It may be well that I should put a short preface to this book. In the summer of 1878 my father told me that he had written a memoir of his own life. He did not speak about it at length, but said that he had written me a letter, not to be opened until after his death, containing instructions for publication. This letter was dated 30th April, 1876. I will give here as much o
It may be well that I should put a short preface to this book. In the summer of 1878 my father told me that he had written a memoir of his own life. He did not speak about it at length, but said that he had written me a letter, not to be opened until after his death, containing instructions for publication. This letter was dated 30th April, 1876. I will give here as much of it as concerns the public: "I wish you to accept as a gift from me, given you now, the accompanying pages which contain a memoir of my life. My intention is that they shall be published after my death, and be edited by you. But I leave it altogether to your discretion whether to publish or to suppress the work;-and also to your discretion whether any part or what part shall be omitted. But I would not wish that anything should be added to the memoir. If you wish to say any word as from yourself, let it be done in the shape of a preface or introductory chapter." At the end there is a postscript: "The publication, if made at all, should be effected as soon as possible after my death." My father died on the 6th of December, 1882...
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Paperback
,
336 pages
Published
August 29th 2006
by Book Jungle
(first published December 31st 1883)
Why is Trollope considered by many (not by me) to be a notch below other Victorian novelists? I think this book, his autobiography, is at least partly responsible. For in it Trollope demythologizes the profession of novelist. He talks about his businesslike approach to his writing. He regularly wrote 250 words every 15 minutes, and he wrote on schedule. When he was still at the post office (and he stayed there some time even after it became apparent that he would be able to live off his writing)
Why is Trollope considered by many (not by me) to be a notch below other Victorian novelists? I think this book, his autobiography, is at least partly responsible. For in it Trollope demythologizes the profession of novelist. He talks about his businesslike approach to his writing. He regularly wrote 250 words every 15 minutes, and he wrote on schedule. When he was still at the post office (and he stayed there some time even after it became apparent that he would be able to live off his writing), he had a servant wake him up very early every morning so that he could get his writing done before he left for the office. If he finished a novel during a writing session, he began the next without putting down his pen. He did not permit his extensive travel to interfere with this routine; he wrote on trains and on ships.
What about inspiration? Bah, says Trollope. Does the cobbler go to his last and await inspiration before making his shoe? No, he makes shoes, because that is what a cobbler does. And a novelist writes novels, because that is what a novelist does. It is this shoemaker analogy that those who dislike Trollope (usually without having read him) cite. Most readers have a more romantic notion of what it means to be a novelist.
Trollope discusses the business side of writing, too. He invariably sold his copyrights outright to his publishers, never taking a participation in the profits, reasoning that the publisher would flog his novels more determinedly if the publisher received 100 percent of all the sales. And he systematically lists the amount for which he sold each of his novels. Again, not very romantic. But fascinating, if you ask me.
Trollope runs through all the novels he had written, telling his readers what he thought was good and bad about each of them. (Roughly fifteen of his novels are not discussed, because he wrote them after the autobiography.) This is interesting in its own right, but it was also interesting to see how often I disagreed with Trollope about the merits of his work.
He had an interesting life even aside from his writing. His father was a complete failure at the bar, and much of his childhood was miserable because of that -- unpaid tuition bills at his schools, hiding from creditors, even fleeing from them to Belgium for several years. It was his mother, Fanny, who saved the family financially, and with her pen, writing
Domestic Manners of the Americans
and several (now forgotten) novels.
But Trollope is matter-of-fact, sometimes even funny, about his miserable childhood. And then he begins to blossom at the post office, where he steadily rises in importance, eventually traveling throughout the world to negotiate postal treaties on behalf of England. (I had never thought about how a letter made it from England to, say, Vienna in the days before airplanes. Obviously, though, you need postal treaties with all the countries through which that letter must pass, and those treaties have to allocate the costs of delivery.)
Those travels enabled him to set his novels in places throughout the world. He also wrote several non-fiction books about those travels.
And he writes in his autobiography about his desire to serve his country in Parliament. He tells the story of his attempt to win election from the borough of Beverley. His defeat, and the corruption of electoral politics, obviously took a lot out of him; the pain was perhaps partially alleviated by the subsequent disenfranchisement of the borough because of its corruption.
Trollope left the manuscript of his autobiography in a desk drawer with instructions for his son Henry on publishing it after his death.
The autobiography is immensely fun to read. It would be best if you could hold off until you've read the 30-some-odd novels he had written before he wrote the autobiography. But who can wait that long?
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I don't think this autobiography is going to appeal to non-writers, as Trollope delves not at all into his emotions or private experiences, focusing on his outer life, as it were, as post office official, hobby hunter, sometime politician, and writer. His wife and children get scant mention.
But he talks a great deal about writing. For any writer who likes writers on writing, this ought to be a fascinating read. He gets into details about the frustrations of publishing by serial, and he also det
I don't think this autobiography is going to appeal to non-writers, as Trollope delves not at all into his emotions or private experiences, focusing on his outer life, as it were, as post office official, hobby hunter, sometime politician, and writer. His wife and children get scant mention.
But he talks a great deal about writing. For any writer who likes writers on writing, this ought to be a fascinating read. He gets into details about the frustrations of publishing by serial, and he also details the financial side, keeping careful tabs on what he earned.
It's a sobering assessment for anyone who thinks that a lifetime of novel writing will make them rich. He was more successful than most, but he had to work a full time job at the Post Office most of his life (and on his retirement, showed the hurt that so many do when he discovered the work place, far from falling apart at the idea of his going away, demonstrated that they could do very well without him).
While I, and perhaps other modern readers, will not agree with his assessment of his own works, and why they are good, they will find his honest discussion of his failures interesting.
Of especial interest is his assessment of his fellow nineteenth century authors. He pegs Dickens beautifully for his ability to make you care for unrealistic characters (caricatures, in essence), and comments gently on George Eliot's penchant for letting her philosophizing get control of her plots, making some of her later stories almost impenetrable. (In this he's kinder than Henry James, who thoroughly appreciates her mind, and the insight of her female characters, while pointing out that few of her male characters are ever much more than watercolors, or sketches of ideals.)
He predicts who among the well-known writers will be well known in his grandchildren's time, and who won't, with near 100% accuracy, and he digs his quill into false critics who pander to authors, and authors who pander to critics, and how such a craving for instant fame doesn't work in the long run, even if it garners a flash of fulsome notoriety at the moment. It's peculiar, how much of this translates over to internet interactions, as writers are anxious to get their names and books out there, sometimes pushed into marketing themselves by publishers, without having any idea how to go about it. Writers had the same predicament back then.
At the last, he startles the reader with an anecdote about going out of his way as he crossed the USA to meet Brigham Young, and his being turned from Young's door. In the anecdote Young comes off looking uncouth, if not mad; Trollope finesses his reason for going to call on Young in the first place. There's a definite sense that Trollope regarded Young as a zoo creature, to be reported on for the amusement of people at home, identified as he is as "polygamist Brigham Young" instead of "religious leader Young" or whatever. But again, Trollope is reticent about exposing his inner motivations and emotions. He even comments about that near the end, and declaims any interest in such things.
Reading this in conjunction with the Glendenning biography can fill in some of the lacunae; meanwhile, the writing talk makes it a worthwhile read for writers, and of course for nineteenth century novel fans.
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Excellent writing (and the insight into his writing life was fascinating). Admirable work ethic and personal integrity. Pity he thought hunting foxes was amusing.
"The romance may be gone but the rich reality of life you can still taste and savour."
These are Trollope's words, and will serve as a good guide to any who read this quirky, sometimes frustrating, and yet constantly candid autobiography.
In this autobiography the reader learns of Trollope's literally painful early school days, his own candid, often self-critical analysis of his own characters and novels, his reflections and personal assessments of his Victorian writing peers and the inner working
"The romance may be gone but the rich reality of life you can still taste and savour."
These are Trollope's words, and will serve as a good guide to any who read this quirky, sometimes frustrating, and yet constantly candid autobiography.
In this autobiography the reader learns of Trollope's literally painful early school days, his own candid, often self-critical analysis of his own characters and novels, his reflections and personal assessments of his Victorian writing peers and the inner workings of the early British postal service.
As well, the autobiography certainly establishes Trollope as the most travelled of his contemporaries (5 trips to America, one trans U.S. land trip, 2 visits to Australia and one to the Caribbean.) In addition, if any reader ever wants to peer over the shoulder of a disciplined, time conscious writer, this autobiography is for you. I have often wondered why Trollope included so many fox-hunting scenes and chapters in his novels. The answer clearly resides within the pages of this book.
This book is unlike any biography or autobiography I have ever read. I am always cautious about autobiographies as I wonder how many filters of revision exist and how much influence a "ghost writer's" hand painted the final book. To me, too many biographies become massive psychological studies, or footnote saturated pages of arcane information.
Anthony Trollope's autobiography is in a class by itself, and is a text that all interested readers of Trollope should consider reading.
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Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) wrote his autobiography and gave instruction to his son to have it published after his death. Trollope was one of England’s pre-eminent and most prolific novelists. Trollope said “the novelist must please, but also teach and preach, conveying his system of ethics just as the clergyman does.”
Trollope starts with his early childhood and the problems he had in school with the bullies. His father was an attorney who quit to be a farmer and lost all his money. His mother
Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) wrote his autobiography and gave instruction to his son to have it published after his death. Trollope was one of England’s pre-eminent and most prolific novelists. Trollope said “the novelist must please, but also teach and preach, conveying his system of ethics just as the clergyman does.”
Trollope starts with his early childhood and the problems he had in school with the bullies. His father was an attorney who quit to be a farmer and lost all his money. His mother wrote novels to support the family. He was the youngest of nine children.
Trollope worked for the British post office for 33 years. In the book he tells about his routine of starting writing at 5:30 a.m. and would write for three hours, have breakfast and go to work at the post office. When he was stationed in Ireland by the post office he met and married an Irish girl in 1844.
The book tells little of his personal life and that of his family. The book covers mostly about his writing, how he developed a plot from things he saw or places he went to. His wife proofed his manuscripts before they went to the publisher. I was surprised at how many books he wrote before they began to sell.
Overall, I found the book a most interesting insight into a writer. I read this as an audiobook downloaded from Audible. Flo Gibson narrated the book. I think a male narrator, such as John Lee, would have been better.
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I decided that I would read the Autobiography after I read as many of the 47 novels as I could get my hands on. After 27 novels, I decided I could read the Autobiography without too much fear of spoilers.
Trollope relates the story of his life in parallel with the story of his creative life. The story of the son of a feckless but sweet father and an accomplished and overwhelming mother, a bullied student at Public Schools, a dutiful employee of the Post Office (he invented the mailbox pillars you
I decided that I would read the Autobiography after I read as many of the 47 novels as I could get my hands on. After 27 novels, I decided I could read the Autobiography without too much fear of spoilers.
Trollope relates the story of his life in parallel with the story of his creative life. The story of the son of a feckless but sweet father and an accomplished and overwhelming mother, a bullied student at Public Schools, a dutiful employee of the Post Office (he invented the mailbox pillars you see all over England!) is related alongside the genesis of the novels I have come to love so much.
Trollope is not one to wait for the Muse to inspire him to create. Once he decided that, along with his career in the Post Office, he would live the life of a novelist, he set himself the goal of writing 40 pages of 250 words per week. This method actually seems to have help the creative flow. He turned out 47 novels, travel books, histories and literary criticism in a steady flow until the end of his life.
Taking such a practical, artisanal approach to work also allows him to give very clear-eyed assessments of his creations. He will often say how the plot of this book was creaky but it wasn't so important since the main characters were true to life, or how the main heroine of another book almost sank the project by being an unappealing prig. I must say that I agreed with almost all of Trollope's self-assessments. How refreshing to read an artist's appraisal of his own work that has neither a hint of bombast nor the taint of false humility.
One of the joys of reading Trollope's novels for me (and one of the great detractions of reading Trollope's novels for Henry James) is the omniscient narrator's intermittent breaking down of the novel's fourth wall in order to comment on the story, the character or life in general. Encountering these delicious asides is like meeting a dear friend whose quirks and prejudices you understand so well. In the novels, the narrator will inevitably return to the story and characters. The great treat of the Autobiography is that it gives the reader an uninterrupted visit with this dear friend. The whole book is a great aside to the audience. If only Jane Austen had left us such and autobiography! I feel the result would have been much the same.
On to either The Belton Estate or Orley Farm
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Trollope describes his life in terms of the books he wrote. His mother and one of his sons are also novelists and he writes of his life in terms of his work and his travels. While he does mention that he feels readers would not be interested in his thoughts or feelings, he does seem to measure his value through his writing. His wife and sons are mentioned briefly and his mother for her inspiration. But all in all his joys is in reading and writing novels. With the help of his mother's influence
Trollope describes his life in terms of the books he wrote. His mother and one of his sons are also novelists and he writes of his life in terms of his work and his travels. While he does mention that he feels readers would not be interested in his thoughts or feelings, he does seem to measure his value through his writing. His wife and sons are mentioned briefly and his mother for her inspiration. But all in all his joys is in reading and writing novels. With the help of his mother's influence in the publishing world, he overcame early setbacks to become one of the most prolific writers of the 19th century.
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One of the remarkable things about this book is how workmanlike and quantity-oriented and, frankly, un-bohemian Trollope's approach to writing was. Not surprising, for those who know a little about him, but he cranked out about a volume every couple months and has absolutely no concept of writer's block. In addition, Trollope evaluates his own books and sees them first as moral instructions and only secondarily as descriptions of the world, feeling that creating characters that are true to life
One of the remarkable things about this book is how workmanlike and quantity-oriented and, frankly, un-bohemian Trollope's approach to writing was. Not surprising, for those who know a little about him, but he cranked out about a volume every couple months and has absolutely no concept of writer's block. In addition, Trollope evaluates his own books and sees them first as moral instructions and only secondarily as descriptions of the world, feeling that creating characters that are true to life is a craft that is merely in the service of showing how men should be honest and women should be modest. This to my mind misses, or is coy about, the fact that Trollope's books are full of critiques, including feminist critiques, of his own society. Are modern readers just reading it that way, though? I suppose writers never know what value their books will have for later generations. Though he brags about his gift for characterization, and for his work ethic and the money he made, Trollope definitely sells himself short as a social critic. But that is part of his charm. I certainly wish, too, that he had spent more time writing about his experiences in Ireland and the West Indies and Australia, which he does nowhere else at all candidly. It is mainly an autobiography of him as a writer, not as a liver of life. But you can't have everything. He's given us hundreds of fabulous books. This one is added to the pile (in a good way).
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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANTHONY TROLLOPE. (1883). ****.
Trollope (1815-1882) has become one of my favorite authors from the period. I’ve got a long way to go to read all of his 47 novels, but I know they’re out there, and available on the Kindle. This autobiography was released – per his wishes – after his death in 1882, with a preface by his son. In it, he traces his life – his writer’s life, anyway – from his youth up to his later novels. He had a remarkably sad childhood and nothing but bad expe
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANTHONY TROLLOPE. (1883). ****.
Trollope (1815-1882) has become one of my favorite authors from the period. I’ve got a long way to go to read all of his 47 novels, but I know they’re out there, and available on the Kindle. This autobiography was released – per his wishes – after his death in 1882, with a preface by his son. In it, he traces his life – his writer’s life, anyway – from his youth up to his later novels. He had a remarkably sad childhood and nothing but bad experiences at school. He claims never to have learned anything at school, he was too busy getting caned. He ultimately entered a career as an employee of the British Postal Service, and he held positions there for almost forty years. He began his writing as a sideline, never leaving the guaranteed salary of the Post Office until he was sure that he had enough money to support him in his old age. The book doesn’t reveal very much about Trollope the man, but ends up telling the story of Trollope the writer. After his career took off, he was a consistent best-seller in England and (without royalties) in the U.S. The book that launched him – although it wasn’t much of a launch money wise – was “The Warden,” the first novel in what was to become his “Barsetshire” series. You needn’t have read Trollope’s novels to enjoy this autobiography, but it would certainly help. He tends to provide the backgrounds for most of his works here. If you haven’t read Trollope, you might want to start off with “The Warden.” It’s a relatively short novel and a good harbinger of things to come. He does spend some time talking about his mother, who was also a famous writer in her day. She didn’t start writing until she was in her 50s, but managed to come out with a catalog-full of books after that by which she was able to support her family. This seems like an honest account of the author’s writing life full of both his serious opinions and lots of his low-key humor. Recommended.
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"Now I stretch out my hand, and from the further shore I bid adieu to all who have cared to read any among the many words that I have written."
Those are the last lines, and the whole autobiography feels that intimate. If you like Trollope, (and odds are, you don't, but anyway), then this is fascinating. It's so much fun to hear him talk about both his own characters and his literary contemporaries. Hidden in the last half, among the stories of defunct literary journals (which seem skippable), a
"Now I stretch out my hand, and from the further shore I bid adieu to all who have cared to read any among the many words that I have written."
Those are the last lines, and the whole autobiography feels that intimate. If you like Trollope, (and odds are, you don't, but anyway), then this is fascinating. It's so much fun to hear him talk about both his own characters and his literary contemporaries. Hidden in the last half, among the stories of defunct literary journals (which seem skippable), are bits you don't want to miss -- like his dislike of civil service exams, or what happened when he decided to stop by uninvited and visit Brigham Young. Or a random one-paragraph tribute, buried in an unrelated section, that seems to be a shout-out to a mistress.
I was surprised to learn about his miserable early life. I think his famous work ethic is inspiring but sometimes misguided. I didn't know he took the moral aspect of his books so much to heart, or that he had so much love for his job at the Post Office. I can't believe he includes a chart of every novel he produced and how much he was paid for it. I wish I had read this during my intense Trollope phase, so that his books would be fresher in my mind. As it is, Trollope and I both sometimes forget what exactly he wrote.
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An idiosyncratic historical document, this book has two elements that make it a must for would-be writers.
1.) Trollope, one of the most prolific writers of English prose, details his working method and supplies ample advice to novices.
and, more importantly,
2.) He vigorously attacks the ideological notion that an artist must work without thought of financial well-being. This has always bothered me and I feel that any artist who says otherwise is a liar...or rich.
For puncturing the mystique that
An idiosyncratic historical document, this book has two elements that make it a must for would-be writers.
1.) Trollope, one of the most prolific writers of English prose, details his working method and supplies ample advice to novices.
and, more importantly,
2.) He vigorously attacks the ideological notion that an artist must work without thought of financial well-being. This has always bothered me and I feel that any artist who says otherwise is a liar...or rich.
For puncturing the mystique that people have about the craft (nobody ever wants to see how the sausage is made), his stature in English letters dropped dramatically after this book's publication. A testament to the heretofore untold truths it contains.
These factors and the book's simple, plain style recommend it above the infuriatingly conservative but, even worse, boring musings on the duty of an artist to protect society and culture.
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Generally, I like autobiographies and biographies about authors - since I write. But this was a hard book to move through.
Trollope had a difficult early life ... and never seemed to find happiness or real joy in his later life, despite realizing many of his goals.
He seemed like the sort of man who just sort of sucked the joy out of any day with melancholy and over-thinking and negative comparisons.
Naturally, if I were writing a college paper, I know I could have found profound things to say of t
Generally, I like autobiographies and biographies about authors - since I write. But this was a hard book to move through.
Trollope had a difficult early life ... and never seemed to find happiness or real joy in his later life, despite realizing many of his goals.
He seemed like the sort of man who just sort of sucked the joy out of any day with melancholy and over-thinking and negative comparisons.
Naturally, if I were writing a college paper, I know I could have found profound things to say of this work ... but, just as reader wanting a book to
sink into and learn from - to be inspired from - No. Skip this one unless you're doing scholarly research.
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This was fairly interesting. His boyhood was very sad, and in some ways resembled that of Dickens. he spoke a lot about how writing was just a craft, and how you had to stick at it, and he talked about his feelings about his own novels. I was left with an impression of a very healthy, energetic man who had worked hard and who, later in life, had reaped the fruit of his labour. I don't think this book would have encouraged me to pick up his novels if they weren't already high on the list of books
This was fairly interesting. His boyhood was very sad, and in some ways resembled that of Dickens. he spoke a lot about how writing was just a craft, and how you had to stick at it, and he talked about his feelings about his own novels. I was left with an impression of a very healthy, energetic man who had worked hard and who, later in life, had reaped the fruit of his labour. I don't think this book would have encouraged me to pick up his novels if they weren't already high on the list of books I'd like to read. (I haven't actually read any of them.) As an autobiography it was a bit flat.
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Unfortunately I have to say that I liked Trollope and his works much better before I read this. It is interesting, no doubt--but the man himself is rather unappealing, thoroughly self-important, lacking in confidence, and vindictive. It is more a discussion of his works and his theory on work than a thorough autobiography. Still, of course, it is a must-read for Trollopian fans.
The guy says at the end of his autobiography that he hasn't tried to illuminate his 'inner life,' and he's not kidding. Still, Trollope's relentless equanimity & sturdy literary insights are worth the bouts of boredom. My advice is to skip the tables tallying how much he earned per book and focus on Trollope's assessment of Thackeray, Bronte, and Eliot.
Alternates between fascinating and skippable. Trollope is famed for churning out the novels while inventing the postbox (etc), and while he undoubtedly worked hard and consistently, 19th century office hours (at least for gentlemen) seem to have been 10-4.
The chapter on fallen women is particularly Victorian.
Rather an odd book. Not really an autobiography, in that it is quite reticent about his private life. Lots of digressions on writing and literature, which provide insights into Trollope as a writer, and you certainly get a sense of how Trollope viewed himself as a person, but it’s also kind of unsatisfying.
I won this book with the Goodreads giveaway section.
This really is a strange book, but finished in a beautiful way, I found it quite heavy reading, but then it's not my normal style. Its very fascinating the way the way its written and ideal for historical fans.
One of the most interesting nineteenth-century biographies I've read. He focuses on his work and writing process, and gives a lot of interesting information about Victorian publishing practices and authorship.
I am well into this book at this point. What a beautiful, honest, down to earth, and humble man Anthony Trollope was; and kind, he was so very kind. Wish I could have met him, impossible not to love the man.
Trollope recounts his ideas on the life of a writer. Since I am a devotee of Trollope, the workings of his mind are fascinating. Worth reading if you want to understand good writing.
Anthony Trollope became one of the most successful, prolific and respected English novelists of the Victorian era. Some of Trollope's best-loved works, known as the Chronicles of Barsetshire, revolve around the imaginary county of Barsetshire; he also wrote penetrating novels on political, social, and gender issues and conflicts of his day.
Trollope has always been a popular novelist. Noted fans ha
Anthony Trollope became one of the most successful, prolific and respected English novelists of the Victorian era. Some of Trollope's best-loved works, known as the Chronicles of Barsetshire, revolve around the imaginary county of Barsetshire; he also wrote penetrating novels on political, social, and gender issues and conflicts of his day.
Trollope has always been a popular novelist. Noted fans have included Sir Alec Guinness (who never travelled without a Trollope novel), former British Prime Ministers Harold Macmillan and Sir John Major, economist John Kenneth Galbraith, American novelists Sue Grafton and Dominick Dunne and soap opera writer Harding Lemay. Trollope's literary reputation dipped somewhat during the last years of his life, but he regained the esteem of critics by the mid-twentieth century.
See also
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony_...
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“Nevertheless a certain class of dishonesty, dishonesty magnificent in its proportions, and climbing into high places, has become at the same time so rampant and so splendid that there seems to be reason for fearing that men and women will be taught to feel that dishonesty, if it can become splendid, will cease to be abominable. If dishonesty can live in a gorgeous palace with pictures on all its walls, and gems in all its cupboards, with marble and ivory in all its corners, and can give Apician dinners, and get into Parliament, and deal in millions, then dishonesty is not disgraceful, and the man dishonest after such a fashion is not a low scoundrel. Instigated, I say, by some such reflections as these, I sat down in my new house to write The Way We Live Now. And as I had ventured to take the whip of the satirist into my hand, I went beyond the iniquities of the great speculator who robs everybody, and made an onslaught also on other vices;--on the intrigues of girls who want to get married, on the luxury of young men who prefer to remain single, and on the puffing propensities of authors who desire to cheat the public into buying their volumes.”
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“(On Charles Dickens) It has been the peculiarity and the marvel of this man’s power, that he has invested his puppets with a charm that has enabled him to dispense with human nature.”
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