Returning to Austen
I’m sure no one is surprised that I just finished rereading Pride and Prejudice for the…I think it’s seventh time, now.
My bestie/soulmate/spirit sister and I, after reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy decided to immediately dive back into Austen. She suggested we start with Pride and Prejudice and, never one to say no to anything Austen related, I agreed and started the novel that night.
People who have never read Austen simply can’t understand how iconic she is. I know that people know she’s popular and that there have been many film adaptations of her novels, but unless you’ve actually sat and experienced her writing, you won’t grasp how easy her novels are to obsess over. Pride and Prejudice is one which never ceases to make me laugh, smile, sigh deeply, and then laugh again, every single time I read it. Not only because it’s hilarious (and it is), but because it’s a novel that holds up as relevant today, now, in this era. Austen’s pointed commentary on both social and gender norms captures just how little we’ve changed since 1813, when the novel was published.
How? Well, let’s start with men and their audacity.
This may be a running joke/meme on all the social media, but it is canon in Pride and Prejudice. When Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth the first time, he does so genuinely believing that she welcomes his attention. He proposes in the least romantic way possible, insults Elizabeth and her family to Elizabeth’s face while simultaneously declaring his ardent love for her, and actually believes he’s going to be accepted. The. Audacity.
Does he believe she loves him? No, I don’t think he’s deluding himself that much. But based on his wealth, his connections, his station in life, he is confident that she will be overcome with gratitude and accept his proposal. Elizabeth notes to him later in the novel that he must have first started falling in love with her explicitly because she wasn’t throwing herself into his way, like every other woman was. This is said in a teasing way, but I think there’s truth in it. Even Caroline Bingley, a woman who has come from money, who has her own inheritance and does not need to advance herself, throws herself at Darcy over and over, so of course he’s going to be the object of desire for others.
But his love is even more solidified because Elizabeth doesn’t accept his proposal, no matter how wealthy or connected he is. She does not like him. She does not want his attentions at all. And she says so, to his face, and openly criticizes his behavior towards herself and her sister, Jane. Who else would have done this? And as we learn from Darcy, his immediate anger is directed at her, but very quickly turns inward as he realizes how abominably he’s behaved.
Yes, I am obsessed with Mr. Darcy. I’m not ashamed of this.
There are other themes and lessons throughout the novel that are equally applicable today; for instance, that abusers will say/do whatever they must to gain allies and deceive even well intentioned people (looking at you, Wickham), that not everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, no matter how difficult it is to accept the worst (looking at you, Caroline Bingley), and that love – real, true, deep love of any kind, whether familial, friendly, or romantic – must begin with respect, and respect is not something we feel, it is something we exhibit in the ways we treat the other person.
Darcy feels love for Elizabeth when he proposes, but his behavior is disrespectful and offensive. His love, at this point in the novel, is inwardly directed. He loves her for the feelings she excites within him, but not for who she is. Therefore, when they meet again at Pemberly and she sees how much his manners have changed, we also see how much his love for her has grown. He actually listens to her criticisms of his behavior and made active change. And not because he carries any hope of renewing his proposal – he explicitly states that, until very nearly the end of the novel, he has given up all hope of that – but simply because he respects her and wants to earn her good opinion. These changes are not fleeting, either. They last, and they stretch even more deeply than Elizabeth can imagine.
And Elizabeth changes, too. Her dislike of Darcy, she realizes, is not only unfounded, but based almost entirely on outright falsehoods imposed on her by Wickham. And even though Darcy tries to take the blame for this too, Elizabeth owns that she believed Wickham because she wanted to; she disliked Darcy from the first and, unwilling to find him agreeable in any way, accepts Wickham’s account of their history, despite the gigantic red flags that she reproaches herself for not seeing sooner. And so by the end of the novel, we have two people who, while they were already, at their cores, good people in the beginning, have by the end changed not only their outlooks on each other, but also their behaviors towards each other.
It’s a novel I never tire of reading, or of writing about. If you haven’t read it, I strongly encourage you to do so.
