Book I, Chapters 1 - 5

Ch. 1

So, today's thought (as I begin re-reading myself): Take your time with the first chapter, particularly with anything Eliot is telling you about Dorothea (introduced as "Miss Brooke"; she'll be referred to this way in other places too). Celia isn't all that important in the novel, but she's important here as a contrast to Dorothea. Also, it might be a bit subtle, but there IS some humor in this opening chapter, particularly the way Celia pokes at Dorothea and kind of undermines her older sister's high-mindedness. Celia sees that D. has grand ideas and convictions but that she's also a little lacking in self-awareness. Finally, Dorothea is "religious" in a sense, but maybe not in the conventional way we think of that. It's more that she has this over-riding sense of piousness / goodness / correct behavior. And particularly the notion of self-abasement in a quasi-religious sense. She thinks she should suffer / deny herself worldly pleasures. This connects with the preface about Saint Theresa.

One other thought: I'm not going to go back and count how often it is used, but I know that the word ardent appears more than once in Eliot's description of Dorothea. It's a word critics (including Mead, twice in her brief essay) use frequently as well. I know what it means, but I've looked it up because I want to see if there's anything I'm missing:

Seeing the first example ("an ardent baseball fan") disappoints me; it doesn't feel like enough. But when we add the sense of "burning" and "glowing," now we're getting somewhere. 

Oh, and with minimal Google sleuthing, I see that someone has created a program/page to do exactly what I was too lazy to do, namely find when that word appears in the text. So, it's nice to know I wasn't imagining it: The word appears once in the brief Preface, and seven times in Chapter 1. In any case, it's an apt word to associate with Dorothea: she is certainly passionate in her various states of being and endeavors—though at the start of the novel, only in a high-minded and almost diffuse sense. Diffuse: it's not clear (to her or to us) what end her passions will be put to.

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Ch. 2

I've mentally moved on from this chapter, so I'll just take a moment to say that what's important here is the introduction to Casaubon, who will be a key figure in the book. You don't need to expend too much mental energy trying to make sense of his "key to all mythologies" (which is almost comically rendered by Eliot), but you should be trying to understand why/how Dorothea is drawn to him more than to the youthful, handsome Sir James.

Ch. 3

I described Dorothea as lacking in self-awareness above, but it becomes clear in Chapters 2 and 3 that she's also not particularly keen at recognizing what seems obvious (to most of us, as readers) about others. Eliot uses the omniscient narration to make it clear that Sir James Chettam is interested in Dorothea rather than Celia, but Dorothea is utterly oblivious to this fact. For me, these moments represent somewhat rare flashes of comedy in the novel; D's irritation with Chettam amuses me, anyway: 

Miss Brooke was annoyed at the interruption.This amiable baronet, really a suitable husband for Celia, exaggerated the necessity of making himself agreeable to the elder sister. Even a prospective brother-in-law may be an oppression if he will always be presupposing too good an understanding with you, and agreeing with you even when you contradict him.

In the next moment, her face flushes with angry, impatient color, and clever Eliot describes the response: "Sir James interpreted the heightened colour in the way most gratifying to himself [in other words: he thinks she's flushed with passion for him], and thought he never saw Miss Brooke looking so handsome."

What I notice now is that this interplay is part of a theme in the book: misapprehension and misunderstanding, particularly when it is is self-serving. As I frequently ask myself when reading this novel, Do I do that? (I'm sure I do.) And: How do we prevent ourselves from falling into such foolishness?

Ch. 4

It's interesting to consider how my thinking about Dorothea has evolved over the years. I think I've always held her in high regard, but reading these opening chapters now I keep seeing her fallibilities. In this chapter, she repeatedly chides Celia, even accusing her of having "petty thoughts." She strikes me at this moment as immature, childish, churlish.

Her uncle returns from a visit to Lowick (home to Casaubon) and he discusses with Dorothea the prospects of these two men, Chettam and Casaubon; clearly he prefers the former, though he is careful to grant Dorothea the authority to make her own choice. He is confused by her lack of enthusiasm for Chettam; along the way, he delivers a handful of revealing lines (amid his general meandering and repetitive way), like this one:

The fact is, I never loved any one enough to put myself into a noose for them. It is a noose, you know. Temper, now. There is temper. And a husband likes to be master.

Dorothea claims to know all this, to be prepared for "trials." A question for the reader at this stage: Do you think she is?

Ch. 5

Maybe my mind is in sloppy state this winter, but I keep finding humor in scenes that never amused me before. For example: Casaubon's letter to Dorothea is so abstruse (at least to me) that it borders on the ridiculous. I assume this is intentional on Eliot's part. In any case, what matters about his letter (don't struggle to disentangle his prose) is more what he doesn't say than what he does. On this point, note the disconnect between what he has / hasn't said and how Dorothea responds in her own letter. 

Also in this chapter, Dorothea and Celia talk about Casaubon; it doesn't go well. My own take on these two young women continues to shape-shift. For a time, I've found myself on Celia's side—finding her sensible, reasonable, and generally more perceptive than her sister. Now, though, she reveals a less admirable side of herself: petty, shallow, almost caustic in her revulsion to Casaubon. 

What I remember always having felt in Chapters 3 - 5 (and feeling again today) is an inner voice screaming, "Don't do it, Dorothea!"

You?

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Practical notes for first-time readers: Mr. Brooke, uncle and guardian of Dorothea and Celia, is a minor character in the novel; he provides comic relief in the form of his rambling, frequently incoherent speech-making, but he's not particularly important. Which is not to say he's not interesting, or that Eliot didn't put care into his rendering. Without giving too much away (because Mr. Brooke does shift roles slightly later in the novel), I find him interesting for his confused nostalgia and his efforts to be both agreeable and contrarian. One element of his character to pay attention to: His role as guardian. To what degree should he guide or control the choices available to his young-ish and inexperienced nieces?