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Like all true Trollopians I carry in my mind a vivid picture of Barsetshire and its people. For me it is a landscape of rolling countryside with ancient churches and great houses, with Barchester a compact cathedral city of great elegance, as if Peterborough cathedral had been miraculously transported ten miles into Stamford.
There are times when it feels like Anthony Trollope’s Irish novels might just as well have fallen overboard on the journey across the Irish Sea. Their disappearance would, for the better part of a century, have largely gone unnoticed and unlamented by readers and critics alike. Although interest has grown in recent times, the reality is that his Irish novels have never achieved more than qualified success, and occupy only a marginal place in his overall oeuvre.
Nathaniel Hawthorne famously commented that Anthony Trollope’s quintessentially English novels were written on the "strength of beef and through the inspiration of ale … these books are just as English as a beef-steak.” In like mode, Irish critic Stephen Gwynn said Trollope was “as English as John Bull.” But unlike the other great Victorian English writers, Trollope became Trollope by leaving his homeland and making his life across the water in Ireland, and achieving there his first successes there in both his post office and his literary careers.
Finding Trollope is one of the great pleasures of life. Unlike other Victorian authors Trollope is little studied in schools, so every reader comes to him by a different path. It might be a recommendation by a friend, listening to a radio adaptation or watching a TV production that leads to the discovery of Trollope and his world. I stumbled across Trollope in the early 1990s. I had recently graduated, moved to London and found myself working in a bookshop.
Next week, 24 April 2015 marks the bicentenary of one of Britain’s great novelists, Anthony Trollope. He was an extremely prolific writer, producing 47 novels, as well as a great deal of non-fiction, in his lifetime. He also worked for the Post Office, and introduced the pillar box to Britain. So, do you think you know Anthony Trollope? Test your knowledge with our Trollope bicentenary quiz.
Anthony Trollope. Safe, stodgy, hyper-Victorian Anthony Trollope, the comfort reading of the middle classes. As his rival and admirer Henry James said after his death 'With Trollope we were always safe’. But was he really the most respectable of Victorian novelists?
One of the more affordable forms in which it is possible to acquire the manuscript signatures of Victorian writers today is the used cheque. Quantities of these minor, sometimes biographically revealing, documents left the archives of banks and went onto the open market in the 1990s; they now circulate through the catalogues of manuscript dealers and in the online pages of eBay, some of them leaving traceable e-narratives of their patterns of ownership.
Ayala's Angel. Anthony Trollope. 1881. 631 pages. [Source: Bought]
I love, love, love reading Anthony Trollope. So is anyone surprised that I loved Ayala's Angel?! Probably not. It's almost a given with me. Still Ayala's Angel came highly recommended to me by my best friend, so that's one of the reasons why it made my 2015 TBR Pile challenge list. This one will also count towards my Victorian Bingo challenge and my Victorian Perpetual Bingo challenge. I'll talk more about the Victorian Bingo challenge later.
Ayala and Lucy are the young heroines of Ayala's Angels. These two are sisters; they are orphans. One aunt and uncle are wealthy. (Sir Thomas Tringle, Lady Tringle). They've agreed to take one of the sisters, Ayala. She is selected by Lady Tringle because she is oh-so-remarkable and oh-so-beautiful. The other aunt and uncle are poor. (Reginald and Margaret Dosett). They've agreed to take the other sister, Lucy. (Lady Tringle insisted on having first choice. In all honesty, Mr. and Mrs. Dosett don't care which girl they get, they don't have a favorite niece.) Readers spend time with both sisters during this adjustment period. I believe readers first spend time with Lucy. Lucy struggles with her new home. She wasn't a big spender or socialite before, but, her new life leaves something to be desired. It's all work, work, work, talk about work and duty. Next readers spend time with Ayala. For better or worse, it's all: Oh, poor me, boys keep falling in love with me! Men falling in love with me at first sight is too big a burden for me to bear! I'm oh-so-miserable! Pity me, please!!! I exaggerate slightly. Still Lady Tringle notices that Ayala is something of a problem. How will she marry off her own daughters with Ayala around?! (Augusta and Gertrude definitely notice that Ayala gets all the attention. Augusta and Gertrude are lesser heroines of the novel. They have their own stories to a certain degree. Particularly Gertrude). Something must be done!!! Especially when it comes to her notice that her very own son is IN LOVE with Ayala. This simply won't do at all. Ayala must go. Let the girls switch places again. How will Ayala cope with poverty and boredom? How will Lucy cope with society and expectations?
Ayala's Angel is all about courtship and marriage. Young women and men are expected to marry well, to pair off with the approval of all concerned. Love may have little to do with it. Money may have a lot to do with it. Ayala is firm--if she ever marries, it will be the man of her choosing. Or, perhaps, the ANGEL of her choosing. For no mere mortal will do for Ayala. Her fantasy is over-the-top. She knows exactly WHAT she's looking for in a husband.
I've shared a bit about the women in the novel. But what about the men?!
Tom Tringle is in love with his cousin Ayala. He is madly in love with her, persistently making declarations and offers. He wants EVERYONE to know how SERIOUS he is about Ayala, how she is the ONLY ONE he could ever love, ever.
Captain Benjamin Batsby falls in love with Ayala quite quickly. But, unlike dear Tom, he takes Ayala at her word after several rejections. Ayala may be beautiful enough, he supposes, but the only girl in the world she is not!
Colonel Jonathan Stubbs is in love with Ayala. In his favor, perhaps, is the fact that Ayala can stand being in the same room with him. She isn't repulsed by the idea of talking with him, walking with him. But he's not an "angel" so he won't have an easy job getting Ayala to say yes.
Frank Houston is one of the few men in the novel NOT in love with Ayala! One of the reasons might just be that he is looking to marry a WEALTHY woman, and Ayala is decidedly not. He has a plan to marry Gertrude if and only if he can persuade Sir Thomas Tringle into "blessing" the marriage. Another good reason that he doesn't fall for Ayala is that he's already in love with his cousin, Imogene Docimer.
Isadore Hamel is another young man NOT in love with Ayala. He's Lucy's forever-love. It's easy to respect him because he isn't silly or mercenary.
Septimus Traffick. I couldn't help liking him a little bit. It probably helped that I kept imagining him as being played by Ben Miles! Sir Thomas Tringle and Lady Tringle approve of him for their daughter, Augusta, primarily because he's in parliament. In truth, he's not got money of his own. And he seems to plan to live off the Tringles forever. Not just living off the money he's given his daughter, but, to live with the family.
So most of the book is focused on who will end up together...
I loved this one. I didn't necessarily "love" each and every character. But I enjoyed spending time with these characters. I really did love a few of the characters. (I was cheering for Colonel Stubbs!!!)
So where do I count Ayala's Angel for the Victorian Bingo?!
The Warden. Anthony Trollope. 1855. Oxford World's Classics. 294 pages. [Source: Bought]
I make no secret of the fact that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Anthony Trollope. The Warden is the first in his Barchester series. And, I believe, it was the first Trollope novel I read. I first read and reviewed it in the spring of 2009.
I loved rereading it. I loved going back and visiting with these characters particularly the character of Mr. Harding. As much as I enjoy the other characters, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Mr. Harding. He's such a dear old soul.
Reasons you should read The Warden
As one of Trollope's shorter novels, it's a great introduction to his work.
It is the first book in a series, his Barchester series, which is FANTASTIC.
It is all about the characters and relationships between characters. Sure, there's a plot, but, it's not an action-packed plot. It's all about ethics. Is it right or is it wrong for Mr. Harding to receive the salary he does?!
The writing is delightful.
What is it about?!
It's about one man, Mr. Harding, and his family: two daughters, one married, the other quite single. It's also about Harding's neighborhood and circle of friends. It's about the necessity of having a good reputation and a clean conscience.
Eleanor is the apple of her daddy's eye. Susan is married to an Archdeacon (Grantley). Because of his eldest daughters good fortune in marriage, Mr. Harding, has been named warden of Hiram's Hospital (alms house). The 'enemy' of Mr. Harding (and the suitor of Eleanor) is a young man named John Bold. When we are first introduced to these characters, we are learning that Bold is encouraging a law suit against Mr. Harding. He feels that Mr. Harding is in violation of the will. (Way, way, way back when (several centuries past), a man left his (quite wealthy) estate to the church. The church followed the will for the most part, but as times changed, they changed the way they carried it out. They were following it through in spirit in a way: still seeking to take care of twelve poor men (bedesman) but over time the salary of the warden increased.) Bold has stirred up the twelve bedesmen into signing a petition demanding justice, demanding more money, demanding 'fairer' distribution of funds.
The book presents this case through multiple perspectives: through two Grantleys (father and son), a few lawyers, Mr. Harding and Mr. Bold, of course, and through a handful of the twelve men involved that would profit from the change. There is one man whose voice seems louder than all the rest. And that voice comes from the newspaper, the Jupiter, one journalist writes harsh, condemning words directed at Mr. Harding--he assumes much having never met Harding personally. These words weigh heavy on the heart and soul of Mr. Harding. (And they don't sit easy on Mr. Bold either.)
Can Mr. Harding get his reputation back? What is the right thing to do? Is he in violation of the will? Is the church? What is his moral responsibility in caring for these twelve poor-and-retired men? What is his responsibility to the community?
Rachel Ray by Anthony Trollope. 1863. 403 pages. [Source: Bought]
There are women who cannot grow alone as standard trees;—for whom the support and warmth of some wall, some paling, some post, is absolutely necessary;—who, in their growth, will bend and incline themselves towards some such prop for their life, creeping with their tendrils along the ground till they reach it when the circumstances of life have brought no such prop within their natural and immediate reach. Of most women it may be said that it would be well for them that they should marry,—as indeed of most men also, seeing that man and wife will each lend the other strength, and yet in lending lose none; but to the women of whom I now speak some kind of marriage is quite indispensable, and by them some kind of marriage is always made, though the union is often unnatural. A woman in want of a wall against which to nail herself will swear conjugal obedience sometimes to her cook, sometimes to her grandchild, sometimes to her lawyer. Any standing corner, post, or stump, strong enough to bear her weight will suffice; but to some standing corner, post, or stump, she will find her way and attach herself, and there will she be married.
Mrs. Ray is one of the "weak" women described in the opening chapter. She is a widow with two grown (or nearly grown) daughters. Mrs. Prime (Dorothea) is a widow herself. She tends to take her opinions--in this case, religious or moral opinions--to the extreme. She is severe and critical. (Honestly, I hated her.) Miss Rachel Ray is the other daughter. She is the joy of her mother's life, really. While the daughter is off doing her duty, Rachel and her mother enjoy life's little luxuries and actually relax a bit with each other, relieved to have Dorothea out of the way even if it's just for an hour or two. When the novel opens, Mrs. Prime is on the attack--or close to it. She has ammunition to use against her sister. Her sister was SEEN talking to a man, talking to a man--a stranger--in the churchyard, and at sunset. Mrs. Prime doesn't need to be persuaded to think the worst, to think that Rachel is now somehow a fallen woman. Mrs. Ray (the mother), however, is both weak and loyal. Being weak, she will listen to Mrs. Prime going on and on about how wrong and scandalous it is for Rachel to walk and talk with a young man. Being loyal, she will believe the best about Rachel and hold out hope that there is a way to reconcile things nicely for everyone. Mrs. Ray will talk to Rachel, and, more importantly she will listen to Rachel. (Mrs. Prime LOVES to talk, but rarely listens or takes the time to understand and consider what the other person is saying.)
So who is the young man? Well, he's Luke Rowan. He's due to inherit a brewery, or at least half a brewery. At the time the novel opens, he's staying with the Tappits. Rachel is acquainted with the daughters of the family. Through these young women, she's introduced to Luke. Good news: Luke really takes a liking to Rachel. Bad news: The Tappits see Luke's interest in Rachel, and turn on them both. Plus, Mrs. Tappit and Mr. Tappit both are slanderers in their own way. As silly as it may seem, soon the whole community is forced to take sides and have an opinion about Luke Rowan. It's also election time. It gets plenty messy. To sum it up: Luke proposes to Rachel. She says yes. He leaves town after a big falling out with the Tappits. Everyone takes sides. Everyone starts talking. Will he come back? Is he gone for good? Would it be a good thing for everyone if that was the last of him? Is he worthy of Rachel? Is she worthy of him? Was their attachment sincere? Should she consider herself actually engaged? Or was he using her?
Further complicating matters, Mrs. Ray insists that Rachel should NOT correspond with him, and that she should tell him that she releases him from their engagement. Why should Rachel end things because of hearsay? Mr. Comfort heard something from somebody who heard it from somebody else, etc. And Mr. Comfort passes along "good advice" to Mrs. Ray. What's an obedient girl to do?!
Luke wants two things from life: to brew GOOD beer, to make a success of his brewery, and to marry Rachel and live happily ever after...
I liked Rachel Ray. I did. I can't say that I like or respect all the characters. Mrs. Prime is very annoying, for example!!! I hated how judgmental she was, how cruel and selfish. Not to mention proud. I thought it was sad that Mrs. Ray was so dependent on others, how she relied so much upon Mrs. Prime and Mr. Comfort. She loved, loved, loved Rachel. But she was always more concerned with what do other people say is right?! I loved Mrs. Butler Cornbury (Patty Comfort). Her husband was in the election for parliament. She escorts Rachel to a party/dance. She "sides" with Luke and Rachel. She was just a great "minor" character. I almost wish we'd had more of her and less of Mrs. Prime and Mr. Prong.
Is Rachel Ray my new favorite by Anthony Trollope? Probably not. I think Belton Estate is a better fit for me. But I am glad I read it!!! I rarely--if ever--regret spending time with Trollope!!!
Anthony Trollope’s autobiography is a classic study of the working life of one of English literature’s best-known writers. His strong opinions on working practices, contracts, deadlines, and earnings have divided opinion ever since. Below is an extract from Trollope’s An Autobiography and Other Writings, edited by Nicholas Shrimpton, in which he shares his views on literary criticism and the critics themselves.
Literary criticism in the present day has become a profession,—but it has ceased to be an art. Its object is no longer that of proving that certain literary work is good and other literary work is bad, in accordance with rules which the critic is able to define. English criticism at present rarely even pretends to go so far as this. It attempts, in the first place, to tell the public whether a book be or be not worth public attention; and, in the second place, so to describe the purport of the work as to enable those who have not time or inclination for reading it to feel that by a short cut they can become acquainted with its contents. Both these objects, if fairly well carried out, are salutary. Though the critic may not be a profound judge himself; though not unfrequently he be a young man making his first literary attempts, with tastes and judgment still unfixed, yet he probably has a conscience in the matter, and would not have been selected for that work had he not shown some aptitude for it. Though he may be not the best possible guide to the undiscerning, he will be better than no guide at all. Real substantial criticism must, from its nature, be costly, and that which the public wants should at any rate be cheap. Advice is given to many thousands, which, though it may not be the best advice possible, is better than no advice at all. Then that description of the work criticised, that compressing of the much into very little,—which is the work of many modern critics or reviewers,—does enable many to know something of what is being said, who without it would know nothing.
I do not think it is incumbent on me at present to name periodicals in which this work is well done, and to make complaints of others by which it is scamped. I should give offence, and might probably be unjust. But I think I may certainly say that as some of these periodicals are certainly entitled to great praise for the manner in which the work is done generally, so are others open to very severe censure,—and that the praise and that the censure are chiefly due on behalf of one virtue and its opposite vice. It is not critical ability that we have a right to demand, or its absence that we are bound to deplore. Critical ability for the price we pay is not attainable. It is a faculty not peculiar to Englishmen, and when displayed is very frequently not appreciated. But that critics should be honest we have a right to demand, and critical dishonesty we are bound to expose. If the writer will tell us what he thinks, though his thoughts be absolutely vague and useless, we can forgive him; but when he tells us what he does not think, actuated either by friendship or by animosity, then there should be no pardon for him. This is the sin in modern English criticism of which there is most reason to complain.
Cartoon portrait of Anthony Trollope by Frederick Waddy. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons
It is a lamentable fact that men and women lend themselves to this practice who are neither vindictive nor ordinarily dishonest. It has become ‘the custom of the trade,’ under the veil of which excuse so many tradesmen justify their malpractices! When a struggling author learns that so much has been done for A by the Barsetshire Gazette, so much for B by the Dillsborough Herald, and, again, so much for C by that powerful metropolitan organ the Evening Pulpit, and is told also that A and B and C have been favoured through personal interest, he also goes to work among the editors, or the editors’ wives,—or perhaps, if he cannot reach their wives, with their wives’ first or second cousins. When once the feeling has come upon an editor or a critic that he may allow himself to be influenced by other considerations than the duty he owes to the public, all sense of critical or of editorial honesty falls from him at once. Facilis descensus Averni. In a very short time that editorial honesty becomes ridiculous to himself. It is for other purpose that he wields the power; and when he is told what is his duty, and what should be his conduct, the preacher of such doctrine seems to him to be quixotic. ‘Where have you lived, my friend, for the last twenty years,’ he says in spirit, if not in word, ‘that you come out now with such stuff as old-fashioned as this?’ And thus dishonesty begets dishonesty, till dishonesty seems to be beautiful. How nice to be good-natured! How glorious to assist struggling young authors, especially if the young author be also a pretty woman! How gracious to oblige a friend! Then the motive, though still pleasing, departs further from the border of what is good. In what way can the critic better repay the hospitality of his wealthy literary friend than by good-natured criticism,—or more certainly ensure for himself a continuation of hospitable favours?
Some years since a critic of the day, a gentleman well known then in literary circles, showed me the manuscript of a book recently published,— the work of a popular author. It was handsomely bound, and was a valuable and desirable possession. It had just been given to him by the author as an acknowledgment for a laudatory review in one of the leading journals of the day. As I was expressly asked whether I did not regard such a token as a sign of grace both in the giver and in the receiver, I said that I thought it should neither have been given nor have been taken. My theory was repudiated with scorn, and I was told that I was strait-laced, visionary, and impracticable! In all that the damage did not lie in the fact of that one present, but in the feeling on the part of the critic that his office was not debased by the acceptance of presents from those whom he criticised. This man was a professional critic, bound by his contract with certain employers to review such books as were sent to him. How could he, when he had received a valuable present for praising one book, censure another by the same author?
While I write this I well know that what I say, if it be ever noticed at all, will be taken as a straining at gnats, as a pretence of honesty, or at any rate as an exaggeration of scruples. I have said the same thing before, and have been ridiculed for saying it. But none the less am I sure that English literature generally is suffering much under this evil. All those who are struggling for success have forced upon them the idea that their strongest efforts should be made in touting for praise. Those who are not familiar with the lives of authors will hardly believe how low will be the forms which their struggles will take:—how little presents will be sent to men who write little articles; how much flattery may be expended even on the keeper of a circulating library; with what profuse and distant genuflexions approaches are made to the outside railing of the temple which contains within it the great thunderer of some metropolitan periodical publication! The evil here is not only that done to the public when interested counsel is given to them, but extends to the debasement of those who have at any rate considered themselves fit to provide literature for the public.
Is He Popenjoy? Anthony Trollope. 1878/1993. Penguin. 632 pages. [Source: Bought]
Like so many of Anthony Trollope's novels, Is He Popenjoy? is a novel essentially about marriage and relationships. Just because it's about marriage and relationships doesn't mean it is about love and romance and happily ever after.
Lord George and Mary Germain are newly married. Mary Lovelace was not exactly his first choice for a bride. (His first choice was in fact a woman named Adelaide. She too is recently married. She is Mrs. Houghton now.) The two are in the getting-to-know each other stage. Yes, they are married. But they weren't madly in love with each other before they married. Only time will tell if they will fall in love with each other afterwards. She is thoughtfully examining herself for signs of love, and she's looking closely at her husband as well. Do I love him yet? How about now?
The couple lives with his family, with his mother, with two of his older sisters. George is content with the arrangement. After all, most of the adjustment falls to Mary as it now stands. Mary is the one who has to come into a house with three older, opinionated, slightly critical women. Mary is the one under examination, under trial, not George.
But. One of the conditions for marrying Mary was arranged by her father. George must be willing to get a house in London and they must reside there several months each year. This puts George very much out of his comfort zone. It thrills Mary, of course, as her father knew it would. In London, Mary has the freedom to relax and be herself.
Complications. Mary is introduced to Adelaide Houghton's cousin, Jack de Baron. Adelaide is hoping that Jack will flirt with Mary. That Mary will flirt right back. Mary and Jack do become friends, good friends. But it is friendship, nothing more, nothing less. Adelaide. What can I really say about her?! She infuriated me. She throws herself at Lord George time and time and time and time again. She is desperately in love with him now and not a bit discreet about it. She must tell him explicitly how much she NEEDS him and how he was always, always the one she wanted most of all. It's a pitiful sight when all is said and done. George. Well. George listens again and again and again and again. He's always open to hearing her declarations. Even if he's embarrassed and ashamed afterwards. As he walks away from and her and heads back to his wife, he's left feeling icky. Yet. For some reason, he sees it as his job as a gentlemen to remain friends with Mrs. Houghton, that he is being kind when he visits her at her request. He doesn't want to be RUDE to her after all.
More complications. George's family is completely dysfunctional. His older brother is a twisted mess. He's got no manners, no heart, no conscience. He's spent almost all his adult life living abroad in Italy. After learning of his younger brother's marriage, he writes to let his family know that they have to leave HIS house, and that under no terms are they to remain in the neighborhood or community because he doesn't want to see them. He has decided to come back. He is bringing a wife. A wife and a son, an heir. Never mind that he never communicated to his family or his lawyers that he married or had a son. True, he is the heir and the house is technically his to do with as he sees fit. But who throws their own family out without at least making some assistance towards finding them another place? The family manage to stay in the neighborhood against his wishes. And their brief encounters together are super awkward and humiliating. He wants nothing to do with anybody. Not his family. Not his former friends. Not his neighbors. Not the clergy in the area. NO person is welcome in his house. Mary's father advocates that something is obviously wrong here. Perhaps his brother has some secrets he wants to keep hidden. Perhaps his brother's son is not legitimate? Perhaps his wife is not really his wife?
Taking sides. Relationships get ugly and messy and twisted in this one. Accusations for just about everything abound. Ultimatums are given. All relationships will be tested. Can love bloom between two stressed individuals in these horrible conditions?
I didn't love this one. I didn't hate it, mind you. I didn't even dislike it exactly. It's just that there were more characters that I hated than characters that I liked in this one.
The Belton Estate. Anthony Trollope. 1866/1993. Penguin. 432 pages. [Source: Bought]
To state it simply: it was LOVE. I have loved quite a few Anthony Trollope novels in the past. So it wasn't a big, big surprise that I loved Belton Estate. Perhaps I was surprised by just how MUCH I loved, loved, loved it! It was completely satisfying and practically perfect.
Clara Amedroz is the heroine of The Belton Estate. When her brother dies--he committed suicide--Clara's future becomes uncertain. Her father's property is entailed. She's unable to inherit from her father despite his wishes. There was a slim possibility that an aunt-like figure--a wealthy woman, of course--could leave her something. But she's left out of that will as well.
There are two men who could potentially "save" Clara. Captain Frederic Aylmer is a young (and I'm assuming relatively handsome) relation of Mrs. Winterfield (the aunt-like figure to Clara). He is the one who inherits her estate. She really wanted Clara and Frederic to marry one another. She spoke often about how much she wanted these two to marry. Days after her death, Clara receives a proposal of sorts from Frederic. The other potential "savior" is Will Belton. He is a distant cousin. He is the one who will be inheriting Clara's father's estate. He visits. Unlike Mr. Collins (from Pride and Prejudice) he is charming and likable and within weeks--if not days--Clara and her father LOVE him. He loves, loves, loves Clara. He does. He seeks permission to marry her. Clara's father thinks that would be lovely. What a good son he'd be! He also proposes to Clara.
Which man is right for Clara? Which proposal will she accept? Will she have a happily ever after?
It was oh-so-easy for me to have a favorite! I adore Will Belton. I do. I just LOVE him. I enjoyed the characters in this one so very much. I loved getting to spend so much time with Clara. This is one of Trollope's "simple" novels. Instead of having three or more couples to keep up with, or, three or more stories to follow since not all stories may end up in romance, readers just get treated to one fully developed story. There are more characters, of course. We meet Clara's closest friend and her husband. We meet Frederic's family. His mother is SOMETHING. I thought the characterization was great. I also thought it was a very thoughtful novel.
I would recommend Belton Estate to anyone who loves classic romances or historical romances. It is a GREAT love story.
Quotes:
And what did Will Belton think about his cousin, insured as he was thus supposed to be against the dangers of love? He, also, lay awake for awhile that night, thinking over this new friendship. Or rather he thought of it walking about his room, and looking out at the bright harvest moon;—for with him to be in bed was to be asleep. He sat himself down, and he walked about, and he leaned out of the window into the cool night air; and he made some comparisons in his mind, and certain calculations; and he thought of his present home, and of his sister, and of his future prospects as they were concerned with the old place at which he was now staying; and he portrayed to himself, in his mind, Clara's head and face and figure and feet;—and he resolved that she should be his wife. He had never seen a girl who seemed to suit him so well. Though he had only been with her for a day, he swore to himself that he knew he could love her. Nay;—he swore to himself that he did love her. Then,—when he had quite made up his mind, he tumbled into his bed and was asleep in five minutes.
"But, my dear, why should not he fall in love with you? It would be the most proper, and also the most convenient thing in the world." "I hate talking of falling in love;—as though a woman has nothing else to think of whenever she sees a man." "A woman has nothing else to think of." "I have,—a great deal else. And so has he." "It's quite out of the question on his part, then?" "Quite out of the question. I'm sure he likes me. I can see it in his face, and hear it in his voice, and am so happy that it is so. But it isn't in the way that you mean. Heaven knows that I may want a friend some of these days, and I feel that I may trust to him. His feelings to me will be always those of a brother." "Perhaps so. I have seen that fraternal love before under similar circumstances, and it has always ended in the same way." "I hope it won't end in any way between us." "But the joke is that this suspicion, as you call it,—which makes you so indignant,—is simply a suggestion that a thing should happen which, of all things in the world, would be the best for both of you."
The Duke's Children. Anthony Trollope. 1880. 560 pages. [Source: Book I Bought]
It is always bittersweet for me as a reader to come to the end of a series. There is always a sense of satisfaction, but, also usually some sadness to say goodbye as well. The Palliser series by Anthony Trollope has been interesting. I've loved some books very much, others not quite as much. But overall, it's just been a joy to spend so much of this year with Trollope. Previous titles include Can You Forgive Her?, Phineas Finn, The Eustace Diamonds, Phineas Redux, and The Prime Minister.
The Duke's Children is essentially a novel about relationships, about falling in and out of love, about accepting loved one's choices.
Plantagenet Palliser, current Duke of Omnium, has three grown--or nearly grown--children. His oldest son (Lord Silverbridge) and his oldest daughter (Lady Mary) are proving to be difficult to handle.
Lady Mary has fallen madly in love with a man whom her father judges to be unworthy or unacceptable. His name is Frank Tregear. He happens, of course, to be good, good friends with Lord Silverbridge.
Lord Silverbridge was courting a cousin of Tregear's, a young woman, Lady Mabel Grex. He told his father that he was planning on proposing to her very soon. She was expecting his proposal, and she was going to say yes. But that was before Lord Silverbridge met the American heiress, Isabel Boncassen, of course, she was oh-so-beautiful. After that, it was Mabel, who? Does the reader pity Mabel? Should the reader pity Mabel? I haven't decided WHAT Trollope really intended us all to think...if anything.
Mabel's heart belongs not to Lord Silverbridge, though, she knows they'd be pleasant enough companions and suit together well. No, Mabel's heart belongs to Frank Tregear. She loved him; he loved her. They both knew that being together was insensible. Both being poor and all. But she NEVER expected him to turn around and fall madly in love with someone else so very, very soon. She was so sure that he felt just as strongly about her. How could he stop loving her and start loving someone else so quickly?! And when Lord Silverbridge seems to do the exact same, well, let's just say that Mabel gets VERY VERY angry.
Will the Duke give his approval to his daughter, Lady Mary? Will he try to make her marry someone more suitable? Who has the stronger will? Will he persuade her that Frank is not the one and that, of course, she should marry someone with a title and lots of money? Or will she persuade him that Frank is the ONLY one who could ever make her happy?
Will the Duke give his approval to his son, Lord Silverbridge? Will he cover all his son's debts and forgive him all his foolish mistakes? Will he accept his son's choice of bride? Or will he argue the case for Mabel?
I definitely loved this one. I never find Trollope boring. Sometimes I find him more interesting than other times. But I care about the characters and always want to know how things will turn out.
I liked this one. I definitely liked it. The Prime Minister shares some themes with other Trollope novels which I've enjoyed. Trollope often wrote about marriages: happy marriages AND unhappy marriages. While some of Trollope's heroines have had their happily ever after endings, just as many have not.
The Prime Minister introduces the Wharton family into the series. Readers meet Everett and Emily and their father, Mr. Wharton. Everett is chummy with a Mr. Ferdinand Lopez. Emily's aunt also welcomes Mr. Lopez into her home. Emily and Ferdinand have had some meetings which lead him to hope that he has a good chance of marrying her. When he goes to her father, he is rejected. Mr. Wharton is quite upset at the very idea of it. He can't imagine ever saying yes and blessing that union. Emily is a dutiful daughter, but, stubborn and ultimately persuasive. She will not disobey her father, but, she will not move on and forget Mr. Lopez either. Her heart has decided that he is the one. Eventually Mr. Wharton softens his resolve and allows the marriage to take place. He is still not happy about it. He still would have preferred Arthur Fletcher, a man who has been in love with Emily for half his life. But he accepts that his daughter has a right to make her own decisions and be with the man she loves.
Plantagenet Palliser, now the Duke of Omnium, becomes Prime Minister. He sets up his coalition government. His wife, formerly Lady Glencora--now officially a Duchess, is so enthusiastic that she goes above and beyond her duty. She's determined that her husband will be a SUCCESS and that everyone will LOVE and ADORE him. Her hostessing plans are almost endless. She plans and spends, plans and spends. Her husband who has always been more than a little reserved is not happy exactly. He loves, loves, loves his wife. And he doesn't want to hurt her feelings and offend her. But her tastes aren't his. What she thinks is best for him, isn't what is truly best for him. She may be very social and thrive on society, he doesn't. The more she pushes him to be social, the less civil he becomes about it! One of the young men that the Duchess takes an interest in is Mr. Lopez. She'd like to see him elected to parliament. She says she'll help him win a seat in an election. At the very time she's promising him a seat, her husband is emphatically declaring that he will not support or endorse ANY candidate. He does not want there to be even a slight hint that he has an interest in the district. Such things might have been done in the past, might still be done by others in the present, but to him, the election would be tainted if he got involved and told everyone I want you to vote for him.
By this point, readers know and Emily knows that Mr. Lopez is a great disappointment. He is far from the husband of her dreams. It's not that she loses love and respect for him, though she does, she comes to despise him because of the way he treats her, the way he talks to her, the way he manipulates her, the way he controls her and tells her not only what to do but what to think. She realizes too late that Arthur Fletcher is the better man. One of the first things Mr. Lozez does after the wedding is making the attempt to train her. Part of this training involves manipulating money out of her father. She is NOT happy now that she sees Mr. Lopez only wants money, money, and more money.
In terms of plot:
Will Palliser's coalition government be a success?
Will his wife ever stop throwing parties and spending money?
Will Lozez win his election? Or will his rival Arthur Fletcher win?
Will Emily find a way to escape her horrid husband?
It has been a few years since Phineas Finn left the joys and sorrows of political life to settle down and marry. (For the record, he didn't really have much of a choice in giving up the politics). But now his luck, for better or worse, is changing. His wife has conveniently died, and there is a new opportunity for him to run for a seat in parliament. He's hesitant but as always ambitious. He leaps for it knowing that he could easily regret it.
It has also been a few years since Lady Laura has left her husband, Robert Kennedy, whom she detests. She is still very obsessed with Phineas Finn. She loves him dearly, she makes him--in her own mind--her everything. Phineas Finn, on the other hand, remembers her kindly but rarely. She is NOT his everything: she hasn't been since she turned down his proposal all those years again. He would never--could never--think of her like that again. He respects her, but, he's content to keep his distance. Her confessions to him are improper, in a way, and prove embarrassing to him.
Lady Laura is not the only woman who has given away her heart to Phineas. Madame Max Goesler still loves him though she's at least discreet or more discreet. At the very least, she has a life outside her daydreams; her social life is active and she has many good friends. She's not as isolated, so, her love for Phineas perhaps does not come across as obsession.
While I was indifferent to Madame Max in Phineas Finn, I grew to really like her in Phineas Redux. Other female characters I enjoyed were Lady Chiltern (whom we first met in Phineas Finn as Violet Effingham), Lady Glencora (whom we first met in Can We Forgive Her?), and Lizzie Eustace (whom we first met in Eustace Diamonds). It was interesting to me to see which heroines Trollope allowed a happily ever after. I was so very pleased to see Lord and Lady Chiltern settling down quite happily. It was LOVELY to spend time with both of them. I still adore Lady Glenora and Plantagenet Palliser together. Lizzie reaps what she sows, but is fortunate in many ways!
There was a new romance introduced in Phineas Redux. Two men are in love with Adelaide Palliser: Gerard Maule and Thomas Platter Spooner. Adelaide, of course, has her favorite. But the other is very persistent.
In terms of plot: A MURDER. A politician is murdered. There are two suspects. One suspect is Phineas Finn. He is put on trial for the crime...but the evidence is all circumstantial. Will he be convicted? Will doubt and uncertainty of his guilt prevent him from politics in the future?
James Murdoch will today be hauled over the coals once more, by a House of Commons select committee determined to find out exactly what lay at the bottom of the phone-hacking affair. It has all the best ingredients of a modern political story – a too close relationship of politicians and press; a secret world of networking and influence now dragged, kicking and screaming, into the light; secret payments, cover-ups, and public outrage; and a strong whiff, not to say stench, of corruption in the air. The story of the ex-policeman, now a private investigator, detailed to pursue the lawyers of Milly Dowler in the hope of unearthing something discreditable or scandalous, is only the latest twist in what seems a peculiarly modern spiral of press misbehaviour and political greed.
The Murdoch affair seems the most contemporary of stories, chock-full of hacked mobile phones, high-tech surveillance equipment and secret video-recordings. But although the technology might have changed, it is a world that would have been only too familiar to nineteenth-century author Anthony Trollope. He was as fascinated as we are by what lies behind the public face of politics: the personal passions, rivalries and love affairs, the ins and outs of office, the spectacular rises and equally rapid falls.
It’s been a strange and revealing business, editing and living with Anthony Trollope’s 1873 Palliser novel, Phineas Redux, over the past couple of years. In one way, the Palliser novels seem to come from a world immeasurably distant from our own – aristocrat-run, high-imperial Britain before universal suffrage, motor cars and telephones, let alone the 24-hour news cycle that today’s politicians have learned to live with. But then again, the Palliser world very often seems strangely familiar, and not simply because the parliamentary rituals and furniture seem to have changed so little over the past century and a half. Almost daily throughout the editing process I would turn from thinking about Phineas’s complex love life, or Mr Daubeny’s machinations to stay in office, to the day’s news stories with a wry smile of recognition.
Trollope is sometimes wrongly thought to be a rather soothing or comforting writer, an old pair of slippers or the kind of Trollope a male politician could admit to cuddling up with in perfect safety. If that’s your view, Phineas Redux will make you think again. Not long before, Trollope, who had always wanted a parliamentary career, had stood as a Liberal candidate for Beverley in East Yorkshire. He came bottom in the poll and the corruption and inanity of electioneering disgusted him. The insight and disillusionment that followed fuels the novel, a story about a young politician in the making, who finds himself entangled in a nasty political quarrel that turns even nastier when his hated rival, with whom he has just very publicly quarrelled, is found dead, stabbed in a back alley. It’s not the first bit of violence in the book; a little earlier Phineas himself has been shot at by the enraged and half-mad husband of his intimate (but not too intimate) friend Lady Laura Kennedy (the bullet missed, or the book would have had to end there). By the time we get our hero safely to the end of the book and into the loving arms of the mysterious heiress Madame Max, he and we have also survived a corrupt election, accusations of bribery and electoral malpractice, alleged adultery and a secret investigation into bigamy in Poland. These adventures climax in a legal and political battle fought out over the publication of a private letter in the press, which claims to rev
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By Helen Small
Pathological lying, the philosopher Sissela Bok tells us, ‘is to all the rest of lying what kleptomania is to stealing’. In its most extreme form, the liar (or ‘pseudologue’) ‘tells involved stories about life circumstances, both present and past’.
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The Last Chronicle of Barset. Anthony Trollope. 1867. 928 pages.
'I can never bring myself to believe it, John.' said Mary Walker, the pretty daughter of Mr. George Walker, attorney of Silverbridge.
I love Anthony Trollope. I do. You know I do. So finishing The Last Chronicle of Barset was bittersweet for me. On the one hand, I loved it. It was such a great book. There are so many old friends to be found within it. So many characters that I've come to know and love through the first five books--The Warden, Barchester Towers, Doctor Thorne, Framley Parsonage. The Small House At Allington. And it was great to visit with them again. To reconnect with them. There were many new characters to love as well. So I loved it cover to cover. On the other hand, perhaps because it was so wonderful, it made it all the more difficult to say goodbye.
When Mr. Crawley, the curate of Hogglestock, is accused of stealing a cheque, everyone in Barsetshire begins to take sides. Some feel that he couldn't possibly have meant to steal the money, there has to be a valid excuse as to why his wife tried to spend another man's cheque to pay her bill. Others feel that he's guilty. What valid excuse could any man have for having another man's cheque in his possession? This Mr. Crawley may be a clergyman, but he also must be a thief. You might think that the church would stand by him. At least until he's been found guilty and punished by the courts. But the bishop and his wife, Mrs. Proudie, are his harshest critics. She is demanding (or should I say commanding) that he resign. She would call for his resignation because he looks guilty. Even if the courts were to clear him, I think she would want him gone. (Not that every clergyman agrees with the bishop and his wife. In fact, some lean more towards believing Crawley to be innocent because Mrs. Proudie is so sure of his guilt. And they wouldn't want to agree with her on any subject.)
Many people are upset by the Crawley's misfortune. Especially Grace Crawley, his beautiful daughter, and her suitor, Major Henry Grantley, the second son of Archdeacon Grantly. His father has been very firm in opposing this match. Yet Major Grantley can't turn his back on the woman he loves. And speak to her he must. If she'll agree to marry him, then he'll be truly happy. Of course, she is refusing to answer yes or no until her father's trial is over. If her father is found guilty, we're led to believe she would never ever consent to be his wife. (One of my favorite scenes in the entire novel is when Archdeacon Grantley goes to visit Grace Crawley. He approaches her full of anger and wrath, determined that he'll speak bluntly and forcefully with her. Yet by the end of the scene who has won the day?!) So I loved this romance, I did.
The other romance--of sorts--is Lily Dale and Johnny Eames, a non-couple we first met in Small House at Allington, he's still madly in love with his Lily. And she's still stubbornly refusing to even hear him speak of love and marriage. She will never, ever, ever, ever, ever marry. He's not convinced that his love is hopeless. And he's not alone in thinking that his romance is hopeless--there are so many supporters on his side, so many hoping that Lily will one day say yes. But who is more stubborn? Readers learn the answer to that in this fina
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I have to admit I was dismayed when I first picked up this book and discovered it was about one of my least favorite characters from another book in the series, but being a true Trollope fan I pressed on. Of course, I was rewarded for my perseverance, but if this had been my first Trollope book I may never have gotten hooked. (BTW Small House at Allington was my introduction to Trollope and I loved it.)
I'm so happy to find another Trollope fanatic. The Last Chronicle of Barset is a book that deeply affected me. It is definitely one of Trollope's best. I too was sorry to leave Barsetshire behind: then I began the Palliser novels. LOVE.
The Small House at Allington. Anthony Trollope. 1864. 752 pages.
Of course there was a Great House at Allington. How otherwise should there have been a Small House? Our story will, as its name imports, have its closest relations with those who lived in the less dignified domicile of the two; but it will have close relations also with the more dignified, and it may be well that I should, in the first instance, say a few words as to the Great House and its owner.
The Small House at Allington is the fifth in the Chronicles of Barsetshire series by Anthony Trollope, my favorite bearded Victorian. It follows The Warden, Barchester Towers, Doctor Thorne, and Framley Parsonage. Did I love it? Yes! I just LOVED it. After my less than enthusiastic reading of Framley Parsonage, I was needing this one to be incredible, and it was! From start to finish, it was love--true love.
The Dales are the stars of this one. We're primarily focused on the two Dale sisters, Lily and Bell, and the men who for better or worse fall in love with them, John Eames, Adolphus Crosbie, Bernard Dale (cousin), and Dr. Crofts. Bernard brings his new acquaintance, Adolphus Crosbie, home one autumn, which changes their lives forever. Soon he's declared himself truly, madly, deeply in love with the young practically penniless girl, Lily. She's his soul mate and nothing will keep them apart. But is he worthy of her love? her respect? Or is he good for nothing? John Eames is also in love with Lily. Though he's never professed it privately or publicly. His love for her is sure and steady. If only she would see him as more than a friend...
As for Bell, there are two men who would have her for a wife. Bernard, her cousin, who has only recently discovered that his feelings are so in line with his uncle's wishes. If she says yes, they'll inherit nicely. But despite the promise of monetary gain, I do believe that Bernard is sincere in his devotion to Bell. Her other would-be suitor is Dr. Crofts, Trollope spends less time (at least as far as I can remember) with him, but Bell, unlike readers, is able to know him much better...
I loved this one. I loved the characters, the storytelling, the writing. It was charming. It was satisfying. It was entertaining. It was just a great, great read! There were characters that I just loved and adored. And there were characters that I loved to hate!
If the question was ever asked plainly, Bernard Dale had asked it plainly. Shall we be man and wife? Few men, I fancy, dare to put it all at once in so abrupt a way, and yet I do not know that the English language affords any better terms for the question. (75)
'Don't you like the moon?' she said, as she took his arm, to which she was now so accustomed that she hardly thought of it as she took it. 'Like the moon--well; I fancy I like the sun better. I don't quite believe in moonlight. I think it does best to talk about when one wants to be sentimental.' 'Ah;
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Framley Parsonage. Anthony Trollope. 1861. 576 pages.
First sentence: When young Mark Robarts was leaving college, his father might well declare that all men began to say all good things to him, and to extol his fortune in that he had a son blessed with so excellent a disposition.
Framley Parsonage is the fourth in the Chronicles of Barsetshire series by Anthony Trollope, one of my favorite bearded Victorians. The first three are The Warden, Barchester Towers, and Doctor Thorne. I wish I could say that I absolutely loved it. That Trollope didn't disappoint in any way. But. I can't quite say that. Not this time around. I enjoyed Framley Parsonage. I enjoyed visiting some of my favorite characters from previous novels--Mr. and Mrs. Proudie, Mr. and Mrs. Grantley, Lady Arabella, Miss Dunstable, Dr. Thorne, Mr. and Mrs. Gresham, etc. I enjoyed meeting Mark Robarts, his wife, Fanny, and his sister, Lucy. (Lucy was my favorite new character.) I found Lady Lufton to be quite a character. And her son, Lord Lufton, had his moments. There were some great scenes in this one. Some very dramatic. Some very romantic. Some very comedic. But despite how much I almost loved this one, it stayed an almost throughout. I did like it. I am glad I read it.
Mark Robarts should have known better. That's the truth. He should have NEVER signed his name to his friend's bill. For Mr. Sowerby is no friend of his. You would think that after watching his friend, Lord Lufton, be cheated out of money by Mr. Sowerby that he would have known better, would not have been so gullible, so foolish, so silly. But. Mark Robarts does not always make wise decisions. In fact, he can be very foolish. Good thing his wife and sister are so wise, so compassionate, so forgiving. I enjoyed spending time with Fanny and Lucy. I thought they were great characters. I spent most of the time wanting to scold Mark, however. (Though his transformation by the end into a man of character did help me like him better.)
When the novel wasn't talking about financial messes, it alternated between being political and romantic. It focused on several romances: that of Lucy, that of Griselda Grantley, and that of Miss Dunstable! These sections kept me reading. These sections kept me happy.
"It is no doubt very wrong to long after a naughty thing. But nevertheless we all do so. One may say that hankering after naughty things is the very essence of the evil into which we have been precipitated by Adam's fall. When we confess that we are all sinners, we confess that we all long after naughty things." (37)
"A man's own dinner is to himself so important that he cannot bring himself to believe that it is a matter utterly indifferent to every one else. A lady's collection of baby-clothes, in early years, and of house linen and curtain-fringes in later life, is so very interesting to her own eyes, that she cannot believe but what other people will rejoice to behold it." (123)
"A man always can do right, even though he has done wrong before. But t
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Regarding the idea that we all "long after a naughty thing" I was seriously craving chocolate just before I read your post. Now I feel inspired to give into such longing. (Think I'll go see if I can find some.)
Lady Anna. Anthony Trollope. 1874/2009. Oxford World's Classics. 560 pages.
Women have often been hardly used by men, but perhaps no harder usage, no fiercer cruelty was ever experienced by a woman than that which fell to the lot of Josephine Murray from the hands of Earl Lovel, to whom she was married in the parish church of Applethwaite,--a parish without a village, lying among the mountains of Cumberland, on the 1rst of June 181-. That her marriage was valid according to all the forms of the Church, if Lord Lovel were then capable of marrying, no one ever doubted; nor did the Earl ever allege that it was not so.
While I didn't love the cover, I did love the novel. (Doesn't it look like Lady Anna has a terrible pain in her side? Well, in a way, she does. The pain being her mother.) I almost don't know where to begin.
Did I like it? I loved it! I just LOVED it. Trollope did not disappoint.
Countess Lovel ("Josephine Murray") has spent decades in court trying to "prove" to the world that her marriage was valid. (That Earl Lovel did not have a living wife when the two were married in that small parish church). Also that her daughter, Anna, is legitimate. That being rightly the widow and daughter of the late Earl, they should not only receive their inheritance, but their titles as well. That Countess Lovel should legally be recognized as Countess. That Lady Anna be recognized as Lady.
But fighting this legal battle is not cheap. And the Countess has not had the money to pay for it herself. When it comes down to it, if it hadn't been for the generosity of the Thwaite family--father and son--the two would not have lasted as long as they have. They have spent most of their lives depending on his money to survive. Daniel, the son, has grown up with Anna. And the two are extremely close. The best of friends. So it's only natural for these two to fall in love with one another, right? Why wouldn't Anna love her best friend, her defender, her provider?
As the legal case progresses, problems arise. That is in finding a compromise, a solution, the difficulty for our heroine arises. Everyone thinks it's a brilliant idea if Anna marries the Earl of Lovel--the young man who has inherited the title. She'll bring the money from the late Earl's estate if her inheritance is proven. He'll bring the title. It would be a perfect match--a flawless one at least on paper. But Anna's heart isn't in that match.
Her heart belongs to Daniel Thwaite, a common working man, a tailor, a Radical too. She has promised to be his wife. And for Anna there can be no breaking of that promise. First, she loves him truly. Second, she's a woman who keeps her word. And the truth is, Daniel wooed her when she had nothing. Daniel's actions match his words. He's proven his worth time and time again. He says what he means, and he means what he says. And this young Earl, well, he is handsome, it's true, and he says the right words--words that might prove tempting to just about any woman. But she knows that these words are at least in part prompted by her (forthcoming) wealth. He seems nice enough. But then again, he is on his best behavior. He's trying to impress her after all. The most Anna will admit is that if they'd met before she'd fallen in love with Daniel--then things might have gone differently.
This match outrages almost everyone. Lady Anna marry a tailor?! Well, that's unthinkable?! How could she--a fine Lady--marry anyone outside her class, her rank? There are many--including her mother--who will try to argue with Anna throughout the novel, will try to threaten her even, to get her to marry the "right" man. Will Anna give into the pressure? O
Another one on my shelf that I look forward to reading even more after your review. Incidentally I think the picture the cover comes from has this young lady on one side of a wall overhearing her lover wooing another young lady on the other side of the wall. Hence the pained expression and pose...
This is the first classics circuit I've taken part in and I'm finding it very inspiring, so I hope it's not my last...
This brings back good memories, Becky. Somehow, winter seems like the perfect time to enjoy Trollope's lively Victorian novels. I think I'll reread this gem ... and if I really feel decadent, I'll crack open his fabulous Paliser series, too. For my favorite children's Christmas books, see http://booksofwonder.wordpress.com/
He Knew He Was Right. Anthony Trollope. 1869/2009. Oxford University Press. 992 pages.
When Louis Trevelyan was twenty-four years old, he had all the world before him where to choose; and, among other things, he chose to go to the Mandarin Islands, and there fell in love with Emily Rowley, the daughter of Sir Marmaduke, the governor.
I love Anthony Trollope. You probably know that by now. Almost all of his novels have ended up on my "favorite and best" list. While He Knew He Was Right won't be topping that list, I did enjoy it. I enjoyed it in spite of Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan.
One of the strengths of the novel is how it is peopled. So many characters. So many stories unfolding. Like a soap opera. You may not love all the plots and subplots. You may not love all the characters--love them equally I mean. But chances are you will find many you do like--perhaps even a few you'll love.
Louis Trevelyan loves his new wife, Emily, and is happier still when their son is born. But the happiness is not lasting for he becomes jealous of one of Emily's friends.
Emily Trevelyan can't understand why her husband has gotten this notion that she is "sinning" against him by having a few private conversations with her father's old friend, Colonel Osborne. Yes, he's her husband, but is it really necessary that he read every letter she receives and every letter she sends out?
Colonel Osborne is flattered to be the cause of a "little" argument between these newlyweds. He can't decide from one day to the next whether or not he's a "real" threat to their marriage or not. At times thinking that, yes, Emily would be the sort of woman he'd love to love. But, at other times, remembering quite clearly that she is much too young for him.
Nora Rowley, Emily's younger sister, can't understand--at least not at first--why this "little" argument has practically overnight become EVERYTHING. Emily's talking to her friends; Louis is talking to his friends. And everyone is taking sides. The good news? Most seem to think her husband's jealousy is unfounded. The bad news? He insists on a separation. It doesn't matter if he is the only one who thinks he has a just cause. He knows he is right.
Lady Milborough is one of the first friends Mr. Trevelyan consults. He values her opinion--at least at first. She is always ever pushing reconciling. Why should the couple fight over something so small? After all, Emily only needs to be shown the way. Unfortunately, her idea of "showing the way" to Emily doesn't work as planned. Still, she can't help wanting the best for this foolish couple.
Hugh Stanbury is another of Louis' friends. At first, he seems to be the unofficial messenger between this estranged husband and wife. It doesn't hurt that he's quite taken with Nora Rowley. But because of his lack of "profession", he hesitates declaring his feelings for her. (He's a journalist for London's Daily Record). He doesn't know it yet, but there's another suitor for Nora's attention. His romantic troubles only deepen when Nora's parents come to visit.
Mr. Glascock is a rich man soon to inherit a title. (Not that he doesn't wish his father well, mind you). He needs a good wife, is Nora the one? Or will she send him to Europe still in quest for 'the one'?
Mrs. Stanbury and Priscilla Stanbu
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Anthony Trollope’s Palliser novels offer many fascinating parallels with today’s political scene, none more so than the fifth novel in the sequence, The Prime Minister. Nicholas Shrimpton, of Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford, will be editing the new edition of the novel for Oxford World’s Classics (out next year). His profile of Trollope’s fictional hero, Plantagenet Palliser, finds some uncanny resemblances between fiction and reality.
What sort of person do we want as our Prime Minister?
Anthony Trollope’s example, in his novel The Prime Minister (1875-6), is an introverted, socially awkward technocrat whose ideal job was as Chancellor of the Exchequer – where he spent his time happily, but indecisively, pondering the mathematical problems of the introduction of decimal currency.
He takes over as premier from a more charismatic member of his own party, without a general election to confirm his mandate, and gets on badly with the cabinet ministers who are not members of his own small circle of friends and admirers. Much less good at PR than his talented wife, he is very quick to lose his temper: ‘I think, sir, that your proposition is the most unbecoming and the most impertinent that ever was addressed to me’ is his over-the-top response when the silly but harmless Major Pountney approaches him in search of a seat in parliament. With a high sense of his own dignity, and an inflexible belief in the correctness of his moral compass, he presides over three years of government in which not a single ‘large measure’ is carried. As his struggles to smile and be pleasant suggest, he doesn’t enjoy the role of Prime Minister in the least. But when it looks as though he will have to give it up, he can’t bear the thought of yielding authority to anybody else.
Does this, perhaps, remind you of somebody?
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![Cartoon portrait of Anthony Trollope by Frederick Waddy [public domain] via Wikimedia Commons](http://blogoup.electricstudiolt.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Trollope-caricature-533x744.jpg)
I have to admit I was dismayed when I first picked up this book and discovered it was about one of my least favorite characters from another book in the series, but being a true Trollope fan I pressed on. Of course, I was rewarded for my perseverance, but if this had been my first Trollope book I may never have gotten hooked. (BTW Small House at Allington was my introduction to Trollope and I loved it.)
I'm so happy to find another Trollope fanatic. The Last Chronicle of Barset is a book that deeply affected me. It is definitely one of Trollope's best. I too was sorry to leave Barsetshire behind: then I began the Palliser novels. LOVE.