I had fallen in love with Trollope's writing with his 'Chronicles of Barsetshire', particularly 'Barchester Towers' which had all of the social comedy I wanted from a period novel and a broader portrait of life in England in the mid-19th century. Trollope wore his prejudices proudly and his biases were as informative for me as a historian as any impartial work of the era could have been. As I read further into the series I was impressed further with the depth of his characters, particularly his occasional nuanced characterization of women in his era. There were always one or two at least who were rewarded even for bucking the conventions of society, and even those who were caricatures of female vanity or shrewish are excused by the narrator, because of the narrow confines they as women must inhabit to avoid ridicule.

I was talking about this to a customer, perhaps about a year ago, who asked if I had read 'He Knew He Was Right." I said I hadn't and she said she'd be very interested in hearing what I had to say about it. Well, a year or so later I've finished it and I'm not sure what to say.

The central plot is the deterioration of the marriage of Louis and Emily Trevelyon. They are a happy, prosperous couple with a healthy young boy when Louis has a seed of doubt about Emily being visited so often by an old friend of her father's, a man with a lingering rakish reputation despite his age. Louis tries to maneuver Emily away from this acquaintance, and even orders it to stop, but her resistance to the suggestion and scorn at the order - obeying it only to the letter - leads to open distrust and eventual separation.

This disagreement and refusal to compromise ruins both of their lives and almost certainly the life of their son. Houses are given up, scandal is spread through London and wherever either Trevelyon or his wife go. Emily's stubborness rests much on her pride and her Victorian refusal to even touch on the subject of impropriety in conversation until its too late. Trevelyon's insistence becomes more and more adamant and leads to madness. Tied into this mess are Emily's sister Nora, who must make her own decisions about love in the shadow of the terrible example of her sister and brother-in-law, and their whole family who must endeavor to fix this situation or make the best of it.

Nora's two beaus are Charles Glascock and Hugh Stanpole, the former the heir to a peerage and grand estate, the latter a gentleman who makes comparatively thin means writing for a radical newspaper. Each of these gentlemen connect the Trevelyon's marriage plot to happier plots involving young ladies making happy marriages. Hugh's sister Dorothy in going to live with a wealthy maiden aunt inhabits practically her own novel full of botched proposals, village gossip, and just desserts.

There is a lot going on in this lengthy book and it is full of the period detail and social commentary I adore from Trollope, but plot-wise it runs out steam about halfway through. The rift between the Trevelyons is intractable and ends up covering the same ground repeatedly. The marriage plots of Nora and Dorothy are finalized so quickly there is little to do but wait for the wedding, which, on the page, isn't as compelling as you'd like. Other marriages and character arcs are also wrapped up while the reader still has hundreds of pages to go to hear the same loops of conversations and social necessities pass by.

It frankly baffled me. Trollope has never stinted on words in the novels I've read, but there was never this feeling that much of it was so...unnecessary. In doing some reading I found a reference to the novel in Trollope's 'Autobiography' that shows that Trollope was disappointed in the novel:

 

"I do not know that in any literary effort I ever fell more completely short of my own intention than in this story. It was my purpose to create sympathy for the unfortunate man who, while endeavouring to do his duty to all around him, should be led constantly astray by his unwillingness to submit his own judgment to the opinion of others. The man is made to be unfortunate enough, and the evil which he does is apparent. So far I did not fail, but the sympathy has not been created yet. I look upon the story as being nearly altogether bad. It is in part redeemed by certain scenes in the house and vicinity of an old maid in Exeter. But a novel which in its main parts is bad cannot, in truth, be redeemed by the vitality of subordinate characters."

I appreciate his honesty there. I would go further than saying it is only sympathy for Trevelyon that is lacking. This novel tries to tackle a heavy issue and doesn't quite manage it. Trollope didn't have the vocabulary to dismantle the toxic masculinity that led Trevelyon to becoming unhinged in the way he did. There are some other commentaries about women that I read as thin satire, but was still distasteful to read. Without the fun or interest of other subplots to shore up the devastating weight of the central arc, I would have been unable to finish this novel if I hadn't read 80% in airport terminals last week. I will read more Trollope, but I don't think I can recommend this one to anyone except diehard fans.

'The Last Chronicle of Barset' is a novel about Privilege, and how when you have Privilege you suffer more than common people, whose lives being always terrible, are used to it and don't feel pain. Trollope goes to great lengths to prove to the reader that starving in a hovel doesn't compare to the exquisite pain of not having a new pair of evening gloves. Trollope may have an upswing in popularity in the next four years.

Josiah Crawley had first made an appearance in Framley Parsonage as a poverty-stricken curate of a poor district, far away from the usual comforts enjoyed by the clergy in these novels. Crawley's situation has improved in some ways, since a few of his children have died, but shame is about to come down on his head. He would almost rather the family be put out onto the streets than take assistance from concerned friends.

Crawley's final shame comes about at the start of the novel when a tradesmen, a butcher, pressures Rev. Crawley to pay a bill and so he pays with a banknote that...it appears he's stolen! He cannot account for how it came into his possession. It is the talk of the county and, unfortunately, is spoiling his daughter's chances of marriage with a son of the Archdeacon.

Jane Crawley is too noble by half to let herself marry the man she loves and drag the Grantly's into shame, but like so many other Trollope heroines, she is suspected of the lowest motives and never given information she has every right to possess until the last minute. Her story is a decent one, but the heart of the novel is in the slow fading of Septimus Harding, the former Warden, and Lily Dale, whose continued refusal to ever marry at the end 'The Small House' is tested. She is thrown up against all the former heroines of Barchester, each one, yes, even Miss Dunstable, washed of personality by marriage.

This novel was not as rewarding as others by Trollope, but it at least tied up any loose ends and it did justice to more characters than not. The majority of the authors attention was already turning to the politics of London rather than the clerical gentry that were the heart of the Barchester stories.

Previous: 'The Small House at Allington'

This is a novel that is a labor of love for the reader, if they have any compunctions about the pace or the scale of a Victorian novel they should steer clear of this at any cost. However, for the reader willing to invest the energy and the time, 'Can You Forgive Her' is a rewarding experience and is a triumph of social critique. Trollope displays rare insight and sympathy for a woman's situation and her options in the mid-19th century.

"What should a woman do with her life?" Alice Vavasor asks this question of herself near the start of the novel while thinking of her engagement with the unimpeachable John Grey. In deciding whether she should marry Grey and have him be the object of her life as opposed to being alone or marrying her cousin and furthering his career with her money, she is the woman who the reader has to decide to forgive. Trollope broadens his scope to include a few other examples of conduct to consider. There is Alice's cousin Kate Vavasor, the sister of the man Alice was engaged to once before, who has devoted her life to her brother and the care of her grandfather; there is her aunt Mrs Greenow, recently widowed and seeking a new husband under the pretext of finding a husband for Kate; and most importantly there is Glencora Palliser, a cousin of Alice's on her mother's side, who was pressured into marrying Plantagenet Palliser as opposed to the man she loved in 'The Small House at Allington' by her relatives to preserve her fortune. Taken together the novel goes to great lengths to examine the why's of society's rules. Trollope is by no means a radical, but he's no misogynist and his female characters here have more life in them then the men, something very few of his peers, male or female, can boast.

Alice starts the novel safely engaged to John Grey, but in her youth Alice had been in love with and engaged to her cousin George, but after some disgraceful "wild" behavior on his part she honorably withdrew. With Kate's help the two are friends again and at the start of the novel the three are set on touring the continent. Her relations on her mother's side are opposed to George Vavasor as a chaperon, but Alice hates to be told what to do and resents any interference in her personal life, whatever the motive. Her motivations can be selfish, but she is guided by her sense of justice and right as opposed to propriety. The reader will be sorely tested by her indecision and inability to make up her mind. The problem with Grey is his perfection. He is wealthy and interested in academic pursuits, whereas Alice believes in politics and the necessity of seeking public life to promote the greater good. Grey is in an ivory tower and Alice dreads boredom and doubts her ability to provide the companionship Grey deserves. Her cousin George on the other hand seeks a seat in Parliament and only lacks the money to get it, did I mention Alice has a small fortune at her disposal?

Kate is Alice's best friend as well as her cousin, but she pounces on any doubts Alice has towards Grey. It is her fondest desire to see the two people she loves best be joined in marriage. She willfully ignores her brother's less desirable traits, but sees Alice as a source of redemption to her beloved brother. She is older than Alice, but has no desire to marry. She has little money but is willing to put it all behind her brother's campaign. In order to save some effort on my part I'll gloss over Mrs. Greenow's social triumph as a widow - very Dickens with two suitors competing for her very rich hand - and the question if she will marry again for comfort or charity? It raised some good points about the hypocrisy of mourning rituals and a woman's purpose in life, but I see it as fluffy potatoes to Alice's steak and Lady Glencora's asparagus. Metaphor!

Lady Glencora is spoiled and impetuous, but in many ways she is the Alice that Trollope wouldn't have been allowed to celebrate. Married at the behest of her relatives, she still acknowledges feelings for her old suitor, pretty boy Burgo Fitzgerald. Her husband has political interests that demand immaculate social performance and he appears to have no time for her as a person, especially as she hasn't been able to produce an heir yet. She is racked with guilt and in a mad fever of rebellion against the tacit edicts of her husband and society triggers one of the most shocking scenes in the body of Victorian literature - clutch your pearls and have a seat please -



She gambles a napoleon in the gaming rooms at Baden! The wife of the heir of a Dukedom no less. You can see the apprehension of her cousin beside her.

Have you ever seen the like? I don't approve of graphic images in reviews, but I needed to impress on readers the severity of Lady Glencora's actions. She deals with her situation with equal amounts of humor and self-pity. Her dilemma of how to live with the man she is married to consumes a deal of energy in the novel. Her unhappiness is an example to Alice and potentially readers to relenting to the pressure of expectations and appropriateness as opposed to feeling.

The novel ends happily and with most of the conventions of society vindicated, but not after a great deal of questioning and challenges to the assumption that what is socially acceptable and what is right are one and the same. Proceed with caution, but I felt my time was well spent.

The Pallisers

Next: 'Phineas Finn'

But I'm finding that Trollope had such a relationship with his characters that they carry on in dozens of novels, if only to populate the drawing rooms of other plots. I'll have to read every Trollope novel if I want to properly follow....challenge accepted?

Constancy is the word of the day in 'The Small House at Allington' (1864). There are, of course, dozens of characters and motives and several subplots, but the main thrust of the book comes from hobbledehoy Johnny Eames and his love since early childhood, Lily Dale. Unfortunately for Johnny, Lily has been offered, and accepted, a marriage proposal from man of fashion and all-around stud Adolphus Crosbie.

There is some background necessary. Lily is a Dale. The Dales of Allington are an ancient family, etc., etc. who are known for their unswerving character. The current Squire, Christopher Dale, was rejected in love and thus decided to never marry. One brother of his eloped with the daughter of a nearby Earl and the other married a respectable woman with little money. I don't need to explain to you which was the worse match.

The youngest brother's death left Mrs. Dale with her small means and two daughters, Belle and Lily. In their interest Mrs. Dale accepted the offer of living in the "small house" rent-free. The squire was pleased to give his nieces attention and presents and other favors to their advantage, but failed to extend any affection to their mother. She feels obligated to refuse his cold invitations to join them for dinner, etc. Her life is often a lonely one, but to her it is a price worth paying. His nieces, observing this, are fond enough of their uncle, but keep their own distance.

We have now on both sides of the family an obstinacy that gets in the way of their happiness. The novel begins when Adolphus Crosbie joins his friend Bernard Dale, the son of the other brother and heir to the estate, on a summer's visit to Allington. He falls in love with Lily, and thinking she will have a marriage settlement from her uncle, proposes marriage. There is no settlement. To marry on the several hundred pounds a year of his current income would mean disaster to his career and his important position at the center of other ladies' drawing rooms. Lily senses his distress and offers freely to let him go, despite her love for him, but he refuses. While he remains at Allington he goes forward with the engagement. He does cut his visit short by a week to accept an invitation from the Countess to De Courcy Castle where her so very eligible daughter Lady Alexandrina could see him.

It is obvious. From the moment Crosbie was introduced as something like the most decorative man in London the reader knows that Lily Dale and her zero pounds stands not a chance, no matter how lively and sweet she is. Trollope is sympathetic to all concerned in the matter, he explains the good intentions, the unwillingness of the characters to cause each other pain at each and every moment they cut each other deepest.

But there's Johnny Eames! He has only offered a small sentence or two to her confessing his deep feelings for her, and she acknowledges them, but she cannot tear herself from the thought of Crosbie. She had professed to love him for eternity and eternity it will be. Eames has his own problems brewing - he's been a little too free with the disgracefully free Amelia Roper, daughter of his landlady - but he has everything in him of the great man, if he could just get over the hurdles of youth without tripping. Events and most of the cast of the novel conspire to bring Johnny and Lily together, will they? won't they? Trollope's triumph here was in making me wish for the inevitable and then denying it to me. By the end of the novel as he sits eating his pork chop - how one eats is so very revealing - the reader knows.

I have cut this novel down to nothing. One subplot touched on the Grantleys and introduced Plantagenet Palliser of Trollope's other great series, the Palliser novels or the Parliamentary Chronicles. Society has chosen to believe he is having an affair with the serene Lady Griselda Dumbello (née Grantley) who married so magnificently in Framley Parsonage. This leads Palliser to wonder that if society believes it, why not give it a try?

Is constancy in love is a virtue? The Victorians had no qualms about moralizing, but occasionally, as here, the medicine goes down smoothly.

Next: The Last Chronicle of Barset (1867)

or Can You Forgive Her? (1865), if I want to leave Barchester for awhile.

'Framley Parsonage' is not the continuation of the story of 'Doctor Thorne' the way that 'Barchester Towers' was of 'The Warden', but they have a good deal in common more than characters and setting.

Mark Robarts is a clergyman, not yet thirty, who has benefited from the patronage of his friend's mother, Lady Lufton. She chose him a devoted and capable wife and granted him the comfortable living of Framley at £800 a year. He lives perhaps too respectably, with a large household and a pony-chaise - things on the edge of propriety for a gentlemen of his standing and only just within his means. He has ambitions to move into even higher circles, even at the expense of his patroness' good opinion. With good intentions, he naively signs a note for dissolute politician Mr. Sowersby. The debt falls on Mark and he has to deal with the consequences towards not only his reputation but the happiness and security of his family. This conflict Mark's refusal to so anything at all about it makes up about a third of the novel, at least. It is frustrating and tedious. Thankfully, there are other people to follow.

Mark's sister, Lucy, comes to stay at the parsonage after the death of their father. She is a bright girl, but shy and without many of the higher refinements and accomplishments of other genteel women. Slowly, Lucy and young Lord Lufton form a mutual attachment. This further aggravates Lady Lufton, who would have her son marry a girl of her own choosing. Lucy, much like Mary Thorne in Doctor Thorne acts precisely within appropriate boundaries, but also speaks her mind and her conduct does much towards securing her own happiness. Lord Lufton, too, while not being entirely gallant, is not waiting on outside windfalls to accomplish his objectives, as Frank Gresham did. Trollope handles this conflict skillfully, one understands and sympathizes with Lady Lufton and her reasons in a way one couldn't Lady Arabella's. Arabella was a hostile hypocrite and the relationship of her and her family was incomprehensible outside the needs of the plot. In this novel Trollope got it right. The Luftons and the Robarts do argue and have fundamental disagreements, but they do so in a way that is compatible with their being friends and family.

The Robarts are acquainted with the Greshams, which brings the indomitable Miss Dunstable into play. She is still pursued by all manner of fortune-hunters, including Mr. Sowersby, but she is more than a match for them. Miss Dunstable persists in beating society at its own game. Her triumph was my favorite part of the novel. There are other subplots of course. The Grantlys, the Proudies, the Arabins and others all have their chance. Even the devious Mr. Sowersby and his shallow sister and his political friends have a chance to present themselves in a way that is understandable and entertaining. All of it adds to a richly layered novel about morality, convention, marriage and politics. Trollope has his characters act and behave in a way that is stylized and exaggerated enough for a novel, but still within the bounds of realism.

Next I go to 'The Small House at Allington'