86 Chapters was enough

Actors - and I used to number myself among them - are taught to leave an audience wanting more, and I've found that maxim a valuable to guide to determining at what hour to exit a party: erring on the early side invariably saves grief to a greater extent than staying would have reaped pleasure.  (I've overstayed enough welcomes to feel confident in this conclusion.)

Middlemarch is a clear example that novelists, also, should take this lesson to heart.  After 86 chapters and 830 pages, Middlemarch could not accused of skimpiness in need of a "Finale" to bulk it up; nonetheless, a "Finale" has been provided, by what motive of George Eliot's (other than graphomania) I cannot guess.

The "Finale" gives rise to virtually the only criticism that can be leveled at Eliot's monumental achievement - namely, it deprives the reader of the satisfaction of imagining the lovers' futures.  Dorothea and Will's marriage is a happy ending . . . until I learn in the "Finale" that she subordinated her life to his career, stayed at home and raised kids.  Fred and Mary's impending life together at Stone Court is a happy ending . . . until the "Finale" reveals the provincial normality - utter boringness - of their lives together.  Tertius Lydgate's freedom from debt is a happy ending for his marriage with Rosamond . . . until the "Finale" kills him off from diphtheria in his middle age, and she marries an older, wealthier man.

Without the "Finale," I could have imagined Lydgate enjoying a scientifically-enriched middle-age when, free from the constraints of earning money, he was able to devote himself to his experiments.  I could have imagined Will deciding to leave politics and apply his management skills to running charitable endeavors that Dorothea dreamed up.  I could have imagined Fred becoming a prosperous businessman and finding an outlet for his "naughty" instincts by traveling - with Mary - around the world in a Victorian-era adventure.

Some deeply negative streak in Eliot animates that "Finale," subjugating the possibilities for the characters' futures to her overarching insistence that provincial society provided no outlet for the intrinsic greatness of her characters.  While I am sympathetic to her perspective - indeed, I think she is probably right that circumstances hamper potential in most cases - she has, as Mr. Brooke is fond of saying, "gone too far" with the "Finale" and should have "pulled up in time."

Leave it - as Gone with the Wind was left, with readers arguing whether Rhett will come back or stay away forever - with the readers wanting more, a desire they'll fulfill in imaginative dialogue with the characters' futures.

(Picture of George Eliot courtesy of BBC)