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Available
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Collection
Publication
Airmont Books (1960), Paperback, 191 pages
Description
Classic Literature. Fiction. HTML: Silas Marner is accused of stealing funds from his small Christian congregation. Presumed guilty by his community and rejected by the woman he loves, Silas leaves and lives as a recluse near Raveloe village. He takes refuge only in working and attaining wealth, until his precious gold is stolen from him. But a child, her mother found dead in the snow, is thrust into his life, changing it completely. Ultimately, Silas Marner is a redeeming story of love and loyalty..
User reviews
LibraryThing member ChocolateMuse
I took a while to settle into this book, because I was used to a very different kind of George Eliot. Having previously read Middlemarch and The Mill on the Floss – novels notable for their complexity of character and breadth of thought, I kept waiting for similar complexities to arise in this
Even in those other two novels, Eliot shows an unusual sympathy with and understanding of people who lack education and live simple lives of manual labour, uncomplicated by those fine shadings of thought which make life at once broader and more difficult. These are people whose lives are set in a narrow groove, whose troubles are physical (and sometimes moral) and to whom life is a series of events and choices in which right and wrong are pretty clearly defined. In Middlemarch and The Mill, Eliot tends to look more at the prejudices of such people and its problematic effect on them – but in Silas Marner, there is overall a freshness and peace in its simplicity that comes directly from the thoughts and lives of its characters, and which feels like a sunny breeze from that English countryside in which it is set.
The story begins with two moral wrongs, and the subsequent darkness and sorrow it brings on poor innocent Marner – but by the time we get to Part 2, the reader knows that a rhythm of peace and belief is the basis of the story, and that there probably isn’t much to fear.
This book is often referred to as an allegory or fairy tale – and indeed it feels just like a fairy tale in its cadences and its imagery. It’s obviously Eliot’s intention to make it so – it’s no coincidence that our main character is a gnome-like and short-sighted weaver, and that the story involves sacks of gold and an inn called the Rainbow. Its fairy-tale element also explains the lack of complicated depth in its characterisation, which is one of the things I love so much about the other kind of Eliot. The villains are villains, the good people are good people. Only Godfrey Cass has any mix of the two, and he is not explored all that deeply as a character. Eppie, for instance, is too good to be true (but very attractive) and Dunstan is almost too bad to be true. Eliot surely was aware of this, and did it on purpose – and once the reader realises this, we can enjoy the story for what it is. For me, I can say it was a book that made me happy when I read it, and I consider that to be high praise.
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short novel, which was not the right way to read it. Silas Marner is a simple tale told about simple people, which is the sort of description that will put off many a modern reader, and probably did so for a good many readers from Eliot’s own day – and that is a pity. Even in those other two novels, Eliot shows an unusual sympathy with and understanding of people who lack education and live simple lives of manual labour, uncomplicated by those fine shadings of thought which make life at once broader and more difficult. These are people whose lives are set in a narrow groove, whose troubles are physical (and sometimes moral) and to whom life is a series of events and choices in which right and wrong are pretty clearly defined. In Middlemarch and The Mill, Eliot tends to look more at the prejudices of such people and its problematic effect on them – but in Silas Marner, there is overall a freshness and peace in its simplicity that comes directly from the thoughts and lives of its characters, and which feels like a sunny breeze from that English countryside in which it is set.
The story begins with two moral wrongs, and the subsequent darkness and sorrow it brings on poor innocent Marner – but by the time we get to Part 2, the reader knows that a rhythm of peace and belief is the basis of the story, and that there probably isn’t much to fear.
This book is often referred to as an allegory or fairy tale – and indeed it feels just like a fairy tale in its cadences and its imagery. It’s obviously Eliot’s intention to make it so – it’s no coincidence that our main character is a gnome-like and short-sighted weaver, and that the story involves sacks of gold and an inn called the Rainbow. Its fairy-tale element also explains the lack of complicated depth in its characterisation, which is one of the things I love so much about the other kind of Eliot. The villains are villains, the good people are good people. Only Godfrey Cass has any mix of the two, and he is not explored all that deeply as a character. Eppie, for instance, is too good to be true (but very attractive) and Dunstan is almost too bad to be true. Eliot surely was aware of this, and did it on purpose – and once the reader realises this, we can enjoy the story for what it is. For me, I can say it was a book that made me happy when I read it, and I consider that to be high praise.
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LibraryThing member richardderus
This book was a real-life Book Circle read that, well, got mixed reviews. Some people thought the writing was brilliant and others found it dated; some people thought it was too short, others too long for the short story they felt it truly was and not the novel it's pretending to be.
I think it's a
And therein the book's real achievement. When it was published in 1861, it was a revolutionary tract! The hoi polloi were not to be represented in Art, and novels were then most definitely considered Art, unless they were romanticized, made into prettier or uglier or in some way extreme examples of a Point of View. Simple, honest, direct portrayal of people that novel-readers employed but never conversed with?! Shocking!
A book of great importance, then, for its groundbreaking treatment of The People. But also...and this is the reason it helped wreak the revolution whose Robespierres and Dantons were Hemingway and Company...it is a simple story of a man's journey down an ever-widening path that leads to enlightenment, told without A Message or A Moral, in prose that remains graceful 150 years later.
If you read it in high school, don't blame IT for the hatred your English teacher left you feeling...blame the teacher. It's not fairly presented in English courses. Read it as an adult, and judge it for itself. Maybe it'll be to your personal taste, maybe not, but I think a grown-up read of a book this seminal to all the others we read today, never thinking about how improbable their existence is, isn't too much to ask.
I think it's a
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lovely book. I think Silas is about as honestly drawn and cannily observed a character as fiction offers. I think the village of Raveloe is as real as my own village of Hempstead. It's a delight to read about real people, presented without editorial snark, in a book from the 19th century.And therein the book's real achievement. When it was published in 1861, it was a revolutionary tract! The hoi polloi were not to be represented in Art, and novels were then most definitely considered Art, unless they were romanticized, made into prettier or uglier or in some way extreme examples of a Point of View. Simple, honest, direct portrayal of people that novel-readers employed but never conversed with?! Shocking!
A book of great importance, then, for its groundbreaking treatment of The People. But also...and this is the reason it helped wreak the revolution whose Robespierres and Dantons were Hemingway and Company...it is a simple story of a man's journey down an ever-widening path that leads to enlightenment, told without A Message or A Moral, in prose that remains graceful 150 years later.
If you read it in high school, don't blame IT for the hatred your English teacher left you feeling...blame the teacher. It's not fairly presented in English courses. Read it as an adult, and judge it for itself. Maybe it'll be to your personal taste, maybe not, but I think a grown-up read of a book this seminal to all the others we read today, never thinking about how improbable their existence is, isn't too much to ask.
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LibraryThing member HighlandLad
I read somewhere that no-one reads George Eliot these days. Well, her writing can be a bit dense at times, but Silas Marner is well worth reading. The plot is almost fairytale-like. Silas, a weaver, has been driven from his home in a northern industrial city after (false) accusations of stealing
One day, his hoard of gold is stolen, and on a snowy day soon after, a golden-haired toddler wanders into the open door of his cottage, the girl’s presumed mother found dead nearby. Silas sees the girl as a gift from providence in exchange for his gold, adopts the baby girl and things develop from there... The girl grows up... Silas changes... The plot is credible and realistic, despite some improbable coincidences. It’s fascinating to see how superstitious views still flourished, how people weighed and interpreted evidence about unusual happenings, weighing up rational against superstitious interpretations, echoing lively controversies in theology and philosophy at the time about the nature of evidence that George Eliot was herself very deeply involved in.
What’s really wonderful is that this is a story of ordinary village life among the poorer classes, with all its characters, prejudices and superstitions, church, pub, all pictured just as they would have been in the early 19th century. This no doubt comes from George Eliot’s childhood recollections. No-one else was writing this sort of stuff in English literature at the time. Farm hands, farriers and the like were supposed to be just forelock-tuggers and cap-doffers with walk-on parts. Novel readers were upper class (the only ones who could afford books) and expected upper class people doing upper-class things in their books; they didn’t see ‘the common people’ as suitable central figures in their literature. The antagonistic reviews of the time – even her own publisher’s views – show how dangerous this was seen. One contemporary review refers to “...these dull clowns... whose ideas and imagery seldom rise above the level of their native dunghills”, another says “We see the people amid all their grovelling cares, with all their coarseness, ignorance and prejudice – poor, paltry, stupid, wretched, well-nigh despicable.” Perhaps, but fascinating too.
No well-bred woman at the time would have ventured into the public bar of a village pub, but George Eliot gives us an extraordinary chapter of the bar talk and banter between the farrier, the butcher, etc. at The Rainbow. In the closing chapters, (spoilers warning) when Eppie (the golden-haired baby girl) has grown into a beauty, and her higher class origins (daughter of the village squire from a shameful marriage he kept secret) made public, she gets the offer of being accepted by the squire and his new wife as their daughter... but she and Silas Marner turn it down. This must have seemed revolutionary, and in very bad taste at the time. It’s the complete opposite of the popular plot of the time, where the waif discovers his upper crust origins, his rightful inheritance, reveals the skulduggery involved to disinherit him, and takes his ‘proper’ place in society. What a girl George Eliot was!
After Silas Marner was published, ordinary people started appearing in more books, and literature was all the better for it... A short, important, memorable and heart-warming book with a good story, albeit a little difficult to get through the dense writing style at times.
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money from the chapel sect he belonged to – and the guy he knows did it, his best friend, then stole his girlfriend! He now lives by an old quarry outside the close-knit English village of Raveloe. Not surprisingly, he’s now bitter and twisted, his faith in god and humanity gone. He has nothing left in life except his work – and the gold he accumulates from it. He’s grudgingly tolerated but not welcomed in the village, and has turned into a sad lonely miserable miser, suffering occasional fits, truly an outsider. One day, his hoard of gold is stolen, and on a snowy day soon after, a golden-haired toddler wanders into the open door of his cottage, the girl’s presumed mother found dead nearby. Silas sees the girl as a gift from providence in exchange for his gold, adopts the baby girl and things develop from there... The girl grows up... Silas changes... The plot is credible and realistic, despite some improbable coincidences. It’s fascinating to see how superstitious views still flourished, how people weighed and interpreted evidence about unusual happenings, weighing up rational against superstitious interpretations, echoing lively controversies in theology and philosophy at the time about the nature of evidence that George Eliot was herself very deeply involved in.
What’s really wonderful is that this is a story of ordinary village life among the poorer classes, with all its characters, prejudices and superstitions, church, pub, all pictured just as they would have been in the early 19th century. This no doubt comes from George Eliot’s childhood recollections. No-one else was writing this sort of stuff in English literature at the time. Farm hands, farriers and the like were supposed to be just forelock-tuggers and cap-doffers with walk-on parts. Novel readers were upper class (the only ones who could afford books) and expected upper class people doing upper-class things in their books; they didn’t see ‘the common people’ as suitable central figures in their literature. The antagonistic reviews of the time – even her own publisher’s views – show how dangerous this was seen. One contemporary review refers to “...these dull clowns... whose ideas and imagery seldom rise above the level of their native dunghills”, another says “We see the people amid all their grovelling cares, with all their coarseness, ignorance and prejudice – poor, paltry, stupid, wretched, well-nigh despicable.” Perhaps, but fascinating too.
No well-bred woman at the time would have ventured into the public bar of a village pub, but George Eliot gives us an extraordinary chapter of the bar talk and banter between the farrier, the butcher, etc. at The Rainbow. In the closing chapters, (spoilers warning) when Eppie (the golden-haired baby girl) has grown into a beauty, and her higher class origins (daughter of the village squire from a shameful marriage he kept secret) made public, she gets the offer of being accepted by the squire and his new wife as their daughter... but she and Silas Marner turn it down. This must have seemed revolutionary, and in very bad taste at the time. It’s the complete opposite of the popular plot of the time, where the waif discovers his upper crust origins, his rightful inheritance, reveals the skulduggery involved to disinherit him, and takes his ‘proper’ place in society. What a girl George Eliot was!
After Silas Marner was published, ordinary people started appearing in more books, and literature was all the better for it... A short, important, memorable and heart-warming book with a good story, albeit a little difficult to get through the dense writing style at times.
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LibraryThing member MeditationesMartini
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
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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.) Show Less
LibraryThing member wirkman
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 (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.
Because of its concision, I go against the grain of received literary opinion and judge this to be George
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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.
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LibraryThing member AlexTheHunn
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
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standards, but sometimes a little sugar is nice. Show Less
LibraryThing member DrLed
A book you haven’t read since high school is on the list for the 2016 Reading Challenge.
Synopsis: A young weaver, Silas Marner, is betrayed by his best friend and subsequently leaves his home to find a place to live near a small village. Although he is prosperous, he exists as a poverty stricken
Review: There are huge portions of this story that I'd forgotten since the days in Betty Swyers's classroom. Although the language of the 1800s tends toward verbosity, Silas Marner is much less dense that Middlemarch, one of Eliot's other books. The 'truth will out' and the relentless progression of time are two of the main themes of the story, although unlike many writers in this same time period, the happy ending adds a touch of pleasant finality to Eliot's tale.
Synopsis: A young weaver, Silas Marner, is betrayed by his best friend and subsequently leaves his home to find a place to live near a small village. Although he is prosperous, he exists as a poverty stricken
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hermit with no real friends. One night he is robbed and although this puts him in a more sympathetic light with the townspeople, he goes into a deep depression. During one of catatonic episodes, a two year old girl toddles into his home and changes his life for the better. The mystery of her parentage and of the disappearance on Marner's money are eventually solved.Review: There are huge portions of this story that I'd forgotten since the days in Betty Swyers's classroom. Although the language of the 1800s tends toward verbosity, Silas Marner is much less dense that Middlemarch, one of Eliot's other books. The 'truth will out' and the relentless progression of time are two of the main themes of the story, although unlike many writers in this same time period, the happy ending adds a touch of pleasant finality to Eliot's tale.
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LibraryThing member lkernagh
It took me a little bit of time - and concentration - to settle into the story. I found Eliot's writing style to be a wordy and probably better suited for reading than listening to (especially if you are like me and tend to multi-task while listening to an audiobook!) Silas Marner is one of those
For me, the first 1/3 of the book was pretty much 'ho-hum'. The story started to make its mark on me during the Christmas festivities and that was when I settled in and really was able to enjoy this story for the tale it is.
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classic tales that runs the gamit of tangible loss, disenfranchisement with society and seclusion of sorts until fate one day gently opens the door and presents a possible path towards a new beginning: A life of redemption and the re-discovery of what it means to love (and we don't mean a continuation of love of worldly possessions!) Eliot does a fantastic job playing sociologist, presenting 19th century England with its class structure (via the squire), rural/ small village life and the ever present role of religion and 'village values' in guiding the population through life. For me, the first 1/3 of the book was pretty much 'ho-hum'. The story started to make its mark on me during the Christmas festivities and that was when I settled in and really was able to enjoy this story for the tale it is.
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LibraryThing member Cygnus555
A book that never registered in my brain beyond "I've heard of that" turned out to be one of the most amazing stories I have read in a long time. Beautiful, heart warming and richly written. I'm eager to read more of her work now. Some of the sentences in this book are so beautifully crafted that I
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had to read, then re-read, then read them to my wife. Amazing book Show Less
LibraryThing member Ghost_Boy
George Eliot does it again for me at least. Having read three of her novels now, I feel like she masters the art of a novel. I wouldn't say this was my favorite of hers, but I liked it a lot and Silas Marner was a great character. If you want to start reading Eliot I suggest you start with this
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book first (although I started with Middlemarch). This is her shortest novel just under 200 pages while her other novels run over 500 pages. I also like the fact this a story written by a woman about an older man when woman didn't write about male characters at her time. If you are looking for a well written heart warming story for a quick read I recommend this book (it does have it's depressing parts, but the ending makes up for that). Show Less
LibraryThing member carissa8402
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.
LibraryThing member TedWitham
George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans 1819-1880) wrote Silas Marner as her version of Pilgrim’s Progress. Like Bunyan’s masterpiece, Silas Marner also has the feel of a universal fable, the redemption of a man from desolation to love and riches.
Unlike Progress, however, the characters in Silas Marner
Eppie, the toddler who appears in Silas’ life after his precious gold has been taken, is less believable as an individual. She is beautiful in body and soul, humble in aspiration and devoted to Silas. But she is lovely because she is so deeply loved by Silas, her ‘Papa’.
The inner journey Silas makes is not like the ‘ascent’ of Pilgrim to the river and the City of Heaven. Nor is it in the tradition of the ‘ascent’ to God mapped by medieval mystics like Bonaventure and Richard of Saint Victor.
Silas’ journey to redemption stays in the gritty reality of Victorian poverty. Grace – in the form of the toddler he names Hephzibah (Eppie) – comes to Silas once and all at once. The name Hephzibah means ‘My delight is in her’, and it is used in the Hebrew Scriptures as the symbolic name for the restored Jerusalem (Isaiah 62:4). The redemption takes the miser, Silas, with his short-sight and propensity to fitting, and teaches him how to love deeply.
Eliot contrasts the emotional and spiritual poverty of his former state with the richness of loving and being loved: the gold is even returned to Silas and secrets, liberating once shared, are brought to light.
Names are important to Eliot: Silas is named for the companion of the Apostle Paul. The New Testament’s Silas and Paul are put in prison and God releases them. God also releases Silas Marner from the darkness of the cultish Lantern Yard and from his self-imposed prison and. Both the New Testament and the village of Raveloe rejoice greatly at Silas’ release.
Is the name ‘Marner’ a reference to Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner published 90 years earlier?
Silas Marner is my introduction to George Eliot. I found the novel charming and satisfying. There is a central goodness in the novel which will be evident to readers whether or not they are Christian believers. But it is ultimately a Christian novel, an exploration of the journey we all in our own ways make in Christ.
Unlike Progress, however, the characters in Silas Marner
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are well-drawn and invite sympathy. Knowing how shabbily Silas has been treated and knowing the inner journey of Silas and the nasty young Squire, makes the reader care about the characters. Eppie, the toddler who appears in Silas’ life after his precious gold has been taken, is less believable as an individual. She is beautiful in body and soul, humble in aspiration and devoted to Silas. But she is lovely because she is so deeply loved by Silas, her ‘Papa’.
The inner journey Silas makes is not like the ‘ascent’ of Pilgrim to the river and the City of Heaven. Nor is it in the tradition of the ‘ascent’ to God mapped by medieval mystics like Bonaventure and Richard of Saint Victor.
Silas’ journey to redemption stays in the gritty reality of Victorian poverty. Grace – in the form of the toddler he names Hephzibah (Eppie) – comes to Silas once and all at once. The name Hephzibah means ‘My delight is in her’, and it is used in the Hebrew Scriptures as the symbolic name for the restored Jerusalem (Isaiah 62:4). The redemption takes the miser, Silas, with his short-sight and propensity to fitting, and teaches him how to love deeply.
Eliot contrasts the emotional and spiritual poverty of his former state with the richness of loving and being loved: the gold is even returned to Silas and secrets, liberating once shared, are brought to light.
Names are important to Eliot: Silas is named for the companion of the Apostle Paul. The New Testament’s Silas and Paul are put in prison and God releases them. God also releases Silas Marner from the darkness of the cultish Lantern Yard and from his self-imposed prison and. Both the New Testament and the village of Raveloe rejoice greatly at Silas’ release.
Is the name ‘Marner’ a reference to Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner published 90 years earlier?
Silas Marner is my introduction to George Eliot. I found the novel charming and satisfying. There is a central goodness in the novel which will be evident to readers whether or not they are Christian believers. But it is ultimately a Christian novel, an exploration of the journey we all in our own ways make in Christ.
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LibraryThing member varwenea
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
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…”
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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…”
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LibraryThing member DeltaQueen50
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
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.
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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.
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LibraryThing member Smiler69
Still considered as a stranger in the village in which he has lived and worked as a weaver for the last fifteen years, Silas is further treated with suspicion and dislike for his solitary life, as well as the well-founded rumour that his greatest pleasure is counting his gold coins every night.
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When a thief finds his way to the treasure, Silas' world seemingly falls apart, until one winter night, when a small child appears by his fireside, seemingly out of nowhere. Silas at first mistakes the toddler's golden hair for his lost fortune in gold, but instantly becomes attached and decides to keep and raise her as his daughter, and he comes to see that she has taken the place of the gold and brought many greater riches to his life. A beautiful and poignant story of redemption, this short novel (around 200 pages) is also an astute social commentary by the author of Middlemarch, which I intend to tackle in future eventually. Show Less
LibraryThing member mirikayla
I remember deciding to read this book in seventh grade, though I didn't get far. (It was around the same time I attempted the unabridged Les Miserables, so maybe I was just overwhelmed by my own ambition.) It took me almost twenty years to pick it up again, but I'm so glad to know how lovely George
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.
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Eliot's writing is. Every few pages, it seemed—starting on page one, with the quote below—I was stopping to reread a sentence or paragraph that was so unique, so perfectly descriptive, I wanted to write it down. It did drag a bit in places, mostly around the middle when she was setting up the background with Godfrey Cass, who is useless and whiny and totally uninteresting to me. But the book is beautiful, and I can't wait to read more of her titles that have been on my "to-read" list for essentially my whole life.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.
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LibraryThing member Robert.Zimmermann
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
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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. Show Less
LibraryThing member Steve777
Heart-warming, touching story of how a little girl redeems the sad life of her adoptive father.
LibraryThing member bookenthusiast100
One of the best books I've ever read. Eliot has a great insight into the human mind. Very touching.
LibraryThing member quoddy
A good book overall; though definitely not in the period of Eliot's ripe penmanship. The descriptions are beautiful, and the emotions are very real.
LibraryThing member gbill
A memorable story and a good read. While some of the plot turns seem somewhat "too convenient", the overall effect adds to the book's Biblical and mythological overtones. The wrongs Marner endures and the evilness of the Cass brothers have you really pulling for him at the end. Eliot's descriptions
"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".
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of rural life and its people are what she's known for, but my favorite passage of Silas Marner was:"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".
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LibraryThing member Stevil2001
Silas Marner is about an old miserly dude who learns to open his heart through caring for a child that he takes in. There's a good story here, but it all happens between Part I and Part II. All of Silas's softening up and opening up, quite bizarrely, happens in the fourteen year gap in the middle
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of story, meaning that at one moment he is crotchety and anti-social, and that at the next, he is a warm and loving man. The best bit and we don't even get to see it! Which isn't to say that there's not some good stuff elsewhere-- Eliot's gift for character is pretty fantastic; you know who everyone is and why they do everything they do. Plus Chapters I.6 and I.7 (where Silas goes into the tavern to report the loss of his gold) are pretty funny. But reading the book, I just couldn't help but feel that Eliot had squandered her own gifts: her ability to evoke character, time, and place should have been spent showing the change in characters, not telling me about it! Show Less
LibraryThing member brianfstevenson
I don't like my chances of being able to say anything new about something that has been around since 1861. The story is a simple one, and the themes are both eternal and easily discerned : redemption, the emptiness of money compared to love and the hypocrisy of those vested with wealth, prestige
For me, the novel sagged after the first few chapters, but picked up again, and then some, shortly after the half way mark. Even in a more leisurely age, Eliot must have had a purpose in introducing villagers that seem to spend a lot of time sitting around looking jolly, and taking many pages to do so. A couple of prominent characters, the pristine Eppie and her consort Aaron are less than interesting, but Silas and the tortured Godfrey Cass more than make up for it. The last couple of chapters really tugged at the heart, but it was honestly a bit of a slog to get there.
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and power. For me, the novel sagged after the first few chapters, but picked up again, and then some, shortly after the half way mark. Even in a more leisurely age, Eliot must have had a purpose in introducing villagers that seem to spend a lot of time sitting around looking jolly, and taking many pages to do so. A couple of prominent characters, the pristine Eppie and her consort Aaron are less than interesting, but Silas and the tortured Godfrey Cass more than make up for it. The last couple of chapters really tugged at the heart, but it was honestly a bit of a slog to get there.
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LibraryThing member soylentgreen23
I had been put off George Eliot by my English teacher at school, who had a strong dislike of 'Middlemarch' that soon communicated itself to me. In a way this was a good thing, as I soon found myself enjoying 'Silas Marner' much more than I had expected, having expected to hate it. It is a
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convincing illustration of parochial English country life, with the short-sightedness and inherent distrust in all things 'foreign' typical of society at that time. Eliot is easier to read than I thought she would be, and she is also a fine storyteller. Maybe it's time to take another look at 'Middlemarch.' Show Less
LibraryThing member nules
I enjoyed this book. I believe it was the first e-book I had ever read—and maybe the first book that might be considered one of the classics (read all the way through, anyway).Anyway, it's about this lonely weaver and this girl that he raises or some such. There's some mystery behind the girl,
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and maybe even Silas himself. There are relationship issues. Show Less
Subjects
Awards
Language
Original publication date
1861-04
ISBN
none
Local notes
Airmont Classics
Other editions
Silas Marner by George Eliot (Paperback)