![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pensnest... or, if I have none, my favourite book, and why (dine)
I have no plans for the zombie apocalypse. I realise it makes me a peculiar fan, but I have no interest in zombies, aside from reading the Top Gear Zombie Apocalypse Special.
My favourite book, however, has to be Pride and Prejudice, which I admittedly have not read for ages, but which, by coincidence, Beast and I have been watching at lunchtimes of late (the BBC 1995 version, of course).
I'm sure I first read P&P when I was a teenager, and loved it at once, as the prototype for a million lesser romances to follow. When I re-read it now, it is with an eye to all those cynical little details Jane Austen puts in, tucked next to the romance so you don't necessarily notice them, but…
Mrs Bennett is, at first, second and third sight, an utter pain. She's foolish and ignorant, and deeply irritating. However, within her limitations she is not actually wrong about a lot of stuff. It is very important to her that her daughters should be married—and she's right, because it is the only way for them to be protected (assuming they make decent marriages) from lonely and impoverished futures. They have very little money to come to them when their father dies, since his property is entailed in the male line. She's not wrong to want her husband to make polite overtures to Mr Bingley, either, as such a fine matrimonial prospect would be a windfall for any of her daughters, and they could do with one. Of course, her manners are very poor, she's a person of very little brain, and her partiality for Lydia is most unfortunate, but she has a lot to put up with. She's married to Mr Bennett.
Mr Bennett seems, at first, to be the fun kind of dad. He is almost conspiratorial with Lizzie, and values her appropriately. And he values Jane, somewhat less than Elizabeth, but in the same way that we, the readers, value her rather less than we do Elizabeth. But he is not at all a good father. He mocks his wife in front of, and to show off to, their daughters. He mocks the silliness of his younger children and makes absolutely no effort to correct them or discipline them—except for occasional monstrous jibes at Kitty which make her cry. He fails to provide for his children, even though he's had more than twenty years to figure out that he must do something for at least one daughter (I assume Jane is 21 or 22); even if he only started making an effort after Lydia was born he ought to have been able to put by a reasonable sum for his daughters' dowries, but he has not bothered. He ignores Lizzie's advice, and mocks her for it. And when she is safely married, he visits her unannounced, which is just rude.
I must admit to loving the series' representation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr Collins, who are both splendidly icky in their different ways. I love the way Elizabeth manages to stand up to them without ever abandoning her manners. It's beautifully done. I wonder if Jane Austen was that quick-witted herself, or if her writing is full of those "I wish I'd thought of that" moments that she saved up.
It's these details, these characters, who provide most of the amusement in the book. It could, differently written, be a dark and positively frightening story—the danger the Bennett girls are in as a result of Wickham's behaviour with Lydia is very real. In the end, Lizzie is elevated to the position in society that she deserves by virtue of her character, and I suppose the same is true of Jane. It's not so much Darcy as everything he represents. He *is* a romantic hero, because he turns out to be the good guy and to be willing to go to great lengths and considerable personal sacrifice for her sake, but he isn't 'just' an individual. Elizabeth starts to change her mind about him after receiving his letter, but it is the opinion of his housekeeper that really gets her thinking—subsequently, of course, she has actual proof of his character and his love for her when she discovers what he has done, but it is seeing him in his natural background of Pemberley that makes her recognise that he is a worthier person than she had thought him.
Goodness. I thought this was going to be a couple of sentences. How I do run on.
To fill the last few days, go here.
dine)I have no plans for the zombie apocalypse. I realise it makes me a peculiar fan, but I have no interest in zombies, aside from reading the Top Gear Zombie Apocalypse Special.
My favourite book, however, has to be Pride and Prejudice, which I admittedly have not read for ages, but which, by coincidence, Beast and I have been watching at lunchtimes of late (the BBC 1995 version, of course).
I'm sure I first read P&P when I was a teenager, and loved it at once, as the prototype for a million lesser romances to follow. When I re-read it now, it is with an eye to all those cynical little details Jane Austen puts in, tucked next to the romance so you don't necessarily notice them, but…
Mrs Bennett is, at first, second and third sight, an utter pain. She's foolish and ignorant, and deeply irritating. However, within her limitations she is not actually wrong about a lot of stuff. It is very important to her that her daughters should be married—and she's right, because it is the only way for them to be protected (assuming they make decent marriages) from lonely and impoverished futures. They have very little money to come to them when their father dies, since his property is entailed in the male line. She's not wrong to want her husband to make polite overtures to Mr Bingley, either, as such a fine matrimonial prospect would be a windfall for any of her daughters, and they could do with one. Of course, her manners are very poor, she's a person of very little brain, and her partiality for Lydia is most unfortunate, but she has a lot to put up with. She's married to Mr Bennett.
Mr Bennett seems, at first, to be the fun kind of dad. He is almost conspiratorial with Lizzie, and values her appropriately. And he values Jane, somewhat less than Elizabeth, but in the same way that we, the readers, value her rather less than we do Elizabeth. But he is not at all a good father. He mocks his wife in front of, and to show off to, their daughters. He mocks the silliness of his younger children and makes absolutely no effort to correct them or discipline them—except for occasional monstrous jibes at Kitty which make her cry. He fails to provide for his children, even though he's had more than twenty years to figure out that he must do something for at least one daughter (I assume Jane is 21 or 22); even if he only started making an effort after Lydia was born he ought to have been able to put by a reasonable sum for his daughters' dowries, but he has not bothered. He ignores Lizzie's advice, and mocks her for it. And when she is safely married, he visits her unannounced, which is just rude.
I must admit to loving the series' representation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr Collins, who are both splendidly icky in their different ways. I love the way Elizabeth manages to stand up to them without ever abandoning her manners. It's beautifully done. I wonder if Jane Austen was that quick-witted herself, or if her writing is full of those "I wish I'd thought of that" moments that she saved up.
It's these details, these characters, who provide most of the amusement in the book. It could, differently written, be a dark and positively frightening story—the danger the Bennett girls are in as a result of Wickham's behaviour with Lydia is very real. In the end, Lizzie is elevated to the position in society that she deserves by virtue of her character, and I suppose the same is true of Jane. It's not so much Darcy as everything he represents. He *is* a romantic hero, because he turns out to be the good guy and to be willing to go to great lengths and considerable personal sacrifice for her sake, but he isn't 'just' an individual. Elizabeth starts to change her mind about him after receiving his letter, but it is the opinion of his housekeeper that really gets her thinking—subsequently, of course, she has actual proof of his character and his love for her when she discovers what he has done, but it is seeing him in his natural background of Pemberley that makes her recognise that he is a worthier person than she had thought him.
Goodness. I thought this was going to be a couple of sentences. How I do run on.
To fill the last few days, go here.