ABSTRACT
Somebody (N. John Hall) pointed out to me that this chapter’s title is susceptible to multiple (well, two) interpretations. I knew that all along, of course, and didn’t need buttinski Hall pointing it out. My title artfully suggests that Trollope can indeed be read as a tragic novelist and that it is, oh yes, a tragedy that he so seldom is. 1
By “tragedy,” of course I refer not to some set of formal properties in the novels but to a way of reading. Lots of genre critics – even old standards, such as E. D. Hirsch and Wayne Booth – have conceded that genre is really only a floating “contract,” which means it is what you and I make it. Here’s the clincher: Aristotle, who knew, said tragedy was not so much a matter of plot and character as of audience response: tragedy is whatever evokes a catharsis of pity and fear. We have become lazy and imagine that such a reaction can come about only with King Lear or Hedda Gabbler , but of course we cannot prescribe responses or ways of reading. Huckleberry Finn , Lady Windermere’s Fan , the latest memo from the dean can all be read and felt as tragic – which simply means they are tragic. No such thing as a misreading, naturally, as we all know, and that’s very good news for some of us and also keeps issues of emphasis, form, and meaning completely open, afloat, and flexible. Tragedy, I repeat, is not a formal property but a question of how we read, construct.
