Oh man. What an odd departure for Eliot. It's especially striking to me since I'm currently in the middle of Middlemarch. I like gothic fantasy, but this was almost impossible to enjoy because I imagined the narrator smelled of sour milk and had runny eyes even as a young man. Ugh. Anyway, he's a sickly, pale clairvoyant who falls for the only woman whose mind he cannot penetrate. Sound familiar? My head hurts.
Librivox, thank you for making it possible for me to get through this kind of story in just a couple hours of cooking and cleaning.