Books

There is something pleasingly understated about a book called Mr Briggs’ Hat. This seemingly ordinary item of apparel became key to one of the most famous murder cases of the nineteenth century, inspiring terror among the commuters of the heaving metropolis. On the evening of 9 July 1864, Thomas Briggs, a 69-year-old bank clerk, boarded a train at Fenchurch Street. It should have taken him to his home in Hackney, as it had done hundreds of times before. However, the train arrived without Mr Briggs, and all that remained of him in his blood-soaked compartment was his bag and stick, along with a crushed hat that wasn’t even his. Although the blood actually sloshed through to the next compartment, there were no witnesses to the crime – this was a classic locked-room murder. It only became apparent what had happened when Briggs’ battered body was found by the railway tracks, and without his gold watch or hat. ...

Ford Madox Brown (1821-1893) is perhaps most famous for being on the margins of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, but was overshadowed by more dominant figures, such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti and William Holman Hunt. Whereas works like ‘The Last of England’ form a legacy of his brilliance, the man behind the easel has remained elusive. Angela Thirlwell’s Into the Frame is a joint portrait of the four women who influenced Madox Brown: his two wives, Elisabeth and Emma, and the two women with whom he had very intense (but not necessarily sexual) relationships, Marie Spartali and Mathilde Blind. ...

We all know Trollope was no feminist, but Is He Popenjoy? (1878) is the only novel in which he openly attacks the nascent women’s rights movement. He revels in imaginary meetings in Marylebone, organised by the Rights of Women Institute for the Relief of the Disabilities of Females (known more succinctly and disparagingly as ‘Disabilities’). Presiding over this august group are the unsubtly-named Lady Selina Protest, Baroness Bannman, who has a “considerable moustache”, Dr Olivia Q. Fleabody, and Ju Mildmay. Mildmay is aunt to Lord George Germain, whose unhappy young wife Mary attends the meetings, prompted by curiosity and dissatisfaction. There she sees: ...

Joseph Paxton (1803-65) was a formidable auto-didact who embodied the Victorian idea of progress. From humble beginnings as the son of a poor farmer, Paxton landed the dream job of gardener to the Duke of Devonshire at the age of just 23. He remained there until the Duke’s death, 32 years later. Although horticulture was his great love, his talents were too diverse for him to remain tied to the land. A practical man who seemed to have a solution to any problem, “ask Paxton” became a national catchphrase. He went on to design mansions, sewage systems, and elaborate hothouses to ensure the wealthy never went without a pineapple. ...

I must confess to a degree of scepticism on receipt of a proposal to publish The Angel of the Revolution, George Chetwynd Griffith’s 1893 tale of air warfare. Sci-fi generally resides in my Room 101 and has no place on the papal bookshelves. Imagine my surprise at finding myself completely gripped by a fantastical story in which an intrepid group of Socialists, Anarchists, and Nihilists defeat Capitalism with their superior knowledge of dirigibles (my new favourite word). Led by a crippled, brilliant Russian Jew and his daughter, Natasha, The Brotherhood of Freedom establishes a ‘pax aeronautica’ over the world, thanks to the expertise of scientist Richard Arnold. Arnold falls in love with Natasha (the eponymous Angel), and Griffith builds a utopian vision of Socialism and romance. ...

It is one of life’s delicious ironies that the founder of Save the Children, Eglantyne Jebb, referred to infants as “little wretches”. She went on to say that “the Dreadful Idea of closer acquaintance never entered my head”. Notwithstanding this aversion to the actual artefact, Jebb saved the lives of millions of children through her indefatigable efforts, raising awareness that the younger generation comprised an important national asset that should be protected and nurtured. ...

Stephen King once rudely referred to the first Palliser novel as Can You Finish It? It’s certainly true that Trollope wasn’t known for his brevity, and this handsome new OUP edition of Can You Forgive Her? is 700 pages long. However, Trollope grapples with an ambitious range of political and social themes and, in so doing, presents a compelling and provocative narrative. The central question raised is ‘What should a woman do with her life?’ and it is examined through expertly drawn characters who all make very different choices. Alice Vavasor is a young woman with an independent fortune who has ended up engaged to a stuffed shirt by the name of John Grey. Although eminently respectable, Grey (as his name suggests) is interested mainly in propriety and is ill-suited to a wife who seems likely to prove a handful. Alice’s cousin and quondam lover George predicts: “He’d make an upper servant of her; very respectable, no doubt, but still only an upper servant.” ...

There’s not much that surprises me these days, but Lady Worsley’s Whim managed to repeatedly elevate the papal eyebrows. The story centres around an infamous crim-con trial that took place on 21 February 1782 between Sir Richard Worsley, Governor of the Isle of Wight, and George Bisset, an officer (but not a gentleman) and one-time friend of Worsley. Despite having encouraged a close relationship between Bisset and his wife, Worsley thought it outrageous when the pair ran off together, and claimed £20,000 in damages. Already a wealthy man, the astronomical sum was designed to reduce his enemy to penury. ...

A comment from a fellow Trollope enthusiast has prompted me to post an update on the Trollope Challenge. I finished my 47th and final novel in November last year, although was too frantically busy to write any reviews. Anyway, the experience was a Mixed Bag, although immensely enjoyable. Trollope was an extremely varied writer, both in terms of subject matter and quality. With the emphasis invariably on the Palliser novels and Barsetshire Chronicles, it’s easy to forget that he was a great experimenter in style and setting. ...

Having recently drawn attention to Trollope’s less successful works, it seems only fair to trumpet one of his finer novels. The Golden Lion of Granpère (1872) is a short but perfectly-formed tale of love and unreasonable patriarchs, set against a richly-drawn backdrop of provincial France. The Lion d’Or is a small town hotel, owned by the ambitious Michel Voss. He lives there with his son George, his second wife and her niece, Marie Bromar. Perhaps inevitably, Marie and George fall in love, thereby incurring the Jehovah-like wrath of Michel. He believes that each of them could make a more advantageous marriage, conferring greater wealth and influence upon the family. After consent to the couple’s engagement is refused unequivocally, George stomps off in a fit of pique to another town, remaining on non-speakers with his family for a whole year. ...