Not only does she highlight and bring out these patterns, but she relates them to Trollope's relationship with his wife Rose and to what his life was like when he visited his mother in Paris, when he was in London as a young man, and again in Ireland before he was married. At the time someone apparently said his books were his wife. I could not disagree more strongly with those who profess no interest in autobiography. I see it as a curiously stubborn modern fallacy which is ultimately a product of pride and vanity. We turn away from the most relevant body of evidence to prefer our own abstract fantasies.
Reality is in specifics.