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I must confess to having been initially sceptical at the title’s claim of “worst” husband. Having spent much of the last few years rummaging through historical divorce papers, I know there are many ghastly contenders for that dubious honour. Andrew Robinson Stoney was described by his own father as “the most wretched man I ever knew”, and he was to showcase his ghastliness on Mary Eleanor Bowes, the eighteenth century’s richest heiress (and great-great-great-grandmother of the late Queen Mother). ...

Following his umpteenth divorce, Rod Stewart remarked that he wouldn’t get married again – he would simply find a (presumably blonde) woman he didn’t like very much and give her a house. Reading Maureen Waller’s The English Marriage, I can’t say I blame him. There is very little love to be found in these pages, rather an abundance of violence, infidelity, and fraud. Each chapter focuses on a particular marriage and the outrage it embodied, whether it be wife-sale (yes, Hardy wasn’t making it up), bigamy, or old-fashioned adultery. These stories are interspersed with enlightening extracts from conduct manuals. My favourite of these is clergyman William Gouge’s Domesticall Duties (1622), which decrees that a married woman must maintain “an inward, wife-like fear”. ...

Trollope intended The Struggles of Brown, Jones and Robinson (1870) as “a hit at the present system of advertising”. Unfortunately, his unappreciative audience thought it a flop, with one critic dismissing it as “Thackeray-and-water”. As is often the case, I find myself almost alone in thinking it one of the author’s triumphs. The story charts the rise and fall of a haberdashery business run by the eponymous characters. Brown is pathologically cautious, a situation that repeatedly brings him into conflict with his extravagant and acquisitive partners. To complicate matters further, Robinson determines to win the hand of Brown’s youngest daughter, thereby pitching himself into competition with Brisket the butcher, who is as beefy as his name suggests. Meanwhile, the ambitious Jones seeks to corner the market in stockings and quash Robinson’s more exotic plan to stock monkey muffs (I shall resist the temptation to speculate on that item). ...

It’s that time of year again when I suddenly wish I’d read books with titles containing verbs. There are still a few weeks left in 2011, but I shall be devoting those to my much-neglected thesis. Anyway, here’s the idea: Using only books you have read this year (2011), answer these questions. Try not to repeat a book title. Describe yourself: The Uncommon Reader (Alan Bennett) How do you feel: At Home (Bill Bryson) ...

It’s hard to read The Landleaguers (1883) without a lump in the throat, as it was to be Trollope’s final novel. My sentimentality quickly vaporised, however, as it’s not one of his finer moments. The eponymous Landleaguers were Irish farmers who resisted eviction and strove to control their own land. Their tactics ranged from withholding rents and labour, through to death threats and flooding of fields. Famously, they also practised ostracism, which became known as Boycotting, after the name of its first victim. As an inveterate conservative (with a small c), and a tendency to be Tebbity, Trollope is highly critical of the Landleaguers’ actions, with the plot subordinate to the expression of his reactionary views. ...

One hundred and fifty years ago today, Queen Victoria and her subjects were plunged into mourning following the untimely demise of the Prince Consort. Albert’s death threw an enormous wet blanket over the social season, with the cancellation of balls, concerts, and soirees. For appearances’ sake, Charles Dickens was obliged to postpone a lucrative series of public readings, which must have really smarted. Those of more modest means that the Inimitable Boz wondered how on earth they would afford to put their families in mourning. Manufacturers, meanwhile, rubbed their hands with glee, greedily anticipating a boost to their profits as the trade in commemorative items and dark-coloured clothing boomed. It’s an ill wind. ...

My reading resolution for 2011 is to finish reading all of Trollope’s 47 novels. The short stories and non-fiction will have to wait ’til next year. Here’s the current tally: Can You Forgive Her? Phineas Finn The Eustace Diamonds Phineas Redux He Knew He Was Right The Way We Live Now Lady Anna Is He Popenjoy? Rachel Ray Linda Tressel Cousin Henry The Vicar of Bullhampton Kept in the Dark Miss Mackenzie The Belton Estate The Claverings The American Senator John Caldigate The Prime Minister The Duke’s Children Ayala’s Angel The Fixed Period Dr Wortle’s School An Old Man’s Love The Warden Barchester Towers Doctor Thorne An Eye for an Eye Framley Parsonage The Small House at Allington The Last Chronicle of Barset Marion Fay Mr Scarborough’s Family Nina Balatka Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite Harry Heathcote of Gangoil The Struggles of Brown, Jones and Robinson The Golden Lion of Granpère The Macdermots of Ballycloran Ralph the Heir The Three Clerks Orley Farm The Bertrams La Vendée The Kelly’s and the O’Kellys (nearly there!) Castle Richmond (one to go!) The Landleaguers (done it!) 🎉 You can discover my favourites and those I’d happily never read again. ...

A Mummer’s Wife (1885) was my first introduction to George Moore, and I found myself captivated by this intriguing literary figure, who attracted praise and censure in equal measure. W B Yeats found the novel so shocking that he forbade his sister to read it, and the conservative press was almost unanimous in condemning its “coarseness”. Moore’s novel tells the story of Kate Ede, a bored Midlands housewife unhappily married to an asthmatic draper. When Dick Lennox, a handsome travelling actor, comes to lodge with her family, Kate succumbs to temptation, with disastrous consequences. Moore describes in almost unbearable detail Kate’s sense of claustrophobia, disillusionment, and subsequent ignominious descent into alcoholism. 124 years after it was first published, A Mummer’s Wife retains its ability to shock. ...

Most people don’t like change, and Trollope readers really hate it. Nina Balatka (1867) was an attempt to try something different, and Trollope published it anonymously in order to mark the departure from his familiar style. Reviewers quickly saw through his disguise, and the reading public were unimpressed. The original serialisation in Blackwood’s Magazine flopped, and the three-decker sold fewer than 500 copies. Consequently, the novel is one of Trollope’s least-known works. A terrible shame, say I, as Nina Balatka is one of his finest short novels. ...

Imagine, if you will, settling down to watch what promises to be a really good film, and then suddenly and inexplicably, it is interrupted by a party political broadcast from the Tory party. That’s how I felt about Mr Scarborough’s Family (1883), Trollope’s 45th and antepenultimate novel. The story begins well, with a King Lear moment in which the eponymous Mr Scarborough tries to decide which of his unworthy sons should inherit his considerable wealth. What follows is endless depictions of nasty, selfish people, with whom one is inclined to feel little sympathy. ...