Rascals and confusion, Trollope wrote with all the elements that excited that of readers from the Victorian Era, and that can also excite ones from our age.

One of the brightest lights of the Palliser novels is extinguished in the first chapter with the death of the Duchess Glencora. Bereft of her vivacious influence the grieving Duke, already reserved and traditional, sinks into stodginess. Far worse than this, he is left with three young adult children whom he fails completely to understand. To say that they cause him many heartaches is to greatly understate the situation.

The eldest, heir to the title, Lord Silverbridge has already been booted out of Oxford for a silly prank. Now he goes into horse racing with questionable companions and winds up as the victim of a major scandal, which costs his father a huge sum. Next he deserts his father's choice for his bride to woo an American girl whose grandfather was a laborer.

The Duke's daughter, Mary, wants to marry a commoner, son of a country squire, a good man, but with no title and little money. The outraged Duke is adamantly opposed to such a match, but Mary vows to marry no other and is constantly miserable.

The youngest son, Gerald, who plays a relatively minor role in the novel, is forced to leave Cambridge because he was away without permission attending a race in which his brother's horse was running. Later he loses several thousand pounds in a card game.

The Duke bemoans his children's foolishness and their lack of respect for the traditions of their fathers. He pays for their mistakes, but vigorously opposes the two unwise marriages. But although he is a strict, authoritarian man, he is also a compassionate and loving father. Will he yield to the fervent desires of his rebellious offspring? The resolution of this clash of generations brings the Palliser novels to a satisfying conclusion.

As always, it is Trollope's great gift of characterization which makes THE DUKE'S CHILDREN an outstanding novel. From the outwardly firm but inwardly doubting Duke to the very sincere but frequently erring Silverbridge to the tragic Lady Mabel Grex, who has the young heir in her grasp only to let him slip away, these are well-rounded figures with whom the reader lives intimately and comes to understand thoroughly. With the perfectly depicted ambience of upper-class Victoriana as the setting, this novel is an absorbing work of genius.

I RATE THIS A 5 STAR BOOK. AS USUAL, TROLLOPE WRITES SO WELL AND HOLDS YOUR ATTENTION FROM BEGINNING TO END.

THIS IS THE TALE OF 2 MEN IN LOVE WITH THE SAME WOMAN. THE FORTUNES OF THESE 2 MEN CONSTANTLY SHIFT THROUGHOUT THE STORY DUE TO A FAMILY INHERITANCE QUESTION - WHICH FORMS THE CENTRAL MYSTERY OF THE BOOK. AND AS THEIR FORTUNES CHANGE, THE MOTHER OF THE WOMAN WHOM BOTH LOVE, CONTINUES TO INTEFERE AND ATTEMPT TO SELL HER DAUGHTER'S HEART TO THE RICHEST BIDDER.

I'VE READ A LOT OF TROLLOPE, AND I WOULD RATE THIS ONE OF HIS FINEST. THE ONLY PART OF THE BOOK THAT I FOUND NOT THAT INTERESTING, WAS THE HISTORY PERTAINING TO THE GREAT IRISH FAMINE.NEVERTHELESS, IF YOU LIKE TROLLOPE, DO READ THIS ONE!

"The Bertrams is one of Trollope's more remarkable novels, drawing on his experiences in Egypt and the Holy Land, and has an unusually exotic flavour, particularly for readers familiar only with the English rural world of his Barsetshire series."

Browsing in a bookstore, I read a blurb of this book that told every secret twist of its plot. I was enraged, but read 'Cousin Henry' anyway. It was superb, and illustrates perfectly Trollope's own philosophy, given in 'Barchester Towers,' that a good book will not suffer even from the reader knowing what happens. 'Cousin Henry' has other, and considerable, merits, than suspensefulness--although it is suspenseful. It has been called the most psychologically probing of Trollope's works; indeed, Trollope himself thought it to be so, and was very proud of it. The plot, in brief, and without giving anything away, is this: Cousin Henry is the heir of the Squire of Llanfeare--according to the will everyone knows about. But Henry knows of another, later, will, that disinherits him. Most of the book concerns Henry's agonizing over whether or not to make this will public. There is also another plot thread, concerning the Squire's daughter, Isabel, who can only marry if her husband is willing to take her last name (shades of 'Cecilia'). I'll say it again: one of Trollope's best.

This is one of my favorite Trollopes (and I've read 35 so far)! It is witty, clever and has plot twists worthy of the best suspense writers. This one deals with one of Trollope's favorite topics -- the law -- with the usual romantic crises thrown in, of course. Excellent book and I highly recommend it.

An editorial review mentioned that this is a story about the near-destruction of a marriage. I see it, rather, as the affirmation of true marriage. Both the hero and heroine--having been misled about the character of previous betrothal connections must overcome feelings of distrust and personal pride to come to a true understanding . . . Trollope uses this novel to show that honesty and integrity are not just virtues; they are essentials. In a time when so many best-sellers end in divorce, Trollope's characters come to the end of this short novel stronger and more true--and still married. And those who are untrue are exposed along the way.

Although this book is centered on the matter of Mark Robarts and his moral dilemma, we also encounter his sister, Lucy. She is one who is presented to us as a real Christian woman. She takes on herself the care of Mrs Crawley who is suffering with a deadly fever. Lucy is the ideal woman, beautiful, charitable, caring. She deserves the very best and is rewarded for her efforts by becoming Lady Lufton. Mark on the other hand, suffers a great deal largely from ill-advised friendship with Sowerby. Mark wants to achieve status by ill-advised social connections. Thankfully he is saved from ruin by his friends.

(...) Framley Parsonage speaks SO directly about a subject which is so integrated into our lives that it is hardly questioned in our society, namely ambition.

The last hundred years of American society seem to speak of the primacy of "progress" as a driving force. Just look at the current discussion of flat economic indicators. God forbid that we only produce THE SAME as last year. But I digress. Trollope, in his own masterly way, writes of the temptations and difficulties which accompany ambition. And, much to my delight as a reader, he shows how his main character actually overcomes those difficulties by facing his previous moral failings head on.

(...)

Young clergyman Mark Robarts receives a choice parish, thanks to Lady Lufton, the mother of one of his university friends. However, Robarts, though newly and happily married, is not content to settle into the life of a country minister. Lured by a wealthy and worldly set of new acquaintances, he finds himself pushed into living beyond his means and, worse yet, being held legally responsible for another man's bad debts.

Meantime the young Lord Lufton has been smitten by the charms of Robarts' sister Lucy, much to the displeasure of his aristocratic mother. It take a great act of magnanimity on Lucy's part - helping the impoverished Crawley family during a crisis (the Crawleys are more prominent in "The Last Chronicle of Barset") - to finally convince Lady Lufton that Lucy is worthy of her son.

This beautifully written novel contrasts the simpler integrity, though sometimes snobbish values, of the old ways with the more meretriciously glamorous lives of a newer society. As usual, Trollope has produced a multitude of characters whose motives are completely credible, and his depiction of the different social groups provides a most vivid kaleidoscope of Victorian life and attitudes. As always, there is nothing outdated in Trollope's sure insight into human nature.

In this curious autobiiography, Anthony Trollope sketches in the outlines of his life. He relates the misery of his childhood, the heroism of his mother, the tragedy and ultimate failure of his father. If not banal, at least typical material for an autobiography, and makes for good reading. The second two-thirds of the book summarizes his writings, and relate his ideas on everything from literary criticism to suggestions for young writers. Perhaps most interesting are his assessments of his own work, praising or condemning them with little emotion. Of course there is the famous analysis of his working methods, where he counts words and disciplines himself to an astonishingly regular routine of writing. He produced 47 novels, edited and wrote for magazines, all the while working full time for the post office. One distressing feature of this work is the almost complete lack of intormation about his wife and family....It is clear that he lived with and loved his fictional characters more than his corporeal family. Also, the grammar and punctuation are often awkward but this is still a highly readable and fascinating book.

If one has read a number of Trollope's novels, one would expect that Trollope would have written precisely this sort of autobiography. In fact, it is almost impossible to imagine it having taken any other form.

Trollope writes not so much of his life (though he does touch upon the major events), as of his occupation. Although employed most of his adult life by the postal service, Trollope decided to engage in a second and parallel career as a writer. He is forthright about his motives: the satisfaction of writing, but also fame, financial reward, and social standing. Looking back on his career, Trollope is proud of a job well done. The oddity is that he seems quite as happy telling us about how much he sold each work for, and the financial dealings with his publishers, as he does about his books and characters. In fact, near the end of the book he gives a complete list of his novels and how much he managed to sell each one for (with very few exceptions, he preferred to sell the rights to a novel, rather than getting a percentage of sales). What emerges is a portrait of the novelist not as an artist so much as a dedicated, disciplined craftsman. He explicitly denigrates the value of genius and creativity in a novelist in favor of hard work and keeping to a schedule of writing.

The early sections of the book dealing with his childhood are fascinating. By all measures, Trollope had a bad childhood. His discussions of his father are full of pathos and sadness. What is especially shocking is the lack of credit he gives to his mother, who, in early middle age, realizing that her husband was a perpetual financial failure, decided to salvage the family's fortunes by becoming a novelist. He notes that while nursing several children dying from consumption, she wrote a huge succession of books, enabling the family to live a greatly improved mode of existence. Her achievement must strike an outside observer as an incredibly heroic undertaking. Trollope seems scarcely impressed.

Some of the more interesting parts of the book are his evaluation of the work of many of his contemporaries. History has not agreed completely with all of his assessments. For instance, he rates Thackery as the greatest novelist of his generation, and HENRY ESMOND as the greatest novel in the language. HENRY ESMOND is still somewhat read, but it hardly receives the kind of regard that Trollope heaped on it, and it is certainly not as highly regarded as VANITY FAIR. Trollope's remarks on George Eliot are, however, far closer to general opinion. His remarks concerning Dickens, are, however, bizarre. It is obvious that Trollope really dislikes him, even while grudgingly offering some compliments. Quite perceptively, Trollope remarks that Dickens's famous characters are not lifelike or human (anticipating E. M. Forster's assessment that Dickens's characters are "flat" rather than "round" like those of Tolstoy or Austen) and that Dickens's famous pathos is artificial and inhuman (anticipating Oscar Wilde's wonderful witticism that "It would take a man with a heart of stone to cry at the death of Little Nell"). Even the most avid fan of Dickens would admit that his characters, while enormously vivid and well drawn, are nonetheless a bit cartoonish, and that much of the pathos is a tad over the top. But Trollope goes on to attack Dickens's prose: "Of Dickens's style it is impossible to speak in praise. It is jerky, ungrammatical, and created by himself in defiance of rules . . . . To readers who have taught themselves to regard language, it must therefore be unpleasant." If one had not read Dickens, after reading Trollope on Dickens, one would wonder why anyone bothered to read him at all. One wonders if some of Trollope's problems with Dickens was professional jealousy. For whatever reason, he clearly believes that Dickens receives far more than his due.

Favorite moment: Trollope recounts being in a club working on the novel that turned into THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET, when he overheard two clergymen discussing his novels, unaware that he was sitting near them. One of them complained of the continual reappearance of several characters in the Barsetshire series, in particular Mrs. Proudie. Trollope then introduces himself, apologizes for the reappearing Mrs. Proudie, and promises, "I will go home and kill her before the week is over." Which, he says, he proceeded to do.

you should consider reading this too! Trollope writes candidly about his education (and about being a poor, mostly overlooked student), his lack of professional ambition (and how he finally got around to witing his first novel),and the ups and downs of his literary career (and his early rejections). He does all of this in the same conversational tone employed in his novels, making this autobiography feel more like a chat with an older, experienced friend than a learned, classic autobiography

Lady Glencora McCloskie is "cumbered" by great wealth, Mr. Palliser though wealthy enough can use more for his political ambitions. A marriage is arranged between these two, though Lady Glencora loves a charming ne'er do well. So far it might be a Harlequin romance, but Trollope, whose generosity of spirit is matched only by the clarity of his eye, makes these stock figures and those around them real, odd as all humans are, and yet familiar. Thus Mr. Palliser at a climactic moment, "You are wrong about one thing. I do love you. If you do not love me, that is a misfortune, but we need not therefore be disgrace. Will you try to love me?" Then he is called from the room."He did not kiss her. It was not that he was not minded to kiss her. He would have kissed her readily enough had he thought the occasion required it. "He says he loves me," she thought, "but he does not know what love is." How they learn is a process that extends thru the six "Palliser novels." worth reading for students of life, writing, or love

"Can You Forgive Her," the first of the Palliser novels of Anthony Trollope, deals with two romantic triangles, each with a lady who has difficulty making up her mind between an honorable man and a charming rogue. Lady Glencora Palliser is married to a highly respected Member of Parliament who is obviously destined for a top position in the government. However, she is still in love with an extremely handsome ne'er-do-well whom she had earlier barely been dissuaded from eloping with. Alice Vavasor, after an entanglement with her cousin George, has become engaged to John Grey, a perfect man in every respect, perhaps too perfect for the adventuresome Miss Vavasor. The two ladies come perilously close to deserting the worthier men for the scalawags, whom the reader can see becoming worse and worse scoundrels as time passes, especially George Vavasor. Alice even breaks her engagement with the perfect Mr. Grey, whom she really loves, and becomes engaged to her self-centered cousin, to her almost instant regret. A subplot deals with yet another triangle, the rather absurd rivalry of farmer Cheeseacre and self-styled hero Captain Bellfield for the hand of a wealthy fortyish widow. This sometimes distracts from the main plot, and yet the reader is left with the idea that perhaps the flirtatious widow might be the best catch of them all; at least she knows how to have fun. The chief merit of the novel is the brilliant characterizations. No author in fiction can surpass Trollope in creating real people with motivations which can be throroughly understood, no matter how the reader might disagree with the characters' actions. The novel's length is perhaps necessary to permit Trollope to fully develop such a vivid, believable and engrossing cast.

This is a great Victorian novel, and the first by Anthony Trollope that I've read. After reading Can You Forgive Her, I was inspired to buy the entire set of Palliser novels; I plan to read and savor each volume in the series over the years. Can You Forgive Her introduces us to Alice Vavasar, her father, cousins, and fiance. Alice struggles with the question of whom she should marry. George is brandy; John is milk and honey. I love that! What a choice! Trollope has a wonderfully amusing style, evoking with great clarity 19th Century life in Victorian England. It's a time so very different from ours in the U.S., and yet, one can learn a great deal about the roots of some American cultural obsessions with love and politics. A hint: if you don't know British parliamentary history, you may want to review a little. However, don't let this deter you from trying out this splendid, enjoyable novel.

I do not expect a fairy tale, like that of Cinderella being carried off by her Prince Charming but I was quite disappointed that at the end of the story, John Eames had not managed to win the heart of his lady.

In my opinion, Trollope was unkind to portray too much of the hobbledehoyness of John Eames. He did not quite elaborate much of how John Eames came to become a man since he should be our hero in the book.

I really admired Eames's unquenched love and loyalty to L.D. Seldom we find such great exertions in men nowadays. At the same time, I do feel that Eames was a people pleaser to an extent except the time when he thrashed Apollo Crosbie and when he insisted on Sir Raffle Buffle giving him an extension of leave to stay in Guestwick Manor.

About Lilian Dale, I have to say she was a strong woman because to be jilted in the age where she existed was a great disgrace. How she managed to still sustain her love for the man who hurt and abused her, I cannot comprehend.

In conclusion, I think the book is quite okay even though it doesn't have the 'Oomnps! ' as it should have but it's sure a good way to pass your time.

Too much, probably, is made of this being one of "the Barsetshire novels," seeing that Trollope did not at first include it with the five others classed in that category, and that there is no need whatsoever to have read any of them to be drawn deeply into the world of its characters -- characters the creation of whose palpable, individual realness is the author's great gift. *The Small House at Allington* is remarkable for the balance accorded to six different social strata: (1) the upper reaches of the aristocracy (the De Courcy family and also the first appearance of Plantagenet Palliser); (2) the minor gentry, represented by the squire Dale of Allington and his presumptive heir; (3) their respectable but somewhat impoverished dependents (Mrs. Dale and her two daughters, Bell and Lily, whose love interests provide the main substance of the plot); (4) the world of men who must work to make their way in the world (in which category fall most of the suitors of the novel); (5) those on the fringe of "respectability" (Mrs. Roper's boarding house in London); and (6) the class of domestic servants (especially one Hopkins, head gardener at Allington -- but Trollope seems to make an effort to portray other members of this class when the occasion provides an opportunity). Dozens of other minor characters appear briefly and vividly in the spotlight, each animated with the spark of life.

The plot is unspectacular in the extreme, but for lovers of Trollope, the ability to understand the drama and heroism of ordinary life, as well as its tedium, pettiness, and villainy, will always be his special appeal. This novel is slow, perhaps, to seize the reader's interest -- at least, so I found it -- but in the end the volume acquires a remarkable momentum from the progress of its various subplots and possesses in the final two hundred pages a sort of urgency in its narrative momentum that carries it briskly along. For me, the "hobbledehoyhood" of Johnny Eames is sometimes hard to bear. Trollope even says at the end of the novel that "I feel I have been in fault in giving such prominence to a hobbledehoy." But biographers tell us that such was Trollope in his youth, so a grateful reader is, I suppose, bound to cherish a special feeling for Johnny Eames also.

At one moment a character arrives at his sister-in-law's house in London and is obliged to wait several moments while the servant changes into livery before answering the knock at the door -- for it is thus that the daughter of an earl clings to the trappings of her rank. I love such glimpses into the ways of a vanished world, and they are one of the charms of reading Trollope. But the ways of the human heart have changed less than its outward customs, and the twenty-first-century reader will encounter the shock of recognition several dozen times in the course of reading *The Small House at Allington*.

The handsome Oxford University Press edition, a bargain at the price, has an insightful introduction by James R. Kincaid. If only it were presented as an afterword! Is there really any point in giving away the plot of a novel?

The Small House at Allington, one of Trollope's Barsetshire novels of provincial life, does not require a familiarity with the other books in the series. Its plot device, much like the slightly superior Framley Parsonage, is to show the effects of poor choices and the way in which life sometimes gives folks pretty just desserts for the silly choices they make. As with all Trollope, though, the plot is a jaunty cover for his real theme, which is a social satire of his era in an effort to illumine human nature. Sometimes Trollope's plot devices had a different effect on the reader than he intended. Lily Dale, placed in the novel largely to illustrate the consequences attendant to self-willed dedication to victorian ideas of true love, in fact became a celebrated character in her time as an example of a perfect jilted lover. It is somewhat amusing reading the novel today, seeing how Trollope showed Lily as a stubborn girl from a stubborn family, stubbornly devoted to "Love", and then to think that in his time, Lily was seen as a perfect avatar of true love.

This is a good read--lots of rich satire of persons of both high and low station. It is not Trollope's best, but it is a good read, and well worth a Sunday afternoon read. If you have not read Trollope, prepare for a richly human story laced with satire. If you have read Trollope, then expect a wit slightly less sharp but a story a bit more engaging than his others. His character Crosbie, the "villain" of sorts, is a fine creation, and this one is worth a read.