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Mill on the Floss: Part One (May 14-20)
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Maggie is called “unnatural” by her relatives. Why is this so?This is ironic, because she is actually more natural than any others except maybe Tom. Natural to the relatives means gussied up, controlled, slotted into a narrow human-directed slot. It has nothing to do with nature or being natural.
Mod
To add a little more, I think Maggie is more a "natural" being, with her honesty, her compassion and a big heart to love unconditionally. But the social norms for a woman, at the time Eliot lived, was more restricted and controlled; and anyone who passed that line paid the price of scorn and contempt from the society.
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One of the things I really like about Eliot is (are?) her comments, even little essays, on human nature. One nice example comes in Chapter 7 while Maggie is sobbing upstairs after cutting her hair:What could she do but sob? She sat as helpless and despairing among her black locks as Ajax among the slaughtered sheep. Very trivial, perhaps, this anguish seems to weather-worn mortals who have to think of Christmas bills, dead loves, and broken friendships; but it was not less bitter to Maggie–perhaps it was even more bitter–than what we are fond of calling antithetically the real troubles of mature life. "Ah, my child, you will have real troubles to fret about by and by," is the consolation we have almost all of us had administered to us in our childhood, and have repeated to other children since we have been grown up. We have all of us sobbed so piteously, standing with tiny bare legs above our little socks, when we lost sight of our mother or nurse in some strange place; but we can no longer recall the poignancy of that moment and weep over it, as we do over the remembered sufferings of five or ten years ago. Every one of those keen moments has left its trace, and lives in us still, but such traces have blent themselves irrecoverably with the firmer texture of our youth and manhood; and so it comes that we can look on at the troubles of our children with a smiling disbelief in the reality of their pain. Is there any one who can recover the experience of his childhood, not merely with a memory of what he did and what happened to him, of what he liked and disliked when he was in frock and trousers, but with an intimate penetration, a revived consciousness of what he felt then, when it was so long from one Midsummer to another; what he felt when his school fellows shut him out of their game because he would pitch the ball wrong out of mere wilfulness; or on a rainy day in the holidays, when he didn't know how to amuse himself, and fell from idleness into mischief, from mischief into defiance, and from defiance into sulkiness; or when his mother absolutely refused to let him have a tailed coat that "half," although every other boy of his age had gone into tails already? Surely if we could recall that early bitterness, and the dim guesses, the strangely perspectiveless conception of life, that gave the bitterness its intensity, we should not pooh-pooh the griefs of our children.
Reflecting on Maggie's naughtiness, I found this comment interesting:Tom never did the same sort of foolish things as Maggie, having a wonderful instinctive discernment of what would turn to his advantage or disadvantage; and so it happened, that though he was much more wilful and inflexible than Maggie, his mother hardly ever called him naughty.
And there is justification for this comment, I think. For example, Tom is the one who leads the children off the garden paths and down to the pond, which was indeed wilful and naughty, but Maggie is the one who in a momentary fit if pique pushes Lucy into the mud and so gets in trouble, while Tom drifts away and gets off without any punishment.
Which is apparently fairly typical: "It was Mrs. Tulliver's way, if she blamed Tom, to refer his misdemeanor, somehow or other, to Maggie."
The last time I read TMOTF, which was many years ago, I don't recall noticing the humor in it. This time I'm finding the little moments of humor delightful and frequent. It's my habit, when I read a passage that makes me chuckle, to draw a little smiley face in the margin, and my margins are well populated with smiley faces. The whole episode of Mrs. Glegg showing her bonnet is wonderful. Then there were:
The muddy lanes, green or clayey, that seemed to the unaccustomed eye to lead nowhere but into each other, did really lead, with patience, to a distant high-road; but there were many feet in Basset which they led more frequently to a centre of dissipation, spoken of formerly as the "Markis o' Granby," but among intimates as "Dickison's."
Mr. Tulliver gave his horse a little stroke on the flank, then checked it, and said angrily, "Stand still with you!" much to the astonishment of that innocent animal.
Mrs. Tulliver felt that she ought to be affected, but she was a woman of sparse tears, stout and healthy; she couldn't cry so much as her sister Pullet did, and had often felt her deficiency at funerals. Her effort to bring tears into her eyes issued in an odd contraction of her face.
And there are so many others. They remind me a bit of Jane Austen, but Austen's wit is more often mildly cruel, which Eliot's seldom is.
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An interesting point you have noted here; the humor. I must confess that I totally lost this while I was engaged with the reading. I was rather more obsessed with the emotions and nature of characters to find humor. And now that you have mentioned it, supported by few quotes, I'm inclined to look back more closely on the chapters. :)
Everyman wrote: "Maggie is called “unnatural” by her relatives. Why is this so?This is ironic, because she is actually more natural than any others except maybe Tom. Natural to the relatives means gussied up, con..."
The treatment of Maggie in this section is interesting, she is smart, independent, caring, passionate, yet looked upon disdain for all of these traits by possibly everyone except for her father. And even he feels that her cleverness was 'wasted' on her, and wished that her genetic gifts had gone to Tom and not to her. While her father loves her, he seems to view her as a pet, and poor Maggie is not spared misogyny even from him. After all, he selected Mrs. Tulliver as his wife in part because of her LACK of cleverness and likelihood to challenge him, which I thought was brilliantly portrayed in Eliot's description of her being akin to a goldfish repeatedly swimming into the side of the bowl
Why on earth is there SO much disdain for lawyers in this section?? I'm offended. ;)
Everyman wrote: "One of the things I really like about Eliot is (are?) her comments, even little essays, on human nature. One nice example comes in Chapter 7 while Maggie is sobbing upstairs after cutting her hair:..."This was so well articulated, and so true. And I think that, as adults, we cannot help but advise children of their foolishness in not weighing such trivial ills from a grownup perspective, when how could they possibly understand given their limited time on earth and experience?
Why does Maggie obsess over every mistake she has ever made, while Tom never regrets a thing? If Maggie is so obsessive about her mistakes, why does she not exercise a little forethought and restraint in her actions (i.e., not chopping off her hair, pushing Lucy into the mud, running away to join the gypsies, etc.)
I would say Maggie is unnatural because she did have odd behavior. Look at the books she showed Mr.Riley. One had a picture of a devil, the other was about witches. She stuck nails in her doll's head. If it were my child, I might be a little worried.
The opening chapter of the book is devoted to a description of River Floss and Dorlcote Mill from the point of a narrator. What do you think the reason for this approach?This is my second reading of TMOTF and I was very struck by this too. Two things that popped out at me:
1) The first sentence: "A wide plain... and the loving tide... checks its passage with an impetuous embrace". The Floss, clearly the subject of this whole chapter, is yet the object in this opening sentence, with its freedom checked by "love" and "embrace". This one sentence pretty much summarizes Maggie Tulliver's whole life.
2) When I reflect on my favorite passages of George Eliot, passages I have incorporated into my own journal and committed to memory, many of them are to do with rivers. From Adam Bede: Human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth: it does not wait for beauty—it flows with resistless force and brings beauty with it. From Daniel Deronda: The grey day was dying gloriously, its western clouds all broken into narrowing purple strata, which in the sky had a monumental calm, but on the river, with its changing objects, was reflected as a luminous movement, the alternate flash of ripples or currents, the sudden glow of the brown sail, the passage of laden barges from blackness into colour. There's something in the perpetual movement of the river that appears to echo the tumultuousness of human emotions. This is a super trite metaphor, to be fair, but George Eliot makes it come to life like no other writer does.
Mod
Maggie craves for love and acceptance all the time. Also she is a carefree girl driven by instincts and impulse. When her natural conduct is being reproached she is hurt and is desperate to win the approval; so she apologizes.
However, I feel Maggie's apology is always hollow, for she does it not because she believes that she has done a mistake but because she needs to be loved and approved nevertheless.
On the other hand, Tom, being a boy, is taught that whatever he does is right. Both parents, especially the mother contribute to this attitude. Although, they reproach him too for his thoughtless ways, it is always mildly. In Tom's mind it is instilled that whatever he does is right by being a man; so he doesn't think he is mistaken and rarely apologize.
On a side note Dianne, I too share your sentiment for Eliot's use of so much contempt on the lawyers. :)
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This is my second readin..."
Rivers and seas have often being used as metaphors when human emotions are discussed. I have only read Mill on the Floss, and throughout I witnessed Eliot's use of variations of the river Floss with the various changes in moods and in life of that of Maggie.
I quite agree with you that the first chapter on river Floss is sort of a summary of Maggie's life. There are so subtle hints as to what to expect on the tale to be told.
And the opening passage you have quoted here (I quote again) "A wide plain, when the broadening Floss hurries on between its green banks to the sea, and the loving tide, rushing to meets it, checks its passage with an impetuous embrace", aptly shows the yearning for love and destruction when it is not properly returned.
Dianne wrote: " If Maggie is so obsessive about her mistakes, why does she not exercise a little forethought and restraint in her actions (i.e., not chopping off her hair, pushing Lucy into the mud, running away to join the gypsies, etc.) ."Because it is in her nature to be impulsive, not to consider the consequences of her acts until after she has impulsively acted.
It's actually a fairly accurate portrayal of what brain research is finding out about the immature brain; the part that says "hold on, let's think about this" is slower to develop in some people than in others.
Shelley wrote: " The opening chapter of the book is devoted to a description of River Floss and Dorlcote Mill from the point of a narrator. What do you think the reason for this approach?This is my second readin..."
Great comment. There is so much more in Eliot than just the plot and characters. It's nice to see the added richness in her writing.
Shelley wrote: " There's something in the perpetual movement of the river that appears to echo the tumultuousness of human emotions. This is a super trite metaphor, to be fair, but George Eliot makes it come to life like no other writer does. "Absolutely true!
It is rather common to see rivers and oceans picked as metaphores of unsteady or nervous characters, but she is a real master in this type of writing.
Piyangie wrote: "I agree. She was rather different from the "accepted" mold of a girl in her looks, conduct and thinking. The society, or more specifically her relatives, viewed the difference as "unnatural".To ad..."
This is I think the reason why she is so loved. a sort of anti heroine ante literam. Unwillingly so, not as Becky sharp for instance. Still she breaks all the rules she can!
Piyangie wrote: "Why local dialect is used in the dialogues of some characters as opposed to others?"I tried to look for patterns, and it seems to be as follows:
1) Using local dialect: The "adults", who aren't interacting w Maggie directly. Mr. Tulliver is an exception, but most of his interactions in this book are with other adults.
2) Not using dialect: Maggie and people who are interacting directly with Maggie, i.e. Tom, Lucy, and the Gypsies.
One explanation can be the way that Maggie's reality almost appears to be occurring on two levels: 1) the "realism" level, with the Dodsons and family politics and money problems; 2) the "mythic" or "spiritual" level. The little scene with Tom, Maggie and Lucy in the garden really reminds me of the Adam-Lilith-Eve myth. Likewise, Maggie's adventure with the Gypsies almost seems like a trip to the Underworld, a crucial part of all epic cycles.
In other word, this almost parallel universe in Book One, signaled by the change from local dialect to regular English, is both a product of Maggie's highly imaginative nature (like her little stories about the toads) and an embodiment of the tension between the provincial realities and the higher spiritual realities of life that George Eliot seems to have experienced growing up and enjoy writing about over and over again in her novels.
That, or I'm totally over-reading it =P
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"Come, come, my wench," said her father, soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; you was i' the right to cut it off if it plagued you; give over crying; father'll take your part."
Delicious words of tenderness! Maggie never forgot any of these moments when her father "took her part"; she kept them in her heart, and thought of them long years after, when every one else said that her father had done very ill by his children.
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"Poor relations are undeniably irritating,–their existence is so entirely uncalled for on our part, and they are almost always very faulty people."
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I agree with you Kerstin. Maggie always craved for love and tenderness and her father is the only one who understood that and was generous to give. Her mother, though loved her, was more obsessed with making her "proper" and "acceptable" to the world.
And Tom, for whose love Maggie craved for the most, was selfish. He used Maggie's yearning as a tool to make his own ends, threatening her that he will not love her if she does not do as he wished.
Mod
I'm late to the party but trying to get caught up. I agree about the humor--there are quite a few passages that made me smile. Her commentary on page 57 on the proper way for "a fashionably drest female in grief" to handle her outward expressions of sorrow without in any way detracting from her appearance is priceless.
"Mrs. Pullet was silent, having to finish her crying, and rather flattered than indignant at being upbraided for crying too much. It was not everybody who could afford to cry so much about their neighbors who had left them nothing; but Mrs. Pullet had married a gentleman farmer, and had leisure and money to carry her crying and everything else to the highest pitch of respectability," (59). Mrs. Pullet is my favorite comic relief, so far!
Mod
It's actually a fairly accurate portrayal of what brain research is finding out about the immature brain; the part that says "hold on, let's think about this" is slower to develop in some people than in others.
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Maggie is a child and like most children, (and as Everyman notes), does not possess the ability to consider a situation from different perspectives or to adequately foresee consequences. Even when she tries to think ahead, she only thinks of the reasons that support her perspective. "She had thought beforehand chiefly of her own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about it, and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother and her aunts by this very decided course of action," (65). She thought ahead to how they might feel about her actions, but she didn't consider how very odd she would look. She thought of her mother's and aunts' chagrin, but not the amusement or scorn of everyone else.
Added to the natural impulsiveness of a child is the fact that Maggie has a very passionate nature and seems to be less fearful of consequences than many other children. Her cousin Lucy seems to possess all the timidity and placidity that Maggie lacks and makes a nice foil for her.
This is why so many movies include the plot device of a child committing some sort of reckless act that places them directly in the path of danger--it makes perfect sense to most adults that a kid would do something boneheaded at the most inopportune moment and complicate an already bad situation!
Kerstin wrote: "It seems to me that Maggie's acting out or impulsiveness has something to do with her need to for love. Her family doesn't really express true tenderness and care for one another. It is all about p..."I agree, and also agree that her father was the only one that gave her anything close to unconditional love-while he might say he wished that Tom had received the brains, he seems secretly pleased and proud of Maggie and her impulsive ways. By contrast, I found Tom was bordering on cruel to Maggie, particularly as he must have been aware of how she idolized him. While I know that older siblings often tease their younger sibs unmercifully, it started to really bother me how often he seemed to break her heart and leave her out of things, especially when he used Lucy to upset her. I wasn't surprised she ran off to join the gypsies!
Everyman wrote: "The last time I read TMOTF, which was many years ago, I don't recall noticing the humor in it. This time I'm finding the little moments of humor delightful and frequent. It's my habit, when I read ..."I particularly liked, when Uncle Pullet is talking to Tom
A boy's sheepishness is by no means a sign of overmastering reverence: and while you are making encouraging advances to him under the idea that he is overwhelmed by a sense of your age and wisdom, ten to one he is thinking you extremely queer. The only consolation I can suggest to you is, that the Greek boys probably thought the same of Aristotle.
I enjoyed the heated exchanges between Mr. and Mrs. Glegg in Chapter XII of Book One, especially the set-up where the author writes:"People who seem to enjoy their ill temper have a way of keeping it in fine condition by inflicting privations on themselves. That was Mrs. Glegg's way. She made her tea weaker than usual this morning, and declined butter."
Mr. Glegg, who has joined his wife at breakfast, observes this and is disinclined, at first, to take the offered bait. When her actions are met with silence Mrs. Glegg sallies forth:
"Well, Mr. Glegg! it's a poor return I get for making you the wife I've made you all these years!..."
Mr. Glegg responds as husbands throughout the ages have responded:
"Why, Mrs. G., what have I done now?"
Mrs. Glegg then counters with the classic non-answer response:
"Done now, Mr. Glegg? done now?-I'm sorry for you."
We are then treated to a comical exchange between the two spouses as they quarrel over the events of the previous day at the Tullivers, his family, her family, money and the milk. She leaves upset and close to tears but, eventually, takes solace in a hint he may have left her in regards to a handsome provision for her in the case of his death. These thoughts of Mrs. Glegg, and some vigorous hoeing on the part of Mr. Glegg, lead to an eventual reconciliation.
It might be one of my favorite chapters in Book One.
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This is ironic, because she is actually more natural than any others except maybe Tom. Natural to the relatives means gussied up, con..."
More unconventional than "unnatural". Though I must say, I did find her sticking nails in the doll's head a bit "unnatural"- one needs to vent no doubt but this did make me slightly uncomfortable about her.
Mod
The nails in the doll bothered me- as did her forgetting about the rabbits
The nails in the doll bothered me- as did her forgetting about the rabbitsActually I think both are pretty commonplace behavior. Modern-day British kids report torturing their barbies fairly commonly (http://abcnews.go.com/International/s...). A child neglecting to feed his/her pets is also far from inconceivable, although I have only anecdotal evidence to back that up.
We have to remember that the modern idea of childhood as a sweet, innocent period is very much a construct that started during the Enlightenment and really bloomed with the Romantic Movement. Subsequently, I find TMOTF's portrayal of childhood to be one of most realistic and unsentimental ones out there.
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Well- I wan't expecting her to be either- the children from the Secret Garden for instance, Mary Lennox and even Colin are far more real and relatable than say, Sara Crewe- I'd may be get past the banging the doll against the wall or hitting it - but the nails were a bit extreme.
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I didn't tale in all the instances either but am going to keep my eyes open now- that's what I love about revisits, they bring new things to notice each time.
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"Mr Tulliver did not willingly write a letter, and found that the relation between spoken and written language, briefly known as spelling, one of the most puzzling things in this puzzling world. Nevertheless like all fervid writing, the task was done in less time than usual, and if the spelling differed from Mrs Glegg's - why she belonged, like himself, to a generation with whom spelling was a matter of private judgment."
Another was the description of Mr Glegg's life after retirement.
Lady Clementina wrote: "One of my favourites (as far as humour goes) was Mr Tulliver and his letter writing:"Mr Tulliver did not willingly write a letter, and found that the relation between spoken and written language, ..."
Yes, that spelling incident was delightful. but really, for a long time spelling was indeed a variable endeavour. Just look at Shakespeare spelling his own name several ways over the years!
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"Mr Tulliver did not willingly write a letter, and found that the relation between spoke..."
The actual effort was amusing in itself but the way Eliot writes it adds a little something more to it.
A narrator describes Dorlcote Mill, river Floss and the beautiful surrounding; and the Tulliver story begins. Mr. Tulliver decides to give Tom a better education. Tom comes home from his boarding school. A disaster strikes at the dinner hosted by Mrs. Tulliver for her sisters. Mr. Tulliver is reminded of his debt and he seeks to pay it off. Maggie, being always scorned for her looks and behavior, runs away.
Below are some questions on this section. Feel free to respond to them or share your own thoughts.
Questions:
1) The opening chapter of the book is devoted to a description of River Floss and Dorlcote Mill from the point of a narrator. What do you think the reason for this approach?
2) What do we learn of Mr. and Mrs. Tulliver?
3) Why is Mr. Tulliver both proud and disappointed by Maggie’s intelligence?
4) What are your views on Tom and Maggie‘s relationship?
5) Tom often refers to Maggie as “silly thing”. What do you understand from this?
6) Maggie is called “unnatural” by her relatives. Why is this so?
7) There is so much influence over Tulliver family by the Dodson family, especially Mrs. Glegg. Why is this so?
An interesting thing which I noticed:
8) Why local dialect is used in the dialogues of some characters as opposed to others?