I'll bet I'm not the only English professor on the planet who has been asked recently--usually by people who have never read George Eliot--whether Middlemarch is the greatest novel ever written.
I'm not remotely qualified to determine whether Middlemarch is the greatest novel ever written because I haven't read every novel ever written, but since it's summer break and there is literally nothing at stake, I'm going to go ahead and offer my unqualified answer: No.
Now don't go hating on me already. I like Middlemarch; I've read it several times and I'll no doubt read it again; but not only do I not believe it's the greatest novel ever written, but I'm not convinced that it's the greatest novel about an intelligent woman who makes unfortunate choices. I would far rather read, for instance, Portrait of a Lady (Henry James) or Howards End (E.M. Forster) or The House of Mirth (Edith Wharton).
Then again, it all depends on what you mean by greatest. There's a difference between an engaging novel and an important novel, a diverting novel and an influential novel. The categories may overlap, but still, there's a reason that many of the people asking me the question haven't ever bothered to read Middlemarch. It starts slowly, for one thing; the opening chapter doesn't provide a sufficient taste of the pleasures that await.
The question arises, of course, in response to the list of 100 greatest novels in English published last month in The Guardian (click here for full list), which surveyed 170 authors, critics, and academics to come up with the definitive list, which aroused so much discussion that they then assembled a second list of 100 best novels drawn from the votes of more than 3000 readers (click here for the readers' choices).
There is some overlap; Middlemarch appears on both lists, but the readers placed it at number 2, after Lord of the Rings. I'm pleased to see that the readers' choice list elevates Joseph Heller's Catch-22 from number 99 to number 8, just one indication that the readers placed a higher premium on comedy than did the academics.
I had a feeling that I'd read most of the books on both lists, but then I counted. On the academics' list, I started at number 1 and didn't hit a novel I hadn't read until number 42: Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, which I tried to read--twice!--but gave up halfway through because I couldn't stand to spend another moment amongst all those whiny people. Reading a book halfway through twice is not at all equivalent to reading it all the way through once. It's the only book that appeared on my PhD comprehensive exam reading list that I never actually finished, not that it's ever made any noticeable difference in my career or life.
After I stumbled on number 42, I found another 16 books on the list that I either haven't read or else have retained no memory of reading. The Leopard? The Golden Notebook? No idea. I am ashamed to admit that I've never read The Master and the Margarita, but there's still time. I'm not sure there's time to slog through more than 1000 pages of The Man Without Qualities, but then again I've read In Search of Lost Time repeatedly without complaining about the length, so no excuses!
On the readers' choice list, I start running into trouble around number 30. I've never read Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible, or if I did, I don't remember. I've never, believe it or not, read Watership Down, or Lonesome Dove, or The Outsider. All told, I've overlooked something like 23 titles on the readers' choice list, but I had trouble keeping count because I kept getting distracted by the titles on the list that I regret having read.
Hemingway? He wrote some nearly perfect short stories--"The Snows of Kilimanjaro," "Indian Camp," and others--but his novels leave me cold.
Jack Kerouac? The prose in On the Road might carry me away, but the casual acceptance of domestic abuse in Big Sur left a bad taste in my mouth that tainted my every encounter with Kerouac.
Dune? Please, no. Impressive world-building, depressing sentence-building.
Despite my disdain, these novels got enough votes from readers to put them on the list of the 100 greatest. But again: what do we mean by greatest? The voters, whoever they are, may believe they're relying on objective criteria, but we're all human. By any rational measure, Middlemarch is an important, influential, even ground-breaking novel--but I'd rather read Edith Wharton.
The House of Mirth doesn't even appear on the critics' list, but Wharton's Age of Innocence is number 38. Wharton appears nowhere on the readers' choice list. No accounting for taste!
I wouldn't put Wharton at number 1, but I don't know which novel belongs there. Every title I choose makes me feel guilty about all the ones I'm neglecting.
On the original list, you can click on a link to see the list of authors, critics, and academics and how they voted, which is pretty interesting. Both Salman Rushdie and Ian McEwan rank Ulysses as the greatest novel ever written, but I could happily put Midnight's Children or Atonement in that spot if it didn't require shoving Pride and Prejudice and Moby Dick out of the way. Michael Chabon put Moby Dick first and so did Stephen King, who warmed my heart by including McTeague at number 10. Jennifer Egan put Middlemarch first but included The House of Mirth at number 10.
The more lists I read, the more novels I want to put in first place, or else make up different lists for different types of greatness. One of these days we can make a list of the top 100 lists of top 100 greatest novels. It might be the size of a library's card catalog, but what a wonderful invitation into the joys of reading.
Readers: what's on your list--and what isn't?
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