Framley Parsonage, the penultimate book in the Barsetshire Chronicles, covers familiar territory and brings back a number of characters from earlier novels: Dr. Thorne, his niece Mary (now Mary Gresham), Miss Dunstable (whom I was particularly glad to meet again), the Grantleys and the Arabins, for starters. Of course, new characters also appear, primarily the Ludlows and the Robartses, and the setting shifts between rural towns and London.

While I enjoyed this novel, I need a Trollope break before going on to the final installment. I feel a bit overloaded with snobbish mothers who come between their sons and the worthy but common young women they love, male golddiggers trolling for wives, and cads who bring their friends to financial ruin. ( )

Book four in the Chronicles of Barsetshire, and back with the leisurely plot style after the Dickensian plot twist of DOCTOR THORNE. The first one to be written/published in serial format – and the “connectors” between episodes are often visible, but not a problem. Still has the author speaking directly to the reader, but less often than earlier volumes (or am I getting used to it?). Has a strong and rather modern heroine – who is liked for her wit rather than looks. A good read. Read February 2008 ( )

This has been my favorite of the Trollope books so far. The people, the scrapes, and the love stories were all interesting. And one of my favorite characters, Miss Dunstable, had a more prominent part in this book. ( )

Well, much to my dismay, “Framley Parsonage” was not as enjoyable a read as the previous installments in the Chronicles of Barsetshire series. While I still enjoyed it overall, there were two elements that heavily detracted from the book. The first was the main character. In and of himself, parson Mark Robarts is a fine main character, but his persistent and willful foolishness made him much less sympathetic than he should have been. I would not have minded had he risked ruin as a bachelor, but taking such a risk is inexcusable in a family man. He persists so stubbornly in refusing help, too, which was really annoying. The second weakness of the book was the heavier than normal reliance on English politics. True, politics played a central part in the other Barsetshire books, but they were more tedious in this one. Also, the new villains were not nearly as interesting as Mrs. Proudie. It would have helped, before reading this book, to know something about nineteenth century banking, because I never clearly understood how Sowerby cheated Robarts so easily and thoroughly. Luckily, though, this book was written by Trollope and so was saved by an undercurrent of witty humor, as well as the perfect story line of Lord Lufton and Lucy Robarts’ young love. I also enjoyed Miss Dunstable and her fate. I hope to see more of her in the remaining volumes. All in all, not the best book of the series, but still definitely worth reading. ( )

I was going to say that this novel, the fourth in Trollope's Barsetshire sequence, is one of my favorites in the series. But The Last Chronicle of Barsetshire is also very good and Barchester Towers is one of my all-time favorites. So in the top half?

The main plot is sometimes annoying - clergyman Mark Robarts finds himself in debt and somehow keeps making it worse. However, the relationship between Lord Lufton and Mark's sister, Lucy Robarts, is wonderfully characterized. Mark starts out with everything one needs in life: a wife he loves, children, a secure and pleasant living as the vicar at Framley and the benevolent patronage of Lady Lufton. Of course, he can only go down from there. Mixing with a loose set leads him to debt. At times, his judgment is so bad, you just want to shake him, but the truth is that debt is still common today.

Trollope sometimes seems to be writing the same romance subplot - class conflicted love. In this series, the men tend to be titled or well-off and fall in love with women from a lower social status. The formula changed a bit in the Palliser novels, where the women had the money/position and their loves were poor upstarts. Although Trollope repeats the theme here in his love side-story, I enjoyed the fact that he developed the relationship from its start to the inevitable happy conclusion, a departure from his usual depictions. A rather large generalization from both of his series, but it seems that the author has two kinds of romantic relationships - childhood sweethearts (so no need to describe how they fell in love, just assumed they grew up and in love) or a couple meetings at social events, then the pair is in love. He's more focused on the obstacles to marriage. In a couple instances, the author will simply state that the love is a fait accompli and readers only learn briefly about first meetings and impressions. Unfortunately, this sometimes lessens reader involvement in the relationship. However, in this novel, Trollope writes about Lucy coming to live with her brother, meeting the young lord of the estate (he's not too impressed at first), the gradual development of their friendship and the fits and starts to love.

One of my favorite passages -
"He had by no means made up his mind that he loved Lucy Robarts; nor had he made up his mind that, loving her, he would, or that, loving her, he would not, make her his wife. He had never used his mind in the matter in any way, either for good or evil. He had learned to like her and to think that she was very pretty. He had found out that it was very pleasant to talk to her; whereas, talking to Griselda Grantly, and, indeed, to some other young ladies of his acquaintance, was often hard work. The half-hours which he had spent with Lucy had always been satisfactory to him. He had found himself to be more bright with her than with other people, and more apt to discuss subjects worth discussing; and thus it had come about that he thoroughly liked Lucy Robarts."

They meet resistance from his formidable mother, Lady Lufton. Although she's the main obstacle to marriage and happiness, Trollope doesn't make her one dimensional. She's generous, caring, loves her children and is always good-intentioned though she sometimes finds it hard to overcome her prejudices. She certainly tries to be just to her son and Lucy and imagines that she really has both of their welfare in mind. However, her main fault - and often her most prominent characteristic - is the need to, well, control everything (as is made clear in the wonderful last line of the novel).

Lord Lufton and Lucy also have their faults, Lucy being too irreverent and perverse for the model Victorian wife, as well as not beautiful enough for Lady Lufton's ideal daughter in law. Lord Lufton can't be the ideal hero, either - he considers marrying another woman while Lucy is suffering at home. But Trollope novels always have the happy ending, so it's even more shocking to read something so starkly cynical (if superbly constructed) as this gem -

"I will not say that the happiness of marriage is like the Dead Sea fruit—an apple which, when eaten, turns to bitter ashes in the mouth. Such pretended sarcasm would be very false. Nevertheless, is it not the fact that the sweetest morsel of love's feast has been eaten, that the freshest, fairest blush of the flower has been snatched and has passed away, when the ceremony at the altar has been performed, and legal possession has been given? There is an aroma of love, an undefinable delicacy of flavour, which escapes and is gone before the church portal is left, vanishing with the maiden name, and incompatible with the solid comfort appertaining to the rank of wife. To love one's own spouse, and to be loved by her, is the ordinary lot of man, and is a duty exacted under penalties. But to be allowed to love youth and beauty that is not one's own—to know that one is loved by a soft being who still hangs cowering from the eye of the world as though her love were all but illicit—can it be that a man is made happy when a state of anticipation such as this is brought to a close? No; when the husband walks back from the altar, he has already swallowed the choicest dainties of his banquet. The beef and pudding of married life are then in store for him;—or perhaps only the bread and cheese. Let him take care lest hardly a crust remain—or perhaps not a crust." ( )