“Pride and Prejudice is not poetic, but it has its own cacophonies and harmonies; voices approach and depart and take a turn around the room. Right now, as I flip through the pages, I can hear them leaping out. I catch Mary’s pathetic, dry voice and Kitty’s cough and Miss Bingley’s chaste insinuations, and here I catch a word by the courtly Sir Lucas. I can’t quite hear Miss Darcy, shy and reserved as she is, but I hear steps going up and down the stairs, and Elizabeth’s light mockery and Darcy’s reserved, tender tone, and as I close the book, I hear the ironic tone of the narrator. And even with the book closed, the voices do not stop—there are echoes and reverberations that seem to leap off the pages and mischievously leave the novel tingling in our ears.”