I wonder if you, like me, can have a hard time finding satisfying reading material. I read a lot, and have varied tastes, and a wide range of literary experience, and sometimes I just can't find anything *good* to read. It's maddening.
Recently, I had decided to re-read the mind-blowing, reality-bending semi-psychedelic Illuminatus Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea, a mid-70s' series of three novels - it had been almost two decades since the first, and memorable, reading, and it seemed like the right time. So I got a new, dust-free copy, and dove in. The first book was great but difficult and shifty, funny but not very relaxing. So, I'm taking a break.
I looked for something lighter, and found a copy of The Eustace Diamonds, which is a novel by Victorian author Anthony Trollope, the third volume in the famous Palliser series - six of them, all tomes, weighing in around an average of probably 700 - 850 pages, depending on font. The novels are full of biting satire and English politics, and full of British names and places you haven't heard of. Not a lightweight, is my point.
However, the language is not too bad - Trollope is fairly straightforward for such a classic Victorian novelist - think of those heavy Victorian curly-cues and swirls and you get the idea of flowery charm his language has - but for all that, he's straightforward. And also, I'm fascinated by Victorian society so I'm drawn to him. I have read a bit of Trollope, including the first Palliser novel (Can You Forgive Her?), which was pretty good, although I couldn't get into Phinneas Finn, though I tried twice and finally gave up. So I skipped on to The Eustace Diamonds.
Before I was about 50 pages in, it seems like the entire plot (we've 750 pages left) has been laid out. Lizzie, a young motherless slightly spoiled daughter of recently-deceased Admiral snares well-born foppish rich boy in to marriage, although the twist is that it's the fop that has health problems, and, soon after the wedding, he dies - his death hastened by his wife's sudden debts which proved her a liar and golddigger. Nonetheless, he had promised - at the time of the engagement - a handsome private settlement for her, and did not change his will after he discovered her deceptions, so she inherits land, a hefty sum, and - and this is where it all seems to be heading - the family diamonds, the Eustace Diamonds, worth ten thousand pounds, and possibly given (legally) to the wife by the dead husband, under questionable circumstances. Natually, the husband's parents want those diamonds back from the young, scheming slut their son married. But she refuses to give them back.
And this, I think, THIS is what the next 750 pages are going to be about? Really? What could Tropllope have planned? I can't imagine. Where it could all go? There is the matter of the son - Lizzie's son, or Lady Florian or whatever we have to call her since she married a baronet (the sick fop), gave birth to a son after the father died, and this little infant became the Baronet, and inevitable heir to ALL of the property (oh, it SUCKED to be a second son in England for many years). The uncle who would have inherited, had the infant been a girl, is surprisingly not upset when he discovers he's lost his chance at property possession. Oh, those hilarious British!
At any rate, I'm surprised at how light Trollope seems this time. Despite the arabesque sentences, it seems simple. I can follow it. He tells you just what he wants you to know. Unlike Illuminatus, it doesn't dodge and futz around, but just tells you what to focus on. This is what her brows were like. This is what the dean's mother wanted to know. The baby was a born, a son, and heir. Trollope doesn't keep you from the truth, and that appeals to me.
I have never liked when authors employ the device known as an unreliable narrator, which Wikipedia defines better than I can:
An unreliable narrator is a narrator, whether in literature, film, or theatre, whose credibility has been seriously compromised. The term was coined in 1961. This narrative mode is one that can be developed by an author for a number of reasons, usually to deceive the reader or audience. Unreliable narrators are usually first-person narrators, but third-person narrators can also be unreliable.
The reason I don't particularly prefer this is because I feel I have to deal with it all the time. I mean, I know a LOT of unreliable narrators, and while it makes things interesting, it also can get annoying. I prefer people to tell the truth. Anyway, Trollope seems to be good at truth-telling, just stating it. It's relaxing, even though the book is thick it's kind of heavy to lift. So, there you are - the book may be heavy but the reading light!
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