Harriet Devine's Blog

Phineas Redux

The property of manliness in a man is a great possession, but perhaps there is none that is less understood. That personal bravery is required in the composition of manliness must be conceded, though, of all the ingredients needed, it is the lowest in value. But the first requirement of all must be described by a negative. Manliness is not compatible with affectation. Before the man can be manly, the gifts which make him so must be there, collected by him slowly, unconsciously, as are his bones, his flesh, and his blood. They cannot be put on like a garment for the nonce,—as may a little learning. A man cannot become faithful to his friends, unsuspicious before the world, gentle with women, loving with children, considerate to his inferiors, kindly with servants, tender-hearted with all,—and at the same time be frank, of open speech, with springing eager energies,—simply because he desires it. These things, which are the attributes of manliness, must come of training on a nature not ignoble.

I suppose that Trollope's long diatribe on manliness (which I've edited down quite a bit) just about sums up the character of Phineas Finn, the hero of this novel as well as of the earlier Phineas Finn, which I reviewed a while back. The cover picture on here is dark, and so too is the novel, though it does end happily for most of the characters. 

Briefly, at the end of the previous novel, Phineas has given up his seat in parliament, returned to Ireland and married his childhood sweetheart. Here, a few years later, he is back in London, his wife and baby having died. He manages to get elected again, but for various reasons fails to get a place in the Cabinet. Then, by a piece of astonishingly bad luck, he is accused of the murder of his political enemy and comes within a whisker of being found guilty and heading for the gallows. His innocence is finally proved by the hard work and devotion of his old friend Marie Goestler.

I can see why readers today might find parts of this novel a bit slow going. There's a great deal here about the politics of the 1870s, which, though I quite enjoyed it, is certainly not to everyone's taste. But it wouldn't be Trollope if it didn't also contain a lot about relationships between men and women, and about women's roles in the society of the day, and all this is really fascinating. As I said in my review of the previous novel,  Phineas was very prone to falling in love, though two of his proposals were rejected and he was forced by circumstances to reject one made to him. Here, all those women reappear in his life when he returns to London. One, Violet Effingham, is now happily married to his best friend, another, Marie Goestler, though very close to the dying Duke of Omnium, obviously still cares deeply for him. But it is the third, Lady Laura, whose life really does appear to have been blighted by her decision to marry someone else. 

The evolution of Lady Laura here is actually pretty tragic. She has left her miserable marriage to the wealthy, domineering Edward Kennedy and retired to Dresden with her aging father, an act which has put her beyond the pale of respectable English society. All she thinks about now is Phineas, and her regret at having refused his proposal has become an obsession, one that increases steadily throughout the novel until it finally sours her entire life. Even after Kennedy's death, her future seems bleak. Only 32, she has lost her beauty and become an old woman. It's clear that she will never forgive Phineas for deciding to marry someone else, and will always hate the woman of his choice. I thought all this was quite an interesting development. It was impossible not to sympathise with her decision to leave the insane religious maniac she had married, but it seemed that Trollope was blaming her for being unable to shake off her love for Phineas. Lots of interesting stuff here about the position and rights of women who leave their husbands.

There's also a rather thought-provoking sub-plot about young Adeleide Palliser, cousin of Plantaganet, who is in love with Gerald Maule, who, though handsome and charming, is also lazy and broke. Their prospects of marriage seem doomed when his ghastly old dandy of a father refuses to let them take over the country estate, and Gerald tells her that if they marry they will have to live in BOULOGNE!!!! The very thought of which causes her to break off the engagement. 

But of course at the centre of the novel is Phineas himself, who it is impossible (for me at least) not to love. He certainly exemplifies all the qualities of true manliness that Trollope lays out in the quotation at the top here. He withstands his ordeal in prison with great fortitude and throughout the trial, which is a very nail-biting section of the novel, remains strong and upright almost to the last. But once he is freed, he breaks down, is unable to face any of his old friends, resigns his seat in parliament, and seems for a while to be lost to the world. All this is done with great sensitivity by Trollope, for whom my admiration knows no bounds. Luckily, partly through the love of a good woman, everything turns out OK in the end.

I certainly haven't finished with Trollope but he has gone onto the back burner for a while as I am now embarked on The Luminaries. This is the first time I have ever read a Booker prizewinner so soon after it won, and I must say that so far I am enjoying it enormously. It's incredibly long so not sure how soon you will see a review on here, but I think I can safely say it will be a good one. I'm also reading The Two Mrs Abbots, kindly sent to me by Persephone -- a very different kettle of fish but providing some light relief. More on that soon too.

 

Man Reading

This is Reading the News, by the incomparable James Jacques Joseph Tissot (1836-1902). Born in France, Tissot lived in London for much of his life, and produced many paintings of beautifully dressed and fashionable women. Despite the title, it's the elegant woman who is the focus of the painting, while the reading man leans in from the side. His hat makes me think he might be a sailor. What's their relationship, I wonder, and what is she thinking?

Last Friends

Just a few weeks ago I discovered Jane Gardham, and wrote a rave review of Old Filth. That novel had been a birthday present, and with it came the sequel, The Man in the Wooden Hat. I started on that straight away, but I haven't reviewed it here, partly because, though I did enjoy it, I wasn't as bowled over as I had been by Old Filth. Then I found that Audible, with whom I have an account, was offering the third novel in the trilogy, Last Friends, so I snapped it up. And what a great novel it is.

Being a trilogy, of course you expect to meet the same characters and so indeed you do here, but in fact the three main protagonists are already dead. They are Old Filth himself (Sir Edward Feathers QC), his wife Betty, and his great enemy, and Betty's great love, Sir Terence Veneering QC. Veneering has been a bit of a mystery in the first two novels, but here we get to learn of his beginnings in life and, as I've come to expect from Gardham, they are wonderfully bizarre. Born in a north-eastern fishing town, he was the son of a female coal-merchant and a crippled Russian acrobat who was almost certainly a spy.

Veneering's story is a fascinating one, which I am not going to tell you here, but it's only a part of this brilliant book. As the novel progresses we find ourselves increasingly involved in the life of Dulcie, the aged widow of the celebrated judge known as Pastry Willy. Living alone, out of sympathy with her lesbian daughter and puzzled by her precocious grandson, she is gradually taken out of her shell by her new neighbours, Henry and Anna, who have bought Veneering's house. Their adventurous trip to the north of England in search of Sir Fred Fiscal Smith QC is wonderfully funny and touching, and Dulcie's life, however much there may be left of it, is going to be totally transformed by the end of it.

You might think a novel about ancient people, some of whom are already dead, might be depressing, But my goodness how wrong you would be. I found this to be a complete joy all the way through. Heart-warming is a bit of a cliched expression but that's honestly what it was, and in my opinion quite as brilliant as Old Filth. Hooray for Jane Gardham -- long may she continue.

Bye bye Norm

I was unbelievably saddened yesterday to learn of the death of Norman Geras. Like many people I have been reading his wonderful normblog for many years, and was very honoured to be asked to contribute to it a while ago. But I was also lucky enough to meet Norm in person, and what a treat that was. I don't suppose I've spent more than a couple of hours with him, but he has remained so vivid to me, through his posts, that I am finding it almost impossible to believe that he is not with us any more.

When I met him, we talked about books -- at that time he had recently discovered Anne Tyler, and was hugely enthusiastic about her novels. But his tastes were wonderfully broad, and you can see exactly what he liked on what proved to be his last post, A Booklist with a Difference. I totally agree with him about all the ones I have read, and now I'd like to read all the ones I haven't, as I'm pretty sure I will love, or at least appreciate, those too. 

Many people have written, or will be writing, about Norm, and many will have known him, or his work, better than I did. But I couldn't let this day pass without saying something.

Of course huge sympathy goes to his dear wife Adele Geras and to his two daughters Sophie and Jenny. He was an amazing man and I am proud to have met him. Bye bye, Norm. 

Girl Learning the Piano

This is called The First Piano Lesson, by the French artist Jules Alexis Muenier (1863-1942). I wonder if she is actually enjoying it?

Woman Drawing

 

This is Laura Knight, whose self portrait I showed you the other day, painted by her husband Harold Knight. Lovely.

I'm on KIndle! (Being George Devine's Daughter)

A few years ago, my childhood memoir was published. It came out in 2006, a significant year which accounted for what may seem a rather mystifying title, at least to those with little or no knowledge of British theatre history.

My father, George Devine, was the founder of a ground-breaking company at the Royal Court Theatre in London. The English Stage Company, as it was called, came into being in 1956, so the book was published to coincide with the company's 50th anniversary. 

Now, seven years after it first appeared, the book is available on Kindle, at a special introductory price of £2.05. 

I'm not all that keen on blowing my own trumpet, so I'll let a couple of other people blow it for me. The book was reviewed in 2006 by dovegreyreader, and Simon of Stuck in a Book wrote about it in 2010 and kindly included it in his list of 50 Books You Must Read. Thanks to both of them! 

The Kindle edition has been updated a bit, mostly because I've found out a bit more about my ancestors and relations. Sadly, it lacks the photos that are in the paperback, but there's a link to a website where they can all be seen. Of course the paperback is there too, and I'm amused to see that, while that costs £8.99 new, a couple of American sellers are cheekily trying to get over £100 for used copies. Good luck, guys!

The Eustace Diamonds

Still on my great Trollope project, I've now reached what is, I think, the middle volume in his Palliser series. I'd heard great things about this novel, and was really looking forward to it, but in fact I enjoyed it less than others I have read recently. I'm not saying it's a bad book, but just that, for various reasons, it didn't really appeal to me.

The Eustace diamonds of the title are a set of fabulously valuable gems set in a glorious necklace. At £10,000 in 1865, they would be worth about £800,000 in today's money, so not to be sniffed at. Lizzie Eustace, a young, pretty, amoral widow, insists that they were given to her by her husband before his death and that she has a right to keep them. The Eustace family lawyer, Mr Camperdown, is convinced they are not hers to keep, and threatens her with legal action. Her new fiance Lord Fawn takes fright when he realises the enormity of the scandal that is likely to ensue. Then Lizzie's room is broken into in the night and the specially constructed metal chest in which she keeps the diamonds is stolen. But have the diamonds really gone?

So far so good. But despite the fact that I got the idea that Lizzie, if not a sympathetic character, was supposed to be amusing in her wilful untruthfulness, I was not amused and in fact found this to be a surprisingly dark novel. Lizzie, for all her beauty, is really a most unappealing girl. Trollope seems to have been influenced to create her by reading Vanity Fair, and even mentions its leading character Becky Sharp in the novel. But I certainly couldn't help admiring, even liking, intelligent, witty Becky, wicked as she is, and I just didn't feel the same way about Lizzie, who is really pretty stupid. And in fact there is hardly a likeable or admirable character in the whole novel, apart from Lord Fawn's mother, and perhaps the governess Lucy Morris, and even she rather irritated me.

But of course a novel doesn't have to have sympathetic characters to be a good novel. The real darkness for me was the very depressing picture of marriage and the roles of women. Love, even affection, had no part to play in the engagements and marriages of the upper classes here. The sole driving force was money. Lizzie's cousin Frank Greystock does love Lucy Morris (not clear why, really, as she is rather a wimp) and even proposes, but is not going to be able to marry her because he is broke, and has no compunction in making up to Lizzie, as she would be able to supply him with the readies. Lizzie's friend Mrs Carbuncle thrusts Lucinda, her so-called niece (probably her daughter by her lover Lord George de Bruce Carruthers), into an engagement with the appalling Sir Griffin Tewitt, and Lucinda's revulsion is such that she literally loses her mind. As for Lizzie, she veers between marrying a rich man with a title and marrying what she calls a Corsair -- a dashing romantic hero who will sweep her off her feet.

As for the Pallisers -- Lady Glencora and Plantaganet -- they play such minor roles in the novel that it seemed to me Trollope had just flung them in here and there in order to keep the novel as part of the series. 

I'm sure there will be people who disagree with me and really love the novel. I'm not sorry I read it, but I'm looking forward to getting back to Phineas Finn in Phineas Redux, the next on the list.

 

Woman with Letter

 

This pensive lady with a letter on her knee was painted by the Belgian artist Alfred Stevens (1823-1906). I'm afraid the news in the letter was not good -- perhaps a broken love affair?

The image was kindly sent to me by Dark Puss of Morgana's Cat Speaks.

National Poetry Day 2013

 

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. 

WB Yeats

Painting by Cynthia Kennedy, found here.