In which we hear from the disenchanted
We sort of vaguely recall reading and snarking this article from The Daily Telegraph, but can’t find it in the archives. Frances Wilson (who writes for the Telegraph) has an article in the New Zealand Herald about why Jane Austen is not as great as we all think. How kind of her to offer to educate us ignorant masses!
But those who Hate Jane are in good company. Apparently Charlotte Bronte thought her depictions of love cold, unconvincing and lifeless. Bronte acknowledged the “heresy” of her position because she was, as I am, that rare thing - a woman who is irritated by Austen.
Warning: the Charlotte Brontë fans don’t like it when you use this argument.
While we’re at it, how about slinging a boulder in the direction of the joyless Colonel Brandon, in Sense and Sensibility. What was Austen thinking of when she yoked poor Marianne Dashwood, her most spirited heroine since Elizabeth Bennet, to this corpse-like man, who, twice her age, “still sought the constitutional safe-guard of a flannel waistcoat”?
We are of the opinion that Marianne and the Colonel are perfect for one another, because they are both very romantic, though they have learned from life experience to keep it under control. Also, as far as “her most spirited heroine since Elizabeth Bennet” goes, two things: 1. she was created BEFORE Elizabeth Bennet; and 2. the “spirit” is her problem. Too much and too unguarded. Spirit is a fine thing, in its place, as we (and a certain gentleman with the initials F.D.) learn from Lizzy.
Austen’s smugness at the end of Sense and Sensibility has about it more than a drop of schadenfreude: “Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible passion,” Austen explains of her decision to deprive Marianne of the love of her life, she found herself, “at 19, submitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, the patroness of a village.” Lucky old her.
This is what happens when you leave out SOME of the text to defend your argument (as we pointed out to an Independent Scholar a while back). The full quotation:
Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting,–instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and finding her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,–she found herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the patroness of a village.
In other words, instead of succumbing to the extremes to which her personality tended, she took the most rational and pleasant course, somewhere in the middle. No schadenfreude; perhaps poking a bit of sly fun at Marianne’s extremes of personality, and pointing out that she had learned sufficient of a lesson in her journey through the action of the novel to choose, in the end, wisely and well. Because that’s what Jane Austen’s novels are about, you know: avoid extremes and use common sense. “It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine’s dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a wild imagination will at least be all my own.” That’s from Northanger Abbey, and very to the point.
My problem with Jane Austen is more to do with pride than prejudice. As a child, I consumed her novels as my own daughter now consumes JK Rowling. Only now do I see how nasty she is and how much of her nastiness I once celebrated as wit. The novels I once thought bright and breezy are in fact weighed down by ceaseless moralising and joyless value judgements.
Ah: someone grows up and discovers that Jane Austen’s novels aren’t all about romaaaaaaaance. Quel dommage!
Austen’s mockery of garrulous, middle-aged women such as Mrs Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and Miss Bates in Emma is less funny than embarrassing
She doesn’t make fun of them; simply presents them as they are. If finding them funny is a character failing, it belongs to the reader, if one subscribes to Ms. Wilson’s view, that is. (Can you say “hoist by her own petard?” We thought you could.)
The most sexually attractive characters in her books - the Crawfords, Wickham in Pride and Prejudice, Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility, Frank Churchill in Emma, and Emma Woodhouse herself - are punished for their appeal.
They’re not, actually; they are “punished” (if punished they are) because of character failings.
The figures we are expected to admire in Austen’s novels - Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey and her equally uninspiring paramour, Henry Tilney - are the ones who have the least sexual energy.
HA! Tell that to Andrew Davies.
“Your brother will not mind it, I know,” said she, “because I heard him say before that he hated dancing; but it was very good-natured in him to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied she might wish for a partner; but he is quite mistaken, for she would not dance upon any account in the world.”
Henry smiled, and said, “How very little trouble it can give you to understand the motive of other people’s actions.”
“Why? — What do you mean?”
“With you, it is not, How is such a one likely to be influenced, What is the inducement most likely to act upon such a person’s feelings, age, situation, and probable habits of life considered? — but, How should I be influenced, what would be my inducement in acting so and so?”
“I do not understand you.”
“Then we are on very unequal terms, for I understand you perfectly well.”
“Me? — yes; I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible.”
“Bravo! — an excellent satire on modern language.”
“But pray tell me what you mean.”
“Shall I indeed? — Do you really desire it? But you are not aware of the consequences; it will involve you in a very cruel embarrassment, and certainly bring on a disagreement between us.
“No, no; it shall not do either; I am not afraid.”
“Well, then, I only meant that your attributing my brother’s wish of dancing with Miss Thorpe to good-nature alone convinced me of your being superior in good-nature yourself to all the rest of the world.”
Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the gentleman’s predictions were verified. There was a something, however, in his words which repaid her for the pain of confusion; and that something occupied her mind so much that she drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to listen, and almost forgetting where she was…
The “sexual energy” is there, if you know where to look for it. If you, you know, read the book carefully.
May 28th, 2007 at 11:30 am
In response to the claim that Austen makes fun of Miss Bates, Ms. Wilson is simply wrong. Austen never mocks Miss Bates in a mean-spirited way; in fact, Emma does, and she is punished for it by Mr. Knightley’s (completely justified) criticism of her.
May 28th, 2007 at 9:16 pm
Yes–she doesn’t “make fun” of Mrs. Bennet, either. She creates characters, and we find them funny or we don’t. I love both characters dearly, and find them hugely amusing.
May 29th, 2007 at 2:21 am
I find as I grow older, that Jane’s novels hold a deeper meaning for me. I began to read Pride and Prejudice in my teens, and read that novel every year for twenty years, always relishing the words and finding new nuances and shades of meaning that I did not see before. Mrs Bennett was once a caricature to me, but now, as I am older, I sympathize with her more and more. Mr. Collins shall always be the embodiment of the ridiculous buffoon, but even his character is richly drawn and takes on new meaning as my life’s experiences lead me to different sets of conclusions.
We must all grow up. And as we do, romance takes a back seat to the richness of observations contained in Jane’s novels. I, for one, admire this woman’s talent more each time I read her works.
May 29th, 2007 at 9:53 am
*sigh* It pains me to see people flaunting their ignorance in so public a place.
JA has praised Miss Bates to the skies by writing;
” Her youth had passed without distinction, and her middle of life was devoted to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small income go as far as possible. And yet she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one named without good-will. It was her own universal good-will and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved every body, was interested in every body’s happiness, quick-sighted to every body’s merits; thought herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother and so many good neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body and a mine of felicity to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and harmless gossip.”
Is ***this*** making fun of Miss Bates???
Doesn’t she know that JA has used Miss Bates talkativeness to hide clues which one has to read carefully to find out???
May 29th, 2007 at 2:23 pm
Gah! My computer monitor nearly sustained damage when I read the “Henry Tilney … the least sexual energy” part. And if Frances Wilson was near, she would be getting an earful from me. Where’s that darn clue-bat when you need it?
Perhaps Ms. Wilson and I have different definitions of nasty. I have given up all those other ‘light and breezy’ romance novels in favor of the deep characters and wholesome values found in Jane Austen novels.
June 2nd, 2007 at 5:27 pm
I would agree that Mrs. Bates is treated sympathetically. But I am not so sure about Mrs. Bennet. To say that she doesn’t “make fun” of Mrs. Bennet, she just describes them and allows us to react to them, seems a little naive, though that’s probably the wrong word. You could say that about even more obviously satirical novels. It all depends on the details you choose to tell about the character, and Jane Austen always seems to pick the details that make Mrs. Bennet look and sound most ridiculous.
One example quickly comes to mind. I read the work of one critic that once used one incident early in the book to try to demonstrate that at least Mrs. Bennet had a practical view of the daily affairs of life. The incident:
——————————–
“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.”
“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.”
The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.
——————————————–
Some demonstration. She sits and argues with a kid:
“No, you wouldn’t take my bottle.”
“Yes, I would.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“I most certainly would.”
“No you wouldn’t”. And so on.
Alison Steadman’s portrayal of her was often criticized as being over the top; if anything, if you compare it with the way Jane Austen portrays her in the book (and I have read it a number of times), she understated the role.
June 3rd, 2007 at 12:06 am
So, do we really need all the piously sympathetic depictions of Mrs. Bennet? Was her problem really the fear of poverty if her daughters didn’t make a financially favorable match? Let Jane Austen answer, after Elizabeth and her sister are married:
“I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and invariably silly.”
So the fear of poverty, in the end, was not the problem. The problem was that she was a nitwit. “Invariably silly.” If Jane Austen had intended to make Mrs. Bennet anything else than a ditz, this would have been the perfect time to let her off the hook, and she didn’t.
June 3rd, 2007 at 12:19 am
Right–the fact that Mrs. Bennet would argue with a child, in such a childish manner, shows a lot about her. That’s characterization. Austen is a master of it–she lets her characters show it in their conversation. She does sometimes lapse into the 18th century habit of “telling” too much, but she still shows a lot more than many of her contemporaries.
June 3rd, 2007 at 4:54 pm
I suppose it really gets down to whether you can “make fun of” a fictional character. All we know about a fictional character is what the author tells us. At that level, anything said about what the character says or does could be characterized as “character development”.
But at some point, we must realize that the author will have a viewpoint about the characters he/she creates. We know that Jane Austen had viewpoints about her characters- like Emma, for instance. The author is not required to be like a news reporter who is supposed to report “just the facts” (though reporters often are not that careful, showing their viewpoint by the facts they select). The author can pick and choose her facts.
Most of the characters in P&P are treated somewhat even-handedly; you are treated to both their dark and their light sides. Many are more light than dark, a few more dark than light. But Mrs. Bennet, when not being described in a neutral way, is almost uniformly described as a stupid woman. She acts in a way that, even to the other characters in the story, like Elizabeth, violates common sense (like bellowing loud enough for everyone in the room to hear about the advantageous possibilities of marriage for Jane). There may be a few occasions where she actually talks sense, but they are dwarfed by the times when she talks selfishly, foolishly, even against her own interests.
I don’t see it as being at all hard to say that Jane Austen sets Mrs. Bennet up as an object of ridicule. You can tell, if you choose to look at it that way, by the facts she uses to describe Mrs. Bennet’s actions. She doesn’t have to tell us (though she does), “This woman is stupid.” We can tell by listening to the character herself.
June 5th, 2007 at 12:17 pm
I venture to say that Mrs. Bennett is a product of her times. I think Jane makes it clear that had Mr. Bennett not treated his wife with contempt, but had taken it upon himself to lead her to a less - shall we say - insipid direction and filled her mind with more lofty thoughts, then there might have been a tiny ray of hope for this silly woman.
Because Mrs. Bennett is left to her own devices by her indifferent husband, her stupidity is allowed to feed her fears. She has five unmarried daughters, a disaster in those days, especially since Mr. Bennett’s inheritance is entailed to the equally stupid and insipid Mr. Collins.
Jane’s master stroke is in setting up this plot in such a way that the reader can feel superior at all times to Mrs. Bennett and Mr. Collins. But I think she feels a deep sympathy towards Mrs. Bennett, even as she allows the world to see her folly.
There but for the grace of God go I …
June 11th, 2007 at 9:53 pm
It would be nice to think so, but evidently Elizabeth did not:
“But she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents which rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.”
Incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife….