Trollope. Eliot. I deal with great heaps of verbiage.

books / Television
David Tennant and Fenella Woolgar in He Knew H...

Image by lisby1 via Flickr

Buck and I have been awash lately in British Victorian period dramas, thanks to Netflix. We’ve just finished Middlemarch and are now working on Anthony Trollope: He Knew He Was Right. And so we are also awash in great silk and satin dresses with complicated laces.

Buck: “I thought Trollope was a comedy writer.” Nope, heartfelt sorrows abound, though not with quite the inevitability that they do in Thomas Hardy. For me, reading Hardy is like watching a cat play with its food for about five hundred pages before he kills and eats it.

Up next: The Way We Live Now. First chapter: I meet Mrs. Carbury, writing letters to editors. I want to have started it before the disks get loaded into the DVD player, to have a feel of the words in the printed book that no video can get across. In this, I am going up against (going up with?) a writer who was both prolific and verbose. Wish me luck.

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The Author

I read and I write and I think. I survive.

3 Comments

  1. I love Trollope! Reading all his works and Thackery ‘s got me through med school! had no idea there were movies! Must get Netflicks!

  2. Pingback: In these ends are our beginnings « InnerDialect

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