Posts

As I’m forever complaining about Trollope’s obsession with pure heroines, it’s only fair to commend him for using John Caldigate (1879) to question a man’s right to a sexual past. Caldigate is the archetypal Victorian ne’er do well. Graduating from Cambridge with eye-watering debts, he is obliged to try his luck in the Australian goldfields. On the long voyage to the Antipodes he amuses himself with Euphemia Smith, a feisty widow who is no better than she ought to be. She explains her attraction to him thus: ...

History has not been kind to Effie Gray. Her first husband, John Ruskin, was supposedly terrified by her lower portions on their wedding night, while exasperated historians have blamed her for ruining the career of her second husband, John Millais. In this moving biography, Suzanne Fagence Cooper puts Effie centre stage, and we see her for the first time as an individual, as well as within the context of her two famous marriages. ...

Banking scandals, corporate greed, and social irresponsibility – who says Trollope isn’t relevant? The Way We Live Now (1875) is perhaps his darkest novel and is markedly different from the rest of his oeuvre. This probably explains why it is often sidelined and not given the attention it deserves. I’ve written many times before that readers tended to punish Trollope for experimenting with different styles, but his willingness to try new ideas is what makes him so interesting as a writer. Often referred to as the most “Dickensian” of Trollope’s novels, The Way We Live Now is a scathing attack on the dwindling morality of the mid-Victorian period and the “commercial profligacy of the age”. The glittering cast of characters is headed by Augustus Melmotte, an entrepreneur of dubious provenance who seeks social advantage through his immense wealth. There are marked similarities with Ferdinand Lopez, anti-hero of The Prime Minister. Melmotte angles to pair his timorous daughter Marie with an aristocrat who can confer respectability and lineage upon his house. ...

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.” ...