Silas Marner is the type of book that should be read and analyzed in a college lit class, as there is more going on than the simple tale of a weaver unjustly accused of theft relocating to another English village, where he keeps to himself while making a fortune (relatively speaking) which is subsequently stolen. George Eliot is rapidly becoming one of my favorite authors. Her writing style subtly yet deftly portends the coming crisis while describing the change in Marner's character occasioned by the theft, comparing his old belief that money was a means to an end, whereas "now, when all purpose was gone...[it] made a loam that was deep enough for the seeds of desire." You can picture him as a rendition of Scrooge, a socially isolated man who has lost his way and spends his nights greedily counting his money.

Interwoven with Marner's tale is the story of Godfrey Cass, son of a squire, who has secretly married and begotten a child with a woman addicted to opium. Godfrey is blackmailed by his brother, Dunstan, over this relationship, the same Dunstan who steals Marner's gold. As is typical of 18th century fiction, the plot hinges on a fantastic coincidence, Godfrey's wife dying at Marner's doorstep and their infant daughter wandering into the house. Marner raises the unclaimed girl as his own, and is saved by the transference of his love of money to the love for his daughter.

My Penguin Classics version provides a new introduction as well as appending the original introduction at the end. Both are equally enlightening as to George Eliot's intentions in writing the novel, particularly the contrast between the motivations of Silas and Godfrey and the rewards and punishments meted out to each for their actions and inactions. More than a story of redemption earned through virtue, Silas Marner is a commentary on the morality exhibited by the wealthy and poor in 18th century England, with a definite nod in favor of the latter. ( )

Excellent prose in a style that I thoroughly enjoyed. ( )

Life in early 1800 England, class, religion etc. A mans life finally comes together after hardship and soul searching. ( )

A slow start for me to “get into” the book, but as I read I became more absorbed in the story. This was my first reading of a George Elliot book and has whetted my appetite for more (probably starting with Middlemarch). The tale of Marner, growing up in a closed religious community, who is betrayed by his best friend and cast out. Arriving in the village of Raveloe, he lives the life of a reclusive weaver, feared and avoided by the villagers because he is so different (and keeps himself apart). The loss of his beloved (in the absence of human love) gold, leads to despair, until the child Eppie comes into his life. The descriptions of village life, hierarchy, religious observance, neighbours brings the story to life. There is a happy ending, which works and comp,eyes the tale. A very enjoyable read and one for our book club. ( )

So why did I have so much trouble getting past the opening pages of this book sixty years ago? Apart from my general aversion toward any book assigned in high school, that is. That can’t be the entire reason, for I clearly recall how Thomas Hardy’s Return of the Native gripped me from the outset.
Perhaps I read the plot summary first in Masterpieces of World Literature in Digest Form. That was easier than braving Eliot’s daunting prose, but it does the book a disservice. There is little action in the book, and that little seems sentimental; some of the most dramatic events happen off-stage and don’t come to light until much later.
Yet I enjoyed the book this time from start to finish. The characteristic features of Eliot’s best books are here, too, in a briefer form. It made sense, therefore, that this was on our reading list as the introduction to one of the greatest English writers. There is her probing sociological observation and her psychological acuity. The set pieces that provide this, such as the description of a garrulous evening at the inn, can either seem to impede the plot (teenage me) or be savored on their own. The squire’s New Year’s ball is just one scene in which the author gives us a window into country customs that were disappearing even when Eliot wrote. And I’m certainly more receptive to Eliot’s continued processing of her youthful evangelical phase in her exploration of the muddled, inarticulate sentiment of church and chapel than I would have been back then.
This is the package in which the plot is only one element. And knowing what happens going in served a different purpose. Then, it was the only thing that got me a passing grade. Now, it enabled me to savor the pacing of how it unfolded.
It’s said youth is wasted on the young. Perhaps that’s true of good books as well. But I’m not sure. I’m glad I was exposed to these books, even though they defeated me at the time. I’m also happy I’ve lived long enough to return to them with the experience of reading good and bad books in the meantime. ( )