Victorian

You certainly need to fasten your seatbelt for Brian Thompson’s biography The Disastrous Mrs Weldon. Wilkie Collins couldn’t have created the eponymous heroine, even if he’d been a bit heavy-handed with the laudanum. During her extraordinary life, Georgina Weldon married an impecunious army officer against her family’s wishes, set up an orphanage in Charles Dickens’ former home, held a famous French composer captive, had a lesbian affair, and represented herself in over 200 court cases. ...

According to P D Edward’s introduction, Trollope sent a copy of Rachel Ray to George Eliot, wondering what she would think of his “little story”. History does not tell us her response, but I suspect she would have enjoyed it, as it is not unlike her own Scenes of Clerical Life. He tried to confine himself to the “commonest details of commonplace life” but this anything but a dull novel. ...

Cousin Henry (1880) is something of a rarity amongst Trollope’s novels in that it’s fairly short. Despite its brevity, it manages to include one of the most interesting character studies I’ve encountered in Victorian fiction. Henry Jones inherits his uncle’s estates and conceals the knowledge that another will had been made, this time leaving them to his cousin Isabel Brodrick. His guilty conscience means that he is unable to enjoy his new-found wealth and he becomes increasingly bitter and reclusive. The presence of the legal will torments him, but his weakness of character prevents him from destroying it. ...

Harry Price: The Psychic Detective is an investigation into an investigator. There must be a clever Latin phrase for that sort of caper, but I know not what it is. I saw an excellent exhibition of Price’s ghost investigations at The Photographers’ Gallery a few years ago and came away with the impression that he was a serious scientist, although something of a show-off. Richard Morris’ research, however, unearths evidence to prove that Price was often responsible for the phenomena he was trying to debunk. Indeed, in an early piece of writing, he admitted that many people prefer the “bunk” to the “debunk”. He was essentially an accomplished showman who was desperate for recognition. Although greatly admired in some quarters, he was never sufficiently successful to give up his day job as, of all things, a paper bag salesman. ...