I Do Not Attempt to Deny that I Esteem Miss Austen Greatly

I was a junior in college in the fall of 2001, laboring away in a number of challenging courses required for my major. Perhaps the most difficult but also the most enjoyable was The Canon and its Critics, taught by my esteemed professor Dr. Gregory Morris. When 9-11 struck, our class had just begun to immerse itself in Paradise Lost, a sobering epic that seemed to fit the tumultuous times all too well. It was a bit of a relief to get through Milton and on to something a bit lighter. Next up? Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen.

I recall my professor asking a classmate of mine what she thought of the book so far before our first class discussion. “Well, it all seems so petty,” she remarked. True, Sense and Sensibility concerns itself with the everyday affairs of a couple young British girls, never touching much on any of the serious national or global issues of the time. And there is all that frilly language to cut through; I myself found the first hundred pages somewhat arduous. But Sense and Sensibility is about real human emotions, even if they are encased in a multitude of manners and pleasantries. And I think it was probably just what I needed at the time, to focus on the small, often amusing details of everyday life, those little moments that make us who we are. And to get my mind off the end of the world.

Sense and Sensibility was the first of two novels I studied that semester with Dr. Morris that I truly enjoyed. While I expected to love the latter, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, I didn’t know what I would have to think about Austen. It sounded a tad boring, and I found it a tad boring… at first. I found myself reminded of the novel The Princess Bride, in which the author describes a fictitious history with the book he is writing, claiming this is the “good parts version” of the S. Morgenstern classic that his father always read to him. At various times, he would interject with italicized comments indicating what he had skipped over. I figured I could use that here, and I actually managed to get it in the form of Emma Thompson’s masterful film adaptation. But first, I had to force myself to read those first few chapters.

The novel’s key players are sensible Elinor Dashwood and her headstrong younger sister Marianne. Daughters of the recently widowed Mrs. Dashwood and sisters of the elusive Margaret, they find themselves at the outset of the novel relocating to a cottage near an accommodating cousin because their older brother has been convinced by his shrewish wife to take over the Dashwood family residence and share little of the inheritance that was meant for the whole family. Young Mr. Dashwood treats his sisters politely, though without much affection; his wife’s coldness is unbearable. However, the Dashwoods do leave dear friends behind when they make their move. Most particularly, the move separates Elinor from Edward Ferrars, the awkward young gentleman whom she “esteems greatly.” Although Marianne is frustrated by what she perceives as a lack of passion in Edward, she is more frustrated by this emptiness in her own sister. Elinor refuses to admit to being in love with Edward, and Marianne wonders whether her sister is capable of true emotional investment in anyone or anything.

Once the Dashwoods are securely settled in their comfortable cottage, several secondary characters are introduced and the events of the novel begin to unfold. While Elinor manages the affairs of the household, she also waits for word from Edward. When he finally does come to visit, she senses an abrupt change in manner that befuddles her until it is accidentally explained to her by Lucy Steele, a seemingly flighty young woman close to Elinor’s age. Meanwhile, Marianne clings to her idyllic notions of the perfect romance, and it seems that they are about to be fulfilled when a dashing young stranger by the name Willoughby sweeps her quite literally off her feet after she suffers a nasty fall while fleeing a rainstorm in the field. But Willoughby is not all that he appears to be, and prior failures in character catch up to him, leaving Marianne at her over-emotional worst.

Other significant characters include Sir John, the cheerful and slightly daft cousin who invited the Dashwoods; Mrs. Jennings, a jolly old woman whose nose for gossip is especially sharp; the reticent Mr. Palmer and his chatterbox wife; and the honorable and Eeyorish (a word just added to the Oxford English Dictionary - see if you can guess the meaning…) Colonel Brandon. Each adds depth to the novel with his or her full developed characterization. One character who isn’t fully developed is poor Margaret, who probably got the short end of the stick because she was such a youngster. We never get much of a sense of who this third sister is, and she pretty much drops out of the novel altogether towards the end. (One of the questions Dr. Morris wrote on the board on the final day of discussions was “What happened to Margaret?!”) But for the most part, each of the characters has a very important role to play.

Characters such as Sir John, Mrs. Jennings, and the Palmers primarily provide comic relief. The older man and woman are charming as well as aggravating to the young Dashwoods, while the Palmers’ interactions with one another are hilarious. It’s hard to imagine a more mismatched couple, and yet they make it work. Marianne and Elinor each display an extreme of character: Marianne is too romantic, too impractical, too self-involved, while Elinor is too bound by societal rules, too practical, too selfless. While Elinor’s character is on the whole far more admirable than Marianne’s, they both can take a lesson from one another. Their character extremities cause them both unneeded heartache, but their trials lead them to a very satisfying conclusion.

I’m not sure who my favorite character would be in this novel. Elinor is quite a positive role model, a very intelligent, well-mannered, caring young woman. She is probably one of my favorite female characters in literature. I am also, due in part to the enthusiasm of Dr. Morris, partial to Colonel Brandon. His quiet dignity and melancholy elegance make him a striking foil for that handsome cad Willoughby. And sweet, bumbling Edward is just too adorable. How can you not love such a perfect gentleman?

Another positive aspect of this book: It highlights the practice of correspondence, and its sacred place in a relationship. Letter-writing seems to be a dying art, but reading this book made me more mindful of the elegance and grace with which words can be delivered to those we love, and the special significance of seeing those words put to paper. During the course of this unit, we had to give Dr. Morris our proposal for the semester-long Anthology Project, and I could not resist sending mine in the style of Jane Austen. Receiving Dr. Morris’ acceptance of my project, written in kind, was the highlight of my day.

Sense and Sensibility may be difficult to get into, but stick with it. It is moving and hilarious, and it all builds to a rather unexpected but happy ending for our heroines. I had never read Austen prior to this, and I can’t think of a better introduction. Thanks, Dr. Morris. Kindest and most humble regards, your esteemed former student, Erin McCarty. :)