Over the past week I have been completely entranced by George Eliot's Middlemarch. It is so well written I have been reading very slowly, resisting the temptation to speed read and jump ahead to see what happens next, a temptation very real as it is like an intricate who-done-iit. The characters are so well drawn, truely a masterpiece. I must have read it before, but so long ago that I had forgotten both plot and characters.
I have just finished it with a sigh of pleasure at ends so neatly and believably tied up. It has been a wonderful filler for wearisome convalescing hours, alternating with other sedentary exercises with knitting needles or crochet hook. Now however, the virus is slowly loosening its grip and I am able to take up less sedentary occupations. What a relief.
George Eliot, I love you.
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