I am currently re-reading Middlemarch. It’s a good twenty years since I last ploughed through it and I’d forgotten one important fact: at the start of the book, when Dorothea Brooke makes the appallingly stupid mistake of marrying Edward Casaubon, thirty years her senior, she is only nineteen.
As has often been stated, the whole point about the bad guy is that he thinks he’s the good guy.
So, here’s the thing: Ruth Warburton and I were MEANT to be together. Our first ever novels – Night School from … Continue reading