By Sanford Pinsker
I first walked down the streets of Middlemarch and met its vivid inhabitants when I was an earnest 20-year-old English major. For me, George Eliot's classic novel was not an assigned reading in a "British Novel" class; instead, it was the sort of work I took on faith. Middlemarch, I had discovered, was the 19th-century British novel. No self-respecting English major could graduate without reading it, which was incentive enough for me. (Read more...)
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Pat Kinsella for The Chronicle Review
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