Product Description

Engaged to the ambitious and self-serving Adolphus Crosbie, Lily Dale is devastated when he jilts her for the aristocratic Lady Alexandrina. Although crushed by his faithlessness, Lily still believes she is bound to her unworthy former fiancé for life and therefore condemned to remain single after his betrayal. And when a more deserving suitor pays his addresses, she is unable to see past her feelings for Crosbie. Written when Trollope was at the height of his popularity, The Small House at Allington (1864) contains his most admired heroine in Lily Dale – a young woman of independent spirit who nonetheless longs to be loved – and is a moving dramatization of the ways in which personal dilemmas are affected by social pressures.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #70796 in Books
• Published on: 2005-03-31
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 752 pages

About the Author
ANTHONY TROLLOPE ( 1815-82) was born in London. His literary career began with the appearance of The Macdermots of Ballycloran in 1847, but not until his fourth novel, The Warden (1855), did he establish the manner and material by which he is best known. This, the first of the 'Barteshire' series, was followed by Barchester Towers (1857), Doctor Thorne (1858). Framley Parsonage (1861), and the Last Chronicle of Barest (1867). His second series, the Palliser series, comprises of Can You Forgive Her? (1864), Phineas Finn (1869), The Eustace Diamonds (1873), Phineas Redux (1876), The Prime Minister (1876) and The Duke's Children (1880).

Customer Reviews

"It is to me almost as though I had married him."
This fifth novel in the Barsetshire chronicles has, as often with Trollope, an almost stupefyingly simple plot: Lily Dale is courted by the 'swell' Adolphus Crosbie who then, not one month after their engagement, drops her for the daughter of an earl. Lily is heartbroken but resolves she still loves Adolphus and therefore can accept no other man, even though a much worthier man soon presents himself in the person of John Eames.

In a nutshell, that's all there is to it. But, as also always seems the case with Trollope, out of this simple plot he weaves a beautiful tale that keeps you turning pages although nothing much really happens (definitely not by today's standards). How so? For starters, Trollope is a master at analyzing and describing the thoughts and emotions of his characters (most of them ordinary people like you and me), which makes them leap of the page like real-life people you know in the flesh and, often as not, you find yourself identifying with one or more of the main characters, wishing them well and hoping they'll succeed in their endeavours as if they were your own. In this case too, although you know from the start that nothing will come of it, you cannot help but hope that Lily will give up her stubborn behaviour and accept the man that truly loves her.

Secondly, altough in this case the main plot gives little room for mirth Trollope does introduce quite a lot of humour by means of the various subplots and secondary characters (the head-gardener Hopkins for instance, or earl De Guest). It's rarely the laugh-out-loud kind of humour (although there's a few hilarious scenes) but mostly rather subtle, which makes it none the less effective.

Last but not least, Trollope writes in a very fluent, easy style, describing everything in plain everyday language which makes it all the more 'real' and accessible. And for the odd reference to classical literature or other you can simply refer to the excellent notes at the end.

All in all, a very satisfying experience even though there's no happy end, making me start the sixth and last novel in the series ('The Last Chronicle of Barset') with that most odd mixture of feelings: happy to begin a new book that you know will be good, and simultaneously sad knowing it's the last in the series!

For some reason, I keep going back to it
Contrary to the synopsis given on this page this is actually the story of the nauseatingly perky Lily Dale who falls in love with the superficially glamorous Adolphus Crosbie, who proceeds to dump her unceremoniously in favour of the over-the-hill faded aristocratic de Courcy who he thinks will make his fortune (wrong). There is no sailor boy, or even ship, mentioned, as far as I can remember.

Other characters include the stupefyingly dull John Eames, who remains faithful to Lily despite her treating him like the village idiot, and the totally unmemorable Bella (Lily's sister), Bella's two suitors (one her cousin), and the most alarminly self-sacrificing widowed mother I have come across in Trollope.

Despite all this, however, I keep coming back to this book. There is about it a sort of fairytale mid-Victorian charm which completely offsets the total lack of charm of all of the central characters. This might also have something to do with its position towards the end of the marvellous Barchester Chronicles, the last (and next) of which is completely different and well worth a read even if you can't stand sickly heroines. There is a sickly heroine in the Last Chronicle of Barset but at least the girl has brains.

Trollope paints such a passive, traditional picture of his women that I'm surprised he wrote this book - normally he gives us women with a great deal of character. Many commentators have tried to persuade us that Lily has character, but frankly she never rises above schmaltz. One can only assume he was going through some marital conflict himself at the time...

One good thing about Lily, though, is that after her, Fanny Price in Mansfield Park (the book, not the ludicrous movie of the same name) seems like a feminist icon.

Thoughtful and accessible
Although this book could never be described as 'fast-paced', it's a wonderful book. Trollope's language is so simple, contemporary and beautiful. The characters are so human, and I found myself really sympathising, empathising, enjoying... and getting annoyed with them! The book is about relationships between people, kindness, bravery, hope and hopelessness, love and lovelessness.