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| First Written | 1865 |
| Genre | Fiction |
| Origin | UK |
| Publisher | Oxford World's Classicsd |
| My Copy | Oxford Worlds Classics |
| First Read | April 18, 2023 |
The Belton Estate
This does feel like a later Trollope, a little more acerbic or grim around the mouth tone than the big ones. I wonder where it fits into his chronology? He definitely did an impressive trick where he wrote a character I was instantly rooting for, but didn’t think Tony was going to give a fair shake to. And then he turned out to be - well not the hero, but a winner. This one felt more naturalistic, with every character presented with more shades of gray and no perfect ladies or gentlemen. Would be interesting to talk through this with some people who really know Trollope!
Noted on May 11, 2023
Am I just a Trollope junkie now? I just reach for the next one, and always have it on back burner when I'm between other books. This one feels very paint-by-numbers Trollope, which after cruising through the Palliser and Barsetshire books feels a little disappointing. But I still like it!
Noted on April 18, 2023
It sometimes happens to all of us in life that we become acquainted with persons intimately,—that is, with an assumed intimacy,—whom in truth we do not know at all. We meet such persons frequently, often eating and drinking in their company, being familiar with their appearance, and well-informed generally as to their concerns; but we never find ourselves holding special conversations with them, or in any way fitting the modes of our life to the modes of their life. Accident has brought us together, and in one sense they are our friends. We should probably do any little kindness for them, or expect the same from them; but there is nothing in common between us, and there is generally a mutual though unexpressed agreement that there shall be nothing in common.
Quoted on April 25, 2023
Poor Mrs. Winterfield! She had been strong in her youth, and had herself sat through evening lectures with a fortitude which other people cannot attain. And she was strong too in her age, with the strength of a martyr, submitting herself with patience to wearinesses which are insupportable to those who have none of the martyr spirit. The sermons of Perivale were neither bright, nor eloquent, nor encouraging. All the old vicar or the young curate could tell she had heard hundreds of times. She knew it all by heart, and could have preached their sermons to them better than they could preach them to her. It was impossible that she could learn anything from them; and yet she would sit there thrice a day, suffering from cold in winter, from cough in spring, from heat in summer, and from rheumatism in autumn; and now that her doctor had forbidden her to go more than twice, recommending her to go only once, she really thought that she regarded the prohibition as a grievance. Indeed, to such as her, that expectation of the jewelled causeway, and of the perfect pavement that shall never be worn, must be everything. But if she was right,—right as to herself and others,—then why has the world been made so pleasant? Why is the fruit of the earth so sweet; and the trees,—why are they so green; and the mountains so full of glory? Why are women so lovely? and why is it that the activity of man's mind is the only sure forerunner of man's progress? In listening thrice a day to outpourings from the clergymen at Perivale, there certainly was no activity of mind.
Quoted on April 18, 2023
I'm not prepared to alter the ways of the world, but I feel myself entitled to grumble at them sometimes.
Quoted on April 18, 2023