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| author Sophia Alexander with her aged hardcover of Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen |
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 19th
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:
*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)
*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)
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