Abstract

While it may be the modern reader’s habit to skip or skim the epigraphs, their use in George Eliot’s novels generated a substantial amount of notice. By the time Eliot published Daniel Deronda, her epigraphs had grown substantially in number and length, and most readers found them tiresome. Critics cited the novel’s first epigraph, which relates to the arbitrary nature of all beginnings, as a prime example of Eliot’s sententiousness. Formally, epigraphs illuminate the difficulty of deciding where a narrative actually begins. They raise questions about the extent to which beginnings establish the parameters of what will follow, and whether endings determine how we understand beginnings. This article contests the assertion that Eliot’s epigraphs are inordinately long, or long-winded. It first considers the influence of Laurence Sterne on Eliot’s novel to argue for the importance of digression to the novel’s form. It then examines Eliot’s use of maxims, quoted as epigraphs, and her mimesis of them, in order to demonstrate the moral implications of the form. Finally, it uses Barthes to trace the maxim to the character most associated with it: Grandcourt. His linguistic concision suggests that, in this novel, digression and concision are loaded with their own moral valences.

Highlights

  • The mysterious sentences, snatched from an unknown context, — like strange horns of beasts, and leaves of unknown plants, brought from some far-off region — gave boundless scope to her imagination, and were all the more fascinating because they were in a peculiar tongue of their own, which she could learn to interpret

  • Reading epigraphs is figured both as an experience and as an experiment

  • The phrases ‘strange horns of beasts’ and ‘leaves of unknown plants’ evoke different textures, from smooth bone to rough leaf. This suggests that linguistic problems should be solved through intuition, even haptic perception: the reader is invited to feel her way among the mysterious sentences in order to decipher them

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Summary

Eirian Yem

The mysterious sentences, snatched from an unknown context, — like strange horns of beasts, and leaves of unknown plants, brought from some far-off region — gave boundless scope to her imagination, and were all the more fascinating because they were in a peculiar tongue of their own, which she could learn to interpret. (I like to follow great models).’[4] The difficulty of beginning is given lengthy and serious treatment in Daniel Deronda’s epigraphs, but Eliot first experienced this challenge when writing Romola She left blank, ruled space for epigraphs at the head of the first nine chapters of the manuscript, and most of these were filled with untranslated Italian and Latin epigraphs. ‘On at least four occasions,’ observes David Carroll, ‘it is possible from the manuscript to witness the novelist coming upon the idea for a motto in the course of writing a chapter’, which confirms their structural importance.[8] While it may be the modern reader’s habit to skip, or skim over epigraphs, their use in Eliot’s novels generated a substantial amount of notice.

George Eliot and Laurence Sterne
In defence of sententiousness
Epigraphs and entomology
Full Text
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