Source
of book: I own this.
Regular
readers of my blog know that my favorite Victorian author is Anthony Trollope.
I try to read one of his books every year. Past reads since I started writing
about them are:
Barsetshire
Chronicles:
The
Barchester Chronicles (BBC miniseries based on the first
two books, The Warden and Barchester Towers)
Other
books:
These
are not, of course, the only Trollope novels I have read. These are the ones I
have read since I started blogging in 2010. I should mention Castle Richmond
and The Bertrams as particularly excellent books.
***
Having
finished the Barsetshire books, I am now starting the Palliser novels. I didn’t
know entirely what to expect. After all, most Trollope novels are about some
combination of marriage and property, usually both together. Politics can enter
into the book, but it is rarely the focus. So far, at least, this series
follows the same pattern, even though there is definitely a political component
to the plot.
After
my disappointment in Orley Farm, it was good to find that Can You
Forgive Her? was a thoroughly enjoyable read, with the nuanced and human
characters I was used to. As in the best of Trollope’s works, the heroes are
flawed and villains are sympathetic, and people are deeply human, and
thus universal despite the specifics of their circumstances.
Trollope
was a conservative, in the traditional sense. (Not in the reactionary and
racist sense that today’s Right Wing represents - think Edmund Burke, not Steve
Bannon.) He supported maintaining tradition, including the institutions and
cultural preferences of his time and place, even as change enveloped him along
with the rest of England.
Because
of this, he wasn’t a feminist by any stretch. That much should be said at the
outset. I believe this understanding is crucial, because this book centers on some
sticky questions of female autonomy, and love versus duty. So, Trollope clearly
believes women should forgo following their flighty hearts, and instead choose
safe and socially acceptable men. And he seems rather skeptical of the idea
that young women can be trusted to make their own decisions without “guidance”
from their men and elderly female relatives.
That
said, the problem for Trollope is that he is far too good and perceptive a
writer to avoid undermining his own personal beliefs by his sympathetic
exploration of the minds of his characters. For this reason, the female
characters are the most fascinating in this book - and they are the ones that
are easy to identify with. Not that the men are uninteresting, but the women
are central to the book, and to the questions Trollope grapples with over the
course of the book.
As
might be expected in an era when authors were paid by the word, this book is
long - 850+ pages in my Oxford edition. This format suits Trollope, as he likes
to explore the thoughts of his characters at a leisurely pace, and examine
things from multiple points of view. The length also allows Trollope to create
three main parallel relationships, each of which is in some way a love
triangle, to examine the questions of love and money and respectability.
The
central character is Alice Vavasor, a young woman torn between two men. She has
a small income, so she doesn’t have to marry, but she is under a lot of
pressure to do so. It is questionable whether she actually loves either of the
two men, which is why she ends up doing the socially unforgivable. Her first
crush, so to speak, is on her cousin George, who is a bit disreputable and
seemingly unable to make good financial decisions. They were once engaged, but
George threw her over to pursue an heiress. This didn’t work, so he is now back
to pursuing Alice. She, in the meantime, has become engaged to John Grey, who
is wealthy and very respectable, but also bland and unambitious. But she has
cold feet and breaks up with Grey. Most of the book explores her feelings and
determination to marry (if at all) because she wants to, not because of social
pressures.
Not
helping matters at all is George’s sister Kate, who seems to have an
unhealthy crush on her brother, even though he is rather abusive to her. She
would squander her own fortune if she could, to give him what he wants.
George,
in turn, isn’t a truly evil man, although he gives in to his dark side more and
more as the book progresses, until he does things he swore he would never do,
and follows a dark path from which there is no easy escape.
The
second woman involved in complicated relationships is Alice’s more distant
cousin Glencora. Originally, Glencora wanted to marry the dashing (and rakish)
Burgo Fitzgerald, and almost did. But her family prevented the match, and
practically forced her to marry Plantagenet Palliser, the rising politician and
likely heir of the Duke of Omnium.
Plantagenet,
despite his unfortunate name, is not a bad man. But he is unaffectionate, a workaholic,
and absolutely hapless when it comes to Glencora. Clearly, he needed more
training in interpersonal relationships outside of politics, because he is
laughable. Glencora finds him beyond disappointing, naturally, and she resents
that she was forced to marry him. She comes close to running off with
Fitzgerald, but realizes at the last that she can’t do it.
These
two complicated relationships intertwine, because Alice becomes Glencora’s
confidant, and sees her own (potential) future with Grey in light of Glencora’s
unhappy marriage.
The
third plot is largely comic relief - but because this is Trollope, it is more
than that. Alice and Kate’s aunt married a wealthy old man, and was left a
young wealthy widow. She puts on a good show of missing him, but is ready to
marry for love (or something like it) this time. She is courted by the
hilarious Mr. Cheeseacre, a wealthy farmer hoping to bring even more wealth
into the fold. But also interested is Captain Bellfield, who has the social
graces Cheeseacre lacks, even if he hasn’t a dime to his name. Aunt Greenow
naturally prefers the captain, but plays the two of them off each other to
great comic effect. Meanwhile, she hopes to get Cheesacre to marry either Kate
(neither of them is interested) or the impoverished yet genteel Charlie
Fairstairs.
So
much for the love. How about the politics?
Mr.
Palliser is a member of Parliament, but aspires to climb. He appears to be next
in line to become the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Meanwhile, George wishes to
enter Parliament, but lacking a safe borough, a wealthy sponsor, or a fortune
of his own, must buy his way in as best he can - with whatever money he can
talk people out of. While Glencora has zero interest in politics, Alice is
fairly knowledgeable and would prefer her husband (whoever he be) to be a part
of that world. In fact, that is part of her issue with Mr. Grey. He would be
happy to live on his isolated rural estate, and read his books. She would
prefer to be in London, and be part of city life and society. But, he is the
man, and her job is to support his ambitions - or lack thereof, right?
As
with most Trollope novels, the ending isn’t much of a surprise. The plot isn’t
really the point, after all. The fun comes with the psychology, with the human
drama and personalities reacting to circumstance in line with their
characters.
There
are some particularly good lines in this book, a few of which caught my
eye.
The
first comes early in the book, when Alice breaks it off with John Grey. Again,
Trollope personally supports this match, but his honesty sees the problems with
it.
She could not bring
herself to hint to him that his views of life were so unlike her own, that
there could be no chance of happiness between them, unless each could strive to
lean somewhat towards the other. No man could be more gracious in word and
manner than John Grey; no man more chivalrous in his carriage towards a woman;
but he always spoke and acted as though there could be no question that his
manner of life was to be adopted, without a word or thought of doubting, by his
wife. When two came together, why should not each yield something, and each
claim something? This she had meant to say to him on this day; but now that he
was with her she could not say it.
This
is just a fantastic passage. One of the reasons my wife did not expect to marry
was this very issue. If she was expected to give up her wishes to suit a man’s
preferences, she wasn’t interested. Alice is fully justified in her wish to
have each spouse compromise, and find common ground. That’s how good marriages
work, and why people who have differences (meaning any two people, really) are
able to have good relationships. To use a personal example, my wife doesn’t
camp with me, but we have a cat. We both have compromised. And we both have
gained.
Another
passage illuminated to me why I disliked George. (There were many reasons, even
though he was understandable in many ways as well. Another of Trollope’s
nuanced villains.) In dissing mountain climbers, George says:
“They rob the mountains
of their poetry, which is or should be their greatest charm. Mont Blanc can
have no mystery for a man who has been up it a half a dozen times. It’s like
getting behind the scenes at a ballet, or making a conjuror explain his
tricks.”
Boooo!
I love walking up mountains, and they never lose the mystery to me. George
probably dislikes poetry and kittens too.
A
minor character is Lady Macleod, Alice’s aunt. Trollope spends a page
discussing her essential character traits. Possessed of a bit of her own money,
but no spouse or children, Lady Macleod is notorious for pinching pennies -
particularly when it comes to paying the working classes. She is stingy with
tips, hassles cabmen, and makes her servants miserable. And for what? So she
can pass as much of her fortune on as possible. To whom? An even richer relative
who won’t possibly notice.
She was a hospitable,
good old woman, painfully struggling to do the best she could in the world. It
was a pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she was so hard to cabmen and
others, a pity that she suspected all tradesmen, servants, and people generally
of a rank of life inferior to her own, a pity that she was disposd to condemn
for ever and ever so many of her own rank because they played cards on week
days, and did not go to church on Sundays, -- and a pity, as I think above all,
that while she was so suspicious of the poor she was so lenient to the vices of
earls, earls’ sons, and such like.
That’s
world class satire right there. Honestly, this is how I feel about most
Evangelicals these days. So quick to be lenient to the nastiness of the rich, and
so eager to punish the poor.
I
noted an interesting turn of phrase, used in passing by Lady Glencora. “There’s
nothing to see, and the wind is as cold as charity.” There is a whole
interesting world in that short line.
One
theme in the book is the utter cluelessness of most of the men when it comes to
women. Trollope is pretty merciless in his portrayal of these moments, allowing
the hapless males to twist in the wind. They deserve it. I mean, these are
pretty elementary human relationship things, not advanced psychology. John Grey
fails to read Alice’s need for equality, of course, but his is the most
forgivable. It does, however, cost him an engagement and considerable time to
repair the damage. George misreads Alice, and tries to impose affection on a
relationship that no longer has a base of love and respect. And Mr. Cheeseacre
tries to court Aunt Greenow with tales of his wealth. Her sharp tongue lays him
out.
“And look here, Mr.
Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a lady in
earnest--”
“I couldn’t be more in
earnest,” said he.
“That you are making love
to a lady in earnest, talk to her a little more about your passion and a little
less about your purse.”
There
are different levels of cluelessness, of course. John Grey is a typical
Victorian gentleman, uninterested in questioning the status quo - which
benefits him. But his love for a woman eventually motivates him to positive
change. In what has to be one of the pivotal lines in the book, Grey discusses
Alice with her father. Grey acknowledges that he has been partly to blame for
the breakup, and insists that Alice’s “unforgivable” actions do not cast any
negative light on her character.
“I’ve no doubt of her
being what you call a good girl,--none in the least. What she has done to me
does not impair her goodness. I don’t think you have ever understood how much
all this has been a matter of conscience with her.”
Palliser
is a bit dense, to say the least, and even a near-catastrophe isn’t able to
turn him into a truly sensitive man. But he does start listening a bit - high
time, but not quite too late.
Cheeseacre
is a buffoon, of course, and gets a comeuppance, rather than an epiphany.
And
then there is George, who seems to be genuinely misogynistic - increasingly so
as time goes on. Psychologically, this is necessary because he has to justify
to himself his increasingly abusive behavior toward Kate, Alice, and his secret
mistress. Trollope, in a typical passage, lays out “a certain kind of person,”
then says that he doesn’t think that George is quite like that, but…
There are men who rarely
think well of women,--who hardly think well of any woman. They put their
mothers and sisters into the background,--as though they belonged to some sex
or race apart,--and then declare to themselves and to their friends that all
women are false,--that no woman can be trusted unless her ugliness protect her;
and that every woman may be attacked as fairly as may game in a cover, or deer
on a mountain. What man does not know men who have so thought?
I
certainly have known men like that. I try to avoid them. On a related note,
Trollope brings prostitutes into the story (although they aren’t as central as
in The Vicar of Bullhampton) while hinting at the question which was
debated in his day: if the pre-marital virtue of upper-class females was to be
preserved, weren’t prostitutes necessary? One might note that
prostitution has dramatically declined since then, rather in lock-step with the
loosening of the obsession with upper and middle-class female “purity.” And one
might also surmise that a return to Victorian mores might also require a
disposable class of “soiled” females to preserve that “purity.”
There
is so much more worth discussing about this book. The way we are unsatisfied
when we get what we want. The morality of conventionality versus the morality
of compassion. The way that money changes how identical actions are viewed by
society. And more.
Can
You Forgive Her? is a fascinating book. I was reminded
again why I keep returning to Trollope each year.
***
Interesting
pop-culture/music connection. Neil Tennant, lead singer for The Pet Shop
Boys, read Can You Forgive Her?, and wrote a song about it. It kind
of modernizes and updates the quandary of John Grey.
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