@gailcalled, yes, I did. My last prior Scott reading was Ivanhoe in ninth grade. My, what a dull plod that was. Recently I watched a BBC miniseries of Ivanhoe and thought, “How could we as kids not have loved all that action, intrigue, interlocking romantic triangles, humor, battle scenes, loyalty, betrayal, suspense, indomitable maidens, last-second rescues, and all the rest?” Well, of course you can kill anything by requiring chapter summaries and posing pop quizzes. So I concluded that our educations had given us an unjust view of Scott (exactly as they did of Hawthorne, Dickens, Eliot, Thackeray, and other worthies).
So I got The Heart of Midlothian out of the library because when I was in Edinburgh I took a nice picture of the Heart of Midlothian set in the brickwork of the High Street where the old prison called by that name used to stand. It seemed as good a basis for choice as any.
And I really loved the book, all 562 small-print pages, long sentences, thick dialect, exhaustive descriptions, cardboard characters, obscure religious controversies, author intrusion, and all.
I was defeated by Augie March within just a few chapters. @6rant6, if you go to Amazon and look inside the Penguin paperback version, the same one I bought, you won’t have to go far before you meet some gasping examples. Look on page 3, middle, sentence beginning “The daughters-in-law”; or page 6, paragraph beginning “The rest of us.” These I just happened to find at a glance; there are far more impressive instances ahead.
But it wasn’t the long sentences per se that killed me. Rather, it was the heaped-up density of go-nowhere minutiae that seemed to obscure the faintest promise of a plot. It was sort of like looking out across a vast crowd and thinking, “My gosh, before I leave here I have to shake hands with all of them…”
So I sneaked out the back.