The Day I Met Jane Austen

UPDATE: Welcome, AustenBloggers. Thanks very much for coming. I have read a lot of literature, from many time periods, genres, cultures, and so forth. One of my favourite authors remains Jane Austen. As with most such opinions, i am not entirely sure why. As a little child (oh, be quiet, boys - just because i'm shorter than you doesn't mean i can't still beat you up!), i used to hate going to bed. This is now incomprehensible to me, but so it was. My brothers and i would camp in the doorways of our rooms and whisper to each other across the hall, inching as far out of our rooms as we dared, so our parents could trip over on their way up to bed. I always felt especially pathetic when i knew they were watching a movie, or having a party.* I remember at least one time when i tried to stay awake all night, to convince my parents that it was cruel of them to keep me up in my room while they were having fun, since i wouldn't sleep anyways. I used any excuse to get up and join the fun. One night, my parents decided to host a murder. By the purest stroke of luck, i fell off the couch and hit my head on the table. That doesn't sound like much, but when mom found blood on her fingers, they had to take me to the emergency room to get my head stapled. I've still got a scar, under my hair (cool, eh?), and left some authentic blood on the carpet (a clue!). Once it stopped hurting, i thought it was pretty fun. I got to drink lemonade and sit at the table with them. (Where is Jane Austen, in all this mess, you ask? To be quite frank, i'm not absolutely sure, but in the next paragraph or so, i promise.) As i got older, i came up with what i thought of as a very clever plan for movie nights. i would wait, dozing, for half an hour or so for them to get settled. Then i would be thirsty. I would dawdle in the background and eventually, or so i thought, they would forget about me. Depending on the movie, and on whether it was a school night, my parents would put up with this, as i soon fell asleep anyway. I was probably about eight when i used this tactic to watch the last half of Pride and Prejudice. The BBC, Colin Firth and Jennefer Ehle, 6 hour version. Much to the bemusement of my parents, i loved it. They re-rented the first half, and i watched that too. The elegant language, the elaborate hair and dress styles, beautiful houses, and gorgeous soundtrack... In the same way i watched the last half of Emma, and then the first. This was how i learned about hypochondria, noblesse oblige, prejudice, premarital intercourse (i remember the first time my dad explained to me exactly what it was that Lydia had done, and what threatened Georgiana), inheritances, et cetera. We lived in Sicily at the time, perhaps the book wasn't available. My dad printed it off of the internet for me and put it in a black three ring binder. I didn't think it was completely perfect - how could Lydia be the tallest? That didn't even make sense. And Mr. Bingley seemed somewhat of a fool. I simply couldn't like him. It wasn't until we got back stateside that i learned of Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion (my father's favourite), and Mansfield Park. I read them all, but Pride and Prejudice was, i decided, my favourite. I did not understand Mansfield Park at all. Eventually, although i will always have fond memories of Pride and Prejudice, i began to value the quirkiness of Emma above Pride and Prejudice. Emma was made much more aware of her faults than Lizzie, who only suffers through the actions of Lydia and Wickham. I gave Mansfield Park another try - dad seemed to pick up a copy everytime he went on cruise, so there were several copies laying around the house. It began to grow on me. The theatre scene, which for many people is completely ridiculous, was one i could completely identify with. I hated talking to people - still do. Fanny's fear and shyness, and her strength in spite of these, is something i perfectly understand. And while the impropriety of a private theatre seems incomprehensible today, with my own father often gone i could understand the evils of spending my father's money on activities he would not approve of and which would put considerable strain on already tenuous relationships. Other books are cute or amusing or probing or intellectual or adventursome or romantic or realistic. These books contain aspects of all of these, but mostly they are about Life. Her bit of ivory was nonetheless beautiful for being small. These are people one could meet (and indeed, i believe i have met) walking down the street anytime, and anywhere. Reading these books, i get the same feeling of delight as when i was a little girl and allowed to stay up past my bedtime (though without the headache). I get to catch a glimpse of a life other than my own, yet very like it - a "grown up" world, foreign and familiar, in which (in spite of appearances) I might just fit. ...... *a small clarification, as one must be careful - my dad was the pastor of a church at the time, so these parties were hardly raucous. the only alcohol was the caffeine in coffee, and the rowdiest game played was How to Host a Murder.