I have not updated in a while, not because I have not been reading, but because I have not been reading in the same way as I was. For the majority of the first volume, I was close reading and annotating the text, letting my handwriting crawl, arachnoid, down the margins and weave long strands across interesting lines in the hope of catching at some analysis or meaning. The enjoyment I took from continuing to read was a devout and scholarly one, less jubilation than satisfaction at a job well-continued. I persevered, and took pleasure in nabbing bits of wit and splatting down my ever-so-clever wads of erudition.
Somewhere between my last post and my current one, I've ceased those practices. The change comes, I now realize, with an actual investment in the story. I've had my fill of academic distance, I suppose, and I've come to just enjoy the novel. Is this a lazy man's escape? Perhaps, but it is also warranted by the fact that I will not look back on Pride and Prejudice as a labor but as a pleasure. So I will likely have few interesting things to say about it from now on, but you, gentle reader, can rest assured that I am won over by the Divine Jane. Those who've known me longest will perhaps be surprised, but I am not too proud to admit that I was wrong to avoid Austen for so long out of a misguided kind of prejudice.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
P&P Journal: Chapters XV-XX
"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do."
That's all that needs to be said about these five chapters, and probably about this book. I love Mr. Bennet.
That's all that needs to be said about these five chapters, and probably about this book. I love Mr. Bennet.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
P&P Journal: Chapters IV-XIV
Happy New Year. Here's to hoping 2010 is exciting and full of adventure.
In my first post, I may have seemed somewhat unimpressed by the novel and skeptical of this whole enterprise, but over the ensuing ten chapters I have come around to a greater appreciation for nearly all of the characters. Lizzie is pretty and witty and gay as only the heroine of a musical should be, almost to the point of seeming artificially wonderful - like she's been getting wit-enhancing steroids and endearment therapy - but not entirely, and I find myself enjoying her scenes quite a bit. Darcy is still kind of a jerk, but at least he has a motivation now: he's proud (Oho! I wonder who'll be prejudiced, eh?). Darcy sees himself as residing on a higher plane than the flock of mere mortals who mill about the cuffs of his trousers, and it makes one wonder why Bingley puts up with him at all (except that Bingley is kind of an airhead and probably doesn't get a lot of Darcy's jokes but likes how cool and arch he is).
Bingley's sisters are, as far as I'm concerned, the Siamese cats from "Lady and the Tramp." They are ill-equipped to handle Lizzie, who manages to keep them in check with nonchalance (sprezzatura, in the Castiglione sense?) and I think this is predominantly what attracts Darcy's admiration, whatever he may say about her eyes. Lizzie does with innocence and ease what Darcy has, I suspect, studied and practiced. Lizzie's slight bumpkin roughness - muddy stockings, et al. - only shows her to be so much more naturally (Naturally, in the Rousseau sense?) accomplished and elevated. Untrained and unpolished, she can already match wits with even Darcy, and he must find that positively exhilarating. [Editor's note: There are, in my opinion few things more attractive in a woman than a bantering wit, so perhaps I am injecting my own biases into this account, but... ah, fuck it, this is a blog, not a lit crit article for Wanking-to-the-Victorians Monthly (next month's featured article: Going Gay For Lord Byron); I'm allowed to be biased.]
Disturbing digressions aside, I'm also interested in the kind of authority each character is given. Because the narrator has a clear presence but is not a character, the facts zie (I was tempted to write "she," but I don't want to or get tangled up in the intentional fallacy or gendering the ostensibly ungendered) presents are accepted to be, within the armature of the fiction, truth. Hir (and again...) commentary on the opinions of the characters themselves also sets hir up as an authority figure, and thus it is interesting to see who among the cast is thereby correct. So far, I would venture, the Bingley sisters have been given more credit for correctness than anyone else, and it does make me wonder. There is a deep narrative of social privilege and the authority of wealth/class in this book which I'm sure I will have to tackle in this journal sooner or later.
All in all, I'm very impressed by all of Austen's characters. But Mary especially. I mean, you can hear the crickets chirping in the awkward silence following every stultifying speech she makes, and that's just based on the artful way Austen has constructed her dialogue. Very cool. Oh, and I've recently met Mr. Collins. He makes me want to chuckle and vomit at the same time. In other words, I like him.
In my first post, I may have seemed somewhat unimpressed by the novel and skeptical of this whole enterprise, but over the ensuing ten chapters I have come around to a greater appreciation for nearly all of the characters. Lizzie is pretty and witty and gay as only the heroine of a musical should be, almost to the point of seeming artificially wonderful - like she's been getting wit-enhancing steroids and endearment therapy - but not entirely, and I find myself enjoying her scenes quite a bit. Darcy is still kind of a jerk, but at least he has a motivation now: he's proud (Oho! I wonder who'll be prejudiced, eh?). Darcy sees himself as residing on a higher plane than the flock of mere mortals who mill about the cuffs of his trousers, and it makes one wonder why Bingley puts up with him at all (except that Bingley is kind of an airhead and probably doesn't get a lot of Darcy's jokes but likes how cool and arch he is).
Bingley's sisters are, as far as I'm concerned, the Siamese cats from "Lady and the Tramp." They are ill-equipped to handle Lizzie, who manages to keep them in check with nonchalance (sprezzatura, in the Castiglione sense?) and I think this is predominantly what attracts Darcy's admiration, whatever he may say about her eyes. Lizzie does with innocence and ease what Darcy has, I suspect, studied and practiced. Lizzie's slight bumpkin roughness - muddy stockings, et al. - only shows her to be so much more naturally (Naturally, in the Rousseau sense?) accomplished and elevated. Untrained and unpolished, she can already match wits with even Darcy, and he must find that positively exhilarating. [Editor's note: There are, in my opinion few things more attractive in a woman than a bantering wit, so perhaps I am injecting my own biases into this account, but... ah, fuck it, this is a blog, not a lit crit article for Wanking-to-the-Victorians Monthly (next month's featured article: Going Gay For Lord Byron); I'm allowed to be biased.]
Disturbing digressions aside, I'm also interested in the kind of authority each character is given. Because the narrator has a clear presence but is not a character, the facts zie (I was tempted to write "she," but I don't want to or get tangled up in the intentional fallacy or gendering the ostensibly ungendered) presents are accepted to be, within the armature of the fiction, truth. Hir (and again...) commentary on the opinions of the characters themselves also sets hir up as an authority figure, and thus it is interesting to see who among the cast is thereby correct. So far, I would venture, the Bingley sisters have been given more credit for correctness than anyone else, and it does make me wonder. There is a deep narrative of social privilege and the authority of wealth/class in this book which I'm sure I will have to tackle in this journal sooner or later.
All in all, I'm very impressed by all of Austen's characters. But Mary especially. I mean, you can hear the crickets chirping in the awkward silence following every stultifying speech she makes, and that's just based on the artful way Austen has constructed her dialogue. Very cool. Oh, and I've recently met Mr. Collins. He makes me want to chuckle and vomit at the same time. In other words, I like him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
