On the radio, the BBC has been running a dramatisation of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. It is a long time since I last read the novel. Putting a story of everyday provincial life on the radio, with different actors playing each character, inevitably reminds one just a little of a 19th-century version of The Archers Omnibus. Hey ho.
And there is something else.
As the narrative descends from the sunny uplands of Jane Austen to the dreary back alleys of Zola, so George Eliot’s subtle wit is replaced by the whining drone of Islington feminists. I’ve no reason to believe that the actresses turned up wearing dungarees and Harriet Harperson style T-shirts saying “THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE”. No reason, that is, except that that is what it for all the world sounds like.
Hey ho. The feminists among my friends should love it.
And I quite enjoyed it to, notwithstanding.