The pleasures of Anthony Trollope (in a thick book near you)

I've been reading slowly. Back to Anthony Trollope, one of the most underrated authors in the English language, to be sure (and overshadowed by fellow Victorians Thackery and Dickens). One of the big knocks against Trollope was that he probably wrote three books a year for 20 years. I'm now about 1/16th of the way into "The Way We Live Now," Trollope's examination of both the seamy underbelly of Victorian-era publishing and a morally bankrupt society made only more so by the emergence of speculators, so far in the book concering one mysteriously wealthy man who made a suspect fortune in Europe, and another who's a reluctant investor in a Salt Lake-to-Mexico railroad that nobody thinks will (or should) ever be built. Add in the usual ruined aristocracy spending money it doesn't have, getting more through gambling, losing said, aiming to marry for money ... and you've got Trollope.

It's not so easy to search for Trollope on Amazon, since too much crap comes up, so use this search, which narrows it down considerably.