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A Barchester novel with no Mrs Proudie dialogue - clearly this is to blame for its mediocre traits.
Squire Dale at the Big House at Allington has a nephew, Bernard, as his heir; a sister-in-law whom he supports but doesn't get on with; and two impoverished nieces, Bell and Lily. Lily and Bell of the Small House at Allington are now of an age to have lovers and potential lovers, which they do. This is the main content of the book. Ungainly Income-tax clerk Johnny Eames and sophisticated government clerk Adolphus Crosbie pursue Lily; Bell's suitors are the local doctor Crofts and her cousin Bernard Dale. But while the course of Bell's true love is only impeded by her pridefully shy habit of sometimes saying 'no' when she means 'yes', Eames and Crosbie both have other women than Lily in their life, and besides, Squire Dale isn't giving Lily any money when she marries.
Additionally, we catch up on Lady Dumbello - nee Griselda Grantly - and the heartless, entirely efficient way she manages to nip an illicit affair in the bud; and we see the beginnings of Plantagenet Palliser and the wonderful Lady Glencora.
The main plot of this book is thin on substance; the real vividity is in the subplots. Trollope dips into grim and gritty mires - for him - with the lives of lodgers in cheap boarding houses. The de Courcy scenes are quite good, although they are rather caricatured personalities. Mercenary Crosbie's angst over his poor life choices when he picks a titled de Courcy daughter over pretty Lily is exhaustively delved into. While this novel is part of the Barchester series, it's extremely short on clerical doings, and few of the old favourites show up for any length of time. The connection is the de Courcys, Frank Gresham's extended family of unpleasant inlaws in DOCTOR THORNE - and the fragment of Griselda Grantly's married life, which I found much more entertaining than the de Courcys.
Out of the newly introduced characters in this volume, none are much good. Among the young people, Bernard and Bell Dale are reasonably interesting. Bernard because he's a sort of male version of Griselda Grantly: naturally equanimous, cold-tempered, and extremely practical to the extent of having nothing but the practical about him. Bell because she's shy but stubborn and her journey of living in the world and growing up is interesting. Among the old characters, the complicated relationship between Squire Dale and his sister-in-law Mrs Dale is interesting: they are both intensely proud people who have bitterness of long years' standing between them because they fail to understand each other's hearts. The interest of this relationship is much more than Lily's priggish, tedious love plot.
Both Crosbie and Eames have considerable difficulties with fidelity to Lily Dale. Eames is inveigled into making marriage promises toward his loging-house owner's daughter, Amelia Roper.
He [Johnny Eames] had been thinking of Lilian Dale ever since his friend had left him on the railway platform; and, as I beg to assure all ladies who may read my tale, the truth of his love for Lily had moulted no feather through that unholy liaison between him and Miss Roper. I fear that I shall be disbelieved in this; but it was so. His heart was and ever had been true to Lilian, although he had allowed himself to be talked into declarations of affection by such a creature as Amelia Roper.
I appreciate Trollope's effort to write the complex nature of the human character here, but I'm not in the least impressed with this particular human character. I think I'd take a leaf out of Elizabeth Goudge's book THE BIRD IN THE TREE and suggest that Eames would be more admirable to grow a spine and keep faith with the poor (in the financial sense) girl he promised regardless of his inner feelings. (I don't think loveless marriages are actually any good but I do think Eames' spinelessness makes him unkind to everyone involved.)
It would be interesting in an adaptation to make the most of Johnny's internal imaginative fancies. He's constantly building castles in the air of joy or despair. Here's an example of a fantasy where he duels Crosbie and both perish on the field:
"She'll never be happy with him. I'm sure she won't. I don't want to do her any harm, but yet I'd like to fight that man,—if I only knew how to manage it."
And then he bethought himself that if they could both be slaughtered in such an encounter it would be the only fitting termination to the present state of things. In that way, too, there would be an escape from Amelia, and, at the present moment, he saw none other.
One could derive a Victorian Walter Mitty out of Johnny Eames, even if in the process he would become less Trollopian.
As for Bell Dale, she's sometimes interestingly obstinate, practical, and resolute that she doesn't care for money in the least. Her plot uses a trope that could be horrible, but actually worked - she turns down Crofts the first time he asks her to marry him, even though she loves him, because she's too surprised and has too much pride to accept the way he puts his offer. In other of Trollope's works, he's used repressed shy Victorian women who sometimes say no when they mean yes because of what they've been told all their life about proper feminine behaviour. From some decades before Trollope, I love Austen's speech from Elizabeth Bennet in response to Mr Collins:
"Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."
"I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere."
Decent men respect a no. It would be wrong for Crofts to continue to pursue Bell after she refuses, even though the reader knows that she wants him. A combination of pride and retirement makes Bell refrain from saying what she means; in turn, Crofts fails to look kindly enough upon himself to ask in a way that pleases her. Lily Dale thankfully chooses to lend a hand to the hapless pair.
Trollope does such a good job of explaining his characters' behaviour that one doesn't blame the women for doing something silly that they don't really want to do. The social conditions of his time have plenty of negatives. It may be less graceful to expect people to always say what they mean in plain words, but it is frequently a lot more effective.
Stubbornness and obstinacy is a trait of the Dale family that's interestingly passed onto the female members. Squire Dale's obstinacy stops him from expressing affection toward his sister-in-law, even though there's some liking and forgiveness deep down for each other; his sister-in-law's daughters Lily and Bell Dale share that same strength. When Adolphus Crosbie jilts Lily Dale in favour of earl's daughter Lady Alexandrina, Lily's affections won't easily quit.
What can a heart be worth if it can be transferred hither and thither as circumstances and convenience and comfort may require?
Johnny Eames still loves Lily and has developed into the better man to Crosbie, but even though Lily has loved him as a friend all along, she refuses to consider that her feelings could change.
Lily Dale comes across as anodyne, though it's perfectly true that she is stubborn willed, uses sarcasm probably more than any other character in the novel, and hates to be wrong. It's amazing how Trollope's writing makes Lily's determination seem irritatingly, completely passive. She loves Crosbie once and consistently refuses to love again, living in feminine seclusion. While there are times when Lily is witty and reflective at her own and her family's expense, one can lose patience with her overall. At least Lily doesn't catch one of the standard Victorian novel wasting diseases and conveniently pop her clogs like Emily Hotspur of SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. I'm not, unfortunately, one of the people who finds Lily Dale likeable. Her sister Bell is quite enjoyable, however, and their mother has a reasonable degree of psychological complexity.
Lily's sweet, faithful, a spinster, retreats from the world...and does very little with her life, especially in comparison to unpartnered characters of the likes of Dorothy Grey, Priscilla Stanbury, Euphemia Smith, or Septimus Harding. Nor is she a Dorothea Brooke! Trollope's autobiography notes that she is somewhat of a French prig. Readers felt sorry for Lily because of her self-imposed sorrowful seclusion, and would've probably cared less if she ended the story happy; but still I'm in the group who finds her irritating.
There's a slight parallel to Lily's obstinacy in the case of Mrs Hearn, an old widow who watches a dance chaperoned by Mrs Boyce, a mother.
Exactly at twelve o'clock there was a little supper, which, no doubt, served to relieve Mrs. Hearn's ennui, and at which Mrs. Boyce also seemed to enjoy herself. As to the Mrs. Boyces on such occasions, I profess that I feel no pity. They are generally happy in their children's happiness, or if not, they ought to be. At any rate, they are simply performing a manifest duty, which duty, in their time, was performed on their behalf. But on what account do the Mrs. Hearns betake themselves to such gatherings? Why did that ancient lady sit there hour after hour yawning, longing for her bed, looking every ten minutes at her watch, while her old bones were stiff and sore, and her old ears pained with the noise? It could hardly have been simply for the sake of the supper.
Why does Lily do something she doesn't enjoy doing? Because it's her character to do so; and in this case, since it achieves nothing positive for anyone, it makes the reader very impatient with her.
I'd vote for Lily Dale to take a third option: she could do better than Crosbie or Eames. Lily elopes one day with a travelling violinist, who turns out to be responsible and resonably well off as well as exciting and fun to be with. Bell and Crofts have five healthy children and his medical practice expands well enough to care for them and even save a little money. Bernard ends up a bachelor (I know in canon he met Emily Dunstable, but Emily has less than half the personality of her aunt), although when he's fifty he meets Lady Hartletop and is amazed at how much they have in common. And the squire and his sister-in-law move in together and make peace and learn how to finally get along even if they are very old. Happy ending.
Squire Dale at the Big House at Allington has a nephew, Bernard, as his heir; a sister-in-law whom he supports but doesn't get on with; and two impoverished nieces, Bell and Lily. Lily and Bell of the Small House at Allington are now of an age to have lovers and potential lovers, which they do. This is the main content of the book. Ungainly Income-tax clerk Johnny Eames and sophisticated government clerk Adolphus Crosbie pursue Lily; Bell's suitors are the local doctor Crofts and her cousin Bernard Dale. But while the course of Bell's true love is only impeded by her pridefully shy habit of sometimes saying 'no' when she means 'yes', Eames and Crosbie both have other women than Lily in their life, and besides, Squire Dale isn't giving Lily any money when she marries.
Additionally, we catch up on Lady Dumbello - nee Griselda Grantly - and the heartless, entirely efficient way she manages to nip an illicit affair in the bud; and we see the beginnings of Plantagenet Palliser and the wonderful Lady Glencora.
The main plot of this book is thin on substance; the real vividity is in the subplots. Trollope dips into grim and gritty mires - for him - with the lives of lodgers in cheap boarding houses. The de Courcy scenes are quite good, although they are rather caricatured personalities. Mercenary Crosbie's angst over his poor life choices when he picks a titled de Courcy daughter over pretty Lily is exhaustively delved into. While this novel is part of the Barchester series, it's extremely short on clerical doings, and few of the old favourites show up for any length of time. The connection is the de Courcys, Frank Gresham's extended family of unpleasant inlaws in DOCTOR THORNE - and the fragment of Griselda Grantly's married life, which I found much more entertaining than the de Courcys.
Out of the newly introduced characters in this volume, none are much good. Among the young people, Bernard and Bell Dale are reasonably interesting. Bernard because he's a sort of male version of Griselda Grantly: naturally equanimous, cold-tempered, and extremely practical to the extent of having nothing but the practical about him. Bell because she's shy but stubborn and her journey of living in the world and growing up is interesting. Among the old characters, the complicated relationship between Squire Dale and his sister-in-law Mrs Dale is interesting: they are both intensely proud people who have bitterness of long years' standing between them because they fail to understand each other's hearts. The interest of this relationship is much more than Lily's priggish, tedious love plot.
Both Crosbie and Eames have considerable difficulties with fidelity to Lily Dale. Eames is inveigled into making marriage promises toward his loging-house owner's daughter, Amelia Roper.
He [Johnny Eames] had been thinking of Lilian Dale ever since his friend had left him on the railway platform; and, as I beg to assure all ladies who may read my tale, the truth of his love for Lily had moulted no feather through that unholy liaison between him and Miss Roper. I fear that I shall be disbelieved in this; but it was so. His heart was and ever had been true to Lilian, although he had allowed himself to be talked into declarations of affection by such a creature as Amelia Roper.
I appreciate Trollope's effort to write the complex nature of the human character here, but I'm not in the least impressed with this particular human character. I think I'd take a leaf out of Elizabeth Goudge's book THE BIRD IN THE TREE and suggest that Eames would be more admirable to grow a spine and keep faith with the poor (in the financial sense) girl he promised regardless of his inner feelings. (I don't think loveless marriages are actually any good but I do think Eames' spinelessness makes him unkind to everyone involved.)
It would be interesting in an adaptation to make the most of Johnny's internal imaginative fancies. He's constantly building castles in the air of joy or despair. Here's an example of a fantasy where he duels Crosbie and both perish on the field:
"She'll never be happy with him. I'm sure she won't. I don't want to do her any harm, but yet I'd like to fight that man,—if I only knew how to manage it."
And then he bethought himself that if they could both be slaughtered in such an encounter it would be the only fitting termination to the present state of things. In that way, too, there would be an escape from Amelia, and, at the present moment, he saw none other.
One could derive a Victorian Walter Mitty out of Johnny Eames, even if in the process he would become less Trollopian.
As for Bell Dale, she's sometimes interestingly obstinate, practical, and resolute that she doesn't care for money in the least. Her plot uses a trope that could be horrible, but actually worked - she turns down Crofts the first time he asks her to marry him, even though she loves him, because she's too surprised and has too much pride to accept the way he puts his offer. In other of Trollope's works, he's used repressed shy Victorian women who sometimes say no when they mean yes because of what they've been told all their life about proper feminine behaviour. From some decades before Trollope, I love Austen's speech from Elizabeth Bennet in response to Mr Collins:
"Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."
"I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere."
Decent men respect a no. It would be wrong for Crofts to continue to pursue Bell after she refuses, even though the reader knows that she wants him. A combination of pride and retirement makes Bell refrain from saying what she means; in turn, Crofts fails to look kindly enough upon himself to ask in a way that pleases her. Lily Dale thankfully chooses to lend a hand to the hapless pair.
Trollope does such a good job of explaining his characters' behaviour that one doesn't blame the women for doing something silly that they don't really want to do. The social conditions of his time have plenty of negatives. It may be less graceful to expect people to always say what they mean in plain words, but it is frequently a lot more effective.
Stubbornness and obstinacy is a trait of the Dale family that's interestingly passed onto the female members. Squire Dale's obstinacy stops him from expressing affection toward his sister-in-law, even though there's some liking and forgiveness deep down for each other; his sister-in-law's daughters Lily and Bell Dale share that same strength. When Adolphus Crosbie jilts Lily Dale in favour of earl's daughter Lady Alexandrina, Lily's affections won't easily quit.
What can a heart be worth if it can be transferred hither and thither as circumstances and convenience and comfort may require?
Johnny Eames still loves Lily and has developed into the better man to Crosbie, but even though Lily has loved him as a friend all along, she refuses to consider that her feelings could change.
Lily Dale comes across as anodyne, though it's perfectly true that she is stubborn willed, uses sarcasm probably more than any other character in the novel, and hates to be wrong. It's amazing how Trollope's writing makes Lily's determination seem irritatingly, completely passive. She loves Crosbie once and consistently refuses to love again, living in feminine seclusion. While there are times when Lily is witty and reflective at her own and her family's expense, one can lose patience with her overall. At least Lily doesn't catch one of the standard Victorian novel wasting diseases and conveniently pop her clogs like Emily Hotspur of SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. I'm not, unfortunately, one of the people who finds Lily Dale likeable. Her sister Bell is quite enjoyable, however, and their mother has a reasonable degree of psychological complexity.
Lily's sweet, faithful, a spinster, retreats from the world...and does very little with her life, especially in comparison to unpartnered characters of the likes of Dorothy Grey, Priscilla Stanbury, Euphemia Smith, or Septimus Harding. Nor is she a Dorothea Brooke! Trollope's autobiography notes that she is somewhat of a French prig. Readers felt sorry for Lily because of her self-imposed sorrowful seclusion, and would've probably cared less if she ended the story happy; but still I'm in the group who finds her irritating.
There's a slight parallel to Lily's obstinacy in the case of Mrs Hearn, an old widow who watches a dance chaperoned by Mrs Boyce, a mother.
Exactly at twelve o'clock there was a little supper, which, no doubt, served to relieve Mrs. Hearn's ennui, and at which Mrs. Boyce also seemed to enjoy herself. As to the Mrs. Boyces on such occasions, I profess that I feel no pity. They are generally happy in their children's happiness, or if not, they ought to be. At any rate, they are simply performing a manifest duty, which duty, in their time, was performed on their behalf. But on what account do the Mrs. Hearns betake themselves to such gatherings? Why did that ancient lady sit there hour after hour yawning, longing for her bed, looking every ten minutes at her watch, while her old bones were stiff and sore, and her old ears pained with the noise? It could hardly have been simply for the sake of the supper.
Why does Lily do something she doesn't enjoy doing? Because it's her character to do so; and in this case, since it achieves nothing positive for anyone, it makes the reader very impatient with her.
I'd vote for Lily Dale to take a third option: she could do better than Crosbie or Eames. Lily elopes one day with a travelling violinist, who turns out to be responsible and resonably well off as well as exciting and fun to be with. Bell and Crofts have five healthy children and his medical practice expands well enough to care for them and even save a little money. Bernard ends up a bachelor (I know in canon he met Emily Dunstable, but Emily has less than half the personality of her aunt), although when he's fifty he meets Lady Hartletop and is amazed at how much they have in common. And the squire and his sister-in-law move in together and make peace and learn how to finally get along even if they are very old. Happy ending.
