In Defense of Mrs. Bennet in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

author Sophia Alexander with her aged hardcover of
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen

In my grand re-read of Jane Austen’s works for her 250^th birthday tomorrow, I began with Pride and Prejudice, having inherited a hardcover nearly as old as my parents. Originally published in 1796 under the title First Impressions when Jane was just 21, it was later rereleased, after much revision, in 1813 in its present title and form.  This novel boasts her delightfully famous opening line:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

Perhaps the most generally beloved of Jane Austen’s works, it ranks, for me, only behind Emma and Sense and Sensibility. To a lesser degree than Emma, characters realize the error of their ways—that Lydia doesn’t do so is actually charming, a pleasant relief from all the soul-searching—and it’s likewise chock-full of sharp exchanges and witty banter. However, while Jane Austen is consistent in her character depictions, I’ll admit that I once more find myself at odds with her, this time regarding her assessment of Mrs. Bennet… and I have an intriguing revelation to share about Mr. Darcy.

Since I failed to write up my blog earlier this year, when I read it, I’ve just listened to the audiobook as well, which I found to be excellent. This signifies because Jane Austen via audiobook seems almost preferable to her written books; as I read the novel, I'd found myself saying, “This is practically a script!” Jane doesn’t waste a lot of time on senses and metaphors and all such. Nope, she sets the stage and then she’s straight to the heart of the matter, the interpersonal dynamics.

Beware of Spoilers:

Alright, I'll begin with these by defending Mrs. Bennet. But first let us excuse Jane on account of her youth; it's only natural that she might not, at the age of 21, intuitively grasp the wisdom of Mrs. Bennet's behaviors. Also, let's give Jane a modicum of credit for her end-of-book disapproval of droll Mr. Bennet for his contempt of his wife. For that instant, it seems that Jane doesn’t actually see Mrs. Bennet as quite as silly as Elizabeth believes her to be—for all that this notion is at odds with the entire rest of the novel. Still, it indicates that Austen must have had at least one pang of remorse for her treatment of Mrs. Bennet throughout the book.

The fact is that Mrs. Bennet only ever thinks of her daughters’ futures, wanting them to be as comfortable and happy as possible—especially as she knows there are no provisions for them after the eventual demise of Mr. Bennet, given the entail that will give away his estate to a male relative. Elizabeth, however, is continually disgusted by her mother’s overt efforts to further good matches, even doing her best to counter her mother’s efforts, such as when she marches straight back into the drawing room where Mrs. Bennet has with some difficulty contrived to leave Miss Jane Bennet (the eldest daughter) alone with her suitor, Mr. Bingley. Thankfully, Elizabeth is too late. He’s already spoken to Jane, and they are engaged. So Mrs. Bennet succeeded in the end after all, despite Elizabeth. And given that Jane Austen herself never married, I'm guessing she was far too much like Elizabeth Bennet in contriving not to further along relationships. No doubt she never seemed overeager in her life.

At some level, I suspect Jane realizes this, for all that she refuses to give Mrs. Bennet proper credit. (In fact, she sometimes blames Mrs. Bennet’s behavior for driving off suitors.) But it’s also Mrs. Bennet who promptly adapts and forgives Lydia in the end, saving their familial relations with her; as ridiculous as Austen depicts Mrs. Bennet to be in that scenario, the elder girls have to convince their father to forgive, too. One might argue that Mrs. Bennet shouldn’t forgive so easily, that a bad example is being set by Lydia for her sisters—and I do find that a valid concern—but perhaps modeling the prioritization of harmonious family relationships is a superior lesson. After all, Mrs. Bennet’s daughters might one day also have to deal with their own foolish children in similarly compromising circumstances.

Okay, so now for the Mr. Darcy revelation—it’s not an original thought of my own, but something I came across on a YouTube video some months ago. An earnest young woman who professed to be 'on the spectrum', having written up a school paper about Jane Austen’s male protagonists likewise neurodivergent, wanted to share this broadly. Her idea was that it would be such great representation to show that some of the all-time most iconic fictional male love interests actually had autistic traits. I heard this with some impatience, but her words stayed with me, and upon re-listening to Mr. Darcy’s unpleasant behavior and Elizabeth’s straightforward initial dislike of him, I grudgingly have to admit that she seems correct! (Mr. Knightley from Emma may likewise be neurodivergent, if not as obviously.)

On that note, I did find the book version different from the film version in that there were no early sparks of attraction. Actually, Elizabeth and everybody else in her community truly dislike Mr. Darcy upon first acquaintance, despite Elizabeth later admitting he’s one of the handsomest men she’s ever met—remember that Jane originally titled the novel First Impressions, so this is getting to the heart of the matter. Mr. Darcy is often awkward, rude, and silent. That said, it’s later endearing how he takes to heart Elizabeth’s critique of him and tries to make amends.

Please note that ‘silly’ Mrs. Bennet also has quite the aversion to Mr. Darcy, despite his wealth, until Elizabeth becomes engaged to him, at which time Mrs. Bennet swiftly adapts, seeing all the benefits of the attachment. In fact, her disapprobation of Mr. Darcy stemmed from his former rudeness to Elizabeth, so again... she’s a woman of sound mind and wise principles entirely centered around ensuring her daughters' well-being, for all that she receives little credit and is even scorned. Truly, without Mrs. Bennet's interventions, the romances in Pride and Prejudice may never have occurred at all, and then where would they all have been? 

Let me conclude, as I tend to do, with sidenotes:

I’m tickled by the different pace of life in the early 19^th century. When Elizabeth Bennet visits her friend for a six-week stay, the lady at the nearby estate tries to convince her it’s ridiculous not to stay for at least eight weeks. Things are so quiet there that it’s an event when someone merely passes by the house. Seems rather snoopy, but how intriguing that they find others’ comings-and-goings of such interest! While they know more about each other, however, they simultaneously seem more reserved in their behavior, more contained. But those aren’t necessarily related, as such reserved behavior is classic for well-to-do Brits (Elizabeth Bennet actually considers herself fairly poor, but they do have servants).

Speaking of societal level, middle-class young ladies seem generally expected to know how to play the piano. The heroines of these old novels are rarely virtuosos; they just sing and play sweetly. Perhaps when I first read this novel in high school, I realized how out of place I'd have been in that society without piano skills whatsoever, as shortly after that, I did start playing piano, content with just a few basic skills. I can't quite otherwise comprehend why I was so complacent about achieving mediocrity! (Yet as to the wisdom of early musical training, Socrates asserted that without it, one can never achieve the same level of grace, and I do believe this to be true. In fact, the Greeks trained their children musically on a broad scale, whereas the Romans didn’t tend to do so; this seems pertinent because I find Greek sculpture is often more generally artistic than Roman sculpture—long-lasting evidence of superior grace?)

To conclude, here is a saved personal anecdote written about a year or so ago that relates back to the people-watching:

This little studio is so bright, with such clean windows that I have been gazing out of them as I suppose my ancestresses used to do. The little old ladies in Germany would watch us walking by their windows, too. And Granny totally knew who had been by her Main Street house. She spent much of her time on her screened-in porch, shelling beans and peas or cracking pecans while keeping tabs on the neighborhood. I’d been baffled by it, even mildly scornful, but here I am today, just staring out the window absently, then with more interest as people walk by. Jane Austen's characters aren't sheepish in the least about noticing passersby, about speculating where they are going, etc., and I suppose I'm no different at heart. Just a little while ago, a thin woman walked by with a chubby boy and their dogs, setting me to wondering whether she was actually walking the boy as much as the dogs. Just wow, such nosiness, but seems it's in our bones!

Read my blogs about Jane Austen's other novels at the links below:

*Sense and Sensibility (1811)

*Pride and Prejudice (1813)

*Mansfield Park (1814)

*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)

RIP Sophie Kinsella, beloved Shopaholic author

Sophie Kinsella, author

Today would have been Sophie Kinsella's 56th birthday, had she not passed away on Monday from a glioblastoma that has been affecting her these past three years, at least. I loved listening to her audiobooks as I did chores, as she has a lively, blithe sort of humor that hits the spot for me. 

I once created a mural of some of my inspirational writers and artists surrounding me in which Sophie is directly under my own picture, symbolizing how she was shoring me up with her humor. It hangs in my study. I'll admit that when I tried to actually read her novels in print, I didn't find them nearly as engaging as the audiobooks, perhaps as the plots aren't particularly intricate, so I decided that the hilarity is better heard than read.  Still, she cheered me through some rough patches, and I have a huge soft spot for this wonderful author.  My favorite of her books is actually Twenties Girl, and I enjoyed Remember Me a lot, too, but the first couple of Shopaholic novels, especially, are the ones that put me in stitches. The content of some of her newer works didn't appeal to me as much, so I haven't stayed up to date on her writing, but here's something I wrote back in 2009: 

"...[I've been] inspired by the book of a new favorite author, Sophie Kinsella.  I LOVE SOPHIE KINSELLA!!!  She's a fabulous, wonderful author with an amazing ability to inspire with her ridiculous, lighthearted situations.  She is a wonderful Sagittarius, as are many of my very favorite people (though ironically, NONE of my immediate family members are Sag).
 
I am on my third Kinsella book, which is her original Confessions of a Shopaholic. Becky Bloomwood is a lovable character with a penchant for getting herself into scrapes. Her life is a roller coaster of highs and lows, and, though it does seem a bit shallow, she inspires by constantly letting insurmountable troubles fall away in her unbelievable optimism! This story encourages us to Try, Try Again! It's also a boon for our egos, as our own faults seem less severe after making so many allowances for Becky's!
 
I actually identified a bit with Becky when I would feel her horrible, mortifying lows and wallow in them just a tad, only to feel myself lifting out of those lows way before I expected to when she would bounce back with her cheery, perky, optimistic attitude.  You just can't resist laughing at her...and knowing that she's right!  No sense in wallowing!
 
I have watched small children instantaneously jump from tantrum to cheery play, and I've often been quite relieved that they don't have the self-consciousness to resist that jump.  Truly, I think many of us are attached to our troubles out of a sense of congruity.  If we're devastated tonight, then it would be terribly shallow to be bright and perky tomorrow--and it would somehow negate the authenticity of our feelings, goes the logic.
 
Yes, I did feel disconcerted at times by Becky's ability to bounce back and not dwell on her troubles, but I also felt inspired.  We create our lives, and a big part of that is trying to achieve our goals.  Clinging to negative emotions or situations makes our life about those, instead of a balance of highs and lows.  Perhaps we should just aim to fully experience them as quickly as possible and then we're off to experience the next high with full enjoyment. 
 
I suppose that's part of the attraction of the book for me.  Becky DID experience those lows.  She berated herself, felt extreme humiliation, fully realized and experienced the drama of the situation.  Utterly satisfactory wallowing and wailing!  Her indomitable spirits surged back, though, unfailingly. She did acknowledge her likeness to a child at one point, when she commented "like a child on Christmas morning...well, okay, like ME on Christmas morning."

Children have a certain wisdom in their unaffected simplicity in dealing with trials.  We MUST bounce back in order to enjoy our lives, because we ALL have problems.  So in this sense, Happiness is dependent on letting go of our attachments, much as the Buddhists tell us.  I would say the attachments to our troubles are some of the first attachments we need to eliminate....

...[So, Sophie Kinsella is currently my new favorite author of the moment], but it just occurred to me last night the coincidence that I'd set up my 'Mii' character on our 'Wii' with the name Sophii... and with the birthday of 12/12 (the 180 degree opposite birthday of mine, for my Mii alterego). Anyhow, Sophie Kinsella's birthday happens to be December 12th! Isn't that almost uncanny that I picked the same name and birthday of my next favorite author, before I'd even heard of her?"

'Louise Juliane, Electress Palatine, and Her Times' by Fanny Elizabeth Bunnett

Author Sophia Alexander with her copy of Louise Juliane's Biography

I was grateful to discover this 1862 English-language biography of Louise Juliane (1576-1644), great-grandmother of King George I of England. She was the daughter of William the Silent, mother of the ‘Winter King’, and grandmother of Sophia of Hanover.  I was grateful, that is, to find this rather unique source of information, but I wouldn’t recommend it as a source of entertainment. Not only is the information dry, but it should be taken with a few large salt crystals. The author makes many lofty assumptions about the people she’s writing about, assuming they’re all as devout as the author no doubt aspires to be. All that said, I still very much appreciate the overview of Louise Juliane’s life--along with Bunnett's brief historical and political summations of the Protestant powerhouses with which Louise Juliane associated.

Since Sophia of Hanover features prominently in some of my current writing, Louise Juliane has been of some interest to me, having raised three of Sophia of Hanover’s siblings, Karl Ludwig (later Elector Palatine), Princess Elizabeth (a brilliant philosopher, friend to Descartes, and later ruling abbess of a small, independent territory), and soldier Maurice, for a goodly portion of their childhood. Her strict, modest Calvinist values were quite different from her more exuberant, royal daughter-in-law’s: Elizabeth Stuart had more panache as the ‘queen of hearts’, having been raised Anglican as the daughter of King James I of England; she was even queen of Bohemia before the Thirty Years War sent her and her family to The Hague as refugees. 

In contrast to the exuberant Stuart court, Louise Juliane’s own natal family had been strictly religious, perhaps severely so. Her mother, Charlotte de Bourbon et Montpensier, had been raised several years in the abbey of Jouarre. She’d died while Louise Juliane was still young, and so Louise Juliane was raised in the Netherlands by her stepmother, Louise de Coligny, after her father, a prince of Orange who championed the Protestant cause, was assassinated. After Louise Juliane’s marriage to Frederick IV, Elector Palatine, she resided in Heidelberg and thereabouts, but in her older age she lived in Berlin with her married daughter, the electress of Brandenburg, which is where Louise Juliane raised the three Palatine grandchildren mentioned above (until they left to join their mother in The Hague, though Princess Elizabeth of the Palatinate did later return to Berlin for a time in her adulthood).

Bunnett provides wonderful quotes from letters, which are my favorite part of the biography. Louise Juliane's mother, Charlotte de Bourbon, tells her own mother-in-law, “My eldest girl, Louise Juliane, says that you will love her the best, because she has the happiness of bearing your name.” Louise Juliane’s personality could be glimpsed, despite Bunnett’s religious filter, when the new widow said: “I feel as though I had given small proof of my sorrow by still living, if I dare to say so, against my will. Nevertheless, I place my hand upon my lips that I may not transgress the limits of moderation and irritate God still further, as He has appeared to be, by a fresh blow upon my eldest son [Frederick V, later the ‘Winter King’], who has been at death’s door from small-pox, the severity of the sickness taking away almost all hope from those who were near him. In this has God shewn me what He could still do to me.”

Perhaps it simply reflects the Calvinist theory of predestination, but more than once she is found saying things along these lines, including this that she sent to King James I/VI: “Having heard from my son of the great affliction which it has pleased God to send your majesty and your people by the unexpected death of the late prince of Wales…”  She seems to hold God accountable for every affliction that befalls her or anyone else, even while hedging that we don’t know his reasons, that we aren’t so wise as him, and it must be for the best.

Her sense of guilt about surviving her husband reflects, perhaps, on her own young mother dying—they claim of grief—when Louise Juliane was barely six. Charlotte de Bourbon died only days after William the Silent was shot in the head by an assassin, an injury from which he actually recovered. I speculate that his counselors may have suspected her of colluding with the Catholics, given her Catholic background, and you can take it from there… but that doesn't seem to be what Louise Juliane thought. Louise Juliane's own letters reflect only strict Calvinist doctrine—though I suppose she could have been wary of irritating any suspicious, flammable ministers who might be reading her letters and could contemplate taking out their fury on the surviving wife, as perhaps had happened to her own mother. Whatever the case, her mother’s death must have left quite an impression on Louise Juliane as a girl, as she herself fell incredibly ill when her father actually was assassinated two years later. Everyone worried for the girl's life for weeks—which leads me to think that at the time she actually did believe that her thirty-five-year-old mother had simply died of grief—and thus this impressionable, devout daughter was doing her best to follow suit.

Despite reading this biography in full, I still am not sure I have a solid sense of Louise Juliane, the woman who was mother-in-law to the Winter Queen.  The author is sure that Louise Juliane had infinite patience and wisdom, and it does seem that her letters were discreet--so discreet as to be a bit dull, for the most part. 

Louise Juliane's sense of prudence can be seen when she advises her son against accepting the crown of Prague. He didn't listen, unfortunately. This affront to the Holy Roman Emperor was pivotal in setting off the Thirty Years War, in which nearly half the German population was decimated in certain regions. However, there are assertions that Louise Juliane was antagonistic towards her daughter-in-law, and my curiosity is not yet satisfied on this score. Maybe I will learn a little more about her character if I ever manage to get through some of her correspondence with her younger sisters. It's in French, which I know a little of, and so hope to one day muddle through it.

Bunnett's biography of Louise Juliane is recommended for anyone who has a personal interest in Louise Juliane or her direct family members--and also for those who are trying to develop a better understanding of the Thirty Years War, of the history of Germany, or of the family roots of the kings and queens of England past King George I. Though the subject of the biography is female, the broader history is standard and male-oriented.

(I'm publishing this blog on what would be Louise Juliane's 449th birthday.  She was born on 31 March 1576 in Delft.)

'The Princessa: Machiavelli for Women' by Harriet Rubin Is Anything But Macchiavellian

Author Sophia Alexander
holding Rubin's The Princessa

The Princessa (1997) is anything but Machiavellian—for women or otherwise!  The title is catchy—shocking, even—and I suppose they went with it for that reason, plus it does convey the promise of gleaning tactics for getting what you want.

  I liked many of the concepts that Rubin expounded. It never hurts to consider ideas like her poorly-termed ‘besting’, which she uses to describe authentically working for the best for everybody involved, including the ‘enemy’—which will help them to trust you and see you as more of an ally. Rubin promotes bravery and honesty, while discouraging petty tit-for-tatting, all of which I applaud. However, the way she lays out her ‘tactics’ certainly does make the honest expression of emotions sound manipulative—which concerns me that she’s providing fuel for any gaslighters out there who might be trying to figure out us women. Yet since that art-of-manipulation was rather the implied promise of the title, I suppose she did the best she could while still giving good, wholesome advice.

By this same token, however, I fear it may convert ordinary readers into being gaslighters themselves! Near the end, she interprets others’ ‘urgent’ messages as manipulative maneuvers, and she encourages readers not to let such measures ruffle our equanimity. Once others learn that we won’t fall prey to this tactic, they’ll stop using it on us, she asserts. I blinked, thinking, “Obviously, since they’ll know that we’re not someone to go to in times of crisis.” Rather a shame to make people give up on us—including bosses and mothers!

Rubin does include a few inspirational stories of peaceful resistance—like Ghandi’s and a French pastor’s wife, Magda Trocmé, who hosted Jewish refugees openly, refusing to be secretive about it. Magda got by with it for a long time, too, which is the inspirational part of the story, though of course it eventually landed her in some trouble.

Unfortunately, the book began with a frustrated trio of women whose lives were a disaster despite some outward success, but it never cycled back to telling us how their lives had improved as a result of these strategies. Instead, it fell at last on the teachings of Stoicism, with the uplifting final encouragement: “When does a candle shine the brightest? The answer is always in the dark.” 

So I really must conclude, in the absence of encouraging updates, that for all Rubin’s research, her new tactics had not yet yielded much tangible benefit for herself nor for her friends.  Instead, she presents Epictetus’ Stoic advice to focus on controlling our own perspectives, sometimes the only thing we have any power over; having been a slave for many years, he knew what he was talking about. Despite this wise encouragement, the reader walks away from the book awash with a sense of powerlessness, the theme of her final story—which was about a damaged POW taking comfort in the wise teachings of Epictetus. While the teachings may help us to cope, it’s hardly what any woman was going for when she picked up the book, I’m fairly certain.

 

A Restrained & Complex Cast in 'The Clockmaker's Daughter' by Kate Morton

Author Sophia Alexander with 
the audiobook of Kate Morton's
The Clockmaker's Daughter

The Clockmaker’s Daughter by Kate Morton is a complex, somewhat sad, but delicious ghost story to bask in, restrained in a rather Victorian manner. The story meandered, encompassing protagonists of different eras, but the writing was beautiful, and the author’s characters have a certain poetic refinement that I cherish now more than ever.  I adored Joanne Froggatt’s narration, too, which certainly adds to my recommendation of this novel.

At the heart of the story is a mansion in the countryside where most of the central characters eventually wind up for some period of their lives—including the ghostly presence of Birdie, though she only flits through sporadically, at most a faint influence. The whole cast of characters have their own intricate stories, the fates of several kept dangling until the very end.  There is romance, much of it bittersweet.

My biggest critique, I suppose, is the meandering nature of the story, but Kate Morton eventually ties together the disparate stories in a most satisfying way. This is so well done that I’d retract my criticism… except that this tendency to skip tracks did cause me to put down the story on more than one occasion, feeling utterly lost at yet another new storyline.  So if you do give this beautiful novel a go, just keep barreling through, knowing that the strands will all come together eventually.

This is my first Kate Morton novel, but I anticipate more in the future. First, though, I may just repeat this one!  I don’t tend to repeat novels (at least not within the same decade), with just a few special exceptions, but I may soon just start this one over from the beginning, now that I understand the cast of characters and their relationships to one another better.

Dystopian America in 'The Seclusion' by Jacqui Castle

Author Sophia Alexander with
'The Seclusion' e-book by Jacqui Castle.

The Seclusion by Jacqui Castle depicts a dystopian America where citizens are chipped, and everyone is specialized to the exclusion of other skills and information in order to keep them dependent on the Society as a whole. They are fed propaganda daily, required viewing, and only a fraction of the original population remains, all gathered into walled cities in which surveillance cameras watch them continuously, everywhere, and from which they are never allowed to leave. Patch Collins, however, has one of the rare environmental jobs which send her outside the city to gather contaminated soil samples, exposing her to artifacts and granting her the unusual opportunity to make an escape.

I chose to listen to this book because it won the Indie Author Project contest--and maybe because I was secluded at home due to a cold (and had already purchased it).  The concept is fantastic and visionary.  The warning is valid, and the writing is good, but I do have some critiques.

For all that the author is balking at propaganda, she follows the current trends in literature for young adults by making the mother a traitor—not an inspirational traitor, but a traitor-to-family-and-friends sort of traitor, a turn-you-in-to-the-Gestapo sort of traitor. There are numerous gay individuals/couples, and Patricia herself is soon called a rather gender-neutral ‘Patch’.  It’s always a man who helps Patch, and she only superficially interacts with any woman in the entire course of the novel.  I find this a deeply disturbing, anti-feminist trend, and I’m particularly saddened that such a visionary author would fall prey to it.

Perhaps my next critique is really an extension of the previous one. Patch’s interpersonal skills are grating. She seems to have little-to-no self-control in communicating with others, which does not seem to tally with the Society described, where the least offense would have you disposed of.  While I relished that the book began with Patch smugly proud of her Society and the Board that protected them all, her transition to awareness was less than convincing.  I would have bought it better if she had had more doubts/discomfort from the get-go about whole-heartedly condemning the ‘traitors to the Society’ that were once her friends and family.  Patch not only condemns her dear friend (from her past), particularly, but she holds a huge grudge at her for not being more loyal to their Society.  So not only was Patch’s friend likely dead, but Patch, supposedly her lifelong best friend, truly held her memory in contempt—with little apparent evidence/reason to, only that the Society condemned her as a traitor and must be right.  This sort of extreme loyalty to the Society leaves me unconvinced when the slightest trouble for Patch herself results in Patch reworking all her views, seeing through the propaganda, etc.

On the other hand, I suppose there is a certain authenticity in Patch’s constant scrambling, in her confrontational personality, in her gauche behavior. I found it strange and uninspiring that her friends and family were so much nicer and savvier than her, tolerating her behavior quite well… but I reserve judgment to a degree, as when I occasionally revisit older movies, such as the first Star Wars or Labyrinth, Luke and Sarah seem to be intolerable brats, whereas I admired them immensely as a girl!

I’m also left with a few questions about logistics that might possibly be answered if I were to revisit the book, I suppose.  I just didn’t see early-on how some of her plans could work, given the ever-present cameras and monitoring. She was counting on the feeds being ignored at first, but after she knew they were watching her more closely… well, I don’t know. I left feeling that her escape strategy needed a bit more tweaking to be completely convincing.

That said, when in the latter part of the story the logic of another escape choice evaded me, it did backfire on her. So unfortunate, but also validating to know that the author recognized this error in judgment, at least. I just didn’t see why Patch’s friend Rex went along with it so meekly. Choices in a crisis, however, wouldn’t always be of the highest logic, though, would they?

All that said, I immediately downloaded the sequel, and I’m listening to that now. Jacqui Castle has created a convincing dystopia… even if her protagonist does have the social grace of an insufferable entitled brat. Just shaking my head…