Because everyone loves a good story
Snapshots of Thankfulness
Since my wedding, I’ve been making photo books as a gift every Christmas. No, not scrap books with stickers and mementos and sentimental Band-Aids and such. Just online photo assembly that gets printed and shipped. But honestly, I’ve made several of each style, and I almost think the scrapbook is easier. Maybe my next job should be a consultant for how to make online photo book assembly more user-friendly. (My first suggestion: arrange the uploaded photos CHRONOLOGICALLY!)
But there’s one blessing about the hours and hours and hours of time spent poring over every picture from the past year: I get to remember. This year as I sifted through thousands of photos, I vividly remembered the emotions behind them, the stories going on in the background, and the miraculous things God has done.
A Rocky Start
If you tracked with Past Watchful Dragons through 2021, you know it was a doozy of a year for my family. I was expecting our second baby, and just before Christmas 2020 we found out that her stomach appeared abnormal in an ultrasound. Our midwife explained several possible causes, some less concerning and some more so. (Lots of happy memories that Christmas, but lots of fear in the background of each picture.)
We pursued follow up testing and learned that our little girl had a blockage that prevented her stomach from passing fluid. We wouldn’t be able to have a second home birth, our baby would need surgery, and she’d have to stay in the hospital for a while. (Pictures of us having fun with our clueless two-year-old son who wondered why I cry every time we talk about the baby in my tummy.)
The baby came early, and God gave us a safe and speedy delivery. We named her Evangeline Sparrow because we wanted her story to spread the good news of God’s love and care for even the smallest life. (Pictures of our fragile little Sparrow hooked up to all kinds of tubes and wires. Thankfulness, sadness, and fear behind my smiles in the hospital.)
A Long Recovery
God allowed for a successful surgery and a long recovery. We were told to expect as little as two weeks before we were discharged, but it ended up being two months. (Countless pictures of our tiny girl sleeping in our arms in hospital chairs. So many pictures that look the same but carry different connotations of the procedures or updates from that week. A couple of them still make me feel like hyperventilating.)
Meanwhile, our son was having a blast with friends and family who so willingly stepped in to play with him while we were visiting the NICU. We made the most of our time with him when we were home, and while he may have been confused about how little he saw us, I know he made great memories during those months. (Pictures of the three of us on a carousel or playing in the snow between hospital visits. Memories of my fear that we weren’t being good enough parents.)
A Joyous Homecoming
But the best time was when our sweet Eva finally came home. (Pictures of smiles that can’t capture the shock and relief that we were finally busting out of there.) What a sweet memory when she could finally come home to meet her brother and stay with us forever. In that moment with NICU behind us, we were an invincible, inseparable family. (Pictures of pure, untarnished, sleep-deprived joy.)
The months that followed were full of crazy stress as we navigated Eva’s medicine schedule, hospital checkups, and health concerns. Add to that Isaiah’s desire to get our attention by displaying that he inherited his mama’s strong will. (Pictures of Eva’s first smiles and Isaiah loving on his sister. Memories of how worn thin I was as I tried to keep them both alive all day. My standards were pretty low for a while there.) But we were together, and that’s what we’d been praying for.
A New Normal
Pictures of the passing weeks reminded me how thankful I was. I may have been stressed and tired, but I was so, so happy. We were able to drop Eva’s medications one at a time until the seemingly-endless rounds of pumping, feeding, medicines, washing, and repeating slowed down to a normal pattern of nursing. That was a monumental milestone.
And Isaiah learned how to be a big help and a big ham. That guy can always make us laugh with his insights, questions, and faces. He’s a precocious weirdo, and we have so much fun with him. Popsicles on the swing, walks to the playground, swimming in the pool, romping in the mud, trips to the orchard, eating snow—life with a toddler is a (tiring) blast.
This wasn’t how I expected 2021 to begin, but I am so thankful for the way it ended. I’m thankful for the countless ways that God showed His love to our family. And I’m thankful for pictures that remind me of the way small, daily graces trickle into an ocean of peace. It was a good year after all.
A New(ish) Identity
Yes, but isn’t this a literary blog? Do I plan to write about family as often as story? Has my identity shifted from scholar to mother? The short answer is, “Meh, kind of.” I’m finally in a place where I can read a bit in the evenings if the kids stay asleep, and that fills up the void in my brain where big thoughts used to live—thoughts that didn’t center around meal planning, dirty diapers, and mountains of laundry. I’ve polished off a decent stack of books in recent months, and I have some bookish posts in the works that I think you’ll really enjoy.
But the fact is, I’m a mom now, and mom stuff takes up a lot of my time. Sometimes I’ll probably write about that stuff, trusting that you’ll be patient with me in this season of life. After all, it’s the daily minutia that really make up our lives anyway. Hopefully you’ll find some of it relatable.
And on that note, I’ve got some daily minutia to take care of now, so I’d better wrap this up. I hope you can see God’s hand at work throughout your past year, too. If you have a hard time remembering the specifics, try making a photo book. Or, better yet, make a scrapbook, and don’t forget the sentimental Band-Aids. Happy New Year, my friends!
A Contrast of Classics: Story and Takeaway
What makes the plot of Pride and Prejudice more appealing than its Highbury counterpart? And what’s the difference between Emma and A Comedy of Errors? As you may have guessed, I have a theory about both. Read on to find out in this final installment of the series. (Woo-hoo!)
The Story of Pride and Prejudice
I first read Pride and Prejudice in high school. On my own. For fun. Yah, I was that kid—no TV and an overburdened bookshelf. But I’m glad I read the book before watching the movie because I got to savor the storyline. I’ve since watched and enjoyed a few movie versions, and as predictable as Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s union seems from my present vantage point, it’s still a lovely bit of work.
It has all the charm of a rags-to-riches tale without wallowing in the privations of the rags portion. The delight of seeing two stubborn people bend their wills to see life from a new perspective is satisfying, and their change is so gradual that it seem almost believable. The happy ending is unmitigated (although I wish more ill had befallen Wickham and Lydia). For those reasons and a great many more, I love the story of Pride and Prejudice.
The Story of Emma
I first read Emma in high school after finishing (and loving) Pride and Prejudice. Even then I could feel the difference. I squirmed as I read about the frivolous lives of the characters, with their matchmaking and dances and picnics and gossip. Yes, I know that Elizabeth Bennet’s life was comprised of much the same stuff, but as I mentioned last time, Emma lacks the consolation of a sensible heroine and so leaves me feeling adrift in a sea of misunderstandings.
When I had to study the book in college, I learned that Austen was often being satirical about her society and its values. That made me feel a little better, but it didn’t increase my enjoyment of the book. At that time, Jane Eyre was my jam, and Emma felt shallow by comparison.
But even now that I’m older and oh-so-much wiser, I still can’t say I enjoy the story of Emma. At least on the first perusal I was free to grit my teeth at the characters alone. Now that I know what’s going to happen, I also find myself exasperated at the blunders and misunderstandings. Instead of providing the usual humor of situational irony, it gives me situational anxiety instead. But someone must enjoy this style because movies abound with this same plot. It’s just not my cup of tea.
The Dialogue
The dialogue and writing style of Pride and Prejudice is golden. Little gems of wit glitter in every chapter. The first line alone is iconic: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a great fortune, must be in want of a wife.” But every chapter boasts enough humor and truth to fill all the literary quote coffee mugs you’d like. Well done, Ms. Austen.
I do admit that Emma has some quotable lines, but the writing style feels more stilted to me. Maybe it’s because it was such an early book for Austen and she was still discovering a more natural, flowing style. Whatever the case, many of the lines that seem mug-worthy feel a bit forced, like Austen was inserting a previously-crafted thought (here’s looking at you, Mr. Collins). But my real beef with the writing style of Emma is the magnitude of tedious dialogue. Inane conversations are written out word for word, question for question, page after page. The reader could have gotten a full picture of the situation in half as many words.
My Takeaway: Less Is More
Which leads me to my takeaway. As you know, both books are comedies. They end with weddings and are full of blunders and capers throughout. Shakespeare himself often used this formula to great success. But the major difference between my enjoyment of A Comedy of Errors and Emma is one simple factor: brevity. Sure, P&P can’t be read in an hour either, but it doesn’t feel as laborious to me because I get lost in the story. Emma, however, contains almost 40,000 words more than Pride and Prejudice, and I’m willing to bet that most of those were spoken by Miss Bates.
The manageable length of a Shakespeare play makes the misunderstandings humorous instead of claustrophobic. Had Austen turned Emma into a three-hour play, I could have borne it much better. That’s probably why the movie versions of Emma are much more enjoyable for me. The characters are still aggravating, but the brevity allows for laughter, knowing the pain will be over soon. In my humble opinion, the point of Emma could have been made just as effectively in half as many pages—in fact, the point would have been better served.
And yes, I fully realize this is the pot calling the kettle black. I am verbose in the extreme. Please accept my apologies.
Happily Ever After
Now I’ve said my piece. Heckle me if you’d like. In fact, if you’ve tracked with me through this brief mini-series, you’ve earned the right to heckle. Also, if you’ve stuck with me this long, I thank and congratulate you. I hope my musings have helped you clarify your own opinions about these books, even if they’re polar opposites of mine.
So, until next time, I hope you have a wonderful holiday season! Here is some sage advice from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I hope you’ll be able to use it in 2022: “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” Merry Christmas and happy New Year, friends!
Oh, Taste and See
I don’t know about you, but I did plenty of tasting this Thanksgiving. In fact, I sort of used the whole week as a blanket excuse to taste. I know this is a problem that will catch up with me in the (not-so-distant) future, but this wasn’t the time to worry about it. Come to think of it, neither is the rest of this year.
It won’t surprise you to learn that I love food. I consider it to be a treat, a blessing, and means of celebration. And you know what? God designed it that way. Our gracious God, who could have made us photosynthetic, chose instead to put the first man and woman in a garden. He surrounded them with ripe, juicy fruit. He blessed them with an abundance of tastes and textures. And then he came down and walked around the garden with them in the cool of the evening. Adam and Eve could literally taste and see the goodness of God all around.
Turkey, Stuffing, and Beyond
Psalm 34 is chock full of truths about God that make you want to celebrate. It’s the source of the verse, “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” While that verse is apropos for a Thanksgiving meal, it’s also talking about the goodness of God in every facet of life. And the rest of the Psalm is just as fitting for this season of gratefulness. Verse 3 says, “Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together!” For believers, that’s what Thanksgiving is all about. In fact, it’s what every day should be about.
I had the privilege of studying this Psalm with a group of ladies at church last week, and it was encouraging to hear them share about God’s goodness in this passage and in their own lives. I left with the realization of how often I choose worry and complaint over praise and thanks. Considering all the bountiful blessings that God lavishes on me daily, my attitude is the epitome of ingratitude. God deserves much better.
Tune My Heart to Sing Thy Praise
So this Thanksgiving season, I want to redirect my thoughts and my heart. I want my life to exude gratitude. I want His praise to “continually be in my mouth.” Will you join me in meditating on these beautiful verses? I’ve put only the first bit of the Psalm here, but you can also check out the whole chapter for yourself! And if you’d like to share something you’re thankful for in the comments below, please feel free. Let us exalt his name together!
So from Past Watchful Dragons, happy Thanksgiving, friends.
Psalm 34
1I will bless the Lord at all times;
his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
let the humble hear and be glad.
3 Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!
4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me
and delivered me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him are radiant,
and their faces shall never be ashamed.
6 This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him
and saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the Lord encamps
around those who fear him, and delivers them.
8 Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
Mom Guilt
Do you know what I love about being a mom? Nearly everything.
I love the hugs and snuggles. I love story time and summer strolls. I love my baby’s button nose and the way my toddler says the most hilarious things. I love it when they learn to smile, laugh, give kisses, and finally say “I love you too.” There is so, so, so much to enjoy about this stage of life.
Sure, I’ll admit that being a stay-at-home mom was never one of my top priorities. Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen until I hit the ripe old age of 35. But now that I’m in the thick of it, I’m thankful. God knew just what I needed: two little angels (who occasionally turn into gremlins or worse) to help hasten my sanctification and fill up my cup with joy and love every morning, noon, and night.
Especially night.
A Matter of Perspective
However.
Can I just be honest for a moment? Do you promise not to think badly of me when you read what I’m about to admit? Ok, well, here goes: sometimes I feel bummed out, frustrated, and at my wit’s end as I raise these offspring of mine. I know I’m not alone in this. Every parent has been there. But even in the middle of feeling depleted and frustrated, I feel guilty for feeling depleted and frustrated.
After all, they’re small for such a short time. Am I wishing their childhoods away when I feel worn down, spread thin, and aggravated? Am I wasting these precious moments when I focus on the messes, problems, tears, and needs instead of stepping back and enjoying the big picture? I should always feel thankful for the privilege of raising these little ones, so I should never heave a sigh or grit my teeth or wish it was already bed time. That means I’m wasting an opportunity to savor today with my babies, and that’s very bad. Right?
The Deeper Question
So as you can see, I have a problem. I love my children more than life itself and want them to stay small and sweet and squishable forever, and yet I find myself fairly frazzled from time to time, wishing it wasn’t pouring rain while both kids scream in my ears and it’s still four hours until dinner. But then I feel guilty. They’ll be grown so soon that I’d better enjoy even this moment.
So what’s the balance between feeling sad that my babies are growing too quickly and feeling frustrated that I just found a turd on the record player? (True story. I still don’t know how it got there.) I guess my deeper question is, can I ever feel frustrated when things are hard, or will I look back in later years and realize that my response wasted moments that could have been sweet?
A Day in the Life
I’m not talking about blowing up at my kids or actually wishing we were years down the road. Of course I’d regret that. I’m just talking about the aggravation I feel when everything is falling apart all at once. Like when I love my kids dearly and want to savor every moment but can’t wrap my head around how long it takes just to keep the house running as I help to two crying children while making dinner and wiping spit up and crumbs off the floor and accidentally checking the clock every five minutes to see if it’s bedtime yet.
Those are the moments I feel depleted and bummed out. Is that wrong? Because I often feel condemned for these occasional, unavoidable, completely understandable moments of frustration.
Old News
Now, this is when some older folks—like, strangers in the grocery store, mind you—tend to take a deep breath and launch into how much I’ll miss these days when my kids are grown. They’ll tell me how their kids were in diapers just yesterday, and now they have kids of their own. They’ll say that they’ve been through the messes and tantrums and sleepless nights, but they’d give anything to go back and do it all again. They’ll tell me how the days are long but the years are short.
But do you know what? That doesn’t really help. It doesn’t help because I already know that. I know with certainty that I will miss (nearly) everything about this stage and that before I know it, my kids will be in school, then college, then grown and gone. And furthermore, the thought of my kids growing up breaks my heart even as I look at my 9-month-old daughter. She’s already too big. Trust me, I would stop the clock in a heartbeat if I could.
And also…
A Night in the Life
And also last night I got up every two hours all night long so I could nurse my fussy, teething, growing baby, and I got up two extra times to tuck the Star Wars blanket around my toddler again because he just couldn’t manage to pull it up without me. And then I was tired. And then the kids were going absolutely nuts today—both of them crying about everything, getting hurt, feeling irritable, needing me to wipe their booties and put food in their mouths and tuck them into bed so I can do it all over again tomorrow. Or in two hours.
And yet I love them more than anything. I would die for them without thinking twice. And I’m tired and occasionally frazzled. Is it possible to feel both emotions without feeling guilty about the second one?
I’m All Right…Really
Now, I do realize that this is all a bit dramatic. Sleep deprivation has heightened the significance of my emotions. I know this is just a phase, and a short one in the grand scheme of things. I haven’t mentioned the immense burden on single parents or the immense blessing my husband is to me and our kids. I haven’t told you how my wonderful family usually comes over once a week to play with my kids or how my beautiful friends check up on me and set up play dates. And I haven’t talked about the strength that God gives me moment by moment, diaper by diaper. Parenting without all this would be more than I could bear.
And sometimes just making it to the end of the day feels like more than I can bear too. But you know what? I really am all right with that. I’ve been a mama long enough to know that tomorrow will be better. Or at least it might be, and that hope is enough to get me out of bed again. There will be ups and downs, days when the kids have a blast and days when they really struggle. Me too. But I fully intend to enjoy every kind of day and as many moments as possible.
The Golden Rule in my Golden Years
But I also hope that, when I’m old and gray, I remember this feeling. I hope the memory fuels me to listen instead of talk. To sympathize instead of offering advice. To give that tired mama a few hours of free time instead of another adage. To put myself in her shoes and show her the kind of love that so, so many are showing me today. Because that’s what she really wants.
Friends, I usually have a tidy way to wrap up my posts, but today I must break tradition. This is merely musing, a sneak peek into the crazy tangle inside my head. Sorry about that. If anyone has wisdom or insight to add, I’m all ears, despite a few of my previous paragraphs. And if any of you would enjoy playing with an adorable infant and an energetic toddler for a few hours, unlock your front door. We’re on our way.
Only kidding.
Kind of.
Lord of Late Summer: A Poem
While I’m sad that summer is coming to a close, there’s still so much to rejoice in. I was reminded of this on a bike ride through the woods a few weeks ago. Creation’s symphony reaches a crescendo in late summer, and I tried to capture a few stanzas myself. (Ten points to Gryffindor if you take note of the musical motif throughout the poem!)
Grasshoppers praising raise a rasping summer song;
cicada-chorus buzz to long crescendo then rattle to rest.
Hot above the hush, unending chant of katydid percussion and
how-scant crickets chime staccato with tiny shouts
singing hallelujah, hallelujah to the Lord of late summer.
Doves perch above on high lines, mourning the fall from treble-holy Maker
while all songbirds chip, chirp, warble, glide, and gladly feed on seed provided.
Bumblebees, humming, sip the sunny, brilliant blooms
and bullfrogs rumble, booming out annunciation to creation,
singing hallelujah, hallelujah to the Lord of late summer.
Wood wind whispers to me through the trees,
rustling rich-green tambourine leaves that flutter, clap, and jingle as I pass.
I sing, my feet softly stamping log-fallen earth, clay on damp clay,
as Spirit-wind symphony sustains my soul aloft, refrain of rebirth
singing hallelujah, hallelujah to the Lord of late summer.
A Contrast of Classics: Leading Ladies
If you read my post last time, you’ll remember that I’m embarking on an Austenesque journey by contrasting Pride and Prejudice with Emma. I recently re-read both novels and was as delighted by Pride and Prejudice as I was disenchanted with Emma. Why? Well…that’s the question I wanted to answer. My opinions were strong but scattered, and I wanted to bring order to the chaos.
I figured I wasn’t alone in this feeling, either, and I wanted to see where others fall on the love/hate spectrum. Surely I’m not the only one to wish I could hug Elizabeth and backhand Emma, right? …Right? Whether you agree, disagree, or agree to disagree agreeably, I hope you’ll enjoy the posts as much as I’m enjoying putting them together!
ENDEARING AND EXASPERATING
So I’ve spent a ton of time thinking about and writing this post, which (predictably) produced twice as much content as you’ll want to read in one sitting. That’s why I chose to split it in half, giving you a bit of description and evaluation this week and saving their flaws and redeeming qualities for next time. And for those of you who feel like reading Austen puts you in a mental corset, don’t despair! I’ll write a miscellaneous post before moving on from there.
Now that you know the plan, let’s look at the leading ladies. Both are young, lovely, the favorite of their father, and rather hasty in coming to conclusions. But that’s pretty much where the similarities end. Each one’s privileges, family fortunes, habits, interests, and personalities are quite distinct from the other’s. While this speaks well of Austen as a writer, it was tough for me as a reader. Maybe it’s because I love Elizabeth Bennet so dearly that I dislike Emma Woodhouse so vehemently. But I hope to give a (relatively) objective analysis of each to see why I infinitely prefer Elizabeth both as a person and a character.
ELIZABETH: MORE THAN “A PAIR OF FINE EYES”
Poor Elizabeth. She comes from a pretty ridiculous family. I won’t steal from my upcoming post about the characters, but suffice it to say that most of them are absurd. Jane is the best of them, and she’s so sweet that Elizabeth could get diabetes just from being around her. Mrs. Bennet’s head has enough vacancy to fit all of Netherfield inside with room to spare. Kitty, Lydia, and even Mary aren’t much better. Mr. Bennet is sensible, but what good is that if he doesn’t do anything profitable with his sense? Alas. Poor, dear Elizabeth.
And yet she emerges from this quagmire of cringeworthiness unscathed and untarnished. She manages to remain (nearly) the only reasonable character in the whole of Hertfordshire. How is this possible? Behold my theory: there’s no doubt that she inherited wit and humor from her father since both were MIA on the maternal side. From her mother Elizabeth seemed to inherit nothing but a “pair of fine eyes” and a pretty face. But Elizabeth also benefitted from her mother’s foibles; from them she built up an immunity to aggravation. Her enjoyment of good books and fresh air did the rest. And so a diamond was formed amidst the coal mine of Longbourn.
EMMA: LESS THAN PERFECTION
While Emma’s family is significantly smaller and less hectic than Elizabeth’s, I would have found it even harder to handle. Emma lives alone with her widower father since her older sister is married and gone. But her father…oh boy. Mr. Woodhouse would drive me crazy more than even Mrs. Bennet would have. She may fall prey to self-induced “spasm” at times, but Mr. Woodhouse is the willing victim of every ailment he can conjure, even imposing his preferences on everyone else. And to make matters worse, Emma is obliged to cater to him. If there’s one thing that makes me grit my teeth (besides sleep, apparently), it’s a hypochondriac being catered to.
Furthermore, his obscenely-positive opinion of Emma does her no favors. In his eyes, dear Emma is perfect. That is not a recipe for a healthy child. But even more shockingly, Mr. Woodhouse is not alone in that opinion; several of Emma’s friends seem to think she hung the moon as well. Not surprisingly, Emma doesn’t spend much energy disagreeing with her fan club. I’m sure it would be tempting to give credence to a group of cheerleaders, but a sensible girl should spend a few moments in introspection now and then. Otherwise she may be confronted with the stinging reality later on.
ELIZABETH: EASY TO LOVE
So Emma Woodhouse is a far cry from perfection, but Elizabeth Bennet isn’t faultless either. What makes her so much more enjoyable? Let me count the ways. I think it’s her complex mix of penetration and patience, insight and simplicity, humor and earnestness. Also, I admire her love of walking and reading.
And have you noticed her ability to take things in stride? It’s a mark of maturity to stay level-headed despite trying situations. Silly things? Ridiculous things? Difficult? Flattering? Insulting? She is (usually) able to keep her head and react in a becoming way. And her classy responses aren’t just a difference between “back then and now-a-days;” her own mother and sisters are proof of that. A lack of elegance is easy to spot, even through Regency-era dialogue.
ELIZABETH: EASY TO LAUGH WITH
But one of my favorite Elizabethan traits is her sense of humor. She’s able to observe the ridiculous and glean enjoyment from it without being too uncharitable in the process. This is a trait she shares with her father, both genetically and situationally. I wish I could have seen the looks that she and her father exchanged when Mr. Collins first came to supper. Even her exchanges with (and about) Mr. Darcy are laced with good humor.
See, the wonderful thing is that you get to laugh with Elizabeth. Her wit adds sparkle to every page. Even when she’s wrong, you can easily understand and forgive her. Because she’s charitable to others, we readers feel charitable toward her.
EMMA: HARD TO FORGIVE
On the other hand, I have a very hard time feeling charitable toward Emma. She to whom life has handed not lemons but roses—she is much harder for me to forgive. I’m so frustrated at her foibles that I can find very little joy in the story since, well, she’s the story. Thankfully, now that some time has elapsed since I finished the book, my feelings have mellowed a bit. I still wouldn’t rate Emma in my list of Top 50 Favorite Books, but my opinion is less abrasive than it was initially. As evidence, here’s a note I jotted down just after finishing the book:
“Emma is so thoroughly aggravating as to be very nearly contemptible. Seeing her smug pride, pompous judgments, and obtuse self-evaluation continue unabated for the majority of the book is like eating your way through a bag of kitty litter in hopes of finding a toy at the bottom. The toy is there in the form of Mr. Knightley’s verbal wallop on Box Hill and Emma’s resulting penitence, but one wonders if the prize was worth the misery.”
Yikes.
REDEMPTION MUST WAIT
As loth as I am to leave you with that mental picture, I know you’ll thank me for saving the rest until next time. I promise that I do have some lovely and redeeming things to say about Emma, and I have some critical opinions about Elizabeth too. I’d love to hear your opinions, too, so feel free to drop a comment! Until next time, adieu!
A Contrast of Classics: Pride and Prejudice and Emma
If you’ve read this blog for very long, then there’s no doubt that you know what I like. I tend to wear my preferences on my sleeve (or my tee shirts, as the case may be). If you had to answer a multiple choice question about me, I’m sure you’d pass with no problem.
Which of the following does Emily not enjoy:
A. J.R.R. Tolkien
B. C.S. Lewis
C. Star Wars
D. Sports
See? You’ve already got a 4.0 in my class without even trying.
But did you know that I also enjoy Jane Austen? That may not surprise you since I’m bookish, but then again it may surprise you since I’ve never mentioned her in nearly three years of posting. But there it is: I like (some) Austen.
For Shame
If your eyebrows went up at the qualifying word in parentheses, fret not. I’ll explain myself, beginning with why I’m just now breaking my Austen silence. I was recently inspired to read (or re-read) all the works of Jane Austen. What turned my interest away from yet another perusal of The Silmarillion or Perelandra? Well, as much as I hate to admit it, it was a movie—and a pretty corny movie at that. I watched The Jane Austen Book Club, a 2007 film based on a novel by the same name. What motivated me wasn’t stellar acting or thrilling dialogue. Frankly, it was the feeling of shame that I wasn’t able to recognize more of the references to Austen’s novels. And for me, guilt is a pretty effective propellant.
Here I am with a Bachelor’s degree in English Education, having taught British Literature for eight years, and I’ve only read two of Austen’s novels. I’ve listened to one or two more on audiobook, but for me, things tend to go in one ear and out the other. Words that come in through my eyes stick around a lot longer. So the fact that I didn’t understand the allusions to Mansfield Park and didn’t laugh at the Sense and Sensibility jokes made me determined to be a better student of Austen.
Hold Your Tomatoes, Please
I’d already read Pride and Prejudice and Emma several times, but I decided to start with them anyway. The others could wait until I’d whet my appetite for Austen. I tackled Pride and Prejudice first. It not only held up to my memory of its merits, but it also exceeded my expectations. I love that book. Then I cracked open my old college copy of Emma. It also held up to my memory—I remember disliking it in college, and I disliked it again.
Now, if you’re a diehard you can feel free to heckle me. I may deserve it. All I ask is that you hear me out before disowning me entirely. I plan to write a mini-series on the contrasts between these two books, not just to defend my position but to discover it as well. I wanted to like Emma as much as I love Pride and Prejudice, but I just couldn’t. Why are the characters and plot of one book so lovable while the others are so aggravating? We’ll dive into these questions and more in the upcoming posts.
A Glimpse into the Future
I resisted the urge to dive right in to a discussion of the characters today. I wanted to give you a chance to blow the dust off of your copies of the novels and give them a read. Or listen to the audiobooks. Or (in a pinch) at least watch the movies. Get familiar with the stories so you can better enjoy, agree with, or be offended by my upcoming posts. Here’s what you can look forward to:
- Endearing and Exasperating: The Heroines
- A Cavalcade of Personality: The Characters
- Two Comedies of Errors: The Stories
- Just Flawed Enough: The Takeaway
Until next time, enjoy some Austen! I’ll be plugging along in Sense and Sensibility while carefully avoiding any movies along the lines of The Herman Melville Book Club. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
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