Before reading this novel I had been completely unaware of it, yet I agree with literary critic Michael Sadleir who described it as being one of TrollBefore reading this novel I had been completely unaware of it, yet I agree with literary critic Michael Sadleir who described it as being one of Trollope’s “five technically faultless books: there is not a loose end, not a patch of drowsiness, not a moment of false proportion.” I’ve read at least 10 Trollope books at this point, and this was certainly one of the most entertaining. It has a great emotional range, too, with some extreme moments of pathos mixed in with laugh-out-loud humour.
It begins with a bang: in the very first chapter we are introduced to the two main characters and given the moral/dramatic dilemma on which the novel hangs. Harry Clavering wants to marry Julia Brabazon, but neither of them has enough money to make a match commensurate with their potential position in society. (Harry is cousin to a baron, and his father has a very comfortable living as a country clergyman; Julia is an aristocratic orphan with a small annual allowance.) Although they have declared themselves in love, and seem to have indulged in an informal engagement, Julia - who is presented as the more worldly-wise of the two - has realised that she can make better use of her beauty and breeding on the marriage market. Her brother-in-law has brokered an engagement to the wealthy but dissolute Lord Ongar, and Julia is determined to have him - despite her affection for Harry. All of this is introduced in the first chapter, and we also learn that Julia has gotten herself into debt. Despite the fact that Julia has “jilted” him, Harry offers to give her all of his savings so that she may extract herself from her embarrassing position. It’s an interesting point because Harry is not always the most honourable of men in this novel; he does have a chivalry and emotional generosity, though.
This novel is all about the suitability and fitness of one’s choice of career. Harry, not being heir to a comfortable living, needs a profession. For the women in the novel, their choice of husband is equivalent to a career. That choice will determine the course of their lives and both their material and emotional prosperity. Marrying for money, marrying for love: this dilemma is played out amongst various couples in the novel, although it is Julia’s decision that is most important to the unfolding of the novel’s plot. She marries entirely for money and she pays a high price for that decision. Although Trollope is well aware of the financial realities of the world, his authorial voice is pitiless towards Julia - although, interestingly, he does make her a sympathetic character.
For me, the secondary characters come close to stealing the show - especially the ridiculous Captain Boodles and the conniving Sophie Gordeloup. When the two of them match wits, Trollope is at his funniest.
Trollope does resolve his storyline with a morally predicable flourish - and Harry is certainly rewarded beyond what he deserves - but the interest in it comes from the long period of tension in the middle in which anything, seemingly, might happen. Despite the judgement of Julia, this novel is a strong showing for several admirable female characters.
Note: I read this with the IG Trolloping group in October 2022. ...more
I remembered this classic as a standout favourite of my senior English class in high school, and after 30± years, it seemed like a good time for a rerI remembered this classic as a standout favourite of my senior English class in high school, and after 30± years, it seemed like a good time for a reread. Actually, I listened to it on audiotape - with Simon Callow as narrator - on a series of journeys back and forth between London and France. (I couldn’t resist the symmetry of of those locations, London and Paris, which I shared with the characters in this story.) It’s a tiring journey by car, and hard to imagine anyone doing it by stagecoach. Like me, the main group of characters do the journey twice; unlike me, in highly dangerous circumstances.
I didn’t find it as piercingly dramatic and moving as I did when I was 18, but it’s still a satisfying story - with memorable characters, ambiguous heroes and villains, and some of Dicken’s best bits of writing. Not only does it have one of my favourite opening lines of all time, but Dickens manages to bookend that famous “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” with equally memorable last lines. Indeed, the final stages of the plot of this novel are nothing if not masterful. I had completely forgotten about the fight to the death between Miss Pross and Madame Defarge - lightened by a grim humour, so characteristic of Dickens - and of the exact manner in which Sidney Carton makes the ultimate sacrifice. I had forgotten how Dickens makes such a heroic character out of that cynical, alcoholic lawyer.
It may be a very compressed view of the French Revolution, but Dickens manages to show some of the causes and effects and he does so without judgement.
I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.
I began the epic tale that is David Copperfield four years ago but only made it to page 589, which certainly sounds like a respectable amount, but is I began the epic tale that is David Copperfield four years ago but only made it to page 589, which certainly sounds like a respectable amount, but is only slightly more than half of the novel. This winter I began again, and this time I was successful. It's not at all difficult to read, but it is 'epic' in every sense, and an enormous reading (or listening) commitment.
What is there to say that hasn't already been said about Dickens and the novel that was, in many instances, inspired by his own life story? It can be way too sentimental, but the humour saves it from being completely mawkish. It's annoyingly repetitive at times, but the repetition of lines and catch-phrases is why it sticks, so, in the mind. Best of all, it has all of those memorable characters: Peggotty (Mr and Miss), Uriah Heep, Tommy Traddles, the Micawbers, the Murdstones, Dora and Jip, and my favourite, Betsey Trotwood. Agnes and Little Em'ly are way too saintly for 21st century taste, but Dickens was capable of creating wonderfully eccentric female characters, too.
Although it's a straightforward story in some ways - really just a perfect Bildungsroman, with its stages of loss, journey, conflict and personal growth and maturity - it's stuffed full of so much commentary on London life and its institutions and the foibles of human nature that David Copperfield's life story is really just the skeletal structure of it. It's a book that, as long as it is, could be read again and again. Larger than life, and totally memorable. ...more
Harriet's river was a great slowly flowing mile-wide river between banks of mud and white sand, with fields flat to the horizon, jute fields and ri
Harriet's river was a great slowly flowing mile-wide river between banks of mud and white sand, with fields flat to the horizon, jute fields and rice fields under a blue weight of sky. 'If there is any space in me,' Harriet said, when she was grown up, 'it is from that sky.'
'How beautiful it is,' said Harriet. Its beauty penetrated into the heat and the ache of the hollowness inside her. It had a quiet unhurriedness, a time beat that was infinitely soothing to Harriet. 'You can't stop days or rivers,' not stop them, and not hurry them. Her cheeks grew cool and the ferment in her heart grew quieter too, more slow.
This short novel, hardly more than a novella really, is intensely atmospheric - almost more like a rich fever-dream. Some of that has to do with the author's powers of description. Flowers, trees, animals, insects, the sounds and sights of the river, the sky: colour, scent, sound.
They lived in a the Big House in a big garden on the river with the tall flowering cork tree by their front steps. It was their world, complete. Up to this winter it had been completely happy.
The narrator is Harriet, the 2nd of four children - dreamy yet observant, a girl on the cusp of adolescence. Harriet already knows herself to be a writer, and she is both the centre of this story and a spinner of her own stories. (From what I've read of Rumer Godden's life, I suspect she drew on her own childhood experiences to create both the setting and the character of Harriet.)
It's a coming-of-age story in the sense that a tragedy will force Harriet to pass from her childish innocence to a more self-aware stage of experience. Just as in literal birth, which also takes place in the novel, change is accompanied by pain.
At the beginning of the book, Harriet and her older sister Bea are practising their Latin: the declension and conjunction of 'love' and 'war'. It's very much a foreshadowing of the events of the novel. The setting is Dhaka, Bangladesh; although Harriet knows no other home, the reader will be keenly aware that this colonial 'idyll' will not last much longer. Although the year is never explicitly stated, a young man named Captain John is recovering at their home from years of being a prisoner-of-war. It's obviously somewhere near the tail end of World War II and the colonial age of Britain's rule over the Indian sub-continent. Harriet's father is something high up at 'The Works' - a huge jute processing factory which is on the river, just adjacent to their own 'Big House'. His work is part of the sounds and the traffic of the river.
'Puff-wait-puff' sounded the escape steam from the Works, and the water ran calmly in the river.
I was completely immersed in the hypnotic rhythms of this story. It's a beautifully philosophical novel, full of symbols and metaphors, but gracefully so. 4.5 stars...more
His love, or rather the assurance of Clara's love, had been his great consolation. But what right had he, with all the advantages of youth, and hea
His love, or rather the assurance of Clara's love, had been his great consolation. But what right had he, with all the advantages of youth, and health, and friends, and education, to require consolation? And then from moment to moment he thought of the woman whom he had left in the cabin, and confessed that he did not dare to call himself unhappy.
Trollope sets this novel in Ireland during the years of 1845-47, when the potato crop failed for repeated years and famine became widespread throughout the country. In typical Trollopian fashion - and any reader familiar with his works will know of his authorial intrusions and commentary - he begins by musing on whether 'the novel-reading world' will be 'offended' by his Irish setting.
Although the famine plays a role in the story - in that it offers occupation to some of the characters, and shows how government mismanages the situation - the few chapters which deal directly with the horrible misfortunes of the peasantry are awkwardly set within the rest of the plot of the story. Trollope's forte is not pathos, even when he is painting a picture of starvation. At best, the famine serves a counterpart of relativity. As the passage I've led with suggests, the putative hero's misfortunes - although great, in one sense - are still far from the utter tragedy of starvation and death. I'm not absolutely sure that was Trollope's intention, but that's how it felt to me. There is probably a good deal of social commentary which is lost on the modern reader, although the religious tensions between Protestants and Catholics are easy enough to grasp, at least in part.
This story is set mostly in County Cork, and is structured around the love triangle of Clara Desmond, Owen Fitzgerald and Herbert Fitzgerald. Clara's widowed mother is the Countess of Desmond, but the estate has long been impoverished by absentee owners. (Clara's father was a typical Desmond specimen, and is unflattering described as 'that wrinkled earl with the gloating eyes'.) Clara is caught in the aristocratic trap: a title, with no money behind it. When she is still very young, she is wooed by the impetuous, passionate and 'manly' Owen Fitzgerald. (Owen's manliness, and his fondness for hunting, are dwelled on throughout the novel.) For a long time, the reader cannot decide if Clara and Owen are star-crossed lovers or not. Clara's mother, the Countess, declines the match - not just because Owen is neither titled nor rich enough, but also because she fancies him herself. With the Countess's approval, Clara later becomes engaged to Sir Herbert Fitzgerald, heir to the Castle Richmond title and estate. Herbert's situation - both in terms of his family and his prospects - are so good, so perfectly pleasant - that the reader will not be surprised when trouble (in the form of a pair of rogues) threatens the very foundations of the Fitzgerald family. Needless to say the course of love does not run smooth. Without giving too much of the plot away, the 'fortunes' and romantic prospects of the two suitors go up and down throughout the novel. Countess Desmond doesn't know which horse to bet on, and frankly, neither does the reader.
Trollope is not always predictable, and this novel was a good example of the way he will play with novelistic conventions - both in terms of character and plot - without exactly conforming to them. His novels have a realism to them, no matter how far removed they may seem to 21st century reader, precisely because his characters can be nuanced and problematic. The secondary characters are far more interesting than the central trio - and frankly, Clara is a rather colourless heroine. Although Trollope ends many of his novels with a marriage, one never really feels like his 'heart' is in it. His novels tend to have a marriage plot in them, but they are unconvincing as romances.
The last 100 pages of this novel were excellent and quite unexpected. Their excellence definitely had something to do with their unexpectedness - but after all, Trollope manages to pull off a fitting (and therefore satisfying) outcome. 4.5 stars
It is my opinion that nothing seasons the mind for endurance like hard work. Port wine should perhaps be added.
Festina Lente: The more haste we make in trying to understand each other, with the less speed shall we arrive at that object.
4.5 stars A sparkling Trollope novel, but 647 pages were not really needed to tell the tale of Lizzie Eustace (née Greystock) and her various dupes an4.5 stars A sparkling Trollope novel, but 647 pages were not really needed to tell the tale of Lizzie Eustace (née Greystock) and her various dupes and associates.
This novel starts off with a bang - and a rather delicious description of the lovely Lizzie, whose feminine wiles bag a rich husband (who dies of tuberculosis and an overly self-indulgent lifestyle soon after discovering the depths of her duplicitous nature). Rich (with an income of £4000 a year and a castle in Scotland), lovely, young (only 22), and in possession of the male Eustace heir, Lizzie is presumably quite the catch on the marriage market. At one point, she has four ‘suitors’ (more or less) at her feet: Lord Fawn (poor but titled), her cousin Frank Greystock (poor but dashing), Lord George (poor but romantically Corsair-like) and the minister Mr. Emilius (poor but fawning). But the ‘catch’ is that Lizzie always wants to have her cake and eat it, too; or, in Lord George’s words, she is determined to be ‘clever’ when she doesn’t need to be.
Or perhaps the ‘catch’ is that Lizzie cannot tell the difference between right and wrong, the good and the bad.
At the very beginning of the novel, Trollope takes some pains to tell the reader exactly who and what Lizzie is: “as she was utterly devoid of true tenderness, so also was she devoid of conscience.” Lizzie, Trollope tells us, cannot tell the difference between appearance and reality; if the appearance is good, she prefers it to the reality. Diamonds are wasted on a woman who would be just as happy with ‘paste’. She playacts, she dramatises, she lies . . . and she does it all without any sense of conscience or remorse. At various points, her boldfaced lies gain her the ascendancy - and after a particularly shameless bit of playacting and effrontery, her brother-in-law says to the family lawyer: “She is a very great woman; and, if the sex could have its rights, would make an excellent lawyer.”
But having taken pains to expose Lizzie’s bad character, is it possible that Trollope would let her triumph in the matter of a diamond necklace? Or a husband, for that matter. Trollope takes nearly the entire 647 pages to settle that question - and he does it skilfully and humorously, if perhaps too lengthily. ...more
In her introduction to this biography of the ‘maligned, neglected and despised’ Bronte brother, Daphne du Maurier concludes that the unhappiness of hiIn her introduction to this biography of the ‘maligned, neglected and despised’ Bronte brother, Daphne du Maurier concludes that the unhappiness of his adult life was caused by his inability to ‘distinguish truth from fiction, reality from fantasy’. In the last years of his life, it seems that Branwell (or P.B. Bronte, as he always signed his letters) concocted a romance between himself and his former employer’s wife; it was meant to explain his termination as a tutor to the Robinson family, and also served (as du Maurier pieces together) as an artful form of manipulation to extort money from friends. It was the final dismal chapter in an adult life that had been marked by one failure or disgrace after another. And yet, du Maurier argues, it could have been so different; like his family, she seems to think his creative output, his imagination and energy had marked him out for something better.
For years I’ve known of Branwell as the brother who got painted out of the Bronte family portrait; in truth, he painted himself out. I would have been really fascinated with this book when I was in my early 20s, and first exploring the Bronte background behind one of my all-time favourite books (Jane Eyre), but at this point in my life there isn’t much new here for me. The brilliant BBC programme ‘To Walk Invisible” from December 2016 did a splendid job of capturing the family dynamics and how Branwell fitted into the family; first as the leader of the remaining four Bronte children (the others being Charlotte, Emily and Anne), and then as the wearisome and problematic burden.
But if you do still feel the need to know more about Branwell, Du Maurier goes into great depth about the imaginative creation of Alexander Percy - and how he became a sort of alter ego for Branwell, and an outlet for many of his beliefs, doubts and certainly escapist fantasies. (One of the most interesting aspects of the book is her assertion that the Bronte children used their fantasy worlds to express their rebellions - for instance, towards their Christian faith.). If you have the patience to read through them, du Maurier includes many extracts of Alexander Percy’s exploits, but also of Branwell’s poetry and various of his letters. The poetry I most skimmed; I will admit; but the letters were fascinating. To see how Branwell alternates between obsequiousness and sweeping grandiosity and arrogance is not only interesting - but illuminating in terms of his character.
I suppose I should have pity for poor Branwell, on whose slim shoulders so many of the hopes and ambitions of the family rested; but I found him both annoying and contemptible. His self-pity and refusal to admit blame for his own failings were hard to stomach, and I could not love the bright, promising child in him - as du Maurier obviously could. ...more
Is there anyone who doesn't know the story of A Christmas Carol? What can I even say about a story that is still so intertwined with Christmas traditiIs there anyone who doesn't know the story of A Christmas Carol? What can I even say about a story that is still so intertwined with Christmas traditions - and indeed, so influential that the name of the protagonist has become synonymous with all those who feel mean, miserly and cynical about the 'spirit' of Christmas.
First of all, I will suggest that even those who thoroughly know the story will still enjoy the original. All of Dickens' wit, gift for characterisation and sense of drama are beautifully compressed in this novella-length tale. Dickens truly does manage to impart a strong sense of those dual pillars of Christmas: charity (which may or may not be defined as Christian) and the sheer joy/indulgence of a special once-a-year feast. I couldn't help but notice that religion is entirely left out of the tale, and for this reader at least, that is part of the story's power. It truly feels like Christmas is a winter bachannal for everyone....more
It was a long, but satisfying, haul through the chronicles of Barsetshire - and such a pleasure to be reunited with so many of the characters in this It was a long, but satisfying, haul through the chronicles of Barsetshire - and such a pleasure to be reunited with so many of the characters in this final novel in the series. Trollope has one major plot device in the storyline - did high-minded but poor Rev Crawley steal a cheque for 20 pounds? - and from that stone thrown in the pond of Barsetshire, everything else ripples out. As usual, Trollope include a romance - that between Grace Crawley and Major Henry Grantley - but money, social status, reputation, honour, pride, partisanship and even a little bit of piety are more to the point. The last 200 pages (of 930 in my edition) fly by, but let's be honest: the book does proceed at a rather stately and unhurried pace. Trollope does manage to throw in a few surprises, though, and there was more than one touching scene which brought tears to my eyes.
I've read the entire series with a group of friends who wanted to try Trollope - all of us first-time readers of this great 19th century figure - and it has been such a wonderful and memorable journey. #trolloping ...more
The plot of Wives and Daughters hinges on irony. To protect his only child, Molly, from the unwanted romantic advances of one of his medical protegeesThe plot of Wives and Daughters hinges on irony. To protect his only child, Molly, from the unwanted romantic advances of one of his medical protegees, Dr. Gibson decides to take a wife. Unfortunately, his wife - Hyacinth 'Clare' - thinks it is her maternal duty to find Molly a husband. Molly may be a wife, or she may be a daughter - an important role in a household that consists only of a widowed father and a few servants - but the choices are pretty much confined to those two.
Gaskell set this domestic novel in the 1830s - at least 30 years before her own Victorian age, which was so changed by new laws, scientific discoveries (for instance, those of Darwin's) and massive industrial change (e.g., railroads, manufacturing). It's a very different novel from North and South, with its great awareness of these changes, and the pressures which came from them, and much more like Cranford with its emphasis on a small community and the varied personalities within it. Gaskell really excels at characterisation - and she has a great gift for making characters come alive on the page, even if they are rather conventional heroines. Although there are some excellent male characters in this novel - Dr. Gibson and Squire Hamley in particular - the novel is also satisfyingly female-centred. Even the minor characters are given sharp, particular personalities - for instance, Harriet and Lady Cumnor or the Miss Brownings - but inevitably it is the trio of Molly, her stepmother Hyacinth and her stepsister Cynthia which are most interesting to the reader. Gaskell avoids the obvious, and rather than make the two stepsisters enemies, she makes them confidantes (with some exceptions) and friends. She also sets them up to be foils. Molly is obedient, honest, loyal, loving and humble - really, a paragon of Victorian daughter-hood - while Cynthia is pretty and proud, charismatic, wilful and vain. In some ways, wife and stepmother Hyacinth is a comic creation - although her character's eccentricities and egocentricities can become tiresome, both for her family and the reader. She is snobby, silly and selfish, but not entirely a bad person. Her many little speeches - so full of inconsistencies and liberally mixed with both self-pity and self-regard - mostly hit a humorous note, although I do think there are rather too many of them. The novel reads quite slowly at times, and the character of Hyacinth Gibson does more than her fair share to bog it down.
This being an English novel set in the 19th century, there are all sorts of fine shadings of class in the book, and they play various roles in the plot. The other major families of the book are the Hamleys of Hamley, who have two sons (Osborne and Roger) and are the oldest family in the county; and the aristocratic Cumnor family, considered to be upstarts by Squire Hamley, but much richer and more influential. When Hyacinth was a young woman, she was a sort of governess and general companion to the Cumnor family, and is still given the affectionate treatment of a favoured servant, if not quite a friend. The two families will have their own roles in the marriage plots of the novel.
It only occurred to me, on this rereading, that this novel has some resemblance to Mansfield Park in the sense that Gaskell plays the tricky game of having the romantic hero fall first for a unsatisfactory and less deserving love. Misunderstandings and conflicts are certainly necessary for the plot of any romance, but this is one of the more problematic plot points. If you first present your hero as gullible, and then fickle, there are definitely some branding problems to deal with. Sadly, Gaskell died before the novel was finished, and the romantic denouement - which can be guessed at - is not entirely wound up for the purposes of emotional satisfaction. Still, this novel is hugely enjoyable for the same reasons that Trollope's novels are enjoyable. Gaskell describes the social sphere so well, and she has the ability of making characters both realistically flawed but still sympathetic.
Also, even when Gaskell is writing in the domestic sphere, she is well-aware that women can exert far more power in the household than conventional Victorian wisdom. Even though the Squire's wife is an invalid, her gentle good sense holds the family together. On the other end of the personality spectrum, the reader is well-aware that Lady Cumnor rules the roost. I do love Gaskell's insights to human relations, for instance this great moment when Lady Cumnor is giving advice to Cynthia on the eve of her marriage:
"'You must reverance your husband and conform to his opinion in all things. Look up to him as your head, and do nothing without consulting him.' It was as well that Lord Cumnor was not amongst the audience, or he might have compared precept with practice."
I will begin this review with a bit of dithering about whether or not it deserves 4 or 5 stars. Clearly, it is a 4.5 starred novel in my mind - with tI will begin this review with a bit of dithering about whether or not it deserves 4 or 5 stars. Clearly, it is a 4.5 starred novel in my mind - with that last little bit withheld because there was something just not quite as emotionally satisfying (both with the romances and their finales) as I would wish. Still, what an absolutely enjoyable Trollope. Despite the different manners and morals of the mid-19th century world he portrays, I always come away from a Trollope novel with the sense that he truly understood human nature - and portrayed it accurately, sometimes waspishly, but always lovingly. His novels are studded with such wonderful observations, and I love his wry/sharp understated sense of humour.
There are actually a large number of characters in this novel, but Trollope focuses the reader's interest primarily on a mother (Mrs. Dale) and her two young adult daughters (Isabella 'Bell' and Lily). The three female Dales are the inhabitants of the 'Small House' at Allington, which gives the novel its title. The 'Big House' is owned by the Squire - and brother-in-law to the widowed Mrs. Dale. Although the Squire is generous to his sister-in-law and nieces in some ways, they are never entirely convinced of his regard - especially in the case of Mrs. Dale. This withholding of affection causes some strain and distance between the two houses, and will become one of plot lines in the novel. At the very beginning, the authorial voice (narrator, or Trollope himself, depending on how you look at it) warns the reader that there will not be one hero in the piece - but rather a collection (bits and pieces, as the English say) of male characters that have to add up as a hero between them. In truth, the four 'heroes' are all fairly unsatisfactory - and most attention is given to the least admirable of them. Bernard Dale is the girls' first cousin, and the Squire is determined that Bernard and Bell marry in order to keep the estate together. Dr. Crofts is the poor but kindly local doctor who Bell has actually favoured for several years. Lily, too, has two possible suitors: Johnny Eames is the local boy and childhood friend of Lily, while Adolphus Crosbie is the far more glamorous suitor from London who comes to Barsetshire as Bernard's friend.
One one hand, you can definitely talk about this novel in terms of the 'marriage plot'. Neither of the Dale girls have any money of their own, despite being connected to it, and they are at an age in which marriage is both desirable and inevitable. Contrasting with the Dale girls - who are lovely and kind, with appealing manners - are the De Courcy girls. Despite their aristocratic status and assets, the De Courcy family are also short of 'ready money' - and none of the many unmarried De Courcy daughters has much to recommend her, either in face, fortune or personality. Although the Dales are the major characters in the novel, the De Courcy family have an important secondary storyline.
Money may not be everything in the Trollope world, but it cannot be ignored. Not all of his characters make decisions with the financial bottom line uppermost in their calculations, but neither the characters (nor the reader) can ever forget entirely about life's practicalities. I'll try and not spoil much of the plot, but when Crosbie - a fashionable man about town in London - falls in love with Lily, he is not so much in love that he can bring himself to disregard more material satisfactions. Throughout the novel, Trollope refers - quite precisely - to sums of money: mostly how much someone earns, and how much so-and-so 'has' a year to live on. As in Jane Austen's novels, annual income is openly stated and of supreme significance.
There are some noticeable parallels between the sisters in Austen's Sense and Sensibility and the Dale sisters. They are too similar, I think, for Trollope to have been unaware of them. The very big difference though is the way he treats the cad of the novel. While Willoughby more or less disappears from the scene, Crosbie is in some senses the most important character in the novel. His choices, and the consequences of them, are given the most detailed attention.
There are a few side-plots which seem unnecessary - particularly the one between Lady Dumbello (nee Griselda Grantley) and Plantagenet Palliser - but then one of the particular satisfactions of reading the entire series of the Barchester Chronicles is seeing the recurrence of old characters. All in all, Trollope 'manages' his large Barsetshire canvas - peopled by so many humanly imperfect and yet endearing characters - with great skill. ...more
As one of the enduring Victorian novelists, Elizabeth Gaskell is known for several things: her Northern settings (primarily in Manchester, Cheshire anAs one of the enduring Victorian novelists, Elizabeth Gaskell is known for several things: her Northern settings (primarily in Manchester, Cheshire and Lancashire), her social activism, and her religious beliefs. All of these came together in a particularly affecting way in her masterpiece North and South. Ruth, although appealing in some ways, is a much lesser accomplishment as a novel - and I think its internal conflicts, not to mention its excessive religiousity - hinders the point that Gaskell wanted to make in terms of its protagonist. Although it tackles a controversial topic for its time period, its treatment of that topic doesn't hold up so well for a modern audience.
In her charitable work in Manchester, Gaskell came into close contact with many women whose lives had been blighted (or certainly made more difficult) by sex outside of marriage and the resulting (illegitimate) children. Gaskell recognised that women were both blamed and punished for this evidence of their sexuality; and that there was a double standard where men were concerned. In Ruth, one gets the sense that Gaskell is bending over backwards to show how blameless her own heroine is, despite her unforgivable 'sin'. The result of this is that she doesn't leave much room for compassion for the much more ordinary and likely 'sinner' - ie, a woman who is the victim of unfortunate circumstances. Gaskell goes to great lengths to present Ruth as a true innocent - an orphan of gentle birth, without friends or family, who has been apprenticed to a dressmaker. From the beginning, we are told of Ruth's great beauty and her innocence. When a young man, Mr. Bellingham, begins surreptitiously courting Ruth, he only has access to her because her employer is too cheap to feed her on Sundays. (Ruth goes to church and then spends the day wandering around the countryside.) But never mind that; when her employer sees Ruth and the son of one of her best clients walking together, she becomes incensed and dismisses Ruth from her employment. With no one else to turn to, it's no great surprise that Ruth is taken under Mr. Bellingham's protection. But at that point, it's actually quite difficult for the reader to think of Ruth as a sexual creature. Her childlike qualities are so emphasised that it is a bit of a shock when she ends up pregnant - even though that is obviously where the story is heading.
On one hand, Mrs. Gaskell knew she was taking on a controversial topic: she wants her middle-class, pious Victorian audience to sympathise with a 'fallen woman'. But here's the rub: Gaskell makes Ruth so pure, so angelic, so self-effacing and so willing to suffer for her 'crime', that it doesn't feel like there is any real woman in the character. Even given the Victorian penchant for angelic women, this is all going a bit too far. If Ruth is so innocent, why is she made to suffer so much? The ending - even if you do believe that death will earn you some 'eternal reward' in terms of heaven and being reunited with God - feels like another punishment. Far from being socially revolutionary, the message of the novel feels retrograde to me.
In one of the storylines of the novel, involving the Bradshaw family who employ Ruth as a governess, Mrs. Gaskell makes it clear that no one is without sin: "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her." It's a very predictable novel in many ways, full of obvious foreshadowing, and you don't have to be that experienced of a reader to realise that Mr. Bradshaw's pride in his (and his family's) own morality will go before a fall.
Ruth ends up being taken in by a household of Dissenters: a middle-aged brother and sister and their servant Sally, who has been with them since they were young children. Thurston Benson, a minister of a small congregation, is presented sympathetically - and as a man who strives to live in a way that reflects his beliefs, not just for outer show but from deepest conviction. When he brings Ruth into his household - rescuing her after she is abandoned by Bellingham - he decides to tell a lie, to say that Ruth is a widow, in order to save her and her unborn child from rejection and censure. One of the philosophical questions of the novel is whether the end justifies the means; or in the words of Mr. Farquhar (a secondary character): "Are there not occasions when it is absolutely necessary to wade through evil to good?" Pragmatism and piety really do struggle in this novel, but piety - not always convincingly - wins the day.
This is my fourth Trollope novel - and also the fourth novel in the Barsetshire Chronicles. In some ways, this is the most satisfying to date - and a This is my fourth Trollope novel - and also the fourth novel in the Barsetshire Chronicles. In some ways, this is the most satisfying to date - and a huge pleasure to read - although in another sense he is beginning to repeat himself. Trollope is a realist, not a romantic, and this is both his greatest strength and also a bit of a weakness when it comes to devising romantic plots. The marriage plot between Lucy Roberts and Lord Lufton bears far too much resemblance to the pairing of Frank Gresham and Mary in Doctor Thorne (the 3rd novel). I suspect that Trollope is poking gentle fun at these romances where a titled, handsome man falls in love with a pretty, spirited woman of lesser fortune and family. He ties up his marriage plots romantically, predictably, but somehow improbably. He is so perceptive, witty and dry in his commentary on other human affairs, that I can't quite believe in these happy-ever-afters - and indeed, the final chapter of this novel has a rather extraordinary passage in which Trollope comments on marriage being quite a separate thing from the drama of falling in love. But never mind. What I admire about Trollope is his understated wit and his incredible ability to speak the truth of human nature. Although the mid-19th century world of fictional Barsetshire may differ from 2017 England in many respects, I feel that his understanding of human behaviour is as relevant as ever.
Money, not love, is the most interesting subject in this book. Mark Robarts - the young parson who been raised above his station by Lady Lufton, and then is tempted to think he can rise further still - is pretty colourless and uninspiring as a hero, but then this novel is all about ambition. I suspect it is more common than not for people to always want more, to not be contented with what they have. Mark's nemesis is Mr Sowerby of Chaldicotes, a man who is born to wealth, property and influence (for many years he holds a 'safe' seat in Parliament). Despite all of these worldly blessings, Sowerby lives consistently and extravagantly beyond his means; and he is almost entirely without conscience about entangling innocent others in his financial difficulties. Trollope made his own money and I get the sense he was always savvy about the financial ways of the world. If I remember anything at all, I think that I will remember this one moment where he comments on the fact that Sowerby - absolutely sunk up to his eyeballs in debt - still has a shilling to take a cab on a journey so short that he could have easily walked. Interestingly enough, Miss Dunstable - the heiress - is no fool, when it comes to men or money. Mrs Proudie aside, Trollope is actually harder on the men than the women in this novel - and the women, in general, seem far more sensible and understanding of what it is truly important in life and relationships. ...more
I was watching A Room with a View this afternoon and it reminded me that I never reviewed this collection of stories. They are very attractively bundlI was watching A Room with a View this afternoon and it reminded me that I never reviewed this collection of stories. They are very attractively bundled into a "Christmas" collection, but they don't have all that much to do with Christmas. The titular story is mostly set in a Parisian hotel, and is really quite farcical, but at least the characters are trying to get back to Thompson Hall for a family celebration. I think that Trollope can be quite deep and perceptive, but he is definitely in skimming-on-the-surface mode in most of these stories. They are trifles, frankly, and a weak three star read for me. The reason that A Room with a View made me think of them is that the plot of that very charming film hinges on Lucy's (temporary) stubborn unwillingness to admit her love for George Emerson. Several of the stories in this collection have this same emotional pivot point, but with so much less charm and not nearly as interesting characters. I guess that young women didn't have a lot of power in 19th century England, and the power to say "No" was one of the few occasions on which the man had to play supplicant to the woman, but the plot line of "girl is vexed and always crying because she won't admit she is in love" is not the most interesting. I read these only a month ago and already they are fading from my consciousness. One of the stories, which certainly had a more interesting premise, involved two brothers in love with the same woman. Even more intriguingly, they are fighting on opposite sides in the Civil War. (Setting a novel in Kentucky, as opposed to his own fictional Barsetshire, was quite a departure for Trollope. And of course it's interesting to think about this gruesome Civil War playing out in his own time.). But despite the potential of that set-up, the story did very little for me - and strangely enough, had little dramatic power or tension. I hate to be a Trollope naysayer, but the best thing about this book is the gorgeous cover....more
I read Jane Eyre for the first time when I was 10 years old. My 4th grade teacher didn't it think it was an appropriate choice for my book report; sheI read Jane Eyre for the first time when I was 10 years old. My 4th grade teacher didn't it think it was an appropriate choice for my book report; she recommended something by Beverly Cleary instead. I was highly indignant at the time, but I can see her point now. But there will always be some children who pay no attention to what is developmentally appropriate, and instead choose to race ahead into uncharted intellectual and emotional territory - looking for information about the world, or perhaps seeking emotional intensity. (This was somewhat true of me, and even more true of Charlotte Bronte and her siblings.) Truly, Jane Eyre has been one of my most consistently beloved books, in some 40 years of reading, although my understanding and interpretation of it have undoubtedly changed over the years. When I was 20 I visited England, and virtually the first thing I wanted to do was visit Haworth - which is marvellously atmospheric. A few years later, when I was in graduate school, I did an in-depth study of Charlotte Bronte. We studied her three major novels - Jane Eyre, Shirley and Villette - and we went into some depth about the extraordinary, legendary life she shared with siblings Emily, Anne and Branwell. I say this as a sort of personal preface, and also to explain that I approached this biography with a certain amount of information about its subject. I wouldn't say Claire Harman's work has transformed my understanding of Charlotte Bronte, but certainly that it has deepened and underscored what I already knew about her. In the US, this biography has been published with the subtitle "A Fiery Heart" - an entirely appropriate description. Charlotte Bronte was nothing if not intense. Her undersized, frail body housed a disproportionately large brain - teeming with ideas, longings and strong (mostly suppressed) emotions.
Harman tells her story chronologically; not all biographers choose to do so, but I think it is especially appropriate in this case. As the recent BBC programme "To Walk Invisible" did so admirably, Harman shows how the children's imaginary worlds - and the enormous amount of juvenilia they produced - was not only a writing apprenticeship, but a deeply characterological bent. As Anne is says in "To Walk Invisible," "I never feel more alive than when I am writing." For all of the Brontes, their fantasy world was more important than the real world. Self-conscious, constrained and private in company, they were bold, independent, and sometimes deeply unconventional in private. Charlotte and Anne, at least, did have strong religious beliefs and convictions, but their adherence to Victorian mores was in outward form only. Charlotte, in particular, resented the limited scope of a woman's life; and Emily took almost no notice of it.
Although the loss of her mother and two older sisters was undoubtedly important to the formation of Charlotte's character, not to mention the rather odd and febrile atmosphere of their household, Harman identifies Charlotte's infatuation/obsession with Constantin Heger as the emotional catalyst for much of, if not most, of her work. Originally her French teacher in Brussels, and then later a rather unequal peer, Heger's brief involvement in Charlotte's life was like a boulder being thrown into a small pond. The ripples it caused were certainly disproportionate to the amount of time she spent with him. Heger's appreciation of Charlotte's talents and intellects may have been both limited and guarded, but combined as they were with her attraction to him, his person seemed to have been a lasting source of both literary inspiration and emotional neediness.
This is not an easy book to read, but then Charlotte Bronte's life was not an easy one to live. There is something so potent, in that gothically romantic sense, about the Bronte's isolated lives on the Yorkshire moors; but reading in minute detail about death, physical suffering, emotional suffering and loneliness does take a toll. If you are interested in Charlotte Bronte, though, or her place in 19th century literature, this is a must-read work....more
This is a brilliant and insightful academic study of five marriages in Victorian England; well, to be more precise, four marriages and one partnershipThis is a brilliant and insightful academic study of five marriages in Victorian England; well, to be more precise, four marriages and one partnership. On one hand, the author Phyllis Rose is examining marriage as a patriarchal institution which favoured men and reinforced their own power; but on the other, she shows that marriage is a delicate and complex negotiation, and that women have had various means of strengthening their own roles - or, in the case of Jane Carlyle, exacting their revenge for various suppressions and humiliations. One of Rose's central ideas is that the success or happiness of a marriage depends of whether or not the partners "agree on the scenario they are enacting." Rose makes the case that marriage "has determined the story of all of our lives more than we have generally acknowledged," and also argues - very effectively, to my mind - that by examining other marriages, other ways of being married - it enables us to consider our own lives and relationships. I first read this book in 1990 - in fact, I vividly remember coming across it at the University Co-Op in Austin, Texas - and I have returned to it several times over the course of nearly 30 years. I would definitely rate it as one of the more influential and enduring academic books I've read over the years - and yes, I've gleaned one or two insights about my own marriage through comparing it to those in the book.
The chapters which have most appealed to me, or affected me, are those featuring the marriages between Charles Dickens and Catherine Hogarth, George Eliot and her partner George Henry Lewes, and Jane Welsh and Thomas Carlyle. The Carlyles, who created a famous literary salon in Victorian London, are not well-known now outside of academic circles - but they were extraordinarily well-connected in their day, and in every way 'Eminent Victorians' for those who are interested in London life in the 19th century. Their marriage - from courtship, to the messy middle, to posthumous, infamous fame - is used as a framing device in this study of marriage. Power shifts back and forth in the Carlyle marriage, and it is fascinating to see how both Jane and Thomas use writing, invalidism and the war of wits to assert themselves. Jane was a skilled mimic and humorist, famous for her broad correspondence, and one of her ways of revenging herself on her husband was her mockery of him. As he took himself exceedingly seriously, her barbs were undoubtedly an effective means of letting off emotional steam - even if he was unaware of them. Although Rose makes a strong case for the partnership between Eliot and Lewes being the most successful, partly because it didn't have to conform to all the conventions and pressures of marriage, I found the Carlyle marriage the most complicated and interesting. I would also recommend The Carlyles at Home, by Thea Holme - a Persephone book....more
Not only does this 19th century classic hold up wonderfully well, but it felt really relevant to me in a number of ways. It's a emotionally satisfyingNot only does this 19th century classic hold up wonderfully well, but it felt really relevant to me in a number of ways. It's a emotionally satisfying romance, but it also addresses wider societal concerns and problems. There is also a real philosophical and religious depth to it, as the central characters all struggle to reconcile their religious beliefs with the demonstrable unfairness of life. Although the reader steeped in Jane Austen plots will find some parallels between characters blinded by their pride and prejudices, there is much more at stake here than just a marriage plot.
This book - set at the tail-end of the Industrial Revolution, and just a handful of years before America's Civil War - is very much about the conflict between workers and owners/management, or more simply 'haves' vs 'have-nots.' Margaret Hale - a young woman with strong Christian principles, but also the innocence of a protected and fairly comfortable background - will be at the centre of this conflict, and the instigator for some understanding and reconciliation between the two. The three central characters are Margaret, John Thornton (the self-made man and 'master' of a cotton mill) and Nicholas Higgins (a worker in the mill, and a chief organiser of the workers' union). Although each of these characters represents a different class and point of view, they all have something in common - and that is a similarity in temperament and personal integrity. They are all strong willed and independently minded, but with a belief in hard work and a pride in their own honesty.
The catalyst for the Hale's family move from their gentle rural home at Helstone (in Hampshire's New Forest) to the industrial town of Milton (Manchester) is Mr. Hale's loss of faith, styled as 'dissension.' The novel never really explains, or properly contextualises, Mr. Hale's crisis of conscience. I could not pinpoint whether it was on a point of official church doctrine, much debated over in this century - or, like Septimus Harding in The Warden - Mr. Hale was no longer philosophically comfortable with the living provided for him by the Anglican Church. At any rate, Mr. Hale does confirm that he has "no doubts as to religion," and he does refer to his religious faith at other points in the book. He is brave in this stand of conscience - particularly to his best friend from Oxford, a Mr. Bell, who is an altogether 'worldlier' person - but many of the characters in the novel interpret his actions as weak, selfish and quixotic. The upshot, plot-wise, is that he must uproot his family from their home in the South and move to the North - where Mr. Bell's contacts can provide him both with a house and a modest income derived from teaching. His foremost pupil is John Thornton, the tenant of Mr. Bell - and a somewhat unwilling admirer of Margaret Hale.
Can people from different backgrounds ever truly understand each other? While Gaskell's novel ably demonstrates the difficulties, it also gives us hope for the possibilities . . . which makes it a comforting novel to read in the current political climate....more
I admire this novel without enjoying it as a reading experience. An unpromising start - but please let me explain. First of all, to think of Mary ShelI admire this novel without enjoying it as a reading experience. An unpromising start - but please let me explain. First of all, to think of Mary Shelley being 18 when she wrote it! Second, no matter how loosely or finely one defines 'literature' or a 'classic,' this book surely belongs in both categories. It has an enduring quality as a story, as a cautionary tale, and it opens itself up to so many interpretations. I'm sure that Frankenstein is a fascinating novel to teach because there are just so many ways of approaching the story of a man (a scientist) who dares too much - who tries to 'solve' the mystery of creation itself - and then is horrified (and punished, by his own lights) by his own invention.
I cannot quite remember what I thought of this book when I first read it, in my early 20s, but 25 years on my interpretation of the story is that it is a parable of bad parenting. Victor Frankenstein gives birth to a child, and then when he finds that child to be monstrous, he completely abandons all care of it and responsibility for it. When the child feels only hatred and persecution, and lashes out in its anger and pain, its parent finds further cause for fear and loathing. I'm aware of that objectifying pronoun, but that is very much the attitude towards the 'monster.' Despite having both human intelligence and feelings, Frankenstein's creation is never really given the dignity of personhood.
I didn't enjoy reading this book because it felt like one long litany of moaning and whining from Victor Frankenstein - a person I was not inclined to feel sorry for. I also don't like the framing device of the novel: the way it begins with a series of letters from a ship captain to his sister. Like Frankenstein, who the captain rescues from the Arctic wastes (and the pursuit of his self-made monster), the character of R. Walton is full of ambition, full of the desire for adventure and cracking the mysteries of human experience; but with his eye always on the horizon, he is blind to the needs of the people around him. These two are an annoying pair, and when Frankenstein - as his last act - urges the captain's crew to be steadfast to him in his selfish folly, it really is the last straw. Frankenstein dies having learned nothing, but still feeling very sorry for himself. My sympathy was all for the 'monster' - and the scenes in which he describes how he teaches himself to think and read and feel sympathy for others are, for me, the strongest and most interesting in the book.
There is a cautionary tale, here - and some may find it in a religious or scientific interpretation - but for me, it's more about the dangers of excluding and vilifying a sentient being....more
This is very much a Marriage Plot novel, not unlike Jane Austen's beloved books - which were written a half-century before. Frank and Mary are the youThis is very much a Marriage Plot novel, not unlike Jane Austen's beloved books - which were written a half-century before. Frank and Mary are the young lovers; friends since children, they have grown up happily together at Greshamsbury - the "fine old house" of the county. Mary lives with her uncle, the Doctor Thorne of the title, and he is not only family physician to the Greshams but also helps manage their financial affairs - which consists, in the main, of using his personal influence to enable Frank Gresham's father to borrow large sums from self-made man Sir Roger Scatcherd. And there's the first of two rubs: Mr. Gresham (not titled, but definitely the county squire) has nearly bankrupted his estate. As the only son and heir of Greshamsbury, Frank's inheritance depends on his marrying money. The other rub is that Mary doesn't have any money; and even worse, she does not have the impeccable bloodline expected of a Gresham bride. Although blameless in character, and very much a 'lady' by upbringing, Mary's background has been tainted by secret scandal.
Doctor Thorne is the character who possesses the most information, but must tread a fine line between duty, family honour, responsibility to the Scatcherd clan and the deep feeling he has for his niece. Arrayed against him are the forces of Lady Arabella Gresham and her snobby De Courcy family - who are all determined that Frank Gresham not marry the good doctor's niece.
This book lacks the philosophical depth of The Warden, but it is still an insightful glimpse into the world of the landed gentry in the mid 19th century. Money vs Bloodlines is the main theme, but Trollope has a rather pragmatic (even ironic) view of both. There is a fairy tale resolution to the romance of Frank and Mary - wholly enjoyable, if not entirely realistic. I also thought that the plotline involving Sir Roger Scatcherd had an unlikely dramatic arc. The characterisations are wonderful, though; I think, perhaps in a more subtle way, Trollope is every bit as good at creating memorable characters as Dickens.
Highly enjoyable classic - especially for those who enjoy romances in the Austen style. The recent dramatic series, adapted by Julian Fellowes, was also excellent. I thought the casting was top-notch....more
I've never reviewed any of Jane Austen's books here, despite the fact that I've read them all several times (at least). Yesterday, the gift of a Word I've never reviewed any of Jane Austen's books here, despite the fact that I've read them all several times (at least). Yesterday, the gift of a Word Cloud Classic copy of Emma had me rereading many of my favourite parts. Generally, I keep to a policy of only reviewing books that I'm currently reading, but I've decided that this comes close enough.
When I was in graduate school, I remember one of my professors telling us that he thought Emma was Austen's finest book. It's not a popular or widely-held opinion, but I think that I know what he means. There is a delightfully circuitous, and yet tight, marriage plot in Emma - and also some of Austen's most clever and amusing characterisations. Fortunate Emma, "handsome, clever and rich," is also bored. Very bored. She is burdened with a tiresome hypochondriac of a father and few friendships or marital prospects which are worthy of her "station" in life. Emma is fortunate in nearly every worldly way, but as the richest young lady of the neighbourhood she has very little to do. So she decides to get involved in the pleasures of match-making. Emma tries to control the marriage plot, but really she is the spider caught inside the web.
Romance may be paid lip service, but in this story fortune and class call the shots. The fine gradations of class have never been explored so minutely or intimately as in this novel. In the marriage merry-go-round, everyone thinks that he or she can rise in station. Emma hopes to raise up Harriet Smith (the illegitimate daughter of a gentleman) to marry Mr. Elton, but Mr. Elton thinks he is more deserving of Emma herself. Then there is the vexing question of money. Frank Churchill may not marry without his guardian's permission because she controls the bank account. Jane Fairfax may have the good background and accomplishments of a lady, but without connections or money she is doomed to become a governess. There are misunderstandings between all the characters, but it's Emma herself that proves to be the most "blind." The most telling, most dramatic scene in the novel is when Emma gets told off by Mr. Knightley for behaving unkindly to Miss Bates. Again, his chief objection is that Miss Bates is poor - and thus powerless, with only her mantle of shabby gentility to protect her. Emma, having the greater social currency, also has the social favour to bestow or withhold. In many ways, this is the only real, emotional moment in the novel. The "proposal" scene is quite muted, in fact; and although satisfying in its way, we realise that all along Emma never had much choice in the matter....more
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