Silas Marner's Just Deserts
I am very excited about this post. Well, I’m generally excited about every post, otherwise we wouldn’t be here on post number 8. But this one is extra special because tonight I will be writing about my idol, hero, obsession, George Eliot. The way that I feel about her is…beyond expression, but I must spread her gospel, and so I must find the words!!!
For those of you unfamiliar, George Eliot is the genius behind the greatest novel in the English language, Middlemarch. It truly doesn’t get better - I read it last summer, and it numbers among the short list of books that I wanted to start over immediately after finishing. The sheer length of that particular tome dissuaded me from actually going for 2, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait. You might get a detailed post on it sooner than we all think likely. The only other novel by Eliot I had read up until recently was Daniel Deronda - also a masterpiece. I was so pleasantly surprised by Daniel Deronda when I read it because my actual first introduction to Eliot was Adam Bede, which I was supposed to read for class. To be fully transparent, I didn’t actually read much of it because I had a hard time getting into it and then I was too far behind. You know how that goes. Daniel Deronda was anything but slow, and enjoying it so thoroughly is what propelled me toward Middlemarch. Now that I am well and truly in love with Eliot’s writing, I will be going back for Adam, don’t despair. Eliot’s other novels, which I am EAGER to read include, The Mill on the Floss, Romola, Felix Holt, the Radical, and, the subject of tonight’s post :):):):) Silas Marner.
Before I get into Silas, I want to share a little bit about George Eliot, because along with being (one of) the greatest novelist(s) of all time, she also led a fascinating, and, dare I say, badass life. Eliot was born Mary Ann Evans in 1819 in Warwickshire. She attended school until she was 17, when her mother died and she became her father’s housekeeper. From that point on, she educated herself. A few years later, her entrée into the literary world occurred with her translation of Struass’s Life of Jesus. Time passes, Mary Ann translates, writes reviews, articles, etc, and becomes the managing editor of the Westminster Review. Now this is the good part. Around 1853, she becomes intimate with George Henry Lewes, English philosopher, literary critic, and married man (!!!). He and Mary Ann move in together in 1855, and live together in sin until his death in 1878 (she didn’t care about the sin part because she was an atheist). During the intervening years, she decides (encouraged by Lewes) to write fiction, adopts the pseudonym George Eliot, traveled a great deal and writes all of the aforementioned novels. About a year and a half after Lewes dies, she marries an old friend and then dies seven months later, I can only assume, blissfully, after immeasurable contributions to the English language and a life well lived.
So, I think we can all agree, George Eliot (I will refer to her thusly from here on because it’s simpler, and also it’s the name she chose for herself - by 1859 she had revealed her identity, and everyone knew who the real George Eliot was, but she kept using the name, so I will too) was an impressive person. If anyone knows good books on the life of, please get in touch because I’d like to increase my knowledge in that area. For now though, I am satisfied in working my way through her novels, which brings us back around to Silas Marner.
Silas Marner is named for its central character - a solitary weaver who arrives in the village of Raveloe after being wrongfully accused of theft and exiled from his community. This community, known as Lantern Yard was a religious one (Calvinist), and when Silas is accused of stealing, his guilt is determined through the drawing of lots, which Eliot acknowledges as a part of “that obscure religious life which has gone on in the alleys of our towns,” and the corresponding note points out as having religious precedent “in the detection of the guilty person” (Eliot 13). When the drawing of lots (and God himself, through this procedure) indicates Silas as the guilty person, his faith is naturally shaken. This loss of faith turns him into the bitter and solitary man we meet at the start of the book. What is below will contain some spoilers. If that means you’re stopping here, this is a novel that deals in the provincial and the mythical. Through those dual lenses Eliot examines the interplay between individual agency and fate, and how those two elements, present in all of our lives, come together to produce just consequences. If you want to read it without any spoilers, do so, and come back later. Now, onwards!
There is a reason George Eliot is well known for her ability to write about provincial life in England. At the time, Eliot’s writing was groundbreaking for the accurate and sympathetic portrayal of the rural lower classes. Instead of the cheery and ruddy-faced plowman in the field, or the dirty but virtuous mother in rags, seen only through the eyes of whatever wealthier main character happened to be passing by - so common in other novels of the time - Eliot writes about these people realistically. Working in tandem with her crisp realism is her warm sympathy. Although she may portray the petty selfishness, the country superstitions and suspicions - the general small-town views, she does so without ridicule. She paints the microcosms the exist in rural areas as full-fledged (although miniature) civilizations, and while their customs and rules may seem foreign, Eliot is able to show that they make perfect sense within their perfect contexts.
This is particularly true in Chapters 6 and 7 when Eliot describes the scene in the Rainbow - local inn and tavern in Raveloe - both before Silas enters, and after his entrance to report the theft of his gold. By this point, we have met Silas and learned about his solitary life. We have also been introduced to the wealthier side of Raveloe society - Squire Cass and his sons, Dunstan (evil) and Godfrey (weak). The scene that Eliot gives us in the Rainbow introduces us to the poor characters who make up the greater population of Raveloe, and more importantly, introduces us to the way of thinking that governs the society these characters live in. Inside the Rainbow there is discussion and debate, and the petty selfishness and country superstition I mentioned earlier is put on full display. However, if you pay close enough attention, there are intellectual undertones - whether the people discussing and debating know it or not. I was startled by Eliot’s ability to show that even the “lowest” of people are capable of philosophical patterns of thought, again, whether they know it or not.
As seems to always be the case, I’ve gone on too long and must cut myself off. Even under normal circumstances, I can’t help it, but when it comes to a George Eliot novel, there’s just too much! And when I get started on one thing, I forget about the other ones I meant to get into. I’ve hopefully said enough to established that Eliot is a master when it comes to accurate and sympathetic portrayal of rural life in England. There’s another element of Eliot’s storytelling, present in the other novels, but, in my opinion, more obvious in Silas than in the others (that I’ve read). I’m not sure what to call it - it’s the mythical, mystical, the universal human element. Whatever you call it, it’s there. In fact, Silas Marner almost reads like folklore. Silas himself is a hunched-over, lonely man, misunderstood, and easily mistaken for menacing. He is obsessed with his hoard of gold, which he brings out in the dim candlelight of the evening to look at, touch and worship. When his gold is stolen out from under his nose without a trace, he becomes desolate. Then, one day a golden haired child appears on his hearth, seemingly out of nowhere, and saves his life. It sounds like a fairytale, but it’s not.
Which brings me right on around to the final thing I want to touch on, and I saved the best for last: the convergence of fate and plain-old human action, produces consequences or rewards. These consequences and rewards are often attributed to fate, but what Eliot does such an excellent job of illustrating is that they actually rely upon a combination of fate (coincidence, luck, whatever) and individual agency. To show you what I mean, I will focus on Silas as an example, but I could provide a similar outline for every character in the novel.
Silas is dealt a bad hand when he is betrayed by his community in Lantern Yard. That could be called fate (oversimplification, but go with it). He comes to Raveloe, and his life feels meaningless. He spirals deeper and deeper into loneliness, and hyper-fixation on his money. That his life becomes so desolate, though, is a direct result of his own actions (or lack-thereof). He makes no effort to fill his life with more, so there is nothing more. Then one day his gold is stolen. That could be called fate (again oversimplification, but let’s say fate). When that happens, his decision to ask for help in the recovery of his hoard is exactly that - a decision. Silas comes out of his shell - just a little bit, but enough. Then one night, a poor opium addicted woman who has no notion of Silas’s existence is trudging through the snow towards the father of her illegitimate child when she becomes tired and lays down. Somehow, the child awakes and sees the glowing light of Silas Marner’s hearth even though her mother did not. The baby wonders in and falls asleep by the fire. When Silas finally notices, it looks to him as though a pile of gold has appeared on his hearth. Fate (almost magic). But then Silas acts. He claims the child, and he is a good father to her from that day on. The child gives him a reason to interact with those around him, to become a functioning member of society, and this saves his life. He views her as a gift, and she is, but it’s the goodness of his heart and the way he responded to her appearance - his actions - that turn him into one of the most respected members of the Raveloe community.
All of this is to say that with the mythical element of Eliot’s storytelling and the general plot line outlined above, it would be easy to view this tale as one where fate intervenes - that the uncontrollable, all-powerful element of fate ensures that each character gets their just deserts. However, that is not the story that Eliot is telling. There is agency involved in each turn of Silas’s life, just as there is with the other characters. If I mentioned them and told their stories, this would turn into a too-long post, but I hope that you’ll read Silas Marner, and then we can talk about it all in more depth. If you’ve read Eliot’s other novels, especially the ones I haven’t yet, please tell me which one to read next!