cherished in his life. After losing all that he thought was most important, he has an opportunity to devote his life to serving and loving someone else, and then his soul is enlarged and he learns what is truly important.I do recommend this book. The story is a bit sad, but it ends very sweetly, and it deals with such timeless questions as honesty, family responsibility, & love. I found the Victorian language overly flowery, at least in the first half, and it made it difficult to stay connected with the story. If one recognizes the ornate language and is prepared for it, however, there should be no problem. There are also several colloquial speech spellings which may confuse at first, but make perfect sense if you just say them out loud.
    • 4/5
      I've been going through the classics lately and don't have much good to say from them. This is the first so far that I can say that I liked. I think it's my modern perspective looking at it to think this, but I think it could have been much shorter. The first half, at least, of the book seemed to be too drawn out and didn't seem to connect things till much later in the story. I see all the connections now but I don't see that it was needed to put so much detail in it. I also like the fact that Eppie didn't want to have money. Most of the characters I have run into so far in older books, namely (and clichely) Pride and Prejudice, have wanted almost nothing but money and material wealth. But Eppie loved Silas and her way of life and didn't want to change. That made me appreciate the book much more.
    • 3/5
      When I read the synopsis of “Silas Marner” I thought that this was going to be one of those classic heartfelt easy reads that would make you feel all warm and fuzzy. The first portion of the book is definitely slow. The first chapter was easy going for the most part and Silas’s past and how he came to Raveloe was interesting. You feel bad for Silas – for everything that he has lost but hope comes when he gets to Raveloe for a new beginning. Once Silas gets to town though the book begins to creep by as you are introduced to the various townspeople. While you drag yourself through the beginning and introductions, you are given important background information on why certain characters act the way that they do and what motivates them.

      George Elliot’s writing is without a doubt of the era she lived in. For those unaccustomed to the turns of phrase and vocabulary, the regional dialects can be an impairment to an easy read, however the dialects do add interest to the story. Filled with religious references, moral and ethical musings there is little doubt that she intended her readers to learn from her characters’ errors.

      A tale of karma, the characters of “Silas Marner” reap what they sow. Elliot proves that your behaviors and actions have consequences and can come back to haunt you. She has succeeded in demonstrating to us that what we assume people to be is not always accurate. Sometimes the thing that seems most significant to us is just a substitute for what really is important.

      And while we all hate to admit it . . . everything happens for a reason.
    • 4/5
      I picked up Silas Marner as a spring board to George Eliot’s work, AKA Mary Anne Evans, before bigger commitments such as Middlemarch. Yikes – Silas did not turn out to be a walk in the park. Some misleading facts: A) The book is maybe 50% about Silas. Lots of other key (and non-key) characters occupy pages and pages of the book. B) The synopsis of the book suggests the book revolves around Silas and the child Eppie. Well, the child shows up at Chapter 12, page 108 out of 183 pages. C) I wonder if whoever did the illustration for the cover read the book. She was a 2 year old, in rags, and certainly was not holding a note!! :P Now, re-calibrate yourself to a slow Victorian start, with background stories galore and even some unrelated non-story thrown-in, and ta-da, you will enjoy Silas Marner.Seriously, reading it was a bit of dental work, lots of poke and prod, before the pretty polishing touches. A devoted and dedicated man, deceived and framed by a devious friend, Silas leaves Lantern Yard to Raveloe. Embittered and humiliated, he keeps to himself, working non-stop, living miserly, skipping church and friends, finding joy only in the gold he has painstakingly horded, and yet to have this gold stolen. Dum dum dum. That was page 37, end of Chapter 4. Now fill the pages between Ch 5 through 11 with character stories and backdrops before we arrive at who really matters – Eppie. The story lights up when she arrives. An entire Chapter 6 at the Rainbow (pub) was lost on me. As soon as town folks spoke in “village language”, I was stumped. It wasn’t until I arrived at this passage from the Miss Gunns sisters that I realized I wasn’t processing my reading correctly, “…what a pity it was that these rich country people, who could buy such good clothes should be brought up in utter ignorance and vulgarity. She actually said ‘mate’ for ‘meat’, ‘appen’ for ‘perhaps’, and ‘oss for horse’, which, to young ladies living in good Lytherly society, who habitually said ‘orse, even in domestic privacy, and only said ‘appen on the right occasions, was necessarily shocking.” Doh! Of course, I needed to put on the decoder ring and play guess that word. morrow for tomorrow. gell = girl. allays = always. Got it. Two other main characters occupy the core of this book. 1. Godfrey Cass, the selfish wimp, who pines for Nancy Lammeter, hides the fact that he is married and is the biological father of Eppie for 16 years. His ‘punishment’ – a childless marriage to Nancy. “Dissatisfaction, seated musingly on a childless hearth, thinks with envy of the father whose return is greeted by young voices…” 2. Nancy Lammeter contributed to his laments by denying his request to adopt Eppie (without being told he is her father). Nancy “…had her unalterable little code, and had formed everyone one of her habits in strict accordance with that code.” This code dictated leaving things be as god defined (no adoption) and yet Godfrey is the rightful father and they can provide more physical comfort to Eppie. I had a slight urge to slap her for standing by Godfrey in persuading Eppie to leave Silas and join them. The cream of the book is undoubtedly the love and bond between Silas and Eppie. He dotted on her as lovingly as any father possibly can, and she was the sunshine of his life, representing the gold he lost. I thoroughly enjoyed these pages and wish there were more. “…where Silas Marner sat lulling the child. She was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep - only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky - before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway.” In return, Eppie loved Silas for all he has given her, declining Godfrey and Nancy with “And he’s took care of me and loved me from the first, and I’ll cleave to him as long as he lives, and nobody shall ever come between him and me.”Reading fiction can be quite a stab to the heart, when your own parental love (or spousal love) do not measure up to the ideals of fiction. This book easily pressed such a button.A few more quotes:On the Rich vs. the Poor:“The rich ate and drank freely, and accepted gout and apoplexy as things that ran mysteriously in respectable families, and the poor thought that the rich were entirely in the right of it to lead a jolly life; besides, their feasting caused a multiplication of orts, which were the heirlooms of the poor.” On Men: :)“…viewing the stronger sex in the light of animals whom it had please Heaven to make naturally troublesome, like bulls and turkey-cocks.”On Women: :)Heroines are always somehow petite-ly dainty - “…while she was being lifted from the pillion by strong arms, which seemed to find her ridiculously small and light”Vs.“Mrs. Kimble was the Squire’s sister, as well as the doctor’s wife – a double dignity, with which her diameter was in direct proportion.” Lol.This book is themed much around karma. From Dolly, Eppie’s godmother:“Ah, it’s like the night and the morning, and the sleeping and the waking, and the rain and the harvest – one goes and the other comes, and we know nothing how nor where. We may strive and scrat and fend, but it’s little we can do arter all – the big things come and go wi’ no striving o’ our’n – they do, that they do; and I think you’re in the right on it to keep the little un, Master Marner, seeing as it’s been sent to you…”
    • 3/5
      My first George Eliot, author number 2 in mission 'let's try some Victorian fiction after all.' Author number 1 was Trollope. It's hard to imagine two more different experiences than this and my first Trollope, The Warden.

      Eliot really should have been born in the 20th century. She might have been one of the greatest sociologists of all time: great imagination, great ability to sum up the social changes of modernity, great ability to see ancient parables in modern settings. All good. I'm ambivalent, though, about her prose. It manages to be convoluted (whereas Trollope, for instance, is straightforward) and not particularly attractive (whereas Austen before her and James after her might have been complicated, but generally very pleasant to read). That's fine for 200 pages, but I'm worried that it'll make Middlemarch a bit of a slog. Nonetheless, I'm willing to try on the basis of Silas.

      I also see that many people were forced to read this in high school. One day teachers will realize that it's better to teach long, clearly written books to teenagers than to pick short books by 'classic' authors. I hope that day is before my kids hit high school.
    • 3/5
      This was quite a sad tale in the beginning, as Silas through no fault of his own ends up having to leave his home town & travel far away to Raveloe, where he takes up his weaving, & becomes wealthy in the bargain, until Dunstan, the ne'er do well second son of Squire Cass breaks in to his home, & steals the hoard of gold that Silas' hard work has built up. Later on, Silas finds Eppie, who is "sent to" him after she wanders in to his home through his open door deep one winter night when her opium addicted mother passes out under a bush & dies not far from Silas' home. How these events are tied to the Cass family is kind of convoluted, but it all turns out well in the end.Very sweet tale!
    • 5/5
      In Silas Marner, George Eliot has crafted a heartwarming fable woven with incisive commentary on religion, community and the true meaning of wealth. The title character starts out as a faithful member of a religious commune, poised to marry the love of his life. He soon finds himself framed for theft and is exiled from the community. Betrayed, disillusioned and heartbroken, Marner settles on the edge of a faraway village. He becomes a hermit, finding solace in counting his precious stash of gold coins each night. He interacts with the outside world only as required to sell the cloth he weaves and accumulate more gold. But fate intervenes in Marner's life once (well, twice) more. He is forced to engage with the village community, and the rest of the story follows his resulting growth and redemption.Though the material is more simple than that of her larger works, Silas Marner still showcases Eliot's masterful (but admittedly dense) literary style, signature social commentary and humanist beliefs. Her keen observation of human nature helps her writing speak to readers hundreds of years and thousands of miles distant. I heartily recommend Silas Marner to all lovers of literature. Due to the book's modest length, it is especially suited to someone looking for a taste of Eliot's work but who may not have the time or patience to take on Middlemarch. Or the world-weary intellectual looking for an uplifting, fairytale-like story to restore their faith in humanity.
    • 4/5
      The introduction writer was correct - this novel is rather like Thomas Hardy but *not annoying*. Possibly because the characters are actually likable and understandable in their motivations.

      Generally a fun, moving little tale. I found Dunsie a cartoonish villain and the disposal of Eppie's mom rather heartless, but I loved the themes of chance and choice that thread through these characters lives - they can't control their lives, but whenever they give up their moral agency, bad stuff happens.

      I also loved the narratorial voice at the beginning. It was like George Eliot was telling me a bedtime story.
    • 2/5
      It took me three years to finally finish this book. I found it one rainy day when I was 7, decided it was good enough to pass the time....and hit a brick wall. I would pick it up periodically but still I found myself unable to read it. Finally at the age of ten, I managed to finish it. Imagine my relief at finally being able to rid myself of the torment of having an unfinished book. So the story is bland enough, and the personal emotions attached to this book great enough that I absolutely cannot remember the plot. I do think that at the time I thought it mediocre at best.

    Book preview

    Silas Marner - George Eliot

    2017

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    SILAS MARNER

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    PART ONE

    CHAPTER I

    CHAPTER II

    CHAPTER III

    CHAPTER IV

    CHAPTER V

    CHAPTER VI

    CHAPTER VII

    CHAPTER VIII

    CHAPTER IX

    CHAPTER X

    CHAPTER XI

    CHAPTER XII

    CHAPTER XIII

    CHAPTER XIV

    CHAPTER XV

    PART TWO

    CHAPTER XVI

    CHAPTER XVII

    CHAPTER XVIII

    CHAPTER XIX

    CHAPTER XX

    CHAPTER XXI

    CONCLUSION

    A child, more than all other gifts

    That earth can offer to declining man,

    Brings hope with it,

    and forward-looking thoughts.

    --WORDSWORTH.

    PART ONE

    CHAPTER I

    In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses-- and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak--there might be seen in districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The shepherd's dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking men appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for what dog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?--and these pale men rarely stirred abroad without that mysterious burden. The shepherd himself, though he had good reason to believe that the bag held nothing but flaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from that thread, was not quite sure that this trade of weaving, indispensable though it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of the Evil One. In that far-off time superstition clung easily round every person or thing that was at all unwonted, or even intermittent and occasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or the knife-grinder. No one knew where wandering men had their homes or their origin; and how was a man to be explained unless you at least knew somebody who knew his father and mother? To the peasants of old times, the world outside their own direct experience was a region of vagueness and mystery: to their untravelled thought a state of wandering was a conception as dim as the winter life of the swallows that came back with the spring; and even a settler, if he came from distant parts, hardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of distrust, which would have prevented any surprise if a long course of inoffensive conduct on his part had ended in the commission of a crime; especially if he had any reputation for knowledge, or showed any skill in handicraft. All cleverness, whether in the rapid use of that difficult instrument the tongue, or in some other art unfamiliar to villagers, was in itself suspicious: honest folk, born and bred in a visible manner, were mostly not overwise or clever--at least, not beyond such a matter as knowing the signs of the weather; and the process by which rapidity and dexterity of any kind were acquired was so wholly hidden, that they partook of the nature of conjuring. In this way it came to pass that those scattered linen-weavers--emigrants from the town into the country--were to the last regarded as aliens by their rustic neighbours, and usually contracted the eccentric habits which belong to a state of loneliness.

    In the early years of this century, such a linen-weaver, named Silas Marner, worked at his vocation in a stone cottage that stood among the nutty hedgerows near the village of Raveloe, and not far from the edge of a deserted stone-pit. The questionable sound of Silas's loom, so unlike the natural cheerful trotting of the winnowing-machine, or the simpler rhythm of the flail, had a half-fearful fascination for the Raveloe boys, who would often leave off their nutting or birds'-nesting to peep in at the window of the stone cottage, counterbalancing a certain awe at the mysterious action of the loom, by a pleasant sense of scornful superiority, drawn from the mockery of its alternating noises, along with the bent, tread-mill attitude of the weaver. But sometimes it happened that Marner, pausing to adjust an irregularity in his thread, became aware of the small scoundrels, and, though chary of his time, he liked their intrusion so ill that he would descend from his loom, and, opening the door, would fix on them a gaze that was always enough to make them take to their legs in terror. For how was it possible to believe that those large brown protuberant eyes in Silas Marner's pale face really saw nothing very distinctly that was not close to them, and not rather that their dreadful stare could dart cramp, or rickets, or a wry mouth at any boy who happened to be in the rear? They had, perhaps, heard their fathers and mothers hint that Silas Marner could cure folks' rheumatism if he had a mind, and add, still more darkly, that if you could only speak the devil fair enough, he might save you the cost of the doctor. Such strange lingering echoes of the old demon-worship might perhaps even now be caught by the diligent listener among the grey-haired peasantry; for the rude mind with difficulty associates the ideas of power and benignity. A shadowy conception of power that by much persuasion can be induced to refrain from inflicting harm, is the shape most easily taken by the sense of the Invisible in the minds of men who have always been pressed close by primitive wants, and to whom a life of hard toil has never been illuminated by any enthusiastic religious faith. To them pain and mishap present a far wider range of possibilities than gladness and enjoyment: their imagination is almost barren of the images that feed desire and hope, but is all overgrown by recollections that are a perpetual pasture to fear. Is there anything you can fancy that you would like to eat? I once said to an old labouring man, who was in his last illness, and who had refused all the food his wife had offered him. No, he answered, I've never been used to nothing but common victual, and I can't eat that. Experience had bred no fancies in him that could raise the phantasm of appetite.

    And Raveloe was a village where many of the old echoes lingered, undrowned by new voices. Not that it was one of those barren parishes lying on the outskirts of civilization--inhabited by meagre sheep and thinly-scattered shepherds: on the contrary, it lay in the rich central plain of what we are pleased to call Merry England, and held farms which, speaking from a spiritual point of view, paid highly-desirable tithes. But it was nestled in a snug well-wooded hollow, quite an hour's journey on horseback from any turnpike, where it was never reached by the vibrations of the coach-horn, or of public opinion. It was an important-looking village, with a fine old church and large churchyard in the heart of it, and two or three large brick-and-stone homesteads, with well-walled orchards and ornamental weathercocks, standing close upon the road, and lifting more imposing fronts than the rectory, which peeped from among the trees on the other side of the churchyard:--a village which showed at once the summits of its social life, and told the practised eye that there was no great park and manor-house in the vicinity, but that there were several chiefs in Raveloe who could farm badly quite at their ease, drawing enough money from their bad farming, in those war times, to live in a rollicking fashion, and keep a jolly Christmas, Whitsun, and Easter tide.

    It was fifteen years since Silas Marner had first come to Raveloe; he was then simply a pallid young man, with prominent short-sighted brown eyes, whose appearance would have had nothing strange for people of average culture and experience, but for the villagers near whom he had come to settle it had mysterious peculiarities which corresponded with the exceptional nature of his occupation, and his advent from an unknown region called North'ard. So had his way of life:--he invited no comer to step across his door-sill, and he never strolled into the village to drink a pint at the Rainbow, or to gossip at the wheelwright's: he sought no man or woman, save for the purposes of his calling, or in order to supply himself with necessaries; and it was soon clear to the Raveloe lasses that he would never urge one of them to accept him against her will--quite as if he had heard them declare that they would never marry a dead man come to life again. This view of Marner's personality was not without another ground than his pale face and unexampled eyes; for Jem Rodney, the mole-catcher, averred that one evening as he was returning homeward, he saw Silas Marner leaning against a stile with a heavy bag on his back, instead of resting the bag on the stile as a man in his senses would have done; and that, on coming up to him, he saw that Marner's eyes were set like a dead man's, and he spoke to him, and shook him, and his limbs were stiff, and his hands clutched the bag as if they'd been made of iron; but just as he had made up his mind that the weaver was dead, he came all right again, like, as you might say, in the winking of an eye, and said Good-night, and walked off. All this Jem swore he had seen, more by token that it was the very day he had been mole-catching on Squire Cass's land, down by the old saw-pit. Some said Marner must have been in a fit, a word which seemed to explain things otherwise incredible; but the argumentative Mr. Macey, clerk of the parish, shook his head, and asked if anybody was ever known to go off in a fit and not fall down. A fit was a stroke, wasn't it? and it was in the nature of a stroke to partly take away the use of a man's limbs and throw him on the parish, if he'd got no children to look to. No, no; it was no stroke that would let a man stand on his legs, like a horse between the shafts, and then walk off as soon as you can say Gee! But there might be such a thing as a man's soul being loose from his body, and going out and in, like a bird out of its nest and back; and that was how folks got over-wise, for they went to school in this shell-less state to those who could teach them more than their neighbours could learn with their five senses and the parson. And where did Master Marner get his knowledge of herbs from--and charms too, if he liked to give them away? Jem Rodney's story was no more than what might have been expected by anybody who had seen how Marner had cured Sally Oates, and made her sleep like a baby, when her heart had been beating enough to burst her body, for two months and more, while she had been under the doctor's care. He might cure more folks if he would; but he was worth speaking fair, if it was only to keep him from doing you a mischief.

    It was partly to this vague fear that Marner was indebted for protecting him from the persecution that his singularities might have drawn upon him, but still more to the fact that, the old linen-weaver in the neighbouring parish of Tarley being dead, his handicraft made him a highly welcome settler to the richer housewives of the district, and even to the more provident cottagers, who had their little stock of yarn at the year's end. Their sense of his usefulness would have counteracted any repugnance or suspicion which was not confirmed by a deficiency in the quality or the tale of the cloth he wove for them. And the years had rolled on without producing any change in the impressions of the neighbours concerning Marner, except the change from novelty to habit. At the end of fifteen years the Raveloe men said just the same things about Silas Marner as at the beginning: they did not say them quite so often, but they believed them much more strongly when they did say them. There was only one important addition which the years had brought: it was, that Master Marner had laid by a fine sight of money somewhere, and that he could buy up bigger men than himself.

    But while opinion concerning him had remained nearly stationary, and his daily habits had presented scarcely any visible change, Marner's inward life had been a history and a metamorphosis, as that of every fervid nature must be when it has fled, or been condemned, to solitude. His life, before he came to Raveloe, had been filled with the movement, the mental activity, and the close fellowship, which, in that day as in this, marked the life of an artisan early incorporated in a narrow religious sect, where the poorest layman has the chance of distinguishing himself by gifts of speech, and has, at the very least, the weight of a silent voter in the government of his community. Marner was highly thought of in that little hidden world, known to itself as the church assembling in Lantern Yard; he was believed to be a young man of exemplary life and ardent faith; and a peculiar interest had been centred in him ever since he had fallen, at a prayer-meeting, into a mysterious rigidity and suspension of consciousness, which, lasting for an hour or more, had been mistaken for death. To have sought a medical explanation for this phenomenon would have been held by Silas himself, as well as by his minister and fellow-members, a wilful self-exclusion from the spiritual significance that might lie therein. Silas was evidently a brother selected for a peculiar discipline; and though the effort to interpret this discipline was discouraged by the absence, on his part, of any spiritual vision during his outward trance, yet it was believed by himself and others that its effect was seen in an accession of light and fervour. A less truthful man than he might have been tempted into the subsequent creation of a vision in the form of resurgent memory; a less sane man might have believed in such a creation; but Silas was both sane and honest, though, as with many honest and fervent men, culture had not defined any channels for his sense of mystery, and so it spread itself over the proper pathway of inquiry and knowledge. He had inherited from his mother some acquaintance with medicinal herbs and their preparation--a little store of wisdom which she had imparted to him as a solemn bequest--but of late years he had had doubts about the lawfulness of applying this knowledge, believing that herbs could have no efficacy without prayer, and that prayer might suffice without herbs; so that the inherited delight he had in wandering in the fields in search of foxglove and dandelion and coltsfoot, began to wear to him the character of a temptation.

    Among the members of his church there was one young man, a little older than himself, with whom he had long lived in such close friendship that it was the custom of their Lantern Yard brethren to call them David and Jonathan. The real name of the friend was William Dane, and he, too, was regarded as a shining instance of youthful piety, though somewhat given to over-severity towards weaker brethren, and to be so dazzled by his own light as to hold himself wiser than his teachers. But whatever blemishes others might discern in William, to his friend's mind he was faultless; for Marner had one of those impressible self-doubting natures which, at an inexperienced age, admire imperativeness and lean on contradiction. The expression of trusting simplicity in Marner's face, heightened by that absence of special observation, that defenceless, deer-like gaze which belongs to large prominent eyes, was strongly contrasted by the self-complacent suppression of inward triumph that lurked in the narrow slanting eyes and compressed lips of William Dane. One of the most frequent topics of conversation between the two friends was Assurance of salvation: Silas confessed that he could never arrive at anything higher than hope mingled with fear, and listened with longing wonder when William declared that he had possessed unshaken assurance ever since, in the period of his conversion, he had dreamed that he saw the words calling and election sure standing by themselves on a white page in the open Bible. Such colloquies have occupied many a pair of pale-faced weavers, whose unnurtured souls have been like young winged things, fluttering forsaken in the twilight.

    It had seemed to the unsuspecting Silas that the friendship had suffered no chill even from his formation of another attachment of a closer kind. For some months he had been engaged to a young servant-woman, waiting only for a little increase to their mutual savings in order to their marriage; and it was a great delight to him that Sarah did not object to William's occasional presence in their Sunday interviews. It was at this point in their history that Silas's cataleptic fit occurred during the prayer-meeting; and amidst the various queries and expressions of interest addressed to him by his fellow-members, William's suggestion alone jarred with the general sympathy towards a brother thus singled out for special dealings. He observed that, to him, this trance looked more like a visitation of Satan than a proof of divine favour, and exhorted his friend to see that he hid no accursed thing within his soul. Silas, feeling bound to accept rebuke and admonition as a brotherly office, felt no resentment, but only pain, at his friend's doubts concerning him; and to this was soon added some anxiety at the perception that Sarah's manner towards him began to exhibit a strange fluctuation between an effort at an increased manifestation of regard and involuntary signs of shrinking and dislike. He asked her if she wished to break off their engagement; but she denied this: their engagement was known to the church, and had been recognized in the prayer-meetings; it could not be broken off without strict investigation, and Sarah could render no reason that would be sanctioned by the feeling of the community. At this time the senior deacon was taken dangerously ill, and, being a childless widower, he was tended night and day by some of the younger brethren or sisters. Silas frequently took his turn in the night-watching with William, the one relieving the other at two in the morning. The old man, contrary to expectation, seemed to be on the way to recovery, when one night Silas, sitting up by his bedside, observed that his usual audible breathing had ceased. The candle was burning low, and he had to lift it to see the patient's face distinctly. Examination convinced him that the deacon was dead--had been dead some time, for the limbs were rigid. Silas asked himself if he had been asleep, and looked at the clock: it was already four in the morning. How was it that William had not come? In much anxiety he went to seek for help, and soon there were several friends assembled in the house, the minister among them, while Silas went away to his work, wishing he could have met William to know the reason of his non-appearance. But at six o'clock, as he was thinking of going to seek his friend, William came, and with him the minister. They came to summon him to Lantern Yard, to meet the church members there; and to his inquiry concerning the cause of the summons the only reply was, You will hear. Nothing further was said until Silas was seated in the vestry, in front of the minister, with the eyes of those who to him represented God's people fixed solemnly upon him. Then the minister, taking out a pocket-knife, showed it to Silas, and asked him if he knew where he had left that knife? Silas said, he did not know that he had left it anywhere out of his own pocket-- but he was trembling at this strange interrogation. He was then exhorted not to hide his sin, but to confess and repent. The knife had been found in the bureau by the departed deacon's bedside-- found in the place where the little bag of church money had lain, which the minister himself had seen the day before. Some hand had removed that bag; and whose hand could it be, if not that of the man to whom the knife belonged? For some time Silas was mute with astonishment: then he said, God will clear me: I know nothing about the knife being there, or the money being gone. Search me and my dwelling; you will find nothing but three pound five of my own savings, which William Dane knows I have had these six months. At this William groaned, but the minister said, "The proof is heavy against you, brother Marner. The money was taken in the night last past, and no man was with our departed brother but you, for William Dane declares to us that he was hindered by sudden

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