Mr Trollope

I've not done well, just recently, at mentioning much of what I'm reading. So here goes... 


I'm reading Trollope. And that's pretty much it.


I have an English Literature degree, and have read anything and everything since I was old enough to hold a book by myself. How is it, then, that I got to thirty without ever having read Trollope? A mystery.


If I'm not alone in this then I urge you all to trot off and find some Trollope immediately. It's like a mix of Dickens and Austen, and that can only (mostly) be a good thing.


So far this year I've got through the Chronicles of Barsetshire, and have just finished the first Palliser novel. And thanks to the marvel that is the Kindle I've got the whole lot in my handbag.


I also have a tiny feeling that Mr Trollope, for his time, was a little bit of proto-feminist. I'm sure there are endless clever essays that would disagree with me, but his women seem real, are written sympathetically, and have minds of their own. I'd rather spend time with Glencora Palliser than Ada Clare any day.

Trying out my new drawing inks, so here's Lady Glencora in the ruins at midnight.