1813, 1966 Norton Critical edition
Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice
Price unknown
Falling apart paperback
A-
I dropped out of college when I was 19. My boyfriend hung in a bit longer before he dropped out, too. We eventually married and divorced. During that time when he was in college and I wasn't, he was assigned Pride and Prejudice. He couldn't get through it, but I'd heard good things about Jane Austen, so I borrowed his book. I've been borrowing it for 24 years, rereading it at least a dozen times, and it obviously wasn't even a new copy at the time.
What is it about Pride & Prejudice that stays with me, and so many other readers? The shortest answer is Lizzy. Austen's, perhaps British literature's, best heroine is witty but sometimes clueless, kind but occasionally misanthropic. She loves her family and she's ashamed of them (except for dear Jane of course). She can fall for the smooth talk of Wickham (like Elinor trusting Willoughby), and yet analyse a letter like a scholar. Lizzy is not my absolute favorite Austen protagonist (that's Emma Woodhouse, as I'll explain for that novel), partly because she's so many people's favorite, but she never ceases to delight me.
P & P is a novel full of fun characters. There are ones that you'd never want to live with or even visit-- Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet, and Lady Catherine springing immediately to mind-- but at the safe distance of fiction they endlessly amuse with their self-centredness and idiocy. (Even Lady C is a bit of a dolt, with things like her claim that she and her daughter would've been very talented musicians if they'd only ever taken lessons.) And there are characters that aren't necessary to the plot, like Sir Lucas and Mr. Hurst, that still entertain when they show up.
In my review of Sense and Sensibility, I said that this novel is more insightful. For example, Lizzy herself admits that she enjoys "hating" Mr. Darcy and hopes she won't find dancing with him enjoyable. And there's the line about how when, after an anticipated event fails to live up to expectations, the only thing to do is to start looking forward to another event. Lizzy and the other characters, even the exaggerated ones, feel real and sometimes relatable.
My ex-husband did eventually come round to this novel, I think mostly due to the very good 1995 Firth & Ehle TV version. I think Jennifer Ehle is perfect, from her voice to her "fine eyes." I actually like Colin Firth better in some of his other roles, but then I'm not as enamored of Darcy as some people are. I've grown used to Darcy, including his snobbishness, but he'd be about fifth on my "Austen hunks" list. (Ahead of Col. Brandon and Capt. Wentworth anyway.) I think partly due to Firth's "wet shirt" scene, Darcy is regarded as very swoonworthy, and not coincidentally most Austen spin-off fiction (in the sense of professionally published fanfic) seems to be Pemberley-centric. I've read one Darcy & Lizzy later-years novel, but I can't remember anything about it.
As the 1813 Critical Review critic noted, Lizzy & Darcy are like Beatrice & Benedick, and the "love-hate" here has probably influenced even more romantic comedies than Much Ado About Nothing. The thing about MAAN, and some rom-coms, is that the hate changes to love for no other reason than that interfering friends (and the authors) decide it should. At least here, both characters go through changes, not only from their prejudiced views of each other (and Darcy's disparagement of Lizzy at a ball is borrowed from Evelina) but from their original selves. By the time they reconcile, months have passed and they've both grown into better people, mainly from knowing each other. Their arguments aren't just "battles of the sexes" but clashes of world views. Each is shaken up by meeting such a different person, and it's a broadening experience. And yet, they aren't total opposites, because they have shared values, as with the Lydia crisis.
A few words about Lydia. In the hands of most writers, she'd be just irritating, but Austen makes her funny and believable as well. Whether she's loudly yawning and saying, "Lord, I'm tired!" or chasing after soldiers, she is a recognisable fifteen-year-old of a certain type that still exists. She is both a scene-stealer and someone that the reader gets sick of. And, as with Lucy in S & S, Austen feels no need to punish her, beyond giving her the shallow husband she wants and deserves.
P & P isn't a perfect book (I'm not sure I've ever read a perfect book), and if I had to pick one flaw, it'd be that too many of the conversations are indirect quotations. I understand that in some cases this is to save time, but how can Darcy's first proposal go completely paraphrased, particularly after we get to see all of Mr. Collins's? I love Austen's ironic distance, but there are times when she should bring the reader closer to the action.
Because this is a critical edition, another student used this copy before my ex, and there are a few notes written in an unfamiliar hand, mostly about the impact of money on love.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Sense and Sensibility
1811, 1983 Bantam Classic edition
Jane Austen
Sense and Sensibility
Bought new (but a few years after '83) for $3.95
Tattered paperback
B+
I reread Jane Austen every year or two, since she's my favorite writer. This isn't my favorite book of hers, but it's an impressive first published work. It has the romance and drama of 18th-century works but with more realistic dialogue and events. It also has Austen's dry humour, as seen in Elinor's remark to Marianne about dry leaves, as well as the narrator's ironic praise of Lucy's "unceasing attention to self-interest." It isn't a perfect book, and in fact I think the 1995 Emma Thompson script improves on it in three significant ways: fleshing out Margaret's character, omitting Edward's first visit to the cottage (so that it's more dramatic when he visits Elinor in London), and reducing the amount of Marianne's mope-time in London. On the other hand, we do lose such delightfully self-centred characters as Lady Middleton and the elder Miss Steele. The small children are also omitted, and some of Elinor and/or the narrator's sarcastic observations are thus lost, too.
The worst omission, which apparently it frustrated Thompson and producer Lindsay Doran to have to let go, is of course Willoughby's reappearance, just after Marianne has passed the crisis point of her illness. In the next book, Mrs. Bennet will claim that "people do not die of little trifling colds," but this wasn't necessarily true in the early 19th century. Marianne has been neglecting her health since her rejection by Willoughby, and wandering in the rain could actually be fatal at this point. Then Willoughby shows up and tells a story of his "suffering," which generally reasonable Elinor accepts at face value. At the end of Mansfield Park, the narrator drily points out the difference between how men and women were punished in her society for missteps. Here, Marianne is guilty mainly of an adolescent's innocent embrace of the cult of sensibility (in the sense of celebrating your feelings, with "sense" matching the modern meaning of "sensible"). Ironically, she's also been too insensitive, to other people, which she repents of. In any case, she's done no permanent damage. Willoughby, however, has not only seduced and abandoned 17-year-old Eliza Williams, but he jilts 17-year-old Marianne in order to marry an heiress he dislikes.
"But that he was forever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on; for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity."
Marianne does find her happy ending as well, with a man she originally (and with reason) found too old and sombre for her. As a modern 43-year-old woman, it is weird for me to see a 35-year-old man treated as an elderly invalid, but this was meant to be ironic even at the time. When I first read this book in my early 20s, it was equally strange to see a hypothetical 27-year-old spoken of as a spinster, and I hadn't yet read Persuasion. (Austen was 35 when S & S was published.) The age difference is odd, although it wouldn't stand out in, say, Tolstoy. More importantly though, Marianne and Col. Brandon are very different, and it doesn't feel like opposites attract for her. There is a slight aftertaste of her friends and family having pressured her into marrying him, even if she does end up whole-heartedly loving him. In any case, the Marianne/Brandon romance is the main reason why I can't give this story a higher grade. It's also a less quotable and insightful book than its successor.
I haven't said much about Elinor, who in some ways is more the main character than Marianne. This neglect is appropriate since Elinor represses her feelings so much that even her own mother thinks much more about Marianne. As readers, we're shown what Elinor's hiding from the world, but we still don't fully participate in her emotions. The tone is too offputting. I like Elinor-- and, yes, Emma Thompson's performance helps, never mind if she was too old (as if Alan Rickman wasn't!)-- but I don't love her or Marianne as I love some of the other Austen heroines. I find Catherine of the Bower, or even Lady Susan, more intriguing, and just about all of the later Austen protagonists engage me more. Still, I do like the sisterly dynamic here, the ways that the "title characters" play off each other.
Whew, only 200 years to go!
Jane Austen
Sense and Sensibility
Bought new (but a few years after '83) for $3.95
Tattered paperback
B+
I reread Jane Austen every year or two, since she's my favorite writer. This isn't my favorite book of hers, but it's an impressive first published work. It has the romance and drama of 18th-century works but with more realistic dialogue and events. It also has Austen's dry humour, as seen in Elinor's remark to Marianne about dry leaves, as well as the narrator's ironic praise of Lucy's "unceasing attention to self-interest." It isn't a perfect book, and in fact I think the 1995 Emma Thompson script improves on it in three significant ways: fleshing out Margaret's character, omitting Edward's first visit to the cottage (so that it's more dramatic when he visits Elinor in London), and reducing the amount of Marianne's mope-time in London. On the other hand, we do lose such delightfully self-centred characters as Lady Middleton and the elder Miss Steele. The small children are also omitted, and some of Elinor and/or the narrator's sarcastic observations are thus lost, too.
The worst omission, which apparently it frustrated Thompson and producer Lindsay Doran to have to let go, is of course Willoughby's reappearance, just after Marianne has passed the crisis point of her illness. In the next book, Mrs. Bennet will claim that "people do not die of little trifling colds," but this wasn't necessarily true in the early 19th century. Marianne has been neglecting her health since her rejection by Willoughby, and wandering in the rain could actually be fatal at this point. Then Willoughby shows up and tells a story of his "suffering," which generally reasonable Elinor accepts at face value. At the end of Mansfield Park, the narrator drily points out the difference between how men and women were punished in her society for missteps. Here, Marianne is guilty mainly of an adolescent's innocent embrace of the cult of sensibility (in the sense of celebrating your feelings, with "sense" matching the modern meaning of "sensible"). Ironically, she's also been too insensitive, to other people, which she repents of. In any case, she's done no permanent damage. Willoughby, however, has not only seduced and abandoned 17-year-old Eliza Williams, but he jilts 17-year-old Marianne in order to marry an heiress he dislikes.
"But that he was forever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on; for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity."
Marianne does find her happy ending as well, with a man she originally (and with reason) found too old and sombre for her. As a modern 43-year-old woman, it is weird for me to see a 35-year-old man treated as an elderly invalid, but this was meant to be ironic even at the time. When I first read this book in my early 20s, it was equally strange to see a hypothetical 27-year-old spoken of as a spinster, and I hadn't yet read Persuasion. (Austen was 35 when S & S was published.) The age difference is odd, although it wouldn't stand out in, say, Tolstoy. More importantly though, Marianne and Col. Brandon are very different, and it doesn't feel like opposites attract for her. There is a slight aftertaste of her friends and family having pressured her into marrying him, even if she does end up whole-heartedly loving him. In any case, the Marianne/Brandon romance is the main reason why I can't give this story a higher grade. It's also a less quotable and insightful book than its successor.
I haven't said much about Elinor, who in some ways is more the main character than Marianne. This neglect is appropriate since Elinor represses her feelings so much that even her own mother thinks much more about Marianne. As readers, we're shown what Elinor's hiding from the world, but we still don't fully participate in her emotions. The tone is too offputting. I like Elinor-- and, yes, Emma Thompson's performance helps, never mind if she was too old (as if Alan Rickman wasn't!)-- but I don't love her or Marianne as I love some of the other Austen heroines. I find Catherine of the Bower, or even Lady Susan, more intriguing, and just about all of the later Austen protagonists engage me more. Still, I do like the sisterly dynamic here, the ways that the "title characters" play off each other.
Whew, only 200 years to go!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The Watsons
1804-05
Jane Austen
The Watsons
B
This unfinished novel is the first of Austen's surviving works to really offer her "three or four families in a country village." (The neighbourhood of Jack and Alice consists of about a dozen people, but the story is hardly a sincere examination of how the different families interact.) The heroine, Emma Watson, also resembles later Austen main characters in being intelligent and kind. And there are the snobs and fops that will populate the later works. Still, there are some things that set this novel apart, besides its lack of a middle and an end. According to Jane's sister Cassandra's remarks, Emma's romantic rival would've been Lady Osborne, who's pushing fifty. Emma's brother Sam is a surgeon, a very different profession than the ones that Fanny Price's and Catherine Morland's brothers pursue. (Austen heroines tend to either have no brothers or multiple brothers that join either the church or the navy.) And Mr. Watson is an invalid, but a far more intelligent one than the other Emma W's father.
Jane Austen
The Watsons
B
This unfinished novel is the first of Austen's surviving works to really offer her "three or four families in a country village." (The neighbourhood of Jack and Alice consists of about a dozen people, but the story is hardly a sincere examination of how the different families interact.) The heroine, Emma Watson, also resembles later Austen main characters in being intelligent and kind. And there are the snobs and fops that will populate the later works. Still, there are some things that set this novel apart, besides its lack of a middle and an end. According to Jane's sister Cassandra's remarks, Emma's romantic rival would've been Lady Osborne, who's pushing fifty. Emma's brother Sam is a surgeon, a very different profession than the ones that Fanny Price's and Catherine Morland's brothers pursue. (Austen heroines tend to either have no brothers or multiple brothers that join either the church or the navy.) And Mr. Watson is an invalid, but a far more intelligent one than the other Emma W's father.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
The Wrongs of Woman
1798, published posthumously by husband William Godwin
Mary Wollstonecraft
The Wrongs of Woman: Or, Maria
B-
Although this is in some ways as depressing as Mary, A Fiction, it has more raw emotion and a stronger sense of the, well, wrongs of woman. The intervening decade between her two novels had both politicised Wollstonecraft and put her through a lot of emotional drama. This novel was not quite finished (there's at least one subplot left conspicuously dangling), but as it stands it's a promising tragedy. My favorite moment is at the end, when the hypocritical judge worries that it would set a bad precedent if women had more say in divorce.
Overall, weighting the shorter works less, this collection averages out to a B-.
Mary Wollstonecraft
The Wrongs of Woman: Or, Maria
B-
Although this is in some ways as depressing as Mary, A Fiction, it has more raw emotion and a stronger sense of the, well, wrongs of woman. The intervening decade between her two novels had both politicised Wollstonecraft and put her through a lot of emotional drama. This novel was not quite finished (there's at least one subplot left conspicuously dangling), but as it stands it's a promising tragedy. My favorite moment is at the end, when the hypocritical judge worries that it would set a bad precedent if women had more say in divorce.
Overall, weighting the shorter works less, this collection averages out to a B-.
Lessons
1798, as part of Posthumous Works
Mary Wollstonecraft
Lessons
B-
Starting with the very basic Lesson I ("Cat. Dog. Cow. Horse...."), this moves on to the more personal advice of a mother to her young daughter. Mary's own firstborn daughter, Fanny Imlay, herself committed suicide at 22, while the namesake baby that Mary died giving birth to of course wrote Frankenstein, more on that in a few weeks.
Mary Wollstonecraft
Lessons
B-
Starting with the very basic Lesson I ("Cat. Dog. Cow. Horse...."), this moves on to the more personal advice of a mother to her young daughter. Mary's own firstborn daughter, Fanny Imlay, herself committed suicide at 22, while the namesake baby that Mary died giving birth to of course wrote Frankenstein, more on that in a few weeks.
Letters Written...in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark
1796
Mary Wollstonecraft
Letters Written During a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark
B-
Interesting observations on late 18th-century Scandinavia, including of course the women, by a well-traveled but still very British writer. The letters were written to Mary's lover Gilbert Imlay, the one whose rejection made her suicidal, but the excerpts here are not especially personal, more anthropological.
Mary Wollstonecraft
Letters Written During a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark
B-
Interesting observations on late 18th-century Scandinavia, including of course the women, by a well-traveled but still very British writer. The letters were written to Mary's lover Gilbert Imlay, the one whose rejection made her suicidal, but the excerpts here are not especially personal, more anthropological.
1
Camilla
1796, Oxford University Press edition 1999
Fanny Burney
Camilla, or A Picture of Youth
Original price $15.95, purchase price 50 cents to $1
A bit shabby paperback
C+
While this is for the most part a more realistic book than Evelina, it's much sadder and just about every character except Lavinia deserves at least one swift kick. I do like the sisterly dynamic among Camilla, Lavinia, and poor Eugenia, and as in Evelina some of the contemporary details are interesting. It's worth noting that even 18th-century readers thought that the 900-page novel was too long.
Swift Kick Top Ten for Camilla:
10. In a novel full of bad advice, Dr. Marchmont deserves mention for his misogynous distrust of even Camilla, a girl that Edgar has known since childhood.
9. Camilla herself gets on my nerves. Yes, she's young and naive and well-meaning, but some of what she does, like frequently flirting with other men to win over Edgar, makes me question her supposed intelligence. Also, she lies dying in an inn, wallowing in self-pity, rather than just go home and put herself at her very kind parents' mercy.
8. Sir Sedley goes beyond Mrs. Arlbery's advice to make Camilla become infatuated with him enough to forget Edgar, and the way he exploits the Lionel-debt situation is scummy.
7. Mrs. Arlbery is the main person giving Camilla bad romantic advice, messing up their relationship even more than Dr. Marchmont does.
6. Miss Margland is a spiteful spinster governess who, not content with spoiling her shallow charge, comes in and sneers (verbally as well as physically) every time Camilla and Edgar have a chance to reconcile. I can't think of one redeeming moment for her, but at least she does less damage than any of the Top Five.
5. Sir Hugh may be a sweet old uncle, beloved by his family, but from the moment he exposes Eugenia to small pox onward, his attempts to help make matters worse.
4. Clermont Lynmere is a not only a lazy, spoiled fop rather than the serious Greek & Latin scholar that Sir Hugh hopes to match with Eugenia. He's also cruel and abusive (sometimes physically as well as verbally) to everyone except his sister. Not to mention that he runs up huge debts that Sir Hugh must pay.
3. Mrs. Mittin is never comic relief, like the annoying but amusing Madame Duval in Evelina. She's instead annoying and exploitative. She's the main one giving Camilla bad financial advice, which has worse consequences than anything Mrs. Arlbery does.
2. Bellamy pretends love for Eugenia throughout most of the novel but turns out to be an abusive fortune-hunter, who's also trying to seduce romantic but naive Mrs. Berlinton.
1. Brother Lionel gets the top spot because he messes up multiple people's lives (particularly Camilla's), financially and romantically, all while jesting as if he's done nothing wrong. Yes, Bellamy is scum, but he's a scummy stranger. Lionel uses his family's love for him to exploit them. He does repent in the end, but this book would be several hundred pages shorter without all the crap he inflicts.
Fanny Burney
Camilla, or A Picture of Youth
Original price $15.95, purchase price 50 cents to $1
A bit shabby paperback
C+
While this is for the most part a more realistic book than Evelina, it's much sadder and just about every character except Lavinia deserves at least one swift kick. I do like the sisterly dynamic among Camilla, Lavinia, and poor Eugenia, and as in Evelina some of the contemporary details are interesting. It's worth noting that even 18th-century readers thought that the 900-page novel was too long.
Swift Kick Top Ten for Camilla:
10. In a novel full of bad advice, Dr. Marchmont deserves mention for his misogynous distrust of even Camilla, a girl that Edgar has known since childhood.
9. Camilla herself gets on my nerves. Yes, she's young and naive and well-meaning, but some of what she does, like frequently flirting with other men to win over Edgar, makes me question her supposed intelligence. Also, she lies dying in an inn, wallowing in self-pity, rather than just go home and put herself at her very kind parents' mercy.
8. Sir Sedley goes beyond Mrs. Arlbery's advice to make Camilla become infatuated with him enough to forget Edgar, and the way he exploits the Lionel-debt situation is scummy.
7. Mrs. Arlbery is the main person giving Camilla bad romantic advice, messing up their relationship even more than Dr. Marchmont does.
6. Miss Margland is a spiteful spinster governess who, not content with spoiling her shallow charge, comes in and sneers (verbally as well as physically) every time Camilla and Edgar have a chance to reconcile. I can't think of one redeeming moment for her, but at least she does less damage than any of the Top Five.
5. Sir Hugh may be a sweet old uncle, beloved by his family, but from the moment he exposes Eugenia to small pox onward, his attempts to help make matters worse.
4. Clermont Lynmere is a not only a lazy, spoiled fop rather than the serious Greek & Latin scholar that Sir Hugh hopes to match with Eugenia. He's also cruel and abusive (sometimes physically as well as verbally) to everyone except his sister. Not to mention that he runs up huge debts that Sir Hugh must pay.
3. Mrs. Mittin is never comic relief, like the annoying but amusing Madame Duval in Evelina. She's instead annoying and exploitative. She's the main one giving Camilla bad financial advice, which has worse consequences than anything Mrs. Arlbery does.
2. Bellamy pretends love for Eugenia throughout most of the novel but turns out to be an abusive fortune-hunter, who's also trying to seduce romantic but naive Mrs. Berlinton.
1. Brother Lionel gets the top spot because he messes up multiple people's lives (particularly Camilla's), financially and romantically, all while jesting as if he's done nothing wrong. Yes, Bellamy is scum, but he's a scummy stranger. Lionel uses his family's love for him to exploit them. He does repent in the end, but this book would be several hundred pages shorter without all the crap he inflicts.
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