George Meredith: A Study

In Short

This book functions as both a literary appreciation and a guide to the novels of George Meredith, published when the author was still a polarizing figure in late-Victorian letters. By analyzing individual works—from the tragic, system-bound Richard Feverel to the luminous, witty The Egoist—the text argues that Meredith’s genius lay in his poetic intensity, his sharp democratic skepticism toward the upper classes, and his profound, unconventional insight into the psychological lives of women. It remains a vital document for understanding how a sophisticated, "difficult" writer finally gained his audience.

The Story

The narrative arc of this study follows the trajectory of a writer who is a "head and a half above the tallest of his fellows." It begins with the initial, public indifference toward Meredith’s early work, noting that despite the 1859 publication of Richard Feverel, the British reading public remained largely unmoved, leaving the author to labor in an "unkind solitude." The study chronicles the slow, uphill struggle of this reputation, detailing the period when Meredith was ignored by mainstream critics—a silence broken only by the fierce, protective admiration of peers like Swinburne.

As the study progresses, the focus shifts to the maturation of Meredith’s craft. It charts the emergence of his unique style, which the author describes as a "mixture of weight and delicacy," characterized by a "finish to a hair’s breadth." The exploration moves through the artistic milestones of his career: the pastoral tragedy of Rhoda Fleming, the picaresque energy of Harry Richmond, and the political and social tensions of Beauchamp’s Career. Each summary emphasizes the author’s refusal to "pander to his readers’ tastes," noting how he persistently balanced reason against impulse and failed systems against human disaster.

The middle section of the argument examines the "breathless originality" of his characterizations. Meredith is presented as a writer who avoids the "beaten track of generalities," choosing instead to explore the specific, often painful, complexities of his protagonists. The study highlights the tragic depth of his female characters—such as the "broken flower" Dahlia Fleming or the brilliant, impulsive Diana Warwick—and contrasts their humanity with the cold, "decorative and polished" vanity of his male egoists, such as Sir Willoughby Patterne.

The study culminates in a discussion of Meredith’s later, more polished masterpieces. It frames The Egoist as a "flawless masterpiece" and a scientific achievement in character study, while acknowledging the "garish" and theatrical intensity of The Tragic Comedians. The arc concludes with a broader defense of Meredith’s philosophy, particularly his belief that the progress of civilization is judged by the state of women. The book does not attempt to resolve the contradictions in Meredith’s work—his tendency toward caricature, his "poetical excesses," or his "Teutonic" lack of measure—but instead presents these as the inevitable byproducts of a mind too large for the rigid conventions of his age.

How It Unfolds

The struggle for recognition The study opens with the observation that Meredith’s early, brilliant works were met with a "fatal dulness" from the public, leaving him in a position of intellectual isolation. It asks whether this neglect was a sign of the age's denseness or simply a failure of the audience to meet the level of his genius.

The anatomy of the novels Each major novel is analyzed as a distinct experiment in form and theme, ranging from the Shakespearean tragedy of Richard Feverel to the exuberant, lyrical adventures found in Harry Richmond. The text provides a brief sketch of each plot, highlighting key scenes and the "breathless originality" of even the minor characters.

The champion of women The argument pivots to evaluate Meredith’s unique, often radical, understanding of the female experience. It asserts that he rejects the "nauseous travesties" of women found in other contemporary fiction, insisting instead that a woman's motive life must reside in her head, equal to that of any man.

The final assessment The concluding chapters consolidate the view of Meredith as a "mighty swordsman" of truth. The study leaves the reader with the impression of an author who, while occasionally sinning against "every known canon of art," possesses a lambent flame of genius that burns through even his most complex, "scientific" critiques of the human heart.

The People

The characters are analyzed not just as players in a drama, but as vessels for Meredith’s philosophical inquiries. Richard Feverel stands as the quintessential tragic hero, a youth of "burning hope" whose natural growth is strangled by his father’s rigid, systematic education. Sir Austin Feverel, the father, serves as the warning of the "system-creator," a man who tries to command nature and whose failure leaves his son broken. Dahlia Fleming represents the victims of societal cruelty, a "sweet and pure" woman whose life is ruined by the "hard and most cruel" judgments of men. Evan Harrington struggles with the conflict between his inherent nobility and the social stigma of his birth into a family of tailors, while Rose Jocelyn embodies the "brave and loyal" girl who must navigate these social briars. Sir Willoughby Patterne is the target of the author’s most "crushing exposure," representing the "decorative and polished snob" who views the world only through his own ego. Finally, Diana Warwick is presented as Meredith’s most beloved creation, a woman whose impulsive, sometimes flawed actions are painted with "worshipping knees," marking her as a character who defies the simplistic moralizing of her time.

In Its Own Voice

"There are compensations, certainly, but these only serve to mitigate the sufferings of intellectual isolation, and, to the artist, can never fill adequately the place of generous and hearty appreciation."

(Reflecting on the author's struggle to find an audience among his own contemporaries.)

"He acknowledges the influence of woman in no false, Frenchified way, but accepts it as the strong ordeal and revelation of man."

(Commenting on the central role of gender in the author’s philosophy.)

"‘Women have us back to the conditions of primitive man, or they shoot us higher than the topmost star.... By their state is our civilization judged; and if it is hugely animal still, that is because primitive men abound and will have their pasture.’"

(Concluding the book with a resonant quote from the subject’s work.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this study is a defense of the "new chapter in English literature" that Meredith wrote. It argues that his work constitutes a shift from the superficial, formulaic fiction of the era toward a more rigorous, psychological realism. The underlying question is one of value: how does an artist reconcile his "poetical excesses" and philosophical depth with the demands of a public that prefers traditional, less taxing narratives? The book contends that Meredith’s true subject is the "drawn game between reason and impulse," and that his primary goal is to strip away the "varnish of breeding" to reveal the raw, often uncomfortable truths of human vanity and the "sexual dilemma" of the modern age.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy literary criticism that is deeply passionate and occasionally polemical will find much to admire here. This book does not offer a detached, academic survey; it is a spirited, "Hibernian" defense of a writer who requires work from his reader. Because the study was written in 1891, it captures the raw, contemporary excitement of discovering a voice that was still considered radical and avant-garde.

One should be prepared for the author’s intense, sometimes flowery Victorian prose, which mirrors the complexity of its subject. If you are a fan of George Meredith’s novels, this study provides an invaluable roadmap to the thematic connections between his earlier poetic works and his later "scientific" masterpieces like The Egoist. However, modern readers should be aware that the author is unapologetically partisan; she does not strive for the "classic moderation" that she claims "we poor barbarians" do not quite understand. The book is not an objective biography but an intimate, enthusiastic argument for why Meredith matters. It stays with you because it challenges the reader to look past the "crudities" of any great artist and recognize the "lambent flame of genius" that persists even when the work is difficult, flawed, or misunderstood by its own time.