Ah, me. This is a most lovely series for lovers of English pastoral life and students of human nature. I'm almost done with "The Last Chronicle of Barset" (the sixth and final of the series), just haven't had time to put in a review of this one, the fifth, yet. This book was the first in the series in which I found myself wondering a couple of times if I liked it as well as the rest. I found the character of Lily Dale maddening at times. I completely sympathized with her creator, who, after completing her story, found her "irritating." (See intro to this edition.) Like all Trollope's other main characters, she has her wonderful qualities, but her perverse attachment to the pain of her loss gets frustrating. I really can't say exactly what frustrated me so much, as it would be a "spoiler" but I can say that I was completely sobbing in chapter LIV. It could have been pms, but it could have also been most excellent writing. I suspect the latter.Seriously, Trollope is a master artist in creating characters. Even though Mr. Crosbie made the mistake of his life in his choice of a wife, I ended feeling only pity and sadness for him (more so in the next book as well). And for Johnny Eames? Johnny is a hero, and the way we see him grow from "hobbledehoy" (immature young hero-in-the-making) to full-fledged knight-in-shining-armour is so well done and it's heartbreaking. I loved the one sentence that described him, after Trollope had taken pains to tell us that Johnny had never been thought of as a being who would ever amount to much: "You will declare that he must have been a fool and a coward. Yet he could read and understand Shakespeare" (148). Does that speak well for him? I think so. And yet he has his faults as well, and we still adore him and may even love him more for them, which is the genius of Trollope.I have come to realize that by far my reviews fall short in probably convincing anyone to read these old books because I mainly put things in that I loved purely for my own pleasure and so I, myself, remember what I loved about the book. I never do summaries (I figure you can read that bit on goodreads). But I do find myself wanting people to have a good reason, if they trust me, to read something they might never otherwise pick up. I'm thinking of how best to do that. We'll see what happens. Prepare for the soapbox here, and read no further if you don’t want to hear it!This book is, in main theme, about misunderstanding, specifically, willful misunderstanding. The characters skirt around each others hearts and blind themselves to true intentions and therefore miss out on much of the true joy in human relationships. It is amazing to me how well these books go with what I'm reading with a summer group ("The Peacegiver", "Leadership and Self-Deception", "The Anatomy of Peace", and "Bonds That Make Us Free." I know it happens when you're studying a certain subject that everything you read seems to speak the same truths, but this has been an enriching series to accompany that reading. Personal tragedies are caused by cold hearts and blind eyes. I love that these so very real characters experience these things and either choose peace or war--and the outcomes those choices bring. That kind of theme is universal and a part of all our lives. We all need help in knowing how to choose peace and unruffle our “wounded” feathers. After I finish this series, I hope to put a longer review on the “complete set of the chronicles” to explain just why it’s so worth reading today when it may seem so arcane. For now, here’s a question, and my answer to it. Why does one pick up some of these very large, very old-fashioned, little-known-today books? Well, in my opinion, the great majority of modern popular fiction is written purely to entertain, horrify, titillate, drain-the-brain, satisfy our sick but very human voyeuristic tendencies, relax or arouse, and earn money for the author. Are those always good reasons for spending our precious time with them? Is reading inherently good, just because we’re choosing to read, instead of watch TV? Do we think more of ourselves when we read, purely for that reason? Is the maxim true “at least the kid’s reading?” No matter what it is? (In lieu of TV or video games?) Is “a good story” what it’s all about? Sure authors need the cash. Sure relaxing and being entertained are wonderful good things. The others I could do without—and sadly they are the main thing now. Have we in general, come so low that we have no other way to find excitement other than in those ways? Have we become so insistent for a great thrill that we never feel anything unless it is from these over-the-top sources? Is this kind of modern fiction our only resource for relaxation? Are the oldies simply too hard and too much for our modern 2-second, TV-commercial attention spans? Or are they just too out-of-date to matter? What do we get from these old books? Entertainment? For sure! But of a wholly different kind. An uplifting, soul-satisfying, learning experience all wrapped up in a totally beautifully light-giving and rewarding package. We’ve, so many of us, lost the ability or even the desire to go beyond pure entertainment and thrill-factor. And yet they are thrilling, but perhaps we’ve forgotten what a beautiful thrill is as opposed to a horrific thrill. Some might say that sometimes it’s just nice to be able to relax and “not-use-the-brain” for a while, some need an escape from the reality of their hard lives sometimes. I’ve found myself in those exact spots, many times. I wouldn’t recommend anyone picking up Tolstoy or Eliot and expecting that kind of experience. But I do heartily propose that our relaxing, escaping reading experiences can be found in beautiful books, wonderful things can feel relaxing—even if there’s no princess, no magic, no fairies, no space travel, no vampires, and no grisly murders. This is particularly true of old books. They had more of the real goods. I suggest that the modern voracity for fantasy, thriller, mystery and romance (as found in modern, best-selling fiction) may lead to an undesirable end product--ultimately, a spirit dead to the really beautiful things in life.I realize it may look as though I’m suggesting that all modern fiction is bad and all old is good. Please, I pray you, don’t think me so simple. It would be such a foolish, and misleading thing for me to say. I merely intend to get thoughts rolling and begin a conversation. I am even aware that these old books I love were the best-selling fiction of their day. But I think sensibilities were different then, and I think we’ve lost something.
The great thing about some of these radio dramatizations is that the essential details and story arcs are left in and the inevitable byproduct-of-serialization chaff is stripped out. Sometimes I'm in the mood for those rambling Victorian novels and sometimes I want only the relevant deets.Reading a plot summary for this, I find it hard to imagine how it could be fluffed up into well over 600 pages. The 3-hour adaptation was well-done with drama, romance and humor sprinkled throughout. Very few scenes were dull and the cast seemed to really get into the dialogue.My favorite scenes was the miserable courtship and married life of ne'er-do-well Adolphus Crosbie and the shallow Lady Alexandrina. Lily Dale pissed me off. Even though she was jilted by the mercenary Crosbie, she hugs her martyred heartbreak like a security blanket and an excuse to not suck up and deal with life. I don't know if she's supposed to be a model of Victorian womanhood than if they don't make a good choice right off, then they should suffer for it for all time. If that was the message, it blows.Curiosity about this installment in the Barchester Chronicles series has been satisfied and 3 hours wasn't too long to spend with Trollope's quirky little bunch.* * *Anthony Trollope's The Small House at Allington by Michael Symmons RobertsThe arrival of the handsome Adolphus Crosbie causes quite a stir at Allington, especially with Lily Dale, who lives at the Small House due to the benevolence of her rich uncle. Crosbie's ambitions to marry into high society are in danger of being dashed by the charming Lily, but can a straight-talking country girl ever be enough for him?Music composed by David Tobin, Jeff Meegan and Julian Gallant.Written by Michael Symmons RobertsDirected by Gary BrownProduced by Charlotte RichesThe Small House of Allington is the fifth instalment of The Barchester Chronicles, Anthony Trollope's much-loved series of witty, gently satirical stories of provincial life set within the fictional cathedral town of Barchester and the surrounding county of Barsetshire. With a focus on the lives, loves and tribulations of the local clergy and rural gentry, the canvas is broad and colourful, with a wonderful set of iconic characters whose lives we become intimately involved in as they grow up, grow old and fall in or out of love and friendship across the years.Mrs Baxter.......Maggie SteedLily Dale........Scarlett Alice JohnsonJohnny Eames.....Samuel BarnettCrosbie.......Blake RitsonBell Dale........Lisa BrookesSquire Dale......Clive MantleMrs Dale.........Alexandra MathieMrs Hearn........Alexandra MathieCradell..........Griffin StevensBernard..........Henry DevasAmelia...........Emily Pithon
Do You like book The Small House At Allington (1991)?
I loved this book. Can't believe I had never heard of Trollope before.It took me a long time to put my finger on what it was that drew me in so much about his stories, and in the end I think one scholar put it best when they said that Trollope views his characters very neutrally. He paints their qualities and their faults with the same brush, and while he might say "Oh, Johnny!" at them, his narrator doesn't judge them without also pointing out other possible outcomes. And Trollope himself didn't like the words "hero" and "heroine", because they implied that the characters must do something heroic, while his characters simply live.No great, over-arching passions, no lack of sense. Very down to earth, very human. Despite the passage of nearly two centuries the people are easy to relate to.
—Jen
This fifth installment in Trollope's six-part Chronicles of Barsetshire is my favorite so far, both for what it does and for what it does not. Trollope dispenses with his often embarrassing attempts to parody the politics of his time, and he completely avoids the British ecclesiastical intricacies that drove me, a non-believing American, to distraction. He narrows his focus to the purely romantic, with an intertwined tale of loves lost, gained, rejected and overlapped.These "negatives," taken together, form a rewarding positive. Trollope has never been funnier, more verbally clever, yet he's never delved farther into the human condition. He understands people at the most intimate level.He is wide-open in his chats with the reader (something that drove some contemporary critics to distraction), but I found that they only made the characters more realistic. I felt like I was reading a biography more than fiction, watching the everyday unfolding of the lives of these poorer middle-class relatives of lower-level countryside nobles – and of the lower-level nobles themselves. His younger males are fuller, more comprehensive than before, and his sense of dialog much improved: Previously, he used dialog sparingly and sometimes in a semi-didactic way. Here, there's quick rat-a-tat between two or three characters that releases a clear sense of who they are and where they stand with each other.His younger females are still his outstanding performers, however, and Lily Dale is a masterpiece – freewheeling in her opinions, fearless yet gentle in her confrontations, even when her language seems flippant on the surface. You immediately wish you knew this woman and want to cheer her on to romantic victory.Trollope avoids relentlessly upbeat and predictable endings for many of this characters. Some find fullness and romantic happiness, but more are left to work out the less-than-optimal choices left them from their own actions and those who sought their hand.The only lumpiness – and only occasional – comes form the fact that the novel was first serialized in magazine form, so the author needs to remind and recapitulate. But this is small beams. Taken together, The Small House is exquisitely constructed, especially in the nuances of character interaction.
—Derek Davis
As Trollope himself stated in chapter 59 (that is, one before last): "I feel that I have been in fault in giving such prominence to a hobbledehoy, and that I should have told my story better had I brought Mr Crosbie more conspicuously forward on my canvas". I totally agree. Moreover, what from the outset marred this volume for me, a Trollope zealot, were the incidents at, or concerned with, Burton Crescent and its denizens. So, if ever vouchsafed a ride in a time machine, I shall go back to the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty two in order to entreat Trollope to expunge the lacklustre scenes of the Roper family, the Lupex couple and that dupe Cradell from this narrative. Of course, if deemed apposite, I may undertake any other comission of that ilk that you bring forth. I´m open to requests now!
—Ricardo Moedano
