Elizabeth Bennet is one of five sisters presided over by their fussy mother and nonchalant father. The family has a problem: if Mr. Bennet dies before one of his daughters marries, the entire family will lose their estate to his nearest male heir. Although this conundrum sends Elizabeth careening between parties, balls, and rumors, she is determined not to accept the hand of any suitor that doesn't suit 'er (and I have a blog, too!). Among the throng of eligible men is Mr. Darcy: a rich stranger who tends to offend people by his aloof discomfort in social situations. Elizabeth disdains Darcy more than any of the other airheads who come knocking at her door, and is completely surprised when he proposes, too. Her reaction is to chew him out for all his offenses, to which he responds in kind. But their separation, and realization of his pride and her prejudice, are enough to bring this famous couple to improve themselves enough to be likable when they inevitably meet again.
Remember when I talked about the dangers of reviewing something everyone knows? Today I up the ante by reviewing something everyone loves. Among my friends and neighbors, Jane Austen is probably the single biggest reason by which ladies seem to be more literate than gentlemen. Statistically, that's incredible.
But get out your rotten tomatoes: Pride and Prejudice underwhelmed me entirely.
In order to be fair, I consulted a friend who is much more literate than I am, and who can't seem to keep herself away from this story. I must admit that the lessons she draws are both timeless and vital. The fundamental crux of the novel is the shift in character (sorry, Lawrence*) that love makes possible. It's easy, says my friend, to woo someone who loves you. It's worth it to change for someone who loves you. But Elizabeth and Darcy both had no reason to believe that after their initial altercation, either would see the other again. To improve who you are for someone who has essentially vanished from your life is virtue of the highest class. It's work without a paycheck. It's religion without reward.
In spite of all this, it's not Austen's direct commentary that bothered me. Sure, her characters are well-developed. Yeah, I guess she's witty enough for the 19th century. Mr. Bennet in particular is hilarious. You might say that what got under my skin was the exact society Austen portrays so well. It was like reading a script of the family parties at which you're forcibly reminded that there are relatives who love nothing better than offhandedly trying to evaluate your life. That doesn't bother me for five hours to make my parents happy, but it was rough to read three hundred pages of it on my own time. On the first hand, however, Elizabeth's conversation with Lady Catherine, being exactly how I would like to behave on some of these occasions, is an appropriate payoff. It just doesn't satisfy the trouble to get there.
This book may not hinge entirely on social obstacle courses, and that's probably the whole point. But if you dislike meddling relatives, gossiping neighbors, or really the thought of anyone who reads their own perspective onto your actions, then start running. In this sense, Pride and Prejudice acts like a fantasy novel in which the hero graphically slays his enemies while fighting for peace, or any romance literature that praises chastity in titillating terms. There's a way to raise up vices by condemning them, so don't be fooled by the moral of any story.
*Actually, I'm not sorry. D. H. Lawrence was a jerk.
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