Availability: Usually ships within 48 hours. Ships from and sold by Babblebooks.com.Running time: 19 hr 24 min
Also available from Amazon.com at Castle Richmond [MP3 AUDIO] (Audio CD) by Anthony Trollope
The unabridged classic on MP3 audio, narrated by Anais 9000. Three playback speeds on one disk; etext edition included. Running time: 19.4 hours (slow), 17.7 hours (medium), 16.1 hours (fast).
Sample reading:
Chapter I
The Barony of Desmond
Slow (16:47),
Medium (15:14),
Fast (13:50).
The Barony of Desmond
I wonder whether the novel-reading world--that part of it, at
least, which may honour my pages--will be offended if I lay the plot
of this story in Ireland! That there is a strong feeling against
things Irish it is impossible to deny. Irish servants need not
apply; Irish acquaintances are treated with limited confidence;
Irish cousins are regarded as being decidedly dangerous; and Irish
stories are not popular with the booksellers.
For myself, I may say that if I ought to know anything about any
place, I ought to know something about Ireland; and I do strongly
protest against the injustice of the above conclusions. Irish
cousins I have none. Irish acquaintances I have by dozens; and Irish
friends, also, by twos and threes, whom I can love and
cherish--almost as well, perhaps, as though they had been born in
Middlesex. Irish servants I have had some in my house for years, and
never had one that was faithless, dishonest, or intemperate. I have
travelled all over Ireland, closely as few other men can have done,
and have never had my portmanteau robbed or my pocket picked. At
hotels I have seldom locked up my belongings, and my carelessness
has never been punished. I doubt whether as much can be said for
English inns.
Irish novels were once popular enough. But there is a fashion in
novels, as there is in colours and petticoats; and now I fear they
are drugs in the market. It is hard to say why a good story should
not have a fair chance of success whatever may be its bent; why it
should not be reckoned to be good by its own intrinsic merits alone;
but such is by no means the case. I was waiting once, when I was
young at the work, in the back parlour of an eminent publisher,
hoping to see his eminence on a small matter of business touching a
three-volumed manuscript which I held in my hand. The eminent
publisher, having probably larger fish to fry, could not see me, but
sent his clerk or foreman to arrange the business.
"A novel, is it, sir?" said the foreman.
"Yes," I answered; "a novel."
"It depends very much on the subject," said the foreman, with a
thoughtful and judicious frown--"upon the name, sir, and the
subject;--daily life, sir; that's what suits us; daily English
life. Now, your historical novel, sir, is not worth the paper it's
written on."
I fear that Irish character is in these days considered almost as
unattractive as historical incident; but, nevertheless, I will make
the attempt. I am now leaving the Green Isle and my old friends, and
would fain say a word of them as I do so. If I do not say that word
now it will never be said. [...]
Next
