The Art of English Murder

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a post, but I’ve been inspired by the most exciting book I’ve read in a long time, Lucy Worsley’s The Art of English Murder. It’s a very broad introduction to the British national obsession with murder, both factual and fictional. She gives overviews of many famous 19th century murder cases and also documents the history of detective fiction. As a huge fan of British murder mysteries, especially Dorothy L. Sayers and Agatha Christie, I was naturally drawn to this book. For a long time, I’ve been trying to find a guide to the real life cases Sayers often refers to, and this is it! Now I know all about serial poisoner William Palmer, the elusive Madeline Smith and many more. I particularly enjoyed Worsley’s discussion of Charles Dickens, and his interest in crime, criminals, and London’s first detective squad! I’ve seen other reviewers complain that Worsley “spoils” the solution of the mysteries of some novels, so I won’t go into as much detail as she does, but I’ll just say that the detective, Inspector Bucket, and the murderer of Bleak House (my favorite Dickens novel), as well as Nancy in Oliver Twist, were based on real people. I was also fascinated to read about Dickens’ reaction to being one of the spectators gathered to see the public hanging of Maria and Frederick Manning. He and his friends rented a room across from the jail where the execution took place, but he was so disturbed by the hanging and the crowd’s response to it that he became a strong opponent of the practice of public executions. I was much less interested in the chapter on Wilkie Collins, since I’m not a fan of his work, but I’m sure that those who are will enjoy that. I was a little sad that Worley ignored the mystery elements in the works of Anthony Trollope, my favorite Victorian author. The Eustace Diamonds centers around a jewel robbery and shows a fair amount of the methods used by the police to solve the crime; and Phineas Redux starts out as a political and personal novel and about halfway through turns into a full-on murder mystery!) In general, I found Worsley’s appraisal of literature less interesting than the earlier chapters on real murders. I’m already an expert on Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers, so I didn’t need that part of the book, though I did enjoy reading about the Detection Club, a society of which those authors were members, along with other prominent mystery writers. Some reviewers of this book criticize it for its inaccuracies, but I think if you view it as an introduction to other, perhaps better researched works, I don’t think that has to diminish this book’s value. (I don’t know enough about the topic to know if the book contains inaccuracies myself.) In fact, The Art of English Murder has already spurred me on to two great books that are in-depth histories of crimes Worsley describes. The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher, by Kate Summerscale documents the famous Rode Hill House murder, the real life country house murder in a middle class family that launched the whole literary genre. Death at the Priory, by James Ruddick, tells the story of the infamous poisoning of Charles Bravo. This crime, the murder of a tyrannical husband, in which his wife was a suspect, throws a spotlight on the cracks in the surface of the traditional Victorian gender roles. I also read the very interesting bestseller, an example of the sensation fiction genre, Lady Audley's Secret. Next on my to read shelf are a few more in the same vein: Poisoned Lives: Victorian Poisoners and Their Victims; The Poisoner: The Life and Crimes of Victorian England's Most Notorious Doctor; and Did She Kill Him?: A Victorian Tale of Deception, Adultery, and Arsenic.

Barchester Towers, by Anthony Trollope

In my recent post on Trollope's The Warden, I referred to its more famous sequel, Barchester Towers, which I've also recently revisited. This novel is perfect. Perfect. It's got laughs, romance, drama, tears, slaps, takedowns, putdowns, backstabbing, intrigue, death, gossip, and genuine heart--human nature depicted with Trollope's most deliciously snarky style. Who could ask for anything more?

Trollope was himself a huge Jane Austen fan, and her influence is never clearer in any of his books than Barchester Towers, an Austenesque study of human foibles. Every character that appears in this novel, from the protagonists whose motivations, thoughts and feelings are elucidated at length, to a butler who makes a brief appearance in one scene, is a specific person, and Trollope knows exactly who that person is.

From the very first scene you know you're in for something very special. The novel opens with characters we know from The Warden--the benevolent old school Bishop Grantly is on his deathbed, attended by his son, the active, worldly Archdeacon.  The death of the old Bishop coincides exactly with a change in government, so the Archdeacon knows that the longer her father lives, the less likely it is that he will be appointed in his place. The Archdeacon is an ambitious man, and a strong partisan, and knows he'll be a good bishop, since he's been basically running the diocese for the last several years of his father's tenure. He struggles with his ambition, his sense of duty and his affection for his father, and prays for him to live as long as possible. The first time I read The Warden, I didn't love the Archdeacon, but his grief and struggle here won me over.

The old Bishop outlives the government and an outsider is appointed Bishop by the new Prime Minister. The new Bishop, Dr. Proudie, arrives in Barchester with his bossy, domineering wife and  a very ambitious chaplain, Mr. Slope--possibly the slimiest character in all of literature. Mr. Slope and Mrs. Proudie begin as allies in a campaign to force the rest of the diocese into their religious views and to systematically insult the members of the old guard. A dispute over a piece of preferment erupts into a power struggle between Mrs. Proudie and Mr. Slope over which of them will rule the Bishop.

I've noticed this thing in 19th century novels, that preachers were often idolized by women, the way movie stars or singers are today. The odious Mr. Slope, is detested by all men, but his faux piety has some charm for women, even though he is not physically attractive. This, in part leads to a misunderstanding which occupies a lot of this novel, the Archdeacon and his wife are convinced that her sister, Mrs. Bold (now a wealthy widow) will be induced to marry Mr. Slope. I hate misunderstandings, and if this novel has an imperfection, it's this one. But I can't hold it against Trollope when he addresses the reader and acknowledges the device: "But then where would have been my novel?"

I can't in this short piece do justice to all of his wonderful characters, but I'll just tell you about my favorite, The Signora Neroni, nee Madeline Stanhope. This lady is the daughter of a Barchester prebend, Dr. Stanhope, who has at the the time of the novel lived for the past ten years with his ineffectual wife, his eldest daughter, the competent, but cold-blooded Charlotte, his son, Bertie, a handsome, charming spendthrift, and his younger daughter, Madeline. Madeline is a great, great beauty, and an even greater captivator through her manners. But Trollope gives her something unexpected: she's returned to her father's house after an unsuccessful marriage with an abusive Italian. She leaves him, unable to walk, disabled by his abuse. She doesn't let her disability dampen her success with men though--instead she makes a great show of being carried from room to room by three servants! She mercilessly ensnares as many men as she can come across, and the odious Mr. Slope is one of her easiest conquests. She toys with him and tortures him until disposing of him in the most glorious and public manner possible at the end of the novel. She seems heartless and cruel, but when she earns the admiration of an honest and good man, Mr. Arabin, she helps him to earn the woman he loves (Eleanor Bold, nee Harding.) From this witty and delightfully nasty lady, I'll give you instead her one noble moment, when she tells Eleanor about Arabin's love for her, one of Trollope's most beautiful passages:

"What I tell you is God's own truth; and it is for you to use it as may be best for your own happiness. But you must not betray me. He knows nothing of this. He knows nothing of my knowing his inmost heart. He is simple as a child in these matters. He told me his secret in a thousand ways because he could not dissemble; but he does not dream that has told it. You know it now, and I advise you to use it."

The Warden, by Anthony Trollope

Yesterday I listened to an old favorite of mine, The Warden (1855), the first in Anthony Trollope's series of six novels set in the fictional county of Barsetshire. I've only read 19 out of his 47 novels, but I have a little goal of getting to all of them someday.

The Warden is set in the fictional cathedral city of Barchester (inspired by Salisbury), and concerns various dignitaries of the church, such as kindly old Bishop Grantly, his domineering, active and worldly son, Archdeacon Grantly, and our title character, Mr. Septimus Harding, who at the beginning of the novel holds the wardenship of Hiram's Hospital--basically a charity nursing home for retired laborers run by the church.  A young friend of Mr. Harding's (who's also in love with his daughter) raises a public question of whether the funds that support the charity and pay Mr. Harding's salary are being disposed of in accordance with the original terms of the bequest. Mr. Harding isn't at fault at all but the mere fact of the fairness of his position being called into question force the sensitive man to resign his profitable living.

I suspect that Trollope wrote this novel in response to severe church reforms of the day, that sought to do good but ended up leaving people worse off than they were before.  It's possible the novel originally had some relevance to the world it came out of, but it still resonates today. Being raised without religion myself, I don't have much interest in religion and I'd never have imagined that I'd be so fascinating by these long novels about clergymen and their families, but they don't actually concern religion itself. The atmosphere of the cathedral close isn't too far off from the contemporary world of academe, for example. So, I encourage everyone to pick up these novels. Their true depictions of the petty internal politics that can often bog down even the most well-intentioned institutions will continue to be relevant to new readers as they have been for more than 150 years.

The Warden is by far the shortest entry in the Barsetshire series and it's easy to dismiss it as little more than setting up the masterpiece that followed it. And while it's true that Mr. Harding and his daughters Eleanor, and Susan, and his son-in-law the Archdeacon are also prominently featured in that delightful book, The Warden is a great novel in its own right, and one of great variety. After the reformer John Bold promises Eleanor Harding to drop the suit against her father, and becomes engaged to her, he has to go and surrender to the Archdeacon. Trollope has presented these characters with such complexity that even though Bold is a good enough guy to carry off our heroine Eleanor, we're still angry enough at him over the pain he's caused Mr. Harding, that gentlest, sweetest of men, that we can enjoy seeing him get his comeuppance.  When he arrives at the Archdeacon's house, he's greeted by the Archdeacon's three sons. The three boys completely get the better of him with deadpan sarcasm in one of Trollope's funniest scenes.

But then take the scene where the kind, generous Mr. Harding bids goodbye to the 12 old men who've been under his care as Warden. Most of the men have participated in the attack on Mr. Harding out of futile greed and ignorance, but come to regret their action deeply. He is such a good, sweet man, with only the fault of not having the courage to fight for his own interest--if that is a fault at all. And by the time Mr. Harding is slammed in the popular press, the reader feels the sting of that attack as if Harding their our own father.  The Archdeacon, too, is flawed but lovable. I love Trollope characters as I love my own friends, aware of their faults as well as the qualities that overshadow them.

I'll leave off with one of my favorite quotations from The Warden:

"They say that faint heart never won fair lady; and it is amazing to me how fair ladies are won, so faint are often men's hearts."