Elizabeth Bennet Leaves Meryton

            William Deresiewicz’s essay, “Community and Cognition in Pride and Prejudice”, opens with a wry look at the mock aphorism given to us by Jane Austen at the start of her beloved novel, Pride and Prejudice: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife” (Austen 3). Deresiewicz points out that “it is immediately intimated that this “truth universally acknowledged” is in fact nothing more than one of the fixed opinions of the “neighborhood” of “surrounding families” amidst which the novel's action is to take place” (503). This observation is the first of many made by Deresiewicz that point to an extremely strong community influence on the plot of Pride and Prejudice, and its heroine, Elizabeth Bennet.

Deresiewicz argues that the community in Pride and Prejudice is almost powerful enough to be considered a character – a character whose patterns of thought are well established and inhospitable to change or outside influence - and it is this character that shapes Lizzy, and makes possible (or inevitable) many of her actions. According to Deresiewicz, what Meryton does well is to gather its members together, and unify them around a single opinion. He asserts that breaking away from this community brings about not only Lizzy’s new attitude to Mr. Darcy, but, through their marriage, it also paves the way for a new community and a new way of thinking for Lizzy, Darcy, and their family and friends. “Elizabeth is presented not as a typical person, but as a typical member of her community. She assents to and helps propagate collective judgments … witty as she is, she risks the same mental gridlock as those around her” (Deresiewicz 509). Mr.Darcy’s cognitive processes are so different from Lizzy’s (and the people she grew up with) that communication with him is unlike what she’s been used to all her life, and this new type of conversation will be part of what makes their relationship work. Their “ongoing “conversation” will avert the mental inertia of the novel's first community” (Deresiewicz 529).  Darcy brings to Meryton what Deresiewicz calls “the seed of difference… a challenge to frozen patterns of thinking and feeling”, without which the community would “reproduce itself” (526).

Deresiewicz also points out the importance of what he calls the “density” of the community. Meryton is made up of a “large group of people all minding each other's business... Everywhere a member of the community looks, someone is related to [them] somehow” (515). Deresiewicz argues that Austen uses this interconnectedness in Pride and Prejudice as a device for her characters to get to know one another in settings other than romantic ones, and this allows them to explore feelings of attraction without having to make any declarations, while building a basis of friendship. In this sense, the community in Meryton aids in the romantic efforts of its inhabitants, providing an innocent platform for these relationships to develop.

So, can it be true that Elizabeth Bennet is not actually what we think? It’s hard to think of her as anything other than smart, strong and independent. It is Lizzy, after all, who turns down a proposal of marriage from the cousin who is set to inherit their house, even though to marry him would have ensured her future security. And it’s Lizzy who turns down Mr.Darcy – an extremely handsome and wealthy man – because she is insulted by his manner of proposal. She never lets Caroline Bingley get away with nettling her, she refuses to grovel to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and she’s famous for her sharp and witty exchanges with Darcy himself. That’s why, at first, it’s difficult to accept Deresiewicz’s argument that she is not really such an independent thinker. However, he does make some convincing observations.

 Consider the verdict on Darcy … that he is a proud man, “above his company, and above being pleased”. “He was discovered” to be this way (Austen 10). As Deresiewcz tells us, this opinion is “handed to [Lizzy] by her community”, and she accepts it (507). The conversation in the Bennet’s house the day after the first ball reveals a suggestible Lizzy. She hasn’t really been offended greatly by Darcy, in fact she has been laughing about it, because she finds his insult “ridiculous” (Austen 11). Not until Charlotte Lucas remarks that he should not have snubbed her does the whole idea of his being insufferably proud and arrogant really take root in Lizzy’s mind. A conversation goes in circles, with the notion of Darcy’s disagreeableness and pride passing from one speaker to another, until it eventually ends up being spoken by Lizzy (Austen 18). “Had Austen simply wished to show her making the judgment herself, either at the moment of Darcy's snub or afterwards, she could have done so with a great deal less effort” (Deresiewicz 508). It’s as if Austen wants us to see how judgments can be made in small communities, and how something can become “a universal truth” over the course of a morning conversation. Lizzy does not appear to be such an independent thinker anymore, when we consider this conversation and the part her community played in the shaping of her opinion.

Not until she leaves the confines of her home village and spends some time away from Meryton, with its “well fixed” notions and thought processes, does Lizzy finally reach some sort of independence of thought regarding Mr.Darcy. Without time alone to consider his letter, Lizzy may never have come to the conclusion that she was wrong about him. It seems likely that Jane would have nudged her towards forgiveness, so maybe she would have come around eventually. But based on conversations she has had with Jane, when she laughs off her opinions or downright rejects them (82), it’s likely that Lizzy would have done the same thing this time. As Deresiewicz points out, Lizzy dismisses the opinions of both Jane and Charlotte Lucas, without altering her own even slightly: “at this point, certain of what she knows … Elizabeth has stopped questioning herself” (511).  In her own words, she knows “exactly what to think” (Austen 82). It can be easier to continue to oppose something than to consider it, and the stubborn streak in Lizzy might have made her revelation impossible, under the wrong circumstances – that is to say, in the company of her own community. Only being alone, without the opinion of anyone else to think about, does Lizzy have the freedom to rethink her opinion… (the opinion, as Deresiewicz reminds us, that has been “handed to her by her community”).

 When she does get away and can think alone, Lizzy is obliged to admit not only that her opinion of Darcy was wrong, but that her opinion of Wickham was based on nothing but his shallow charm and “the general approbation of the neighborhood” (Austen 197). Seeing Wickham and Darcy for what they really are marks a new beginning for Lizzy. Having come around to the fact that Darcy is actually a good person and Wickham is nothing more than a cad, Lizzy is now no longer in step with the rest of her community. She is now confronted with contradictions to her own way of thinking. Being wrong is not something the “good people of Meryton” like to admit – they would much rather engage in a bit of revisionism if possible, as evidenced by their treatment of Darcy later on - and Lizzy’s thought processes are more like her friends’ and neighbors’ than she might want to believe. As Deresiewicz notes, the people of Meryton don’t seem to fix on any solid judgment about anything until they have discussed and analyzed it among themselves first, as we see at the Bennet’s house the morning after the first dance (512). Not everyone may agree at the start, and coming to the generally accepted version requires some delicate and complex conversational steps. There is room for a certain amount of disagreement, but not too much. Once a general opinion has been settled upon, that is the one that is circulated in every drawing room, and every shop doorway.

So Lizzy’s revelation puts her outside of her community. According to Deresiewicz, it is this removal from the fixed patterns of thought in Meryton that prepares Lizzy for her acceptance of Darcy’s completely different way of thinking and communicating. Not being from Meryton, he is less likely to agree with the community consensus no matter what it is, and he is less likely to use the same polite detours that Meryton people use when they don’t agree – he has his own style of communication, direct and determined. The obstacles that he and Lizzy must overcome in their communication will be part of what makes their relationship fresh and entertaining.

The characters in Meryton have many connections to each other, not only are they neighbors, they are also connected through family, friendship and marriage. This close connectedness causes things to happen that might otherwise not occur, information is passed, opinions are formed, and there are consequences. We would not have had much of a plot had it not been for Charlotte’s father, Sir Lucas, suggesting that Mr.Darcy dance with Elizabeth at an assembly at the Lucas’s home (Austen 22). Or if the Bennets and Charlotte had not been close enough to get together the day after the first ball to discuss and analyze their new neighbors (Austen 18). Nor indeed, if Lizzy and Wickham had not been able to sit together and talk at length, at another one of the Meryton gatherings (Austen 73-78). The closeness of this tight community provides a perfect breeding ground for rumors, gossip, and circular thinking, but it also allows relationships to develop in a natural way. Characters can get to know each other as friends. They can find out whether they actually connect on a cognitive level, rather than just a physical level. That’s why Darcy and Elizabeth seem like the perfect couple after all. We know they are attracted to one another physically. And despite the fact that a lot of her barbs have been directed at him, Darcy obviously enjoys Lizzy’s sharp wit and intelligence – something he’s been able to experience at first hand, because of the tight-knit community in Meryton. But it’s not until Lizzy leaves Meryton and allows her community’s influence to fall away that she can see Darcy in a truer light, and she can appreciate fully what he has to offer.

Works Cited

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. New York: Signet Classics, 2008. Print

Deresiewicz, William. "Community and Cognition in Pride and Prejudice." ELH 64.2 (1997): 503-535. Project MUSE. Web. 7 May. 2013.

And They All Lived Happily Ever After... Maybe.

 

            When we read a story about a couple who want to be together but are being kept apart, a young woman secretly in love with an unavailable man, or some other romantic entanglement involving hope and disappointment, we’re usually rewarded at the end with a happy couple getting married, all set to live happily ever after. At first glance, it seems as if Jane Austen delivers. All the ingredients are there. The couples, the obstacles, the hopes, the disappointments, the anxieties, and then the marriage! But if we pay closer attention to these stories, and think about the details, rather than read the word marriage and feel satisfied, we see that Austen is not really giving us what we think she’s giving us. Two novels to consider are Sense and Sensibility, and Persuasion. Both demonstrate Austen’s ability to write a happy ending that will satisfy the reader who wants to hear wedding bells - but may also leave them with the feeling that things are not quite perfect. Marriage is not a happy ending. It’s just one part of a life that has to be lived in society, with the people that surround you, and the social expectations, hierarchies, and hypocrisies remain.

             At first, Sense and Sensibility appears to give us the perfect ending. Elinor and Edward finally get together, and Marianne realizes that actually Willoughby is a scoundrel, and that Colonel Brandon is the one for her, and they get married too. But is this ending really as happy as it seems? This may be Elinor’s dream come true, but Marianne never wanted to marry Col. Brandon. She ends up losing her own dreams of passionate love, and seems to marry Brandon out of a sense of duty - a feeling that she should stop being silly and childish, and just marry the good man. Happily, she does “in time” become as much devoted to Brandon as she was once to Willoughby, but the fact that she married him before that happened seems to indicate that she wasn’t necessarily the most glowing bride to ever walk down the aisle (268).

And what about the fact that Edward has been deprived of his inheritance? Yes, he and Elinor are in love, and neither one of them ever yearned to be rich, but by rights they should have been a great deal better off financially than they end up. Instead the money goes to Robert and Lucy! “While Robert was inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a year, not the smallest objection was made to Edward’s taking orders for the sake of two hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for the present or in future” (264). Despite this injustice, we do know that Edward and Elinor are very happy together – Edward has “an increasing attachment to his wife and his home” and “the regular cheerfulness of his spirits” shows that this lack of fortune, (and of fair play), does not make him bitter (267). So while on the one hand, we have to accept that Elinor and Edward have been dealt with unfairly, we also have the satisfaction of knowing that they are happy together.  At least Jane Austen gives us that!

However, the injustice must be considered. It’s Edward’s good character that loses him the fortune. If he had broken his promise to marry Lucy, he would never have been disinherited. The twist of the knife is that his repulsive brother, Robert, steals Lucy from him (at least that’s what Robert thinks – Lucy herself knows the truth, there), and still gets the money. And duplicitous Lucy ends up netting herself a rich husband. Where is her comeuppance? She ends up being the darling of Mrs. Ferrars, having managed to climb high up the social ladder, and lives in financial comfort beyond anything she has a right to expect. In Sense and Sensibility hypocrisy is ignored, manipulation and flattery are rewarded, and emotional honesty and honorable behavior is punished. Is this Austen commenting on the fact that hypocrites do frequently win, and polite society is full of people who behave in a despicable way, and are yet considered respectable?

Even Persuasion, the most romantic of Austen’s novels, doesn’t give us the pure, romantic, happy ever after ending that we think it does.  We are delighted for Anne and Wentworth – their marriage seems like one we’ve been waiting years to see. But while we’re reveling in the joy of their union, and Anne’s happiness, we are told “the dread of a future war [is] all that could dim her sunshine” (168), and suddenly the idea of Anne and Wentworth having a long and happy life together seems to be in doubt. Another point is that Anne is not spared the shame of having an awful family. There’s no big reconciliation scene, and there are no apologies for past behavior. They don’t improve, as we might have hoped - they are consistent in their silliness, their vanity, and their pompousness. They don’t grow as characters, they don’t learn, they are still awful, and Anne knows it.

We also have to consider Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Clay’s actions, and decide what we think their future holds. These two are obviously champion manipulators. Mr. Elliot’s motives for pursuing Anne having already been revealed to us, we now hear  “how double a game he had been playing”, when he moves to London, and Mrs. Clay soon follows him, thereby abandoning her hope of marrying Sir Elliot, and possibly producing an heir to his fortune. There’s a question mark over whether Mrs.Clay is even craftier than Mr. Elliot though – “She has abilities, however, as well as affections; and it is now a doubtful point whether his cunning or hers, may finally carry the day” (167) – Mrs. Clay may end up becoming Mr.Elliot’s wife herself, and still getting her hands on the fortune, as wife of the current heir - but who ever the true champion is, they both find a way not to lose what they have been striving for. And where is their punishment? Again, we are given players who have been working their craft steadily, all along. Even when their plans become derailed, they find a way to get back in the game, and are still welcome in polite society, despite their sly and manipulative behavior.

So, bad people don’t always get their comeuppance, hypocrites can (and usually do) thrive, Marianne doesn’t marry a man she is passionately in love with, Edward and Elinor will never be rich, Anne’s family, with their vanity, and their high regard for money and pedigree, remain a source of shame to her, and Anne and Wentworth may soon be separated by war. It seems that Jane Austen didn’t want to give her readers unrealistically happy endings, and instead wanted to write stories that would ring true. Marriage, as Austen seems to know, doesn’t fix everything. People will still cheat, there will still be hypocrisy, vanity, greed, and snobbishness in the world, and danger will still lurk. But even so, we can still enjoy a good wedding when it comes around.

All to Play For – Hunting for Fun, Fortune and Foothold

 

            There are plenty of references to hunting in Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. The obvious examples refer to the hunting of animals, specifically to men hunting animals - but more subtle allusions are to be found in John Willoughby’s pursuit of Marianne, and in Lucy Steele’s relationships with Edward and Robert Ferrars. The hunt for a good marriage partner was something that both men and women engaged in. The stakes were much greater for women than for men – for a woman with no fortune, success in the hunt represented her only chance at a good life. This was a serious game, with a serious prize. A man could earn his own fortune if he had to, but it was much more common to try to make a good match by finding a suitable target and aiming to marry. As John Willoughby and Lucy Steele were well aware, success in the hunt meant a rich spouse or a place in respectable society, and if you were lucky, it could mean both.

Willoughby is first introduced to us as a hunter  - “a gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing around him” (33), (perhaps a foreshadowing of the two ladies whose lives he will soon be playing with), described by John Middleton as  “a very decent shot” (34). He is young and extremely handsome, he enjoys dancing and hunting, and he has energy for both (35). Marianne could hardly help falling for him. It’s much later that we come to realize he has been hunting for more than pheasant on the hills near Barton Cottage. He wants the good life – fun, riches, the attention of pretty girls – all of which he can get, if he plays the game to his own advantage. The young Willoughby is just looking for a bit of diversion while he spends a few weeks with his old aunt. In his confession to Elinor, he admits that in the beginning he has no serious feelings for Marianne, and that his pursuit of her is just a way of keeping himself entertained – “thinking only of [his] own amusement…[he] endeavoured, by every means in [his] power, to make [himself] pleasing to her, without any design of returning her affection” (227). He behaves like a predator out to make a conquest, and Marianne represents an attractive catch.

 She’s a charming piece of prey for John Willoughby - he really has no intention of keeping her, though. Willoughby’s true hunt is for fortune. For this prize he is willing to sacrifice all else, including integrity, conscience, and real love. Later on, when we hear his confession, it becomes clear that winning does not always feel like the best outcome. Willoughby wins a rich wife. As he says himself, “her money was necessary to me” (233). But he is in anguish because of it - “With my head and my heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy lover to another woman” (232). The game he plays is a dangerous one, with not only Marianne’s heart at stake, but his own too. However, in the end Willoughby gets what he was after in the first place – a rich wife and a place in respectable society – so for him, the hunt is a success.

As for Lucy and Elinor, like all young ladies of their time, both know how important it is to find a husband, and each for their own reasons has settled on Edward as their potential mate. While love is not necessarily a requirement in marriage, we know that Elinor’s feelings for Edward are true, and are based on real admiration and affection. She tells Marianne that her feelings for him are “stronger than [she has] declared” (18), and we know that when she is alone, her mind wanders to Edward all the time (77). We only have Lucy’s word for the state of her relationship with Edward, but she wastes no time in letting Elinor know - “eyeing her attentively” as she speaks (93) - that it is a very deep and longstanding one, and that it will not easily be broken (94). Lucy suspects that Elinor is competition to be knocked out, and she watches her closely to see whether her strikes are hitting their mark. When Elinor asks if her engagement is to Robert Ferrars, Lucy “fixing her eyes upon Elinor”, replies that no, she’s not engaged to Robert, but to Edward (94). Elinor quickly realizes that this is the first move in a very tricky game that Lucy is playing with her, and reluctant as she is to be involved in this game, she will not allow Lucy to beat her. In her conversations with Lucy on the topic of Edward, she focuses herself “to speak cautiously” and “with a calmness of manner” (94), and is “careful in guarding her countenance from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency”(105). Elinor knows that Lucy is marking her territory, and she knows it’s in her own interest to hide her true feelings and just let Lucy share whatever details she wants to share. It may be painful to hear these things, but at least she’s no longer in the dark about what’s going on in Edward’s life, and about his plans for marriage. For Elinor to have a chance in this game, she needs as much information as she can get.

As a player, Elinor is really not up to Lucy’s standards, but she has some good tools in her kit. She has self-control in abundance, which is very useful. She keeps her thoughts to herself, limiting Lucy’s ability to do her harm. Every so often she just has to say something – when Lucy is gushing about the constancy of Edward’s affections, Elinor remarks that it is a good thing they can count on each other’s constancy, as a four year engagement could quite naturally lead to waning affections – but she keeps such a calm countenance that Lucy can’t tell whether or not the remark is a barbed one (105).  Her good judgment allows her to see through Lucy’s act early on, and to realize that Lucy has an angle - she just doesn’t figure out exactly what that angle is until Lucy marries the money. Lucy is no fool, though, and although she can’t be completely sure, she suspects that Elinor is onto her. When she tells Elinor that for Edward’s sake she would not have him lose his fortune just to marry her, and Elinor replies “for your own sake too, or are you carrying your disinterestedness beyond reason?” Lucy doesn’t say a word, but looks at Elinor again, and is silent (106). Moments later, when Mrs.Jennings, makes the throwaway remark that Lucy “is such a sly little creature”, it seems perfectly fitting. But Elinor plays fair - she never reveals Lucy’s secret even though she could ruin all her plans very easily. And she is not ruthless in the hunt. She gives up on Edward as soon as she finds out about his engagement. Even though she still carries a tiny hope that something will happen to prevent his marriage to Lucy, she does nothing to sabotage their relationship, and even finds herself having to deliver news of a gift that will make their marriage more likely (204).

Lucy has a poor hand, but she plays it well. What Elinor does not realize is that she and Lucy are not playing the same game. They’re not actually after the same prey at all. Lucy is not hunting Edward - she is hunting a good marriage. She wants to climb the social ladder, and the only way she can do it is to marry well. She needs access to a good potential mate and, in order to assure herself this access, she needs to curry favor with those who have more money and higher social status than she does herself. She knows what it takes to worm her way into the favors of Lady Middleton, Fanny Dashwood and Mrs. Ferrars. Flattery and submissiveness gets her closer to these women than her social rank alone could have. In her pursuit of a better life, she is dedicated and patient. To gain Lady Middleton’s good grace, she shows “excessive affection and endurance …towards her offspring” (88), and is “in continual raptures, extolling their beauty, courting their notice, and humouring all their whims”(88), while also being in constant “admiration of whatever her ladyship [is] doing”(88). She flatters and manipulates those around her to her own advantage, and eventually all the flattery and insincerity pays off. The people she wants to win over end up accepting her - “her respectful humility, assiduous attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was given for their exercise…re-established [them] completely in her favour”(266) and in the case of Mrs.Ferrars, she even manages to become a “favourite child” (267).

And she is a ruthless huntress. In her pursuit of fortune and high status, Lucy keeps hold of Edward to ensure a foothold in higher circles than her own, and when he’s no longer of any use she doesn’t hesitate to move on and leave him behind. “Lucy’s behaviour…[is]…a most encouraging instance of what an earnest, and unceasing attention to self-interest, however its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and conscience” (266). In Lucy’s eyes, Edward has become the booby prize – with no fortune, no goodwill from his mother, and a medium ranking social position, why would she want him when her goal was always to marry money and climb as high up the social ladder as she could? Once she realizes that there is another option – Robert, the brother with the fortune – she begins the process of manipulation and seduction, and after some weeks of effort she ends up snaring him. And totally unaware that he has been hunted and captured in this manner, Robert is “proud of his conquest” (266).

So Elinor gets Edward in the end - but she only wins him because Lucy discards him. Elinor wins her own game, though, because she gets Edward without resorting to underhanded tactics – she has not given up her principles on her way to victory. This is important to Elinor, as evidenced by her reaction when she finds out that Lucy’s sister has told her information that she had no right to hear (192). Lucy has no such scruples. She has her eye firmly fixed on the prize, which is no longer marriage to Edward, but to his rich brother Robert. Through cunning, flattery, determination and ruthless ambition, Lucy manages to pull off what seems like an impossible feat. Ultimately, what Lucy has been hunting is a better life. Like Willoughby, she marries into a fortune and a place in society, which is all she really wanted in the first place – so for her, too, the hunt has been a success.  So in the end, Lucy and Elinor, the “two fair rivals” both win (104). They are just playing different games.

Lady Susan, The Watsons, Sanditon

            There’s something about the letter format of Lady Susan that makes it a bit more awkward to read than the other books. I’m glad Jane Austen decided not to carry on writing Sense and Sensibility that way. As for the story Lady Susan, I liked it, but not as much as The Watsons. It reminded me a lot of the sort of outrageous over-the-top plots and characters of the juvenilia, which was probably written around the same time, or not too much earlier? I really noticed the difference between Jane Austen’s earlier writing and her later work, in the way that the behavior of the characters seems much more subtle in the later writing, and more developed – maybe it’s just that the earlier works are shorter and so they have to get the point across in a more immediate way. I prefer the later writing though, because it gives you much more to think about. Lady Susan herself is just such a caricature, and so bad, it’s too hard to believe in her, but she’s a great villainess! I kept thinking of a Christmas pantomime when I was reading this.

The Watsons is much more like a real novel, one that I would want to read. It reminded me of Northanger Abbey in the beginning, but almost the direct opposite. When Emma Watson goes to her first ball - unlike Northanger Abbey, where no whisper goes around the room at Catherine’s appearance - people do notice, and admire, and whisper about Emma. Then there was some Pride and Prejudice in it too – the whole dislike of Tom Musgrave, right from the start, and overhearing him at the ball saying something derogatory about Emma’s sisters and Emma herself - ‘If she is like her sisters, she will only want to be listened to”(125). And then it also reminded me of Mansfield Park, with the girl returning to her own poor family home and finding that she may not really be a good fit anymore. I thought Tom Musgrave had a bit of Henry Crawford about him, too. He was that charming, confident guy who flirts with all the girls but seems to be taking a shine to the aloof one that doesn’t want him. Was Mansfield Park the next book that Jane Austen wrote after this? It might have given her some ideas for the characters. I was glad that Cassandra was able to tell us what would have happened with these characters, and I’d love to know what Jane Austen would have had them go through before finally giving us a happy couple.  This is one that I would really love to have been able to read.

Sandition doesn’t seem quite as engaging a story line, to me. It has a different sort of an atmosphere, and seems at first to be more about the town, and the new sort of enterprising people who move in – sort of a new community vs. old community. One of the characters, Mrs. Parker says, while looking back over her shoulder at their old house, as they drive on to Sandition “but you know, one loves to look at an old friend. At a place where one has been happy”(170). It seems a bit drab compared with the rest of the books and pieces we’ve read by Jane Austen, but there is a sort of a funny letter describing all the health concerns of one of the character’s sisters, that seems just to get more ridiculous as it goes along (175/176).  I wonder if this was inspired by her hypochondriac mother. It’s the kind of thing I could imagine Jane Austen mocking her mother for, but in a nice funny way.  She also includes an almost stereotypically heroine-like character, in Miss Brereton, but she acknowledges the stereotype too. I really feel Jane Austen’s own presence in this story. It feels like she’s airing her thoughts on old traditional living versus progress and modernity. Whether we get a clear winner one way or the other, I don’t know, but she seems to be using this story to explore the idea. Then her remark that generally speaking, women feeling natural compassion for other women (167) – I think that’s come up before in some of her other writings. All the talk of sickness, and hypochondriac family members is not a million miles away from her own experience either. I didn’t really get into this story as much as others, but it was still a really interesting read, and more so because of the circumstances, and the fact that it was not finished. I have to say, I will really miss reading Jane Austen, and will definitely be returning to some of these books again in the future.

Persuasion – Is Anne Jane?

First of all, I just want to say, this is my favorite of all the Jane Austen books we’ve read so far. It’s just so much more painful to imagine being Anne than any of the other heroines, because she actually had her chance with Captain Wentworth, and she let him go, and now that he’s back, his only criteria for a wife seems to be anyone but Anne! (41). The agony! It’s a bit easier to relate to a slightly older heroine, too. Her circumstances are much easier to sympathize with – I know times were different then, but heroines in their teens or early twenties don’t seem to me to be in much danger of being lonely for the rest of their lives, as Anne does. There seems to be a more grown up mood in this book, too. It feels like a book where the author has some lessons she’s learned, or opinions she wants to put out there. I know it was written when Jane Austen was older and I think she had become sick. Maybe I’m imagining it because of knowing this, but I get a sense of a sort of a wish to give a sad story a happy ending, just to cheer herself up, or a way of righting in her imagination some of the wrongs that happened in her own life.

Anne Elliot keeps reminding me of Jane Austen in ways. Her romance with Captain Wentworth when they were so young, and the family’s objection because of finances and youth sounds very like Jane’s, with Tom Lefroy.  Lady Russell, the kind older lady friend, who advises against the marriage, sounds a bit like Jane’s well-meaning Mrs.Lefroy. Anne’s description of how lonely it is to be left at home, looking at the same things day in day out, when the man gets to go away, see the world and forget the girl who loved him sounds like a real lament - “We certainly do not forget you, so soon as you forget us…We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us ... You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions” (155). Like Wentworth going to sea, Tom Lefroy went back to Ireland to pursue his career, and Jane was left behind. Both Anne and Jane had offers of marriage from someone else, and both turn them down. Both are obliged to stay with relations when called upon, and must rely on them for travel arrangements.  And both dislike Bath, for seemingly the same reasons. “She disliked Bath and did not think it agreed with her – and Bath was to be her home” (10), and Anne dreading “all the white glare of Bath and grieving to forgo all the influence so sweet and so sad of the autumnal months in the country”(23) sounds like Jane’s dread of moving there herself.

Some of Jane’s own opinions seem to make it onto the pages of Persuasion too, in Anne’s thoughts on reading private letters – “no one ought to be judged or to be known by such testimonies … no private correspondence could bear the eye of others” (135). We know Jane must have felt this way herself, because her sister Cassandra destroyed most of her letters, probably because she knew Jane felt this way. Another opinion that sounds very Jane-ish is Anne’s remark to Cptn. Harville that she wouldn’t take any authority from a book, because it’s only men who get to write them. “Yes, yes if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything” (156). Anne’s admiration for sailors and the navy sound just like Jane’s admiration of her own brothers and their profession, too. Maybe because she was getting sick around this time this could be a sort of a melancholy backward glance at her own life, and just to make herself happy she writes in the happy ending that she might have imagined for herself. (That might be a stretch, but I can sort of see it…)

Box Hill

            The trip to Box Hill seems like a moment when the ground starts to shift for some of the characters in Emma. Not only the trip to Box Hill, but also the previous day’s trip to Donwell Abbey – these outings seem to bring about some changes in dynamics between characters, showcase some personality traits we might not have been fully exposed to before, and give us a few hints as to what might be to come. Emma and Frank Churchill upset a few people, Jane Fairfax reaches some personal limit, Harriet and Mr. Knightley seem to develop some sort of new relationship, Miss Bates is hurt by Emma, and Emma falls out badly with Mr. Knightley. By the time Emma’s carriage comes to take her home, a number of small things have happened that have changed her outlook on certain people, some little insights have been gained, and some relationships seem to have become a little bit more complicated.  

Emma’s opinion of Frank Churchill undergoes a slight shift when he arrives at Donwell Abbey. This is the first time she’s ever seen him in bad form, and she tells her father then that she’s glad not to be in love with him, as she believes he’s cranky because he’s too hot and that seems ridiculous to her (251).  She hadn’t been thinking about him much before he arrived anyway, except to wonder how his absence was affecting Harriet. The following day at Box Hill, she enjoys Frank’s wit and they scandalously flirt with each other in front of everyone, but she doesn’t take any of it seriously. Her own hurtful remark to Miss Bates comes out of this heedlessness. Later, when Mr. Knightley challenges her, she can’t bring herself to admit how mean it was, and by the time he’s made his feelings known to her, she is too ashamed to say anything at all (259). She’s made some bad judgment calls, and now on top of everything else, Mr. Knightley thinks very badly of her, so suffering guilt and shame, she relives and regrets her actions all the way home in the carriage.

Emma is not the only one who goes through a bit of emotional turmoil during these two days, either. She feels terrible because she has belittled Miss Bates in front of everyone, made a display of herself by flirting shamelessly with Frank Churchill in front of everyone, and fallen out with Mr. Knightley. And she has noticed Harriet Smith walking and talking with Mr. Knightley. Their conversation is not revealed to Emma (or to us), but it seems likely that Harriet’s quiet mood in the carriage on the way home has something to do with that. If Mr. Knightley has become the object of Harriet’s affections then she may be dwelling on his words and actions towards herself, or if he’s been talking about Robert Martin then she may be thinking of him. Either way, Harriet has obviously got some of her own private thoughts going on, too.

And then there’s Jane Fairfax. The Donwell Abbey party is the first time Emma begins to see Jane in a different light. When she finds her leaving the party by herself, and sees how desperately she wants to be alone, she begins to imagine Jane’s life, and feels sorry for her.  For the first time we see Jane Fairfax showing some bad humor and desperation. At Box Hill she has been watching Frank’s behavior and listening to his banter all day - finally she can’t take it anymore, and she snaps at him. His reaction is very telling – “ “you were speaking”, said he, gravely” – and after she has said her piece, basically saying only a weak person would stay in an unhappy engagement  “he made no answer, merely looked, and bowed in submission” (257). Considering how much Emma thinks she knows about relationships and attachments, this goes to show how little she actually sees. At Box Hill, Emma wants “to see what everyone else thought so well worth seeing”(243), and she does come away with some new level of understanding about herself, and her own feelings, but there’s plenty more that’s happening right in front of her, and she really doesn’t see most of it.

Mrs. Norris

I don’t even know where to begin describing Mrs. Norris – she’s a stingy, annoying, snobbish, sycophantic, hypocritical, credit-seeking, martyr-claiming, cruel, petty, interfering busybody. Every single sentence she’s in is bound to display at least one of these attributes. I can totally understand why some of the people Jane Austen asked told her that Mrs. Norris was the character they either hated most or enjoyed reading most – both of these probably amounting to the same thing. But there’s so much more to say about her than just a string of adjectives. It’s not just the character herself, but what Jane Austen was saying when she wrote her, and the meaning behind her behavior. Mrs. Norris has a fear of losing rank and status, a need to keep the lower classes in their place, and a desire to be associated with people of higher status than herself, and to stay in their favor. I don’t think she’s just supposed to be a bit of comic relief, I think she embodies the class system that was operating in England at that time, and her attitudes, as appalling and ridiculous as they seem to us, reflect the attitudes that society as a whole had in her day.

Her admiration of Sir Thomas and Lady Bertam, and her devotion to their children can only be explained by their wealth and status. As we are told early on, Mrs. Norris thinks her sister Frances disgraced the family by marrying beneath her, and she can’t rest until she has written a long angry letter admonishing her - and because she can’t keep her sister’s reply to herself, insults and all, she’s instrumental in putting an end to all contact between the families for a very long time (6). When Fanny’s mother reaches out to the estranged family for help, the only reason Mrs. Norris is interested in getting involved is because she thinks that at no cost to herself, there might be something to gain, whether it’s the opportunity to display her elevated position over her sister, or to gain the use of an unpaid servant. Either way, she has no intention of letting Fanny climb up from her low social position, and every intention of maintaining superiority over her. She can’t bear the thoughts of Fanny, or anyone, “stepping out of their rank” and “trying to appear above themselves” (151), and she takes every opportunity to remind Fanny that someone in her position should be grateful for the kindness and generosity she is receiving from Sir Thomas, Lady Betram and herself - as if she has had anything to do with the actual costs of taking Fanny in.

Mrs. Norris is hyper aware of people’s positions on the social ladder, maybe because her own position is so precarious. She seems to want to establish herself as a woman of consequence wherever she goes, as her treatment of the servants and other working people she encounters shows. She scolds the little boy who comes to the kitchen with wood for his father, sends him off looking miserable, and is very satisfied with herself that she’s foiled his hopes of getting a bite to eat at the kitchen door (100). She busybodies into the life of the Rushworth’s gardener, “setting him right” about his grandson’s illness, without ever having seen him, and pushing her diagnosis and cure on him (74). He is not really in a position to argue with her, since she occupies a higher status than he does (barely), and even ends up giving her some of his own plants after this little encounter. Even acts of “kindness” by her towards lower ranking people can be seen as displays of her own elevation above them.

Of herself, she states “I hate to be worrying and officious” (131), which is hilarious, since that describes her perfectly. She also declares that she hates “the sort of people who get all they can”(100), which is great too. She must know that this is another one of her own traits. It seems like another version of her fierce defense against Fanny. If these people somehow manage to get what she thinks they want (ie some food for nothing, or a legitimate place in the family) then this threatens her position somehow. She needs to be able to control things as far as she can, and the idea of people beneath her getting the better of her frightens and enrages her.  Mrs. Norris is as pushy and interfering with those she can dominate as she is pandering and sycophantic to Sir Thomas, Lady Bertram, and the Betram children. Anyone who is beneath her she feels entitled to scold or boss around, particularly Fanny, who is the most threatening to her own position. Mrs. Norris is well aware of this, determined to keep everyone in their place, unwilling to allow for any mobility on the social ladder, and very unhappy at the idea of change – an attitude shared by many people in England in Jane Austen’s time.

Darcy’s Letter

I love Darcy’s letter to Lizzy. At this point in the story, Lizzy needs to hear about Wickham, and about Jane and Bingley’s attachment, from Darcy’s perspective, and to know something about what has motivated him to act the way he has acted. She has to have her eyes opened to her own wrongheaded biases, she has to reassess the actions of her own family and acknowledge their shortcomings, and she has to see past Darcy’s attitude and realize that there is much more to him than just pride and arrogance. She needs to read this letter. It’s in this letter that Darcy’s true character is revealed – his sense of justice, his integrity, his love for his sister, his honest regard for his friend’s happiness, his dislike of falseness, and very importantly, his respect for and trust in Lizzy, because without respect and trust, Darcy could never have written her a letter like this.

The fact that Darcy even wants to explain himself to Lizzy proves that he still holds her in high regard. His own sense of justice makes it impossible for him not to bring his side of the story to her, and he believes that she knows it would be wrong of her not to read his letter – as he says, “my character required that it be written and read”, and “ I demand it of your justice” (129). He trusts her with incredibly private information about his family affairs and the scandal involving his sister and Wickham, and he has confidence in her that she won’t talk about it to anyone else. He risks offending her by telling her the truth about the impression her family makes on him, but at the same time, he is being honest, and that shows respect, also - painful as it might be for Lizzy to hear. He tells her during the disastrous marriage proposal, “disguise of every sort is [his] abhorrence” (127), and now with this letter there’s a level of honesty between them that was missing before.

Darcy’s motives for breaking up Bingley and Jane’s romance are noble, even though they are insulting to Lizzy, as a Bennet. He explains that he acted “to preserve [his] friend from what [he] esteemed a most unhappy connection” (131), not only because he believed the Bennet family to be socially inferior, but also because he didn’t believe Jane had any real feelings for Bingley. So, Darcy believes there should be real love in marriage. He is a romantic at heart! We knew this already, of course, because he has just proposed to Lizzy despite the fact that she is part of this inferior family too, but this shows that he doesn’t just believe in it for himself, but for his friend also. He tells Lizzy that he watched her sister to see if she showed Bingley any particular interest, and to him it appeared that she didn’t, so he really had no scruples about persuading Bingley to move on. “He expressed no regret for what he had done” (134), and though this temporarily satisfies Lizzy that she has been right to hate him all along, she eventually has to admit that he may have had a point regarding Jane’s behavior towards Bingley. By the time she has read the letter a few times, she has become completely convinced that she was wrong about almost everything that she was so sure of before.

The fact that Darcy doesn’t even know what exactly he has been accused of regarding Wickham only makes his account more credible, because he gives Lizzy the whole picture and lets her figure out from this information what part of what Wickham’s story is a lie. Even without knowing what he has to defend himself against, he knows the truth will explain his actions. The contents of the letter justify everything Darcy has done, with regard to Wickham, and they explain, if not exactly justify, his actions regarding Jane and Bingley. We’re given access to what was happening off-stage, so to speak, and now previously inexplicable or unforgivable acts take on a different character. Lizzy reads and re-reads the letter “with the closest attention”(135). Regarding Wickham, “ every line proved more clearly” that Darcy was “entirely blameless”( 135) “How differently did everything now appear in which [Wickham] was concerned!” (136). Lizzy goes through an agony of enlightenments and realizations. “Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd” (137). Although it takes Lizzy a little bit of time to accept the truth, this letter is a great turning point for her. It’s such an honest letter, it conveys everything it needs to convey, and it explains all Darcy’s actions up to this point. By reading Darcy’s letter, not only does Lizzy learn about Darcy’s character, but she also learns about Wickham’s, and her own too.

What Elinor Doesn’t Say … Elinor Dashwood’s Quiet Sensibilities.

Elinor and Marianne Dashwood are about as different in character as any two siblings could be - Elinor being responsible, reserved, and full of sense and propriety, and Marianne, much more emotional, open, and dramatic. At first it’s tempting to think of this novel as being about Elinor’s sense, and Marianne’s sensibility, but it doesn’t take long to see that there is more to it than this. We know from the start that Elinor feels much – she has “an excellent heart, her disposition [is] affectionate, and her feelings [are] strong” - but we’re also told that she knows “how to govern” these feelings (8). When her father dies, she is “deeply afflicted”, but unlike her mother and sister, “still she [can] struggle, she [can] exert herself”(8). This is something Elinor does throughout the novel, both for her own sake and for the sake of those around her. She is very keenly aware of the feelings of others, and makes great efforts to see that other people are not made to feel uncomfortable or unhappy by any actions of hers, or indeed her sister’s.  She is actually a very kind person, and even though her coolness under pressure might sometimes make her seem unfeeling, maybe even calculating, she is actually thinking deeply about all sorts of things, and is trying to figure out how best to handle situations without doing anyone any harm.

Elinor suffers plenty of heartaches of her own, including her father’s death, and the loss of the family home, not to mention her agonies regarding Edward, and she bears them all without ever talking about it. But she also considers other people’s feelings and notices their pain. When Marianne is distraught over Willoughby, Elinor is there to comfort her, and is in fact so upset on Marianne’s behalf that she bursts into tears herself - tears that were at first “scarcely less violent than Marianne’s” (129). When she finds out about Edward’s engagement to Lucy, she doesn’t want Marianne or her mother to have to hear about it without first preparing them by implying that she thinks of him as nothing more than a friend, even though she herself has had to find out in a much more painful way and has had no comfort from anyone. She takes care not to put them through any extra anguish, even at the cost of her own feelings. As she says to Marianne – “I would not have you suffer on my account” (185). Elinor chooses to say nothing rather than spread the pain around.

 Words are important to Elinor, and she uses them wisely. When she feels that something ought to be said, she says it, but when she thinks silence might be the better course of action, she is silent, no matter how anguished, or enraged, or just plain contemptuous she feels. She doesn’t like it when Marianne and Willoughby mock Colonel Brandon behind his back, and she tells them so (39). However, when forced to listen to Robert Ferrars talking about how easy it would be to host a large party in a cottage, she doesn’t even answer him because she doesn’t think he deserves “the compliment of rational opposition” (178). To Robert Ferrars, she may have appeared to agree with him, or at least to have no opinion, which was probably what he would have expected of a woman, but inside the mild mannered exterior there is an intelligent, opinionated, and decidedly unimpressed person, who is deciding to keep her mouth closed.

What Elinor doesn’t say is just as important an indicator of her character as what she does say. She doesn’t challenge Edward on his secret engagement to Lucy Steele, even though we know that she thinks a great deal about it. She carries around this huge piece of knowledge, something that really has a great impact on her own life and happiness, and she still doesn’t tell anyone about the engagement. She doesn’t even share her true feelings for Edward with her sister. She hardly says anything to Marianne about what she really feels about the Willoughby situation (even though Marianne unfairly acts as if she had been lecturing her all along). She doesn’t ask Marianne if she and Willoughby are engaged, to avoid a row. She doesn’t ask Colonel Brandon if Willoughby is in town, to protect the Colonel’s feelings, even though she wants very much to know if he is (115). Later on, she “wants very much to know, though she [doesn’t] chuse to ask” whether Edward is in town (163). Propriety keeps Elinor from saying a lot of things that someone like Marianne most likely would have said – but so do compassion, manners and self-preservation.

There is much going on inside Elinor’s heart and her head but she can’t let on, for fear of upsetting others, or giving herself away. Elinor may appear on the surface to be unfeeling and lacking in deep emotions, but because as readers we have access to her thoughts and true feelings, we know that this is far from the truth. Marianne may be the more extreme in her display of emotions, but Elinor goes through just as much heartache as Marianne does, both on her own behalf and on behalf of others. The difference is that while Marianne doesn’t believe in concealing anything, most of all feelings, Elinor chooses not to put her sensibilities on display.

Breaking the Rules - Opposites and Absences in Northanger Abbey

When Jane Austen tells us in the very first sentence of Northanger Abbey that Catherine is nothing like a heroine, and is in fact the very last girl you would ever suspect of being a heroine, she sets the mood perfectly for the way she is going to tell us this story. Instead of giving readers what they expect, (readers having learned to expect certain things from the popular novels of their time), she surprises them with characters and plots that don’t follow all the rules. Mind you, while she was certainly mocking the stereotyped characters and plotlines of 18^th century literature, she did use them as a framework for her own story. By inverting them, or pointedly leaving them out, she was able to tell a romantic coming of age story in a unique yet familiar way.

The description of Catherine is the first example – as a child she had a “thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features”(5), then growing up, she was called “almost pretty”(6). That’s pretty bad, for a leading lady. Readers up to this had been taught to expect beauty in their heroines. So, beauty is absent. Austen goes on to describe other things that are commonly present in novels of this sort, but are absent from Catherine’s story – her father’s addiction to locking up his daughters (5), lords, baronets, or young men of unknown origin living in her village (8), and robbers, tempests and carriage accidents that might make for adventure on her journey (10). At the first ball she attends “not one … started with rapturous wonder on beholding her, no whisper of eager enquiry ran round the room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody” (13).  Much later, when she is taken to the Abbey, all the anticipation that Catherine and the readers feel, based on “what one reads about” (107), turns out to be for nothing. She doesn’t even notice as she passes through the gates of Northanger, because the building is so low. She (and the readers) had been expecting to see “walls of great stone, rising amidst a grove of ancient oaks” (110).

General Tilney’s attitude to Catherine is surprising too. We would normally expect a character like that to dismiss someone as inconsequential as Catherine – but he goes the opposite way, and treats her like a princess. It’s disconcerting because he doesn’t seem to have any reason to be doing this. And when he banishes her from the Abbey and sends her off by herself on a public coach with no money and no help, it’s the absolute opposite of how we would expect a heroine to be treated at the end of the story.  As Austen says “A heroine returning, at the close of her career, to her native village… [with] all the dignity of a countess... is an event on which the pen of the contriver may well delight to dwell; it gives delight to every conclusion…But my affair is widely different” (160). At every critical point, Jane Austen gives readers the opposite of what they might have expected.

Even at the end of the story, Jane throws one more custard pie at the rules. She actually tells us that (this time) she will abide by them, by not bringing in a new character on the last page (173).  It feels like Austen introduced us to all of the characters and situations in Northanger Abbey with a sort of a wink. Sort of a “I know what you’re thinking… but you might be mistaken - wait and see” thing.  In the end, she got away with telling a regular romance story that followed the same directions as all the rest, but she was laughing at them as she did so. It’s fun to see how a story told in this way can still turn out to have that happy ending that everyone wants!

What kind of a person was Jane Austen?

I thought for this journal I might ask myself whether or not I would have liked Jane Austen if I had known her. I know it isn’t relevant to her books or her writing at all, but for me it would make reading her novels much more interesting if I felt like I could relate to her outside of the reading. It’s not that I feel I have to like her, but I think that if we’re going to be reading someone’s entire life’s work, then we’re going to be sharing their head-space quite a bit, and it would be nice if that person was likable. If I had a sense ahead of time that she was, say, a miserable person just writing to escape a miserable life, or a bitter person using her novels to vent about things, then that would definitely affect how I would approach the books. In a way I’m glad that I really didn’t know anything about Jane Austen or her life, before I read Claire Tomalin’s biography. So what kind of a person was Jane Austen, then?

Well, first things first. I absolutely think I would have loved Jane Austen if I had known her. She comes across as funny, smart, witty, unpretentious, non-conformist (up to a point), entertaining, bitchy, and kind. I think Claire Tomalin did a fantastic job in piecing together all the scraps, and filling in the background, to make this woman who lived two hundred years ago seem so alive, and to capture all these aspects of her personality so well. The excerpts from some of Jane’s letters to her sister Cassandra are hilarious and aside from the actual language she used, they could easily have been written today. I’m thinking particularly about the letters that came with instructions to “seize upon the scissors as soon as you possibly can on the receipt of this” – it’s so like what my sisters and I say in emails or texts that we don’t want anyone else to see … “delete and eat” - as in delete this text and eat the phone! I love that she was bitching about things and not just being saintly all the time. 

I think the fact that she didn’t marry, and that she had that youthful love affair with Lefroy, open and out there, dancing and flirting in front of everyone without caring who saw (a little bit like Marianne from “Sense and Sensibility”), and the fact that she didn’t seems to care for fashion, or to be too bothered about her hair, all make her seem like an interesting non-conformist type of person, at least by the standards of the day. Then some of the comments she had some of her characters say in her novels, to do with feminism – I can’t find the quote now, of course, but it was a woman saying she would not take any advice or guidance from any of these books since not one was written by a woman (something like that) - and that comment she made about the Princess of Wales (p224)  “…I will support her as long as I can because she is a Woman...” make it seem like she was a bit of a progressive too. The friendship she had with the women who worked for her cousin Eliza, and the fact that she left money for them in her will shows that she didn’t bother about the fact that they would probably be considered lower class by other people.  She seems to have been marching to the beat of her own drum in that respect too.

Even though I really love the sound of this woman, I’m sure if she didn’t like you it would have been quite unpleasant to be around her. She doesn’t appear to have suffered fools gladly. Based on some of the letters she wrote to Cassandra while she was living in Bath, describing the tedious parties and the people who were at them, she certainly didn’t seem to hold back on her judgments. She had a really sharp eye for details and she was able to describe a person in a most unflattering way with only a few words. But she was able to laugh at herself too (going to a dance and remarking that she was in the embarrassing position of being ten years too old to be there, but dancing anyway). And she could accept criticism of her writing without taking it too badly, which is not a very easy thing to do. The fact that she asked for, and kept in a scrapbook, responses to her novels – even the bad reviews - is pretty cool.

Another thing that struck me was that she really didn’t seem to make a big fuss when she was sick. She seems to have played it down right up until the end. I felt so sorry for her sister when I read what she said about Jane after she had died. ‘She was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow, I had not a thought concealed from her & it is as if I had lost a part of myself”. This quote alone would have convinced me that I would have liked Jane Austen if I had known her. I’m really looking forward to reading all her books now.