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Posts Tagged ‘19th century art’


The two friends, Susan Hamilton as the Duchess and Barbara Murray, as Mrs Flynn (The Pallisers 1974, BBC, scripted Simon Raven, Episode 20)


Philip Latham as the Duke wandering about on the grounds of Gatherum Castle, being told it is not for him to question what the Duchess is doing (Episode 20)

For a course at the Oscher LifeLong Learning Institute at American University
Day: Monday, mid-day, 11:45 to 1:15 pm,
Sept 20 to Nov 22
10 sessions online (location of building: 4801 Massachusetts Avenue, Washington, D.C. 20016)
Dr Ellen Moody


Stuart Wilson as Ferdinand Lopez visiting his friend, and business associate


David Riall as Sexty Parker (The Pallisers, Episode 20)

Description of Course:

The 5th Palliser refocuses us on Plantagenet & Lady Glen, now Duke & Duchess of Omnium, Phineas & Marie (Madame Max) Finn are characters in the story of the Duke & Duchess’s political education as he takes office and she becomes a political hostess. We delve practical politics & philosophies asking what is political power, patronage, elections, how can you use these realities/events. A new group of characters provide a story of corrupt stockbroking, familial, marital and sexual conflicts & violence. And what power have women? Trollope eschews the realities of most women’s lives and their political, economic and social activities during this period so we will also read as true contexts, selections from Susan Hamilton’s collection of Victorian Women’s Non-fiction writings on women, Criminals, Idiots, Women and Minors: these writers are Anna Jameson, Harriet Martineau, Francis Power Cobb, Eliza Lynn Linton, Margaret Oliphant, Helen Taylor, Millicent Garrett Fawcett and Mona Caird.

Required Texts:

Trollope, Anthony. The Prime Minister, ed., introd, notes. Nicholas Shrimpton. NY: OxfordUP, 20011. Or
—————————————–——————————–, ed., introd, notes David Skilton. NY: Penguin Classics, 1994.
There is a readily available relatively inexpensive audio-recording of the novel read by Timothy West; an earlier one by Simon Vance. West’s more genial ironic voice is the one many people say they prefer.

Strongly recommended:

Hamilton, Susan, ed. Criminals, Idiots, Women and Minors: Victorian Writing by Women on Women. 2nd Edition Broadview Press, 2004. ISBN 978-1-55111-608-2. Available new from Amazon and used from various used bookstore sites.

Suggested supplementary reading or the best life-story and handbook:

Anthony Trollope, An Autobiography and Other Writings, ed, introd., notes Nicholas Shrimpton. NY: Oxford Classics, 2014; see Trollope’s “A Walk in a Wood,” on my website online: http://www.jimandellen.org/trollope/nonfiction.WalkWood.html
Gerould, Winifred Gregory and James Thayer Gerould. A Guide to Trollope: An Index to the Characters and Places, and Digests of the Plots, in All of Trollope’s Works. 1948: rpt Princeton: Princeton UP, 1987 (a paperback)

I will discuss briefly at the opening of our session the 1974 BBC Palliser series, which covers all 6 Palliser novels in 26 episodes, and in general is more or less faithful. They may be found in older and recent digitalized form on Amazon; they also available to rent as DVDs from Netflix; each disk contains 3 or 4 episodes. There is a considerably abridged version on YouTube (4 hours) and one can find on YouTube single episodes here and there. The Prime Minister in the full version (26 episodes) begins at Episode 20 and ends at 23. It is only four episodes of all 26 as one of two majors stories, Wharton and Lopez is cut, and ends quite differently. I think this abridgement and new ending a sort of contemporary take and will discuss it at in our last session. You do not need to have seen any of these, but if you can manage to see some, these are splendid experiences and can add considerably to your enjoyment and understanding of Trollope’s Parliamentary novels as a story about the Pallisers and Phineas Finn primarily.


Ferdinand has to apply to Brewster Mason as his father-in-law, Mr (Abel) Wharton for money (Episode 22)


The Duke with Sheila Keith as Lady Rosina DeCourcy escaping and talking of cork sole boots (Episode 22)

Format: The class will be a mix of informal lecture and group discussion. You don’t have to follow the specific chapters as I’ve laid them out; I divide the book to help you read it, and so we can in class be more or less in the same section of the book. I hope everyone will be interested in women in the era as part of the context of this book, but you do not have to read the selections from Hamilton, I will tell what is in them and discuss the issues brought up. Similarly you don’t have to read the on-line essays and columns by Trollope (but they are very good), my own, and others. I will again tell what’s in them — they will form part of our background for topics brought up by The Prime Minister. It’s entirely up to you what you’d like to do, if anything, beyond reading The Prime Minister.

Sept 20: 1st week: Introduction: Trollope’s life and career. The Barchester and Parliamentary or Palliser novels. “The Woman Question.” Read for coming week, Prime Minister, Chapters 1-9 and in Hamilton, Anna Jameson, “The Milliners” and Trollope’s “The Young Women at the Telegraph Office,” on my website at: http://www.jimandellen.org/trollope/nonfiction.TelegraphGirls.html

Sept 27: 2nd week: The two stories: their connections and subtexts. Read for next time, PM, Chs 10-18. In Hamilton, Harriet Martineau’s “Female Industry.”

Oct 4: 3rd week: For next time, PM, Chs 19-27. In Hamilton, Margaret Oliphant, “The Grievances of Women” and Trollope’s “The Uncontrolled Ruffianism of London” on my website: http://www.jimandellen.org/trollope/Ruffianism.html

Oct 11: 4th week: For next time, PM, Chs 28-35; Courtney C. Berger, “Partying with the Opposition: Social Partying as Politics in the Prime Minister,” Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 45:3 (fall 2003):315-336.

Oct 18: 5th week: For next time, PM, Chs 36-44. In Hamilton, Frances Power Cobbe, “The Education of Women” and “Criminals, Idiots, Women and Minors.”

Oct 25: 6th week: For next time, PM, Chs 45-53. On Colonialism in general in Trollope: Ellen Moody, On Inventing a New Country: Trollope’s depiction of settler colonialism, Antipodes: A Global Journal of Australian and New Zealand Literature, 31:1 (June 2017):89-101.

Nov 1: 7th week: For next time, PM, Chs 54-62. In Hamilton, Frances Power Cobbe, “Wife-Torture in England” (one of the most famous of women’s polemics, its topic is male violence in marriage); and Mona Caird, “Marriage” (this too caused a stir).

Nov 8: 8th week: For next time, PM, Chs 63-72. On Trollope’s politics conventionally considered: Trollope’s Duke of Omnium and the Pain of History: A Study of the Novelist’s Politics,” Victorian Studies 24 91981):204-227. On Victorian attitudes towards suicide: Barbara Gates, “Victorian Attitudes Towards Suicide and Mr Tennyson’s “Despair,” Tennyson Research Bulletin, 3:3 (1979):101-110

Nov 15: 9th week: For next time, PM, Chs 73-80. If you are interested, Ellen Moody, “Trollope on TV: Simon Raven’s Adaptation of Anthony Trollope’s Parliamentary Novels,” Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation, edd. Abigail Bloom and Mary Pollock (NY: Cambria Press, 2011) online at: https://www.academia.edu/6438191/Trollope_on_TV_Simon_Ravens_adaptation_of_Anthony_Trollopes_Parliamentary_novels_as_the_Pallisers

Nov 22: 10th week: The 4 episodes in The Pallisers: Trollope and Henry James (as in his novella, Washington Square) and Ferdinand Lopez. For next fall, a return to the Barchester novels, The Last Chronicle of Barset and Joanna Trollope’s The Rector’s Wife


Sheila Ruskin as Emily realizing whom she has married, her mistake (Episode 22)


The Duchess at night, hard at work, nervously tired of “shaking hands and smiling” (Episode 22)

Recommended outside reading (if you want to read further after this term):

Godfrey, Emelyne. Masculinity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature: Duelling with Danger. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011.
Halperin, John. Trollope and Politics: A Study of the Pallisers and Others. Macmillan Press, 1977.
Harvie, Christopher. The Centre of Things: Political Fiction in Britain from Disraeli to the Present. London: Unwin, 1991.
Kincaid, James. The Novels of Anthony Trollope. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975. Old-fashioned close reading of the novels. One of the best general books on Trollope’s novels.
McMaster, Juliet. Trollope’s Palliser Novels: Theme and Pattern London: Macmillan, 1978
Mill, John Stuart, The Subjection of Women. Broadview Press, 2000. Online at: https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/m/mill/john_stuart/m645s/
Steinbach, Susie. Understanding The Victorians: Culture and Society in 19th century Britain. London: Routledge, 2012.
Snow, C. P. Trollope: An Illustrated Biography NY: New Amsterdam Books, 1975. A fairly short well written biography, profuse with illustrations and a concise description of Trollope’s centrally appealing artistic techniques.
Vicinus, Martha. Independent women: Work and Community for Single Women, 1850-1930. Virago, 1985. See my summary and analysis: https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2019/01/11/martha-vicinuss-independent-women-work-community-for-single-women-1850-1930/


Donal McCann as Phineas Finn defending the Duke in Parliament (Episode 23)


The Duchess and Roger Livesay as the Duke of St Bungay conferring as coalition comes to an end: considerable relief (Episode 24)

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The Last of England (1855) — Ford Madox Brown

Dear friends and readers,

This too is an unusual blog or has become unusual. I’ve not for a long time advertised (in effect) one of the many group reads I participate in: I used to do this for those I lead on my listservs. We’ve been reading non-Trollope books on Trollope and His Contemporaries @ groups.io lately, books relatively unknown by women, colonialist and post-colonialist novels (Mary Taylor, Miss Miles, Tayeb Salih, Season of Migration from the North) and have come to read one of these by Trollope, and I’m hoping this relatively unknown but strong book will provoke interesting conversation. We read it once before on the list, but twenty years is a long time and the world has changed so that I feel we would come away concentrating on very different things than we did the first time round. Then we talked a lot about the sexual promiscuity and bigamy stories:


From modern illustrations by Francis Moseley in the Folio Society edition: John Caldigate glimpses Mrs Euphemia Smith for the first time aboard the ship going to Australia

Now I surmise we’d be a lot more interested in the cultural and social conflicts undergone and conflicts arising from these.

On Trollope-l (at the time the name) we read after JC after Is He Popenjoy? and The American Senator as three relatively unknown novels by Trollope. N John Hall says it is nonetheless among his best (!) — I’m not sure about that. In said Folio Society edition, R. C. Terry gives the novel high praise: he connects its matter to The Way We Live Now with its “evolving world of money, greed, and materialism in which ethical issues are becoming more urgent and difficult; it has a romantic myth of a young man who disappoints his father but wins out through high adventure, court-room scenes and stints in jail. There is much autobiographical resonance in the depiction of the estrangement and then coming together of the father and son.

From N. John Hall — in my own words: It has a number of chapters set either on board a ship bound for Australia or in Australia itself. Trollope had twice (1871 and 1875) journeyed to Australia to see his son, Fred, and had completed a long travel book about his time there, Australia and New Zealand (published 1873). It is one of several fictions set in Australia or on the way “out” & back to a colony (Harry Heathcote, “The Journey to Panama”, “Catherine Carmichael”, “Returning Home”). The toughness of the life presented, the frankness which which life is lived connects John Caldigate to Trollope’s Irish books as well as to other novels with romantic and adventuresome locales. The intransigent (and anti-sex) mother of the heroine, Mrs Bolton, recalls a similar female in Linda Tressel; the intolerance of everyone Nina Balatka. Although many of the novels’ chapters are set in England and explores English provincial life, particularly the narrowness of a provincial community, its lack of choices, what happens on board and in Australia initiates everything else, and we return to Australia in order insofar as this may be done vindicate the eponymous hero in the end.

It did help Trollope’s reputation. After several novels which were strongly criticized or didn’t sell very well (including The Prime Minister), this one was liked and sold, and reviewed favorably. Trollope hadn’t placed it quickly but when he had he got £1,200 from Chapman and Hall for exclusive book rights, and £600 from Blackwood’s for serial rights. It was serialised in Blackwood’s Magazine from April 1878 to June 1879.

It connects back to Is He Popenjoy? (written October 1874 to May 1875) because it too is said to have been inspired by the Tichborne case: just about everyone who has written about it tells how Trollope wanted to call it Mrs John Caldigate or John Caldigate’s Wife because it focuses on bigamy, and has people turning up thousands of miles from where the hero thought he had left them forever in order to lay claim to an estate. The question is again legitimacy. It is also linked to Trollope’s Dr Wortle’s School (a novella written 8-9 April 1879) and to “sensation” novels like Ellen Wood’s East Lynne and Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret. There’s a dramatic trial, a disreputable past (clandestine sex is what happens), and some harsh emotional violence between a mother and daughter over her sexual and emotional allegiance to the man she calls her husband.

To join click on the link; here is our schedule:

June 12, Chapters 1-8
June 19, Chapters 9-16
June 26, Chapters 17-24
July 3, Chapters 25-32
July 10, Chapters 33-40
July 17, Chapters 41-48
July 24, Chapters 49-54
July 31, Chapters 55-64

While there has been no film adaptation, there has been a graphic novel by Simon Grennan. It was announced, described, made available at the Leuven Trollope conference in 2015, and on one of my blog reports from the conference I reprinted one page of the pictures and one side of the endpapers — a beautiful depiction of a very gothic looking house, which I transfer here:


This could be either Caldigate’s father’s house or the Bolton’s — probably the Bolton’s, an imprisoning fearful emotionally violent place.

tt is a kind of unusual graphic novel because 1) the pictures are not close-ups; we are kept at a distance from the characters. And 2) there are few words — or far fewer than some of these graphic novels use when it comes to a serious “classic” 19th century novel. I don’t see a summary of the plot but I did read it and beyond omitting the comical post-office part of the novel at its ending), Grennan makes a couple of other modernizing changes. There are aborigines in the story

This is from my blog:

The team chose this novel as a less familiar one, one never adapted before. They cut the post office sections of the novel as they felt a graphic novel could not make these appealing Grennan decided he would try for pictures that projected what he thought were the aesthetic emphases of the novel. He wanted to visual equivocation, to keep readers and viewers at a distance from the characters in the way Trollope does: there would be no close-ups and even few middle distance shots and the point of view would be of a camera low-down. He was seeking a rhythmic roundtable of points of view; all the costumes reflect the way 19th century people of that decade dressed, the kinds of rooms they lived in. He did not want to use styles associated with classic comic; he wanted to capture this previous time as something strange. He developed a story of aborigines, practiced historical verisimilitude.

Grennan later told me he dressed Mrs Smith so she would have been recognizable in the era as a “Dolly Varden:” she is a character in Dickens’s Barnaby Rudge whose coy highly-sexualized self-presentation (Dickens just salivates over her) was taken up by music hall performers — after all Mrs Smith has been and returns to the stage (though the reader never see her do this). (I admit I prefer to imagine Mrs Smith in her more somber outfits as a mature woman who confronts life and men frankly as their equal.) Simon chose dark deep rich colors (purples and browns) where-ever appropriate, and reserved yellows and golden browns and greens for suggesting seasons and landscapes. There is an French edition if anyone is interested, but be warned there are very few words.

So, come one, come all, you are not likely to find this book read by a group of people anywhere else this summer.


Telegraph Depot, Ninety Miles up the Roper River, Northern Territory,” Illustrated Sydney News, 31 August 1872

To Trollope-l

Ellen

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The Great Eastern Railway under Construction (Parrott, 1857)


Clifton, View of a Garden near Boston (Arthur Goodwin, 1866)

Friends and readers,

The reader who knows something of Trollope and his books might be surprised to see yoked together the phenomenally popular and still consistently pleasurable Barchester Towers (never out of print, many editions, and a brilliant film adaptation still entertaining and worth thinking about); and the nowadays scarcely paid attention to, and when discussed condescended to, as flawed, with unreadable sentimental parts, Three Clerks: today there is but one good, with introduction and notes, affordable and accessible edition, the Oxford classics paperback edited by Graham Handley. Their themes and approach are highly disparate. Barchester Towers is mythic, taking us into an idyllic (if fractured) realm, politics among church people its content, with love triangles deftly woven in; The Three Clerks is minutely realistic in its story, the intersection of commerce, with a drive to expose the real sordid story of a young ambitious Englishman who embezzled his ward’s fortune.


Illustration for an ebook of Barchester Towers: a cathedral of course


Dover edition of The Three Clerks — a print of a city building in the 19th century

But one was produced after the other: Barchester Towers, Trollope’s seventh (written 1852-53); and The Three Clerks, the Eighth (written 1757). Both represent a beginning novelist, trying to find his way: Trollope had tried the Anglo-Irish type book (Macdermots, Kellys), the political historical novel (La Vendee), and the idyllic-political Barchester twin books (The Warden is arguably a novella version of Barchester Towers). So now he would turn to the modern real world of commerce, first The Three Clerks, and his very next The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson: By One of the Firm (written 1857-61). He is trying to find which genre he excels in and discover what he wants to say by developing his means of saying it.

They are part of Trollope’s early years of self-discovery as a novelist, of his early practice of his art. Dr Thorne (another Barchester Book) came ninth (written 1757-58), and The Bertrams (started the day after Trollope finished Dr Thorne), the one novel he delves fundamentalist religious beliefs, and, as I’ve argued elsewhere made new uses of epistolary subjectivity, i.e., innovative novelist techniques. Dreams of the possession or loss of property, land, and sheer money are woven into the fabric of Dr Thorne and The Bertrams and major characters judge their success in the world by looking at how much of these he has garnered or squandered or stood by and watched as someone else did.

Their closeness is also personal or for me, i.e., I just read the books, more or less in tandem, with two groups of people. Barchester Towers in the bi-monthly London Trollope Society zoom meetings, framed by stimulating talks by Professor John Bowen, who edited the latest edition. The Three Clerks with a group of friends on my listserv, Trollope and His Contemporaries @ groups.io.


Eleanor (Janet Maw) and Mr Harding (Donald Pleasance) in Barchester Chronicles (1983, BBC, scripted Alan Plater)

Since I’ve written elsewhere (more than once) about Barchester Towers itself: on this blog, as an extraordinary place & book where there are no police, and on my website, as records of a reading and daily discussion by people on a listserv; the serial adaptation Barchester Chronicles (“Shoverdosing”), and of a talk by John Letts, The Cloisters of Barsetshire, I will confine my remarks here to conveying what I could catch (from scratchy inadequate notes) of Prof John Bowen’s second talk at the end of the reading and discussion:

Trollope is very good at setting up situations where a character must decide something now; he or she feeling pressure of time [in the Three Clerks, it would be Alaric’s delaying selling a group of shares about which he has had insider information so bought them very cheaply and is hoping to sell them at the highest point before they drop down to nothing], also at pressure of space, either bodily or they must move soon. At dramatic scenes. Trollope knows how to compress a narrative and thus raise dramatic temperature. Within Barchester, Ullathorne functions as a paradise. Prof Bowen compared the Ullathorne sports to Midsummer Night’s Dream, with couples twisting and turning as they exchange partners [this is truly common in Renaissance comic theater and pastorals]. Trollope loves to have elements in threes: three suitors for Eleanor, three phases of Ullathorne sports [a parallel:  the three clerks have three sweethearts].

Prof Bowen reminded us of two terms from Aristotle: peripeteia & anagnoresis: the sudden change of fate and the internal recognition. We have lots of this in BT: at its close, who will become the new Dean? Eleanor has the moment of recognition when she sees she loves Arabin, Madeline helps these along [Dominic Edwards suggested in a previous week that Madeline is a surrogate for Trollope himself]. Prof Bowen thought Trollope rarely finds a character unredeemable [one exception is Undy Scott in The Three Clerks]. [I think of Austen’s P&P:  Elizabeth, I never knew myself until now; in Emma, Emma, waking up to her love for Mr Knightley when Harriet tells Emma that Mr Knightley loves Harriet.]

BT a sexy book, lots of sex suggested and some very unconventional. Apparently Bertie takes a group of young men at one point at Ullathorne off-stage (Bertie is gay and no virgin). Madeline plays Slope as someone would a cockaloft (medieval toy used by Trollope punningly). Prof Bowen felt that Arabin is “a stick” (but someone in my smaller group found the character very sexy). Trollope very good at using silences, at the pain of silence [I remember Austen: “Elinor could only smile” in Sense and Sensibility]. In Trollope’s books and here we have strong violent emotions — as well as much humor. Prof Bowen thought that Trollope may have avoided such humor later [the way he toned down graphic violence and sex and despair from his first book, The Macdermots] because a reviewer had complained; Trollope worried about being vulgar. Prof Bowen regretted the loss of this humor. [A number of people objected to that, including me — I felt that humor is not something one puts on, performs but that Trollope’s deepest impulses are at work when he writes; so, when Trollope’s book is sombre, his characters depressed anxious that’s deeply him too. Others felt Trollope’s later books more subtle, and this is a popular book because its humor and presentations are so broad.]

Lastly, Prof Bowen suggested minor characters in Trollope alive with feeling and make impression for time they are on stage. [He did not instance but I’ll say Plomacy, the butler.] He instanced the Quiverfuls and quoted Henry James who wrote he could believe in the number of children and in the name but not both at the same time. The two Quiverfuls swapping letters. [There are such letters in Dr Thorne – between the treacherous De Courcy sister and the foolishly earnest one who buys into the same values.]

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John Everett Millais, The Violet’s Message (1854) — this could be a portrait of the sentimentally conceived Katy Woodward

Perhaps for a book presumably worked hard on after Barchester Towers, The Three Clerks is unsurprisingly very different from Barchester Towers.  It is realistic in ways that Barchester Towers is not: when Sir Gregory Hardlines, then Mr Manylodes, not to omit Mr Neverbend all in effect interview and interact variously with their clerk Alaric Tudor (who is in a way to rise above them all), the texture of the language, the specificity, how the interviewee and interviewer play upon one another shows how general and broad is the depiction of an interview of Mr Harding by Obadiah Slope. Moral sleaziness of a kind not seen in Barchester Towers is part of the daily life of Trollope’s offices as well as parliament in this novel. The most interesting parts of The Three Clerks are about public life in offices, how one actually gets hired and then promoted (not based on judging merit from a disinterested standpoint); how members of Parliament and locally elected officials when dealing with the public’s interest (say building a bridge) basically consider their career, their place in their parties, their own interest first and their views of the bridge comes from the caste they belong to: several find it natural to invest using the knowledge they know about the company in stocks and share. What emerges from one of her hero, Alaric’s ambition and Undy Scott,  a predatory friend’s leeching off and temptation of Alaric is embezzlement, an arrest and a trial.

Alaric Tudor is a very different kind of hobbledyhoy than we find in the early Barchester and Palliser books — no Johnny Eames, no Phineas Finn. Charley Tudor (whom mamu critics begin with and dwell on, as a surrogate for Trollope) spends his time outside the office when not visiting the three ever-so-chaste utterly respectable Woodward sisters at Surbiton Cottage: Gertrude, the eldest, hardest, most ambitious, Linda, the second, more romantic, and Katy at first a child and then the enthralled sweetheart of Charley — at bars where he apparently gambles, drinks and involved himself sexually with girls available for sex outside marriage. The material is presented coyly, through euphemism, and to a 21st century woman reader, very distastefully as the young women in these bars are as despised by the author as they are exploited by this (supposedly helpless) Charley. Charley is Alaric’s cousin; if corruptible in his pre-marital pleasures, he is not in office life, nor will he marry for money. He is a novelist on the side — writing godawful fiction, some of which is included (alas) in the novel, and is meant to parallel and perhaps parody Charley and Katy’s sentimental relationship. When they are parted by the guardian careful mother, Mrs Woodward, Katy goes into a decline.

The third clerk, Harry Norman, seems the oldest of the three, and throughout the story a man of integrity who introduced his friend, Alaric, and then Alaric’s cousin to the Woodwards. He is no prig, likes to enjoy himself, sincerely falls in love with Gertrude, and she seems to at first with him; alas, in the world of maneuvering, performance and competition for attention, respect, patronage and thus promotion, he cannot come near the socially cunning Alaric. One of Trollope’s explicit purposes in this book is to argue against hiring people to do middle class jobs through examinations — it’s not just what is tested has nothing to do with the qualities of character and knowledge a man might have to have to do a job in gov’t offices (like Weights and Measures or Internal Navigation where our three clerks work), but for Trollope they wrongly promote to managerial positions men without fortunes of their own (which Norman has — and inherits more as the novel concludes), so they are tempted to corruption (that is the paradigm underlying the Alaric story, or what it begins with as an inference). They are also not true gentleman. Trollope’s argument is personally based: he would have failed such exams and yet he was (he felt and rightly) an excellent postal clerk, manager and later managerial official.

Alaric wins Gertrude from Norman (her uncle, Captain Cuttwater, is one of the many who admire Alaric and offers a dowry if Alaric marries her), and eventually attempts to live with her a life beyond their means (Gertrude is very alive to status).  Investing too incautiously in stocks based on insider knowledge, Alaric finds himself “borrowing” (i.e., stealing) money from his ward’s fortune. Throughout, Alaric is behaving wrongly — for example, in an fascinating middle section of the book, he visits a Cornish mine to scrutinize it for its safety as well as productivity and recommends the gov’t give it a contract; he buys the stock when it’s low; it goes high, and he sells out; not long afterwards it is shown to have been unsound when its innards collapse and there is a flood (many men would have died). He did nothing illegal of course, merely unethical, sordid, and doing the opposite of the job intended: to serve the public and the people working in the mine.

One “side” or portion of the novel’s intertwined narrative is made up of love stories, some romantic, some mercenary. Norman turns out to be one of Trollope’s characters who once he loves cannot divest himself of this love, even if he can seem to control himself and marries Linda; he is believable stubborn man who later in the book rescues Alaric, but will never be his friend, never forgive him. The depiction of Mrs Woodward is believable; and if Trollope sneers at, distrusts Charley’s working class bar maid lover, Norah Geraghy, and her female mentor in the form of a mistress tavern keeper (who wears a helmet-like hat), Mrs Davis protects Norah in a parallel way to Mrs Woodward’s behavior towards her daughters. Scott’s female relatives bring in the venal women who live for ostentation and marry for money or (unknowingly in the case of Alaric’s remarkably stupid ward) buy a worthless husband. Some of this is effective, paradoxically, the chapter of Katy’s first ball, of Gertrude’s first experience of ostentatious competitive flower shows, but there is (as Trollope himself says) a vein of sexual emotion in these women, ideas they enact that he hasn’t the socially acceptable tropes to show in the way he would, so Trollope knowingly resorts to gush and mawkishness. The book is indeed very uneven. At moments The Three Clerks seems a piece of juvenilia in a way none of his previous books do (that includes the relative failure of the political historical novel, La Vendee)

By contrast, it is difficult to overstate the brilliance of Trollope’s scenes and characters making up a subtle portrait of real working life for men in offices, and the connection of these to industry and trade in mid-Victorian London and its environs (as far as Cornwall).

Trollope has Dickens in mind: he means to show how inadequate and naive (and unfair to the workers in these offices), is Dickens’s portrait of bureaucratic life — Trollope’s narrator cites the Circumlocution Office. A rare unredeemable and at the same time believable villain, Undecimus (Undy) Scott is the man who seduces Alaric gradually and turns on Alaric as a blackmailer; Trollope apparently (he just about tells us so in his role as narrator) conceived of Scott as a truer portrait of social evil than Bill Sykes: Bill never had a chance to have money or education; the evil Bill does is limited to the people he comes in direct contact with, he is easy to spot and the harm he does relatively easy to bring an end to. Undy Scott shows himself able to be a delightful social (dinner anyone?) companion to many people, a facilitator of deals, handsome, able, but as Alaric is far more a criminal than Mark Robartes in Framley Parsonage (also tempted into amoral behavior, especially like Charley, debt), so Sowerby (the man who tempts Robartes) does nothing as insinuatingly and widely corrosive as Undy is capable of. My conclusion is Dickens taught Trollope more than Trollope is willing to admit.

This is the novel that introduces Mr Chaffanbrass, the relentless effective lawyer who can badger a witness out of truth, and also (as he does here) expose the reality of what seems merely a plausible friendly relationship (as Undy would like the court to believe) to have been a quietly methodological pattern of tempt, corrupt, use and drop in Undy’s relationship with Tudor. The trial scenes in which Alaric is shown to have stolen his ward’s money under the influence of Scott are as vitally alive and convincing as any of the later trial scenes where Chaffanbrass is our master-lawyer. We don’t see much more of Chaffanbrass than is necessary for the court scenes, but the portrait is suggestive and he stands ready off-stage to come on again in later books.

The book touches upon a larger theme of emigration. When Alaric is found guilty, and serves his (rather mild) sentence, he finds no one will give him a middle class job in England, and he and Gertrude emigrate to Australia. The narrative space is taken over by Gertrude’s letters which show her to have taken the leading position in the marriage, to be far more sensible and competent than Alaric ever thought (or was himself).

The uncle Cuttwater brings in the world of the navy from which he retired — another place where we glimpse how promotions and sinecures work. I have thought a good subtitle for this book would be The Way We Work Now, and it anticipates the satire of The Way We Live Now.

I have a serious critique of its intended inferences. It seems to me obvious that Trollope’s preference for patronage over meritocracy is unjust, unacceptable, but his justification and sympathy for Alaric may gain adherence. It seems to me that Trollope buys far more into Alaric’s ambition and is too sympathetic towards his materialism. It’s only when Alaric starts to use his ward’s fortune and thus breaks a law that Trollope draws the fault-line and calls him a crook. All his other machinations, which do include a betrayal of Norman’s trust (in the office too), a complete indifference to the business and industries he is supposed to be supervising and judging the merits of. Trollope tells us several times that Alaric is very competent at his job when he choses to work at it, and he can and does often work very hard because he wants me to feel for Alaric. There is no cross-examination of Alaric or Undy in the trial to show that Alaric was a free agent, and if seduced by Undy, glad to be so. Alaric is told at one point that his stocks may go down right now (they are “ticklish”) and to sell out when he can, make what he can. He could then have replaced some of what he took from his ward. But no he holds out to the end, unable to resist the desire to be very rich by manipulating someone else’s money (as he was earlier with other people’s lives & businesses). This is a novel whose details of business and politics you do have to pay attention to, no euphemisms when it comes to the commercial and political worlds as in some of the Barchester and Palliser novels.

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Watercolor by Constable of a cottage in southeastern England (1830s)


St Pancras at Night, English, 19th century

There is indeed humor in The Three Clerks, but it is not of the high-spirited and compassionate kind that we find in Barchester Towers. The narrator becomes every bit as sardonic as we find him in The Way We Live Now or by indirection and irony Trollope’s very late Swiftian (Orwellian) Fixed Period. That’s not because Trollope was trying to please his reviewers or readership. He was exploring transgressive material that most of his readers probably preferred to turn away from as he had in The Macdermots of Ballycloran, but rather and his and their own local British terrain. Whether the difference of approach comes from the different institutions of society the two novels deal with and the places they are set (the church in a countryside area versus secular government in city and industrial worlds) I leave it to my reader to think about.

NB: Since The Three Clerks is become so little known, I’ve included summaries and commentaries on critical essays in the comments to the blog.

Ellen

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Mally (Veronica Quilligan) and Barty (David Bradley) — gathering seaweed competitively

Dear friends and readers,

Yesterday I finished the course I taught at OLLI at AU, which I called Trollope’s Phineas Redux (Palliser 4) with an enjoyable session I called “Beyond Barsetshire,” where we read Trollope’s early short story set in Cornwall, “Malachi’s Cove,” and watched the marvelous movie of the same name, scripted & directed by Herbert Wise. I know I’ve written about book and film several times already, but we had such a good time, the discussion was filled with insights I hadn’t thought about before, and best of all, the movie has been put on YouTube, where there have been hardly any cuts (the original landscape framing, extra similar mood shorts) but is otherwise intact, with the sensitively photographed place projected so well, I want to share it here once again:

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The point I wanted to make was to show the class that there are many Trollope texts, which do not conform to the strictly upper class milieu, use of bourgeois characters, and their political outlook. As we had but time for one, I chose “Malachi’s Cove” because it seems to me a kind of alternative re-mix of elements in his mainstream stories, or hidden away powerful subtext in his more complacent genial or sardonic primary texts comes out more strikingly in this edge story (Cornwall on edge, like the Highlands, to Trollope Ireland, both mentioned by Trollope — as well as Brittany, the Basque country) about just about destitute people.   It is a brilliant or happy coincidence that Donald Pleasance played Malachi Trengloss, an old badly crippled man and grandfather, dependent on and tenderly loving his healthy bold granddaughter, Mally, that he in effect reprised in The Warden and Barchester Towers as Barchester Chronicles:  Mr Harding, elderly father to his tenderly loving Eleanor Bold: central to both sets of texts is a similarly devoted pair.


One of the several scenes in which we watch the old man and his grand-daughter eating or doing other daily acts together

Other parallels: When Barty tries to take over the piece of cliff where Mally is earning what living and her grandfather have by gathering seaweed (sold for fertilizer), and she goes to a lawyer and discovers that she has no right over the land she and her grandfather have been living on (in a hut built by the grandfather) and wresting a living out of. He uses the age-old custom Cornish people once thought they had of being free to take as their property any flotsam and jetsam that ends up on the shore to tell her that she and her grandfather have no control over the place they live in, have built a house on, made a path out of. Mally bursts out into anger, and in another dialogue in the film (with a man who comes to buy the seaweed regularly), seems to threaten Barty’s life. When at first it seems that Barty may have drowned by her hand (though she saved him), this anticipates Phineas brandishing his club at the thought of Mr Bonteen and being accused of murder of said man. In both cases they have been warned not to behave this way: Mally by the vicar.

Place, setting, economic framing, all Trollope in the mainstream, here become a beautiful mood piece in the film (filmed on location) and in the book too. Trollope has a strong tendency to make outsiders, outliers, central to his tale, and look at the worlds around them through such lens: the grandfather and Mally are just that. Trollope’s narrator implies Mally is to blame for not making friends, for refusing to dress up at all – this compromising, backtracking is like him too.


Despite his crippled state, the grandfather comes down the cliff while Mally runs for help (Barty’s father, the Gunliffe cottage is nearby too); she then has to help the old man up the cliff

People in the class saw some things I hadn’t. For example, someone suggested that this is Cornish matter is a kind of spill-over from Trollope’s time in Ireland and writing about it; indeed, Trollope makes explicit that the cliff scenery and and watery world he is immersing us in may be found or beaten “by many portions of the west coast of Ireland and perhaps also by spots in Wales and Scotland” (458).

Every now and then there came a squall of rain, and though there was sufficient light, the heavens were black with clouds. A scene more beautiful might hardly be found by those who love the glories of the coast. The light for such objects was perfect. Nothing could exceed the grandeur of the colours,–the blue of the open sea, the white of the breaking waves, the yellow sands, or the streaks of red and brown which gave such richness to the cliffs” (Sutherland p 464).

There are also many things in the stories beyond Barsetshire which you don’t or rarely see in Trollope’s more mainstream long novels. Trollope was in these drawn to “edge” countries, cultures driven back to the edge of some “central” hub or citified area, moving from the Highlands, down to the edge of Wales, down into Cornwall, which regards itself as something of a different country, bounded from England by the river Tamar. Allusions to Arthurian tales (from where they are Mally and her grandfather can see Tintagel). She herself is made to seem uncanny “.. wild- looking, almost unearthly creature, with wild-flowing, black, uncombed hair …”. “It almost seems like she sprang fully formed from the earth, totally unaware of any vestiges of civilization, but yet with a native gentility.” And she would jeer at [Barty] with a wild, weird laughter, and shriek to him through the wind that he was not half a man” (465). The story has much wind, stone, water (especially) and bird imagery and this is realized  in the film.

A brief summary comparison:

Henry Herbert turned Trollope’s mood parable about economics & social life in desperate circumstances in Cornwall into a full Cornish growing-up and atmospheric story of grief, loss, and renewal.

Trollope’s story is much shorter, and it is focused on the sharp primary conflict between Mally and Barty over the seaweed: Trollope spends hardly a page and a half before he has the two of them struggling on the cliff over this wretched stuff: his center is the economic and psychological conflict and the aftermath with the parents at first blaming her (both the father as well as the mother) in the story, with the revelation Mally saved him putting a sharp stop to that (not lingering and slower as in the film). Trollope also makes Mally and Barty both much older and so less sentimentalized, at the same time as he conjures up a marriage for her by which she will escape the dire poverty she’s in. There is hardly anything about how she and grandfather ended up in such a place, much of it just detail about the grandfather finding the place one which harvested a lot of the weeds and manure.


The Vicar come to comfort Wally as she sits by her parents’ grave in the churchyard

The movie shows Wise developing a full story, a history for Mally, and thorough ethnographic background for the piece. The film gives a full depiction of the girl’s and grandfather’s daily lives (she goes shopping with no money, but brings back liquor and tobacco). We see (though flashbacks) how her father drowned and her mother trying save him in time, pulling his corpse only from the sea. This anticipates Mally’s saving Barty. What Trollope offers for a suggestive single paragraph becomes a series of incidents of Mally’s mistreatment by the coldness and indifference of the Cornish villagers around her, how the lawyer demands relatively (for her) high payment for advice not worth it indeed, how she’s snubbed in church. We see her and the vicar looking at her parent’s graves. And sequences of landscape and meditation: Mally with her donkey; Mally with the people come to take the seaweed away. We have the priest’s visit as a friend, warning the grandfather how bad it is to be asocial — this too a recurring Trollope theme. In the film there is added misogyny: Barty’s mother is made into a kind of vixen, jealous that the girl will steal her son, with the wiser husband trying to placate her. This is not in Trollope.  By making the pair younger, Weis made their fight with one another more innocent too — at the same time as we see how hard she must work, with a scene of the man and his sons come to buy the stuff and take it away

Small things: since the film is not the product of computer enhancement, what you see is what the crew literally did: filming near a rocky coastline. Someone noticed the actress playing Mally never wears any shoes. How hard it must’ve been on a young actress – her feet cold and wet, the beach pebbly. How touching the donkey is after a while. I thought to myself maybe the actress has shoes on when we don’t see her feet.

Trollope has part of an early novel set in Cornwall. His (1857) The Three Clerks (or “the way we work now”): Trollope tells the tale of two gov’t civil servants, empowered to write reports on “Weights and Measures,” and “Internal Navigation” come to Cornwall to visit and go down below to examine a mine. He shows real knowledge of the county and the workings of a mine — how dangerous and scary it is to go down deep in the bowels of the earth. Up and down in buckets or using ladders. He also sets a number of stories in Devonshire (“The Parson’s Daughter at Oxney Colne”) and Exeter (He Knew He Was Right). There was a Trollope aunt and other connections who lived in the west country.

I wondered if Trollope got the idea from the long speech in Shakespeare’s King Lear where Edgar to fool his blind suicidal father they are on a high cliff, and he can jump to kill himself. Edgar paints with words a fearful description of a person looking so tiny down in the valley from the cliff, so vulnerable.

The end of Trollope’s story matches the beginning. We’ve seen the indifference of nature, its savagery in the landscape and men and women; the need people have of one another, some community, and of love and social reciprocation. The last words spoken in Trollope’s story are by Barty’s mother as she tells Mally that Mally will be her “child” now. She will marry Barty. We hear from the narrator of how “people said that Barty Gunliffe had married a mermaid out of the sea; but when it was said in Mally’s hearing I doubt whether she liked it; and when Barty himself would call her a mermaid she would frown at him, and throw about her black hair, and pretend to cuff him with her little hand” (pp 474-5) And then we are told how Mally’s grandfather was taken up to the top of the cliff and lived out his “remaining days” under the roof of the Gunliffe’s much better appointed, more comfortable place.

And a last joke; now the Gunliffes and Trenglos declare the cove is both of theirs with an exclusive right to the sea-weed.

In the film a wedding someday is mentioned and we see the children working and playing together over the seaweed. The film begins with a vast land- and sky and seascape and Cornish music and the film ends that way.


Mally in church: to the bed, by the side

Ellen

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Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett, 1980s BBC) — detection genius


George Smiley (Alec Guiness, Tinker, Tailor … 1970s BBC) — spymaster extraordinaire


Melissandra (Carice Van Houten), prophetess (Games of Thrones) — Cassandra-witch

Friends and readers,

This blog is a bit of departure from my usual modes. I usually zero in on a particular work or works; here I remain in general, and just cite examples briefly. What is left out (alas) are the moral inferences that Marr makes so precisely when he cites and goes over particular books and talks to particular authors.  (I no longer have the facility or strength of fingers or speed to get down accurately what he said.)  These inferences are mostly pessimistic, dark, unsettling utterances, often half-ironic.  So, again, in general, here is what he inferred: Detective stories today reveal an abysm of poverty; spy a fearful terrain of ruthless totalitarian and fascist states; sorcery the return of atavistic amorality as part of superstition. I add that we see in the latest of these kinds of works that women are made to behave in ways directly as violent and treacherous as men (this is not credible as at least studies of women who commit violence show); and men in the last 30 years ae shown to be as sexually vulnerable and ambiguous in their sexuality.

You may recall I wrote about Andrew Marr a few weeks, calling attention to his wonderfully insightful literary documentaries (for lack of a better term — they are highly entertaining, witty, amusing). One series was on popular “thrillers,” the action-adventure type, at one time usually male-centered (Miss Marple and Harriet Vane were the exceptions who proved the rule), which he divided into “detective, mysteries;” “spy, surveillance;” and “sorcerer, fantasies.” On first impression as I listened to him offer the “rules” (formulas) for each, play clips, talks to authors, the types seemed to blend, but when I conquered my recent laziness, and at least tried to force my hands to write stenography once again, and read over what he had said, I realized he had made distinct and explanatory distinctions. I was surprised to think about how his formula linked on the surface such different seeming detective stories, showed how different they are from spy and surveillance action, and finally picked up on the fantasy elements of historical romance, so this usually woman-centered genre shares terrain with say (and this makes sense) the stories of Tolkien, Ursula Le Guin. I’m especially intrigued with the element of time-traveling in this last.

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Lord Wimsey (Edward Petherbridge) facing Harriet Vane (Harriet Walter) — the amateurs?


Sam Spade (Humphry Boghard, Hammett’s Maltese Falcon) – hired private detective


Jane Tennison (Helen Mirren, Prime Suspect): DCI

So here are the the characteristics of detective mysteries (they cross into police procedurals as you’ll see): 1: there must be a mystery, a pattern to find, a puzzle element, ingenious; 2) the writer must play fair, and not deliberately lead astray, no supernatural agencies; 3) the detective must not have committed the crime, corpses about, not an idyllic place at all; 4) there must be locked rooms, impossible terms, keys are clues, multi-layer to unravel; 5) the detective is a kind of super-hero, we must watch him so as not to be fooled by a sleight-of-hand, do hard work, find what actuates motivates people; 6) crime must be believable, painful, almost doing it in front of us, with a pervasive sense of evil all around it; 7) the detective must get his (or) her hands dirty and must set the world to rights, then retreat, escape back to his lair; 8) he must follow recognized procedures; incremental tedious work, under social pressure, moving into rotten hearts; 9) we have the comfort of knowing the truth at the end; we adapt, recent ones are complex; 10) the detective must be flawed, must be difficult to get along with, withdrawn, not likable (Inspector Morse).

I am struck by how the murder mystery in the second half of Phineas Redux corresponds to the above

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Alec Leamas (Richard Burton, The Spy who Came in from the Cold) — set-up betrayed spy


Gunther (Philip Seymour Hoffman, A Most Wanted Man — today’s fascist totalitarian states) — another set-up betrayed spy


The Americans, Philip Jennings (Matthew Rhys), Elizabeth Jennings (Keri Russell) — without identities

Then we have the espionage story (and movie): 1) they reflect the particular social conditions of their time, people with insider knowledge, about betrayal; the question of who is the real enemy comes up early, foreign people, a creeping paranoia; 2) you must create a climate of fear, ominous atmosphere; 2) spies’ loyalties are always up for question (The 39 Steps, The Americans, Greene’s Human Factor), a popular version of an existential nightmare; 3: the spy contacts his nemesis; 3) they can end up cast out of humanity (as in The Spy who came in from the Cold); 4: they are ever trying to adapt to changing times. I add the vast perspective and explicit political propaganda, often anti-communist still.

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Claire (Caitriona Balfe) amid the ancient neolithic stones, Craig Na Dun, Mrs Graham her sorceress (Outlander, 1:1) — healer & white witch


Gandolf (Ian McKellen (Fellowship of the Ring) — wizard

The fantasy, science fiction, allegorical: 1) you must build a whole world, consistent in itself as to details too; the depth of detail compels us; weave real with fantastical, keep it coherent with a map; 2) there is a portal to this other world; 3)these are anti-enlightenment stories, matter from the atavistic, where the “easy” laws of science do not necessarily apply; it’s a spectrum of extremes; 4) fantasy nowadays uses the method of distilled wonder (a metaphor); a parallel to the feeling we let ourselves be comforted by, making a parallel to faery; uses folklore that does not in itself seriously frighten — think of The Hobbit; 5) there is a hero’s story, sometimes told by the heroine, a dropped down trunk, papers telling the story; 6) someone to help us cross the threshold; you move into unknown, there are ordeals, supreme tests, sometimes an elixir helps you return through to “reality” or today’s world; 6) we come upon counter culture (not necessarily a good world); Le Guin shows us a fascist take-over, with a wizard; barbarism, bitchery; 7) there are rites of passage or rites tht bridge generations and new Gods created; 8) winter is always coming, deep poignant melancholy for what’s just over the horizon, a kind of existential threat; and 9) some explore the deepest world of author (so an inward form), and/or are philosophic.

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There you have it. Or do you or we? there are thrillers which don’t fit these paradigms, or slide over. So Daphne DuMaurier’s Scapegoat belongs to fantasy but remains in here and now — it’s not quite gothic either, as gothic’s sine qua non is supernatural and she would have us believed in her doubles, her twin men. Marr did not work in the gothic which has lent itself to formulas (some of which make fun of its furniture), nor ghost stories, the vampire and wanderer, nor specifically the female gothic. These would take several blogs … I have written of separate gothic stories and once in a while the gothic as such. I’ve a whole section in my website devoted to the kind: Gothics and ghosts, vampires, witches, and l’écriture-femme


M. R James, The Stalls of Barchester Cathedral — core evil presence


Illustration by John A. Williams for Mary Heaton Vorse, “The Second Wife” (1912) — this is the type Jane Austen made fun of and parodied in her Northanger Abbey, it is a type Nancy Drew draws some of its power from (girl as snoop into wild and weird territories)


Catherine Morland (Felicity Jones) arrives (NA, scripted Andrews Davies, 2007) — female reader of gothics.


A 1970 version of a Nancy Drew — girl sleuth

Ellen

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Phineas (Donal McCann) returns to London, is welcomed back into the Reform Club by Monk (Byran Pringle) and Barrrington Erle (Moray Watson) (1974 BBC Pallisers, scripted Simon Raven, 7:14)


Lady Laura (Anna Massey) greets Phineas, Christmas time, Dresden (Pallisers, 8:15)

For a course at the Oscher LifeLong Learning Institute at George Mason University
Days: Tuesday afternoons, 2:15 to 3:40 pm,
Sept 22 to Nov 10
8 sessions online (location of building: 4210 Roberts Road, Fairfax, Virginia) 22032
Dr Ellen Moody

On line at: https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2020/09/14/an-autumn-syllabus-phineas-redux-at-olli-at-mason/


Lady Glencora Palliser (Susan Hampshire) becoming Duchess (Pallisers 8:15)

Description of Course:

The 4th Palliser novel (Phineas Redux) brings us back to one of the two central heroes of the Parliamentary or Palliser series of Anthony Trollope’s novels, the major characters, political matters and themes of the 2nd Palliser novel (Phineas Finn) with a more complicated plot-design, a bleaker & questioning tone. We experience dramatizations of how party, ethnic, religious & colonialist politics shape & how money corrupts campaigns & political life. Competition between individuals gets mixed up with how sexual customs; marital, separation, divorce laws & male violence are working out in our characters’ more private lives. The novel dramatizes issues of fairness and investigative reporting in the criminal justice system in England over a murder case. There is a murder mystery, sleuthing; it is famous for the presence of recurring disillusioned lawyer Chaffanbrass. Although a sequel, supposed Part 2 of a very long book, it is one of Trollope’s masterpieces, and may be read on its own.

Required Text:

Trollope, Anthony. Phineas Redux, ed., introd, notes. Gregg A Hechimovich. NY: Penguin Classics, 2003. Or
—————————————–, ed., notes John Whale, introd. F.S.L. Lyons. NY: Oxford Classics, 1983.
There are readily available relatively inexpensive MP3CD sets of the novel read by Simon Vance (Blackstone) or Timothy West (Audiobook). Both are superb.

Suggested supplementary reading:

Anthony Trollope, An Autobiography and Other Writings, ed, introd., notes Nicholas Shrimpton. NY: Oxford Classics, 2014


Both paperback editions cited have the original dark picturesque illustrations by Francis Holt: here we have Lady Laura grieving with Lady Chiltern looking over her, both fearful that Phineas will be executed for the murder of Mr Bonteen, his rival and enemy.

I will bring into the discussion the 1974 BBC Palliser series, which covers all 6 Palliser novels, and is more or less faithful. They may be found in older and recent digitalized form on Amazon, also available to rent as DVDs from Netflix. Phineas Redux begins at 7:14 and ends at 10:20 (6 episodes). These are splendid experiences and can add considerably to your enjoyment of Trollope’s texts.


The Duchess cons Mr Bonteen (Peter Sallis) into making an arrogant fool of himself at dinner (Pallisers, 8:16)


The Maule story in the film series, scenes in the park, Adelaide Palliser (Jo Kendall), Gerald Maule (Jeremy Clyde) and Lord Fawn (Derek Jacobi) (Pallisers 8:16)

If you can find the time to read An Autobiography, I will be bringing in Trollope’s life as a novelist as he saw it, as we go along and end on his book about him: his art, the roots of the politics in the Anglo-Irish novels, the literary marketplace and magazines & periodicals of the day.

Format: The class will be a mix of informal lecture and group discussion.

Sept 22: 1st week: Introduction: Trollope’s life and career; male and female careers. Read for coming week, Phineas Redux, Chapters 1-12, An Autobiography, Chs 1-3

Sept 29: 2nd week: Transition & Political Context; Marital & sexual norms. Hunting. Read for coming week, PR, Chs 13-25; An Autobiography, Chs 4-6

Oct 6: 3rd week: Inheritance, hierarchy, death, the press. Read for coming week, PR, Chs 26-38; An Autobiography, Chs 7-9

Oct 13: 4th week: Unscrupulous politics. Trollope’s depiction of Daubeny (Disraeli lies behind the character). Read for the coming week, PR, Chs 38-50; An Autobiography, Chs 10-12

Oct 20: 5th week: A murder mystery. How differently Trollope handles the genre. Middle section of book. PR, Chs 51-63; An Autobiography, Chs 13-15

Oct 27: 6th week: Half of the class devoted to the film adaptation, The Pallisers; we will go into the trial scenes, lawyers, law, sleuthing. Read for the coming week, PR, Chs 64-76; An Autobiography, Chs 16-18

Nov 3: 7th week: Book illustrations prison, trial presentation of women, love, identities. How the book concludes somewhat realistically. Read for the following week, PF, Chs 76-80; An Autobiography, “Other Writings,” from Thackeray, from “A Walk in the Woods.”

Nov 10: 8th week: Phineas’ depression, Lady Laura’s case, the political ending. Anticipating The Prime Minister, if the class would like to go on; anyone want to go back to Barsetshire for The Last Chronicle of Barset. Trollope’s Autobiography as about the artist, the novelist, one of the inventors of the political novel.


Madame Max Goesler (Barbara Murray) commiserating with Mrs Meager (Sheila Fay) while eliciting information (Pallisers 9:18)

Significant articles and books on or including Phineas Redux:

Epperly, Elizabeth. Patterns of Repetition in Trollope. Washington, D.C. Catholic University, 1989.
Frank, Cathrine. “Divorce, Disestablishment and Home Rule” in Phineas Redux, College Literature, 35:3 (2008):35-56.
Halperin, John. Trollope & Politics: A Study of the Pallisers & Others. Macmillan Press, 1977.                                                                                     Harvie, Christopher. The Centre of Things: Political Fiction in Britain from Disraeli to the Present.  London: Unwin, 1991.
Lindner, Christoph. “Sexual Commerce in Trollope’s Phineas Novels, ” Philological Quarterly, 79:3 (2000 Summer), pp. 343-63. (Very dull, but the only essays to accurately describe the depiction of women sexually and in relationship to any power in the Phineas books).
McCourt, John. Writing the Frontier: Anthony Trollope between Britain and Ireland. Oxford UP, 2015.
McMaster, Juliet. Trollope’s Palliser Novels: Theme and Pattern London: Macmillan, 1978
Mill, John Stuart, The Subjection of Women. Broadview Press, 2000. Online at: https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/m/mill/john_stuart/m645s/
Moody, Ellen: Trollope on Television: Intertextuality in Simon Raven’s The Pallisers Online at: https://www.academia.edu/6438191/Trollope_on_TV_Simon_Ravens_adaptation_of_Anthony_Trollopes_Parliamentary_novels_as_the_Pallisers
See also my blog series: http://www.jimandellen.org/ellen/Pallisers.html
Steinbach, Susie. Understanding The Victorians: Culture and Society in 19th century Britain. London: Routledge, 2012.
Vicinus, Martha Independent women: Work & Community for Single Women, 1850-1930. Virago, 1985. See my summary analysis: https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2019/01/11/martha-vicinuss-independent-women-work-community-for-single-women-1850-1930/


Mr Chaffanbrass (Peter Vaughn) explaining some of his attitudes before the trial (Pallisers: 9:18)


The two friends, Lady Glen and Madame Max (Pallisers, 9:19)

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No these are not dogs practicing social distancing ….

I’ve written a companion piece to my blog on cat stories, cat pictures, and a literature about cats: I make the case that dogs have been used and depicted, especially in fiction and legend as examples making a strong case for animal rights, their animal’s consciousness as somehow equivalent to people … Stories about dogs are focuses in the development of feelings and arguments on behalf of abolishing cruelty, respecting animals as we would want to be respected …. The second half I go into wonderful later 19th century novels, stories for children, and then recently a new breed which is non-fiction meant for adults, not sentimental sometimes with the dog as POV — from Woolf’s “Gypsy, a mongrel,” to Auster’s Timbuktu (about a dog living with a homeless man who is dying, both of them poignantly worried about the near future), to Garnett’s Lady into Fox, and finally Ackerley’s My Dog Tulip and the wonderful animated film.


A photograph of Ackerley’s female German shepherd, Queenie, re-named Tulip in the memoir

What strained and anxious lives dogs must lead, so emotionally involved in the world of humans, whose affections they strive endlessly to secure, whose authority they are expected unquestioningly to obey, and whose mind they never can do more than imperfectly reach and comprehend. Stupidly loved, stupidly hated, acquired without thought, reared and ruled without understanding, passed on or “put to sleep” without care, did they, I wondered, these descendants of the creatures who, thousands of years ago in the primeval forests, laid siege to the heart of man, took him under their protection, tried to tame him, and failed — did they suffer headaches? — from Fierlinger’s animated masterpiece film My Dog Tulip

Dear friends and readers.

Here is a companion piece to my Cat stories, cat pictures, cat poetry: there is a literature of cats (no those cats are not practicing social distancing), though the two do not quite correspond. In cat stories I tried to single out what distinguishes the way people write about cats, especially when the cat is your pet, from the way they write about pets and animals in general, some quality and feeling evidenced in the stories (as admiration for them in situations where it’s a question of endurance, understanding, something that provokes resilience, resourcefulness, a stalwart demeanor, at the time time as having the tenderest fondness for them as adorably affectionate). I also cited scholarly studies of art and poetry about cats.

In this blog I am not going to single out a dog’s or dog traits because so far as I can tell stories about dogs, photos, art do not marvel at this animal nor have I to hand (because I have not read) a history of the depiction of dogs (I think it would be long). Instead I mean to make the case that they have been used and depicted, especially in fiction and legend as examples making a strong case for animal rights, their animal’s consciousness as somehow equivalent to people. I think of how Montaigne wrote of a dog coming to a crossroads, and having to decide which was to go next, “the dog discourseth to itself thus … “. Stories about dogs are focuses in the development of feelings and arguments on behalf of abolishing cruelty, respecting animals as we would want to be respected. Why? because they publicly, shamelessly love us, yearn for us, are faithful, hard-working, constant, single-hearted, incorruptible. They deserve rights …


An ancient Roman mosaic

I begin with the earliest part of human history: non-human animals often pictured on caves, usually ones people hunted, religious rituals where animals signal aspects of humanity people want to develop, admire, increase, and so ingest – where the earliest dogs are pictured as companions, fellow hunters, with men as the leader of the pack. Unlike early cat pictures, these are about human beings: people using animals to define themselves, caring about animals insofar as they relate to us, aid us, are our friends. The second early manifestation I’ll mention is an opposing kind: satire, the beast fable, Aesop’s fables which are satiric classical stories: you reduce people to animals to expose us. Chicken Little an American story, the ant and the grasshopper (I’m with the grasshopper and think the ant a self-righteous prig), fox and grapes – many many of these, all with morals, sometimes ironic. Are any of these about dogs? One 18th century anomalous novel is: Francis Coventry’s Pompey the Little, or the Life and adventures of a Lapdog. It is a bitter send-up of humanity, a variation on the “it-story” so favored by semi-pornographers of the era (stories where a sofa tells all, a necklace), except (significantly) the dog is given a consciousness, becomes narrator and will worry human-like questions, for example, is a dog property? is owning a dog wrong? Alas, Coventry never takes this far enough to be an abolitionist of slavery. The form of beast fable, Aesop tale (as in the brilliant poetry of La Fontaine) did have a resurgence in the 18th century, but its concern is not non-human animals but people.

It’s when you begin to find depictions of a dog saving people, of their attachment to us, and ours to them, we begin to see the turn taken towards the development of animal rights — Edward Landseer made a career out of this: if you click, you’ll find as many pictures of people with horses as dogs


Attachment (1892) – he was a foremost animal painter in the 19th century, specializing in dogs

There is more than a core truth about this focus: it is the center of Ackerley’s brilliant 1956 My Dog Ackerley — continually Tulip fixes our hero with her “anxious bright eyes.”

This is also the core of the 1970s poignant also somewhat comic tale by Paul Auster, Timbuktu about Mr Bones, who loves his master dearly, accompanies Willy G. Christmas, a homeless mentally disabled man everywhere, with his (the dog’s) heart-breaking because Willy is dying. Willy’s mission is to find an English teacher he last communicated with shortly after leaving college, who encouraged and respected him: they are seeking out a 20 year old address in Baltimore in the hope she will take Mr Bones in, for Willy fears for Mr Bones’s life and spends much time warning him to stay away from “shelter” people. Meanwhile Mr Bones has gathered there is an afterlife called Timbuktu and Mr Bones fears he will not be able to get in.  What Auster does is imitate the state of mind he imagines that a homeless person must know — loinliness, aimlessness, coming near death through accidents, alienation — and mate that to Mr Bones’s faithful loving state of mind. Half-way through Mr Bones dies (in a half-dream sequence) and Mr Bones is on his own: we are into a (to me) deeply engaging picaro narrative invested with extraordinary depth.  The dog tried to kill a pigeon in order not to starve but does not know how.  Eventually he feeds on thrown away ice–creams, garbage. Just before taken in by a boy (first adventure) he begins to howl. Piercing unforgettable moment.

I think of how I’ve watched a psychiatrist succeed in communicating with a withdraw child by taking out an animal puppet who is reminiscent of a dog. Not threatening. So early on in children’s literature (in Dickens, as in the disabled Barnaby Rudge and his raven), there is deep camaraderie in a child and his or her dog — and animals are made to talk.


Barnaby and his Raven by Fred Barnard

By the later 19th century when fine literature for children emerges beautiful tales: usually the animal is badly oppressed or abused and child loves her and the animal the child: so Anna Sewell about cruelty to a horse in Black Beauty (often a horse substitutes for a dog, or vice versa), or Wilson Rawls on two faithful loving dogs and a boy (Where the Red Fern Grows – socialist really, pro Indian). A Canadian early classic, Margaret Saunders’s Beautiful Joe about a real dog who endured terrible cruelty – as many non-human animals do.

Behind this a history of people in the Enlightenment first valuing non-human animals for themselves, keeping them as pets, companions, and legislation for animal rights – they are still owned by people and people have complete control. Earliest legislation on behalf of the dreadfully badly treated horse. People don’t want to hear what happens to make a horse race. Kathryn Shevelow’s book For the Love of Animals traces the rise of the animal proection movement memorably. We have not solved the problem of stopping human beings being cruel to animals for fun, torturing animals to madden and terrify them. No rooster was born with a steel spurs in its head (as Winston Graham’s Demelza tells Ross Poldark in Poldark) — Graham’s books manifest a real identification with and concern for all animals’ vulnerability.

For longer than the last half-century, a specialty in animals studies is the woman scientist who goes to live with a group of animals to study and observe them — from Jane Goodall’s wonderful books about her 30+ years with chimpanzees, to Diane Fossey with gorillas, Birute Gildikas with orangutans, and lesser known, Sy Mongomery’s several studies, e.g., Walking with Great Apes. Women are willing to give up their ego and identity to be with the animal. Sooner or later, they take on the role of protector.

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This was what I found myself developing when I sought to introduce the peculiar take of the Bloomsbury circles when they came to write memoirs of pets and about animals — as context for Ackerley’s peculiar memoir. As usual, they took angles that led to new insights — or so they tried to. They wrote wrote pro-animal imaginative literature for adults that is not sentimental. Or they try not to be. It is not instructional: Elizabeth Marshall Thomas writes books about the nature of dogs and how you take of them, ditto for cats. You don’t read My Dog Tulip, or Francis Power Cobbe’s The Confessions of a Lost Dog, Woolf’s Flush, a biography; or David Garnett’s Lady Into Fox or the recent Paul Auster’s Timbuktu (see above) for advice on how to take care of your dog. All of them are about us too, about our nature, and how we are aligned to, closely related to animals, they are critiques of us, our society through the animal’s life and personality alongside of and observing us.


The earliest edition of Flush: A biography resembled the layout and picture of Cobbe’s dog and book

Earliest version of this comes before the Bloomsbury 1910 date:

by Francis Power Cobbe, an important suffragette, who was among the first to try to stop useless and cruel animal experiments, especially vivisection, the use of animals for experiments; her slender novella anticipates Woolf’s Flush, and I would be much surprised if Woolf had not read Hajjin’s story. The Confessions of a Lost Dog include being taken in by a very genteel controlled single lady, and both have as the central incident how the dog is kidnapped held up for ransom, mistreated and nearly killed. Because that happened a lot in Victorian England. Cobbe also wrote non-fiction, “The Consciousness of Dogs” (Quarterly Review), then “Dogs I have Met,” which dogs have sometimes had very bad times (boys’ careless cruelty, eminent scientist’s’ deliberate torture, a man who kept a rat pit in Paddington and aristocrats shooting pigeons sprung from traps).

Flush was a present from Sackville-West; and Woolf’s book is a researched biography of both Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her dog, from a dog’s point of view insofar as Woolf could do it. There are letters, documents, and Woolf is brilliant at not overstepping so that the dog somehow understands others the way a dog might (not through language). I taught the book as a canonical modernist biography. To this I have added (for the class I’m teaching) from Woolf’s The Complete Fiction, a touching short fictional memoir,

“Gypsy, a mongrel,” about Tom Bagot’s memories of a dog he loved, whom he tried to kill and could not (because of the way she looked into his eyes and grinned), who was a burden, bothering the cats, getting into mischief, but then falling in love (it seems) with a pedigree male, Hector, and when Hector was removed (as too much of a burden) so pined for him, that she disappeared one day in search of him. The retrospective memoir begins after Gypsy has vanished and is by turns poignant and funny.

Woolf had a dog who one day just disappeared.

Then there’s Bunny or David Garnett’s (yes he is Constance Garnett the translator’s son) Lady Into Fox.

It is a chilling book (not horrifying in the way of Kafka’s Metamorphosis where a man wakes up one morning to find he’s become a cockroach in body). One morning the narrator’s wife wakes to find herself become a fox. The first thing Garnett has to do is kill two perfectly fine dogs lest they kill his wife — we feel these as murder. She is regarded by all the world as vermin, as there to be killed. Gradually her eyes and whole demeanor become less and less human woman, more and more a fox as she mingles with other foxes, has a liter. Our narrator tries to become fox-like too Doesn’t work. He is not accepted. The book has a tragically felt ending.

It is sometimes printed with Garnett’s The People in the Zoo (in this one you see the original origin of animal literature in the satiric beast fable.)

So to come to Ackerley’s comic masterpiece; he might be said not to practice so much as to undermine the dog memoir. It is a love story, the story of his devotion to his female German shepherd whom he wants to have full life – not to miss out on anything, and that means for him, mating, sex, pups. As told it is surely a man’s idea of what sex is, and the obsessiveness of the quest (and graphically told failures) reveal Ackerley’s purpose as also to make fun of heterosexual sentimentalities about sex and marriage (as well as homosexual ones). As in portrait biographies, we also learn as much about Ackerley as Tulip. The humor is exquisite: it’s a matter of language and tone: our narrator is every so polite and impeccable, very dignified in the language he chooses; also startling and inventive: he began to think he had an “undoctorable dog.” He shows the cruelty indifference and urge to master and make others bend to your will in how many owners treat their ever so yearning dogs. I began to realize how many dogs might be emotionally abused.

Here is Dean Flower from the Hudson Review:

As he put it in his autobiography, My Father and Myself, “peace and contentment reached me in the shape of an animal, an Alsatian bitch … [who] entered my life . . . and entirely transformed it”:

She offered me what I had never found in my sexual life, constant, single-hearted, incorruptible, uncritical devotion, which it is in the nature of dogs to offer. She placed herself entirely under my control.

From the moment she established herself in my heart and home, obsession with sex fell wholly away from me. The pubs I had spent much of my time in were never revisited, my single desire was to get back to her, to her waiting love and unstaling welcome. So urgent was my longing every day to rejoin her that I would often take taxis way, even the whole way, home to Putney from my London office, rather than endure the dawdling of buses and the rush-hour traffic jams in Park Lane. I sang with joy at the thought of seeing her.

Here is the language of a man in love, for the first time and irrevocably. The scales fell from his eyes. This was love, as he had never understood it before. He does not voice it so directly in My Dog Tulip, choosing rather to dwell on his own innocent confusions and anxieties—a con firmed bachelor of refined tastes at the center of London’s literary life, driven to care for a creature who cared so utterly for him. For Ackerley, loving Tulip (whose actual name, Queenie, was deemed too prosaic for the book) meant understanding her desires, her emotions and charac ter, her spiritual as well as her sexual and excretory nature, her myste rious and essential beauty as well as her irreducible dogginess. Inevi tably, that led to some comic incongruities, which Ackerley skillfully played. … Recent admirers too have commented on Ackerley’s excessive, perhaps ironic use of Renaissance sonnets as sources for these bursts of eloquence:

Her ears are tall and pointed, like the ears of Anubis. How she manages to hold them constantly erect, as though starched, I do not know, for with their fine covering of mouse-gray fur they are soft and flimsy; when she stands with her back to the sun it shines through the delicate tissue, so that they glow shell-pink as though incandescent. Her face also is long and pointed, basically stone-gray but the and lower jaw are jet black. Jet, too, are the rims of her amber eyes, though heavily mascara’d, and the tiny mobile eyebrow tufts that set like accents above them. And in the midst of her forehead is a kind of Indian caste-mark, a black diamond suspended there, like the jewel on the brow of Pegasus in Mantegna’s Parnassus, by a fine dark thread, no more than a penciled line, which is drawn from it right over her poll midway between the tall ears . . . her skull, bisected by the thread, is two primrose pools, the center of her face light gray, the bridge of her nose above the long black lips fawn, and upon each a patte de mouche has been tastefully set.

But here again the language of love is unmistakable. The elaborate anatomizing, the fine penciling and drawing, the chiaroscuro, the classical allusions and chiasmus (“are jet . . . Jet are”) all attest to the lover’s devout gaze. What may be harder to see is that Ackerley had no wish to be witty or extravagant in passages like these, least of all ironic. He put all his art and heart into them. Yet many readers were disgusted nevertheless. Why did Ackerley have to focus so relentlessly on feces and urine; or in the chapters concern ing sex, i.e., his efforts (all failures) to find Tulip a mate, why did he have to dwell on vaginal lubricants and penile stimulation and the odors of a bitch in heat? The answer is at least threefold: (a) nothing—again —is by love debarred; (b) the problem is with humans, not dogs; and (c) Ackerley chose that means to demonstrate something fundamental about love and sex. As to (a), Ackerley earnestly sought to understand the facts of canine sex, on Tulip’s behalf. He consulted her most trusted veterinarians, but also dog breeders and other self-professed experts, plus all the books available, and learned that the process of “marrying” two dogs is not simple or straightforward, and that a great deal of ignorance, misinformation, and mystery still surrounds it.

On the film, from “One man and his dog,” The Spectator (V315, #9532, 7 May 2011, p. 48 — no author cited)

a labour of love, the visuals mesh with the words perfectly and capture all the various moods, from melancholy and autumnal, to comic and skittish. The film comprises nearly 60,000 drawings hand-drawn digitally (that is, on to a computer), and are just so lovely, like the best ever watercolours come to life … Tulip has her foibles. Tulip can be flirtatious one minute and fiercely possessive the next. Tulip can be infuriating. Tulip sometimes earns herself a biff on the nose. But, all the while, Ackerley marvels at her every detail, rhapsodising not just about her beauty and constancy, but also her defecations and urinations. There isn’t a bit of Tulip he doesn’t find fascinating, or isn’t curious about. Occasionally, the animation leeches into black and white pencil sketches where Tulip appears half human wearing a little skirt and holding court. … The film, like the book, does not directly address Ackerley’s loneliness and homosexuality and childlessness, but it is there in the chinks … It’s marvellous, probably the best dog-flick you are ever going to see, based on the best dog-lit you are ever going to read. What more can I say?

There are three levels of cartoon:  beyond the beautiful colored pictures, which dissolve at the edges and turn into black-and-white satirical exposures of the less than admirable passions and impulses driving the characters, which turn into lovely lines of classical gods (now archetypally psychoanalysing).

Once again here is the vimeo:

https://vimeo.com/264796405

Ellen

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The cover for the first edition of the Last Chronicle of Barset


Lindsay Duncan as The Rector’s Wife (BBC, 1994)

Dear friends and readers,

A few weeks ago now I wrote a blog-essay on The Last Chronicle of Barset after a group of us on Trollope&Peers finished reading the book together.  I followed that up with reading Joanna Trollope’s The Rector’s Wife and writing a blog-essay on the book as a post-text to Trollope’s novel. I had been during this time joining in on a reading and discussion of Trollope’s Framley Parsonage (the 4th novel of the Barset series) with a group of Trollope readers on-line on zoom sessions sponsored by the London Trollope Society. They decided they would like to read The Last Chronicle next, and the Chairman of the Society was gracious enough to ask me to give a talk about the book as a prelude, preface, or food for thought just before we began. (I mean to re-read it with them. They start again this coming Monday and will be reading this very long book across the summer (the schedule).

I decided to write a talk that combined my two blogs with a perspective that emphasized the modernity of Trollope’s masterpiece and called it The Modernity of the Last Chronicle of Barset (click and you can read it on academia edu.  Errata: there is no way I can edit the text of the paper on this site except by taking down so here say: paragraph 8 should read Chapter 4, not Chapter 5, and late in the paper Major Grantley is “just under 30.”)

The thesis of the talk is that this masterpiece of Trollope speaks as directly and relevantly to us today as either of his more (recently featured) signature books (The Way We Live Now and He Knew He was Right). That it’s a piercing account of the way inequality works in the character of Rev Mr Crawley, and a dramatization of a young women traumatized by her experiences of sexual life. I bring in The Rector’s Wife as Joanna Trollope’s atttempt to give Mary Crawley what she is denied by Trollope: a fulfilling independent life of her own. I also cover Major Grantly & Grace as not quite past their sell-by date and end on the beautiful patterning and wonderfully accurate comic and moving accounts of other characters.

I write this blog to share the video recording of me delivering this paper on-line yesterday at the introductory session to The Last Chronicle of Barset. If you want to go to the Trollope Society site and view it there, click and scroll down:

The Last Chronicle of Barset

One of Crawley’s many cogent utterances in defense of his behavior: is featured there, one many people of those in a position to do something to stop illegal cruelty seem to lack the courage to act upon: “Opposition to usurped authority is an imperative duty”

You can also go directly to the YouTube site:

Gentle reader, if you have been curious over the years you have been reading this blog to see what I look like, how I sound and my workroom, here I am.

Ellen

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“Dogged as does it” — Giles Hoggett advising Josiah Crawley (Last Chronicle of Barset, Ch 61, F.A. Fraser)

‘I believe, as I am sitting here,’ said Lord Lufton, ‘that he has told the truth, and that he does not know any more than I do from whence the cheque came.’
‘I am quite sure he does not,’ said Dr Thorne ….
‘I don’t see it,’ said Lord Lufton, ‘I might have a lot of paper money by me, and not know from Adam where I got it.’
‘But you would have to show where you got it, my lord, when inquiry was made,’ said Mr Fothergill…
‘Nothing on earth should induce me to find him guilty were I on a jury.’ [Lufton]
‘But you have committed him.’ [Mark]
… I simply did that which Walker told us we must do … ‘ (“Mr Crawley is taken to Silverbridge,” “Dinner at Framley,” Last Chronicle of Barset, Chs 8 & 10)

“If you take a young tree and split it, it still lives, perhaps. But it isn’t a tree. It is only a fragment’
‘Then be my fragment.’
‘So I will, if it can serve you to give standing ground to such a fragment in some corner of your garden. But I will not have myself planted out in the middle, for people to look at. What there is left would die soon’ (“The Shattered Tree,” Last Chronicle, Ch 77)

Friends and readers,

There is just no doubt in my mind that had the Rev Josiah Crawley’s story unfolded today, he would have become infected with the coronavirus, & perhaps died, compromised as his health was after years of arduous hard work on scarcely any food, of intense stress from grief, loss, and humiliation because his pay as perpetual curate was egregiously derisory, the nature of his work to go perpetually among the poorest to help them with the plainest tasks, to teach them, the poorest who of course would have been dying in large numbers. We all remember how his wife, Mrs Crawley, almost died in Framley Parsonage, having gotten sick with “typhus fever” (as it was called) from her contact through her husband with the Hogglestock people.

I maintain in this blog that Josiah Crawley is more of a hero for our time than Hugo’s man for Trollope’s theme is how inequality works: Like Jean Valjean, Crawley is accused of the smallest of crimes, he cannot remember where he got a £20 note, which seems to have been used to pay down a debt for desperately needed groceries; but unlike Hugo’s hero, the point our author makes is not that Crawley was driven to steal — neither our author or anyone in the book can believe Crawley could ever mean to do something said to be morally wrong; it’s rather that the pressure of living under such deprived conditions as he must daily endure has made him unable to pay attention to the most embittering of details of open charity. In the book’s first chapter we are shown how Crawley is regarded with distaste and distrust by the males trusted to be magistrates and sit on juries.


Crawley before the magistrates (Last Chronicle, Ch 8, G. H. Thomas)

Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves (from Milton’s Samson Agonistes, Rev Crawley’s frequent reading)

By the time of the grand jury trial it has been suggested there is no pity due this man: why did he take this position, when he knew the salary by itself would not provide enough money for him to live as a clergyman with a family, someone asks. The community feeling is it’s somehow his fault his family starves, live in embarrassingly worn-out clothes — his personality is to blame; otherwise, it’s implied he’d have been promoted.  Chapter 5 depicts the acute poverty of the Crawleys. Not one person challenges the establishment which has made such a position for a learned gentleman to work in. No one but Grace seems to pay attention to or value her father’s learning, and she is after all forced and it does her no economic or social good once it’s discovered her father is disgraced.

We do learn that any scene involving money is traumatic for Josiah Crawley and that’s why he was a vulnerable scapegoat for those who might actually stole the check as a convenient cover for their own crimes.  Mrs Proudie exploits the sort of loophole that often exists in power shared by various people where it’s not clear that the Bishop has the authority to stop Crawley from preaching because he has not been found guilty. We watch Crawley stand up to this treatment and express the agony of his soul in a letter to the Bishop:

I am in a terrible straight. Trouble, and sorrow, and danger are upon me and mine. It may well be, as your lordship says, that the bitter waters of the present hour may pass over my head and destroy me. I thank your lordship for telling me whither I am to look for assistance … But the deeper my troubles, the greater my sorrow, the more pressing my danger, the stronger is my need that I should carry myself these days with that outward respect of self which will teach those around me to know that, let who will condemn me, I have not condemned myself’ (“The Bishop’s Angel,” Last Chronicle, Ch 13)

In this same book Trollope provides another set of characters in London, who are much richer, & get away with very crooked dealings — as stockbrokers with other people’s thousands of pounds; but no one arrests them. Crawley’s intense pride and sense of his own good character make him unable to cope with the scorn and indifference to him, he behaves re-actively, masochistically, and when he refuses to give up his position and salary on the grounds there has been no conviction, Mrs Proudie, the ecclesiastical wife roars he ought to be prison. What is this but a mirror of the “advanced” economies of quite a number of nations in 2020?


The formidable Mrs Proudie about to intrude herself into her husband’s ecclesiastical business (modeled on one of Thomas’s vignettes for Last Chronicle; from the BBC 1983 Barchester Chronicles, played by Geraldine McEwan)

Crawley does stand up brilliantly up for himself when not intimidated by a court of law as when he tells Mrs Proudie: “Opposition to usurped authority is an imperative duty” (“The Bishop of Barchester is Crushed,” Chapter 18), and he does follow his wife’s suggestion to go to London to get advice from her cousin, Mr Toogood (“Where did it come from?”, Chapter 19).

The solution to the book’s mystery (“Where did he get it?”) at book’s end is capable of being seen as having a peculiar anti-feminist and feminist twist. The origin of all the Crawley’s misery is (as is alas not uncommon with Crawley) partly unconsciously self-inflicted. A woman, Mrs Arabin, has inherited a legacy from her first husband (John Bold, way back in Barchester Towers) and she has the power to transfer bills she gets as rent on her property to other people; being a woman she either does not know the particulars of bill transmission or she is careless about it. Thus do we learn women should not be entrusted. She simply slipped the bill into a folder of bills her husband was intent on giving Mr Crawley as charity. (To be fair, how was she to know this bill had come to the tenant from his brother who had gotten it from a crook who saw it fall from the hands of an aristocratic lord’s man of business, snatched it up, and put it forward as rent.)

Now for the feminist twist: hitherto the Arabins had been slipping these sums of money and other gifts into the silent willing hands of Mrs Crawley, but the husband, indignant and irate that his wife should take it upon herself to accept such moneys and not tell him, demanded that people no longer give Mrs Crawley anything but rather make the offers to him. Now had it been Mrs Crawley whose mind is clearer, she would have been able to account for who gave her these bills in this folder. So his taking over the will of his wife, demanding her abject obedience backfired. I am not sure Trollope meant us to see or himself saw this whirligig of time taking its revenges on Crawley as a merciless bully over his wife. Perhaps Joanna Trollope, though, saw how unfairly Mrs Crawley was treated by him and could not bear her abject life (see my blog on The Rector’s Wife as a post-text to LCB).

We began a reading of this book as a group on Trollope & His Contemporaries (@groups.io) with the thought it had perhaps become dated because it is no longer the famous signature book Trollope readers go to first or are recommended to read as his masterpiece. It undoubtedly manifests some obsolete attitudes. We did discuss these and I digress from my central comparison of the parallel between Crawley and Lily Dale to show how they fit into the book.

There is a spectrum in this novel of social-psychological behavior and motives in the characters represented by the old-fashioned world of Barsetshire as we have come to experience it for 6 books, and the modern one of London as depicted here and in, say, the world of Sowerby in Framley Parsonage. The two ends are represented by the saintly Mr Harding, on the one hand; and the unchaste morally imbecilic women and greedy male money-lenders in London, on the other.

Mr Harding is the only person in the novel simply to guess how naturally and probably Mr Crawley happened to have the note: he was given it by Mrs Arabin, whom the novelist artificially keeps away from Barsetshire and her husband too by travels into Europe. He writes Eleanor to ask, thus himself initiating a bearable ending for Mr Crawley. He compounds this deus ex machina role by dying and asking the Archdeacon to give his sufficiently remunerated position to Crawley. The Archdeacon still has to be pressured into it as Crawley is not the type the establishment will respect & will not kowtow to the Archdeacon. Through Mr Harding Trollope also makes fun of the complicated explanatory plots of how things occur in a Wilkie Collins detection novel. We agreed on the list that Mrs Proudie has to be killed off or she would have prevented Mr Crawley from taking a decently paying position by persuading the Archdeacon (not hard to do) that Mr Crawley is surely unfit.

Trollope both jeers at and disdains the London women, showing no understanding or empathy for how a woman can come to sell sex and her body in the commercial hierarchical world of London. They must be sub-human in their stupidity and animal-like in their tastes. His problem is to link them in (perhaps the Broughton-Dalrymple plot is material he had worked up on its own) through John Eames and he cannot in this respectable novel show Eames is coming to Madalina Desmoulins to go to bed with her. He does show that Eames enjoys triumphing over her when she accuses him of using her. He just (almost inexplicably) cannot keep away unless threatened by marriage. (John Eames is supposed to be a kindly generous man, but not here at all.)

Trollope’s nasty misogyny reaches its height by having Conrad Dalrymple, a male artist (friend to Eames) paint the corrupt nasty wealthy woman’s daughter as Jael in the Jael-Sisera story of the Bible (see Judges 4-5, the Book of Judith). Jael kills Sisera by driving a nail into his head, a woman’s revenge story of the type Artemisia Gentileschi painted. Women painted this kind of thing from time to time, not men. In Trollope’s novel such paintings of stories are not women releasing anger but merely glamorous titillating sexy silliness. This conclusion or contempt for such paintings is represented by having Dalryple tear his painting, showing how little he thinks of it.


One of G. H. Thomas’s vignettes in the concluding London chapters of the book

The height of cruel bullying and punitive values in the novel is, however, shown in  Mrs Proudie’s behavior to her husband, to Crawley and a height of self-inflicted punishment (Dalrymple could have asked a large sum for his picture) is matched by the persuasive brilliance of the depiction of the complete collapse of her hold on her unfortunate husband and her subsequent death.  What has she to live for if she cannot inflict her power through pain on her husband and through him on other people? (she is the Trump of the book insofar as there is one). And the distastefulness and egregious stigmatizing of the London women is matched by the depiction of crooked real business dealings among the London males, and the collapse of Dobbs-Broughton’s business and his suicide.

Here too we have simulacrums of the modern world but mostly wholly out of spirit with what readers of contemporary novels and watchers of contemporary movie series accept as readable and watchable entertainment — not altogether unfortunately: you can find this kind of material on Fox TV and recent violent sexed-up movies in the form of mystery thrillers and fascistic fantasy action-adventure movies.

There is also a somewhat obsolete story in the romance of Major Grantley and Grace Crawley.  He insists on marrying her because he loves and values her, even though his parents are horrified at the thought of having as a daughter-in-law and wife to their son, the daughter of the impoverished and now accused Rev Mr Crawley.  I’d say it’s not wholly obsolete as today many a wealthy parent will move heaven-and-earth to prevent an adult child from marrying down, which in our world means to people of less money and less prestige.  But there is (out-of-date?) cloying element in the story as Grace is ever so grateful to Grantley and herself regards herself as beneath him and his parents. The material also includes a debate over the the obligation of an fully adult upper class male in the book (Major Grantly, a widower with an adolescent daughter), to marry only with his parents’ full approval of his chosen bride.

Further twist, the Archdeacon is as Major Grantly’s father, had persuaded his son to give up a good income in the military in order to live the life of a gentleman of leisure near his parents. Now he is wholly dependent on that father and the father is (an act of betrayal, of going back on his word) going to take the son’s income (an allowance) back if the Major marries the accused much despised impoverished non-networking curate’s daughter. He is put up to this by the malicious Griselda Grantley, now rewarded with one of the highest ranks for women in the book (Marchioness of Hartletop). Trollope empathizes with the Grantly’s parents’ idea they have the right to ask of their son he not lower their status in the world by his life choices.

I  think Trollope meant us to see at least how dangerous it is to give up one’s monetary independence based on a promise. What happens, however at moments cringeworthy the romance  (especially the scene between the Archdeacon just about salivating over the docile Grace) is at least capable of a humane turn of interpretation. Trollope enables us to see that Grace need not be punished all her life for the way the community regards her father; nor Grantly’s possible experience of joy taken from him because his longing for a gentleman’s life tempted him to give his father such power over him. Grantly fils can in modern terms choose an authentic existence; Grace can live with someone who will appreciate her talents. They can go to live more modestly on the continent. Of course our deus ex machina (see above) prevents this less than prosperous future.


“She read the beginning, ‘Dearest Grace'” — we see to the left, Grace Crawley intently reading a love letter from the Major; on the right, Lily Dale more relaxed posture, from the back, reading her newly arrived letter, with Mrs Dale with the newspaper in hand, a middle class breakfast scene (Last Chronicle, Ch 36, G. H. Thomas)

******************************

For a few days — for a week or two, when the blow first struck here, she had been knocked down, and the friends who were nearest to her had thought she would never again stand erect upon her feet. But she had been very strong, stout at heart, of a fixed purpose, and capable of resistance against oppression. Even her mother had been astonished, and sometimes almost dismayed by her strength of will … (“Down at Allington,” Last Chronicle, Ch 16)


Lily and Grace Crawley sewing together, early in the book, becoming friends (a vignette by GH Thomas)

The book’s second traumatized character, Lily is (I gather from group discussions) often attacked for refusing to marry. I cannot say Trollope is wholly on Lily’s side. The Last Chronicle in part rehashes a story told in The Small House of Allington where Lily Dale is stunned and her deepest private feelings violated; she also experiences a Crawley-like public humiliation.  After not only engaging herself to Adolphus Crosbie, but making it plain to all she has given him her heart and soul (and perhaps body too), made herself abjectly his, Lily is, within less than a week of the engagement, cast aside by Crosbie for a cold rich titled woman. A young man, Johnny Eames, has loved her as a boy and offers himself in marriage, but apart from her never having been attracted to Eames sexually, she is emotionally shattered in ways analogous to a raped girl. In LCB, Crosbie, now a widower, of small but adequate means (his wife’s family having fleeced him), I suppose similar to Major Grantley, thinks to offer himself again to Lily.

The problem is Lily still loves the man who betrayed her. Lily’s idea that what is most painful is Crosbie’s notion he is making it up to her. In other words, he considers she cannot do with him. He is doing her a favor. And we are made to see that given his shallow nature, were she to marry him, he would soon act on the idea she needs him far more than he does her. He would let her know it, he would not appreciate her since she did not value herself enough. Her mother hates him & writes the cold distance rejection (Ch 23). It is very nervy of him to offer himself again to her. Again there is a parallel with Crawley: Lily’s pride is as strong as Crawley’s (and Major Grantly’s) and she could not bear a life of isolation with Crosbie, who is not accepted by any of her friends. In all Trollope’s novels, pride is central to people’s mental health itself so badly are we all in need of self-esteem.

In the later parts of LCB, in London and Allington (Chs 45,52, 76), we trace Lily’s coming to choose an independent unmarried life. She only goes totally to pieces when she is directly confronted by Crosbie in front of all the others but inwardly she craves peace and calm in order to be able to live with herself with any kind of psychological security.  It’s not Eames’s strategy to confront her with the demand she must marry to have a legitimate life, but he does send women friends to make this point!  Lily’s deepest impulse now is self-protection; she will not open up to sexual and social hurt, not  any one (man or women) the opportunity to control and humiliate her again. She knows that Eames has been “toying” again with another woman, but her refusal is predicated on her shattered state.

I suggest Lily Dale at the end of LCB is the closest Trollope ever comes to depicting for us a girl who has been raped or sexually abused badly – and in public.  She does say point blank to Emily Dunstable she thinks the better choice for all (it’s implied) is not to marry. Trollope’s narrator insists Lily loves Eames, and that she was near saying yes until knowledge of Eames’s affair (in our period it would be sex) with another nasty women determined her to say no; the sense is MD’s letter informing Lily of the affair made Lily angry over being likened to this base person, made her distrust and regard Johnny Eames as shallow for being able to become involved with her. But Lily does escape the charge of snobbery, self-estrangement and thinking too much about what’s to come from having thought too much about the past. And I maintain that we need not equate narrator with Trollope (as implied author).


Lily Dale and Johnny Eames, a last walk (Last Chronicle, G. H. Thomas)

Driven by Eames and then Mrs Arabin, Lily says 1) she “will not have myself planted out in the middle, for people to look at:” she feels Eames wants her as a trophy, symbol, his pride is what is driving him to want to show people after all she did prefer him; and 2) she is a shattered tree and once you axe the tree its fibers are never the same. It could be Johnny will be kind, generous, loyal, but that does not mean she is not maimed and will be able to respond to him. She cannot be what he wants.

When I have said I was maimed as a teenager by sexual encounters and abuse I experienced, I have gotten back the comment you should not be, & there is something wrong with you.  This is what Mrs Thorne aka Miss Dunstable implies to Lily when Mrs Thorne asserts Lily should be able to get over it. Sometimes it’s implied in ordinary life that the admirable person just emerges the stronger. In a conversation I once had with my father, he presented as an explanatory image a piece of wood, originally strong and fine, but then someone took a big axe and struck hard and the wood was never the same again, immeasurably shaky, un-sturdy. To switch from these metaphors to people, my father was telling me sometimes such a person needs to take care of him or herself in a different way from others. Keeping yourself intact from here on in is going to take work. Modern readers could sympathize more were Lily to go traveling, write for the newspapers, have a vocation, but Trollope is profoundly against regarding women as having value individually, they must be wives & want to be mothers to be seen as useful & respectable & whole. So he will not permit Lily to travel or have a vocation or even get a job.

I have omitted much that is enjoyable and beautifully done in the book. The slow gradual pace, as the pairs and trios of chapters unfold, reach emotional climaxes consonant with the action, occasionally parts of the London stories (especially brilliant, persuasive bitterness between characters over corrupt money dealings),  a host of minor characters well-observed, the pragmatic philosophy of that wonderful sleuth, Mr Toogood, and his goodness. Wonderfully realized believable types: Dr Temple, man of business as clergyman; Mark Robartes now grown older; Miss Dunstable is a disappointment but still herself.  I agree with Stephen Wall, Mr Harding’s visits to his cello are among the most moving passages Trollope ever wrote:

But he would … gaze upon the thing he loved, and he would pass his fingers among the broad strings, and ever and anon he would produce from one of them, a low, melancholy almost unearthly sound. And then he would pause, never daring to produce two such notes in succession — one close upon the other. They were the ghosts of the melodys of days long past. He imagined that his visits were unsuspected .. but the voice of the violoncello had been recognised by the servants, and by his daughter, and when that low wail was heard through the house — like the last dying note of a dirge — they would all know that Mr Harding was visiting his old friend’ (“Near the Close,” Last Chronicle, Ch 49)

To analyse Crawley & Lily & a number of these others (even the waiter at the tavern in Barchester) could take a small book in itself. We did feel maybe there was too much reiteration, so that what had been done with such freshness and subtlety was here reduced a bit — the romance from The Small House, and the thick ethnographic landscape of the Framley Parsonage world, though not Lady Lufton who again springs to complex life. A rare strong good and now at any rate a guardedly independent and forceful woman.


Lady Lufton meeting and besting the Duke of Omnium (Framley Parsonage, John Everett Millais)

The Last Chronicle of Barset is one of Trollope’s masterpieces in the novel way.

Ellen

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Phineas Finn (Donal McCann) being introduced to the important politicians in Parliament with Lady Laura Standish (Anna Massey) by his side (Pallisers 3:6)


Phineas and Mrs Bunce (Brenda Cowling) looking over his clothes in his battered suitcase to make sure he is presentable

A Syllabus

Online at: https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2019/09/10/an-autumn-syllabus-for-a-class-on-anthony-trollopes-phineas-finn-the-irish-member-at-olli-at-mason/

For a course at the Oscher LifeLong Learning Institute at George Mason University
Day: Wednesday later morning, 11:50 to 1:15 pm,
Sept 25 to Nov 13
4210 Roberts Road, Tallwood, Fairfax Va
Dr Ellen Moody


John Everett Millais, “‘I wish to regard you as a dear friend, — both of my own and of my husband””, Phineas and Lady Laura Kennedy (original illustration for Phineas Finn)


Phineas making friends with the top politicians at Loughlinter, including Mr Monk (Bryan Pringle) and Plantagenet Palliser (Philip Latham), with Lady Laura in the background (Pallisers 4:7)

Description of Course

We continue our journey through Trollope’s 6 Palliser novels over several terms. The 2nd Palliser differs from the 1st in making central stories from how politics works from inside Parliamentary circles to outside in society central. Phineas Finn dramatizes fights over crucial transformations in law & electorate politics that occurred in the mid-19th century UK, and dramatizes how a young man can make his way rising in a career as a politician through his associates, the rotten borough system, and taking the party positions. Also how he can fall. It is also about the frustration of a woman who wanted a career through marriage, Lady Laura Kennedy. The book also belongs to Trollope’s Anglo-Irish fiction since it adds to the Pallisers‘ recurring characters, & English landscapes, Ireland as a place, Irish characters & issues. Trollope also examines sexual and marital conflicts with extraordinary psychological portraiture in socially complex situations. There is no need to have read CYFH?

Required Text:

Anthony Trollope, Phineas Finn, ed., introd., notes Simon Dentith New York: Oxford UP, 2011.
There are two (!) relatively inexpensive MP3s of Phineas Finn, one read aloud wonderfully well by Simon Vance (aka Robert Whitfield, Blackstone); and the other read even more brilliantly by Timothy West (Audiobooks). I’m listening to West and it would be fine if people wanted to listen to Vance or West (who is my favorite reader of Trollope).

Format: The class will be a mix of informal lecture and group discussion. Please read ahead PF, Chapters 1-10

Sept 25: 1st week: Introduction: Trollope’s life and career; male and female careers. Read for coming week, PF, Chapters 10-20

Oct 2: 2nd: Phineas Finn. Read for next week PF, Chapter 21-30. The situation of an Irishman, Victorian Ireland; the political situation in the 1860 generally.

Oct 9: 3rd: Phineas Finn. Read for next week, PF, Chapters 31-40. Lady Laura’s plight. Abigail Mann, “Love in the time of Liberalism: Phineas Finn, Divided Affections and Liberal Citizenship,” Victorians: A Journal of Culture and Literature, 127 (2015): 90-104

Oct 16: 4th: Phineas Finn. Read for next week, PF, Chapters 41-50. Ramona L. Denton “‘That cage’ of Feminity: Trollope’s Lady Laura,” South Atlantic, 45 (1980):1-10. Henry N. Rogers, “‘I know why you have come:’ The art of Madame Max,” Philological Review, 33 (Fall 2007):37-5o.

Oct 23: 5th: Phineas Finn. Read for next week, PF, Chapters 51-60. First set of clips from the Pallisers

Oct 30: 6th: Phineas Finn. Read for next week, PF, Chapters 61-70.  Read over the next two weeks Owen Dudley Edwards, “Anthony Trollope, the Irish Writer” Nineteenth Century Fiction 38:1 (1983):1-42. Ireland. Problems of office v independency

Nov 6: 7th: Phineas Finn. Read for next week, PF, Chapters 71-76.  Concluding intrigues; the Palliser group of characters emerge. John Graves, “Phineas Finn and Phineas Redux: One Novel or Two,”  Trollopiana, Fall 2019: 12-23.

Nov 13: 8th: Second set of clips from Pallisers; anticipating Eustace Diamonds; seeing the whole cycle of novels.


Phineas aggressively courting Violet Effingham (Mel Martin) at Loughlinter (Pallisers 5:9)


Phineas duelling with Lord Chiltern (John Hallam) over Violet on the sands of Blankenberg (Pallisers 5:10)

Suggested supplementary reading & film for Trollope and Phineas Finn

Edwards, Owen Dudley. “Anthony Trollope, the Irish Writer,” Nineteenth Century Fiction, 38 (1983):1-42.
Glendinning, Victoria. Anthony Trollope. NY: Knopf, 1993. Lively and filled to the brim with a sense of Trollope’s life.
Godfrey, Emelyne. Masculinity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013.
Halperin, John. Trollope & Politics: A study of the Pallisers and Others. University of So. California, 1977. Informative invigorating study.
MacDonald, Susan Peck. Anthony Trollope. Boston: Twayne, 1987. Excellent concise study of the man and his novels.
McCourt, John. Writing the Frontier: Anthony Trollope between Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2015.
Mill, John Stuart, “The Subjection of Women.” Broadview Press, 2000. Online at: https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/m/mill/john_stuart/m645s/
Nardin, Jane. He Knew She Was Right: The Independent woman in the Novels of Anthony Trollope. Carbondale: So. Illinois UP, 1989. Balanced, and insightful.
Pallisers. Dir. Hugh David, Ronald Wilson. Screenplay by Simon Raven. Perf: Susan Hampshire, Philip Latham, Donal McCann, Barbara Murray, Anna Massey and Donald Pickering (among others). BBC, 1974, DVD. Available in a newly digitalized version.

The interlocking stories and characters of the Phineas Finn begins at the close of Can You Forgive Her?. In Simon Raven’s TV adaptation, the story of Lady Glencora and Plantagenet Palliser, and Madame Max and The Duke of Omnium are made prominent throughout; Lord Fawn is brought out more too. In Trollope’s book, the Pallisers are kept in the background and Madame Max and the Duke only emerge at the end of Phineas Finn; the emphasis is the story of Phineas and Lady Laura Kennedy. A very much abbreviated version of the Pallisers series is on YouTube. Not recommended because too much is cut.

Pateman, Carole. The Sexual Contract. Stanford University Press, 1988.
Scharnhorst, Gary. Kate Field: The Many Lives of a Nineteenth Century American Journalist. Syracuse University Press, 2008. My blog: https://reveriesunderthesignofausten.wordpress.com/2010/02/22/kate-field-a-great-important-american-woman-journalist-and-anthony-trollopes-love/
Skilton, David. Anthony Trollope and his Contemporaries. London: Macmillan, 1996.
Snow, C. P. Trollope: An Illustrated Biography. NY: New Amsterdam, 1975. A pleasure to read.
Terry, R. C. Anthony Trollope: The Artist in Hiding. New Jersey: Rowman and Littlefield, 1977. About how artful the novels are.
Wall, Stephen. Trollope: Living with Characters. NY: Holt, 1988.
Trollope, Anthony. An Autobiography, edd. Michael Sadleir and Frederick Page, introd and notes PD Edwards. NY: Oxford paperback, 1980. Found online at University of Adelaide.


Street protests on behalf of the secret ballot (Pallisers 4:8)


Mr Quintus Slide (Clifford Rose), the newspaper man who becomes Phineas’s enemy (Pallisers 5:10)

Three good general books on the era:

A.N. Wilson, The Victorians. Entertaining, a bit dense, lots of little biographies.
Susie Steinbach, Understanding The Victorians: Culture and Society in 19th century Britain. She may look less entertaining but she writes clearly and reads easily — and about larger issues from an angle that enables the reader to see the larger political struggles in terms of the daily lives, experiences, and attitudes of ordinary Victorians, and thus manages to get at the important difficult terrain of inward mentalities and the actual experience of particular milieus in the Victorian era.
Simon Heffner’s High Minds: The Victorians and the Birth of Modern Britain. He is a conservative paternalist Tory writer for the Spectator, Telegraph, New Statesman, sometimes the Guardian and his book, fat as it is, gives real insight into what is commonly thought of as politics. A lot about parliament and progressive legislation and how these laws came about. A section on the Great Exhibition.


Lawrence’s sister, Miss Aspasia Fitzgibbon (Rosalind Knight) pays Phineas’s debts to Mr Clarkson (Sidney Bromley) (Pallisers 5:9)


Phineas and Mary Flood Jones (Maire Ni Ghrainne) in Ireland again (6:11)

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