Janespotting: Sense and Sensibility and Silliness

Now that I've left my Remedial Lit project behind with summer, and managed to survive a busy busy fall filled with football games and marching band and NaNoWriMo and multiple assignments, it's time to get back to exploring Jane Austen and her myriad imitators. After all, how better to curl up and block out the cold, dark winter than with Jane and a cup of tea?

I was going to move onto Northanger Abbey, which is a favorite Austen novel and her funniest, imho, but when this book came into my library, I felt obligated to read it. After all, I found Pride and Prejudice and Zombies a quite entertaining mashup, as strange as it sounds. Zombies have always been a great metaphor for social stagnation, which would make them appropriate to mix with a novel about women who are often forced to choose between love and security. So could Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters (by Jane Austen and Ben H. Winters) provide a similarly scintillating scenario?

As you might deduce from my excruciatingly excellent example of alliteration, the answer is: not particularly. Now, I could see mashing up Persuasion with sea monsters, as the leading hero is a naval captain and the main characters make a visit to the seaside resort of Lyme, but although Sense and Sensibility takes place in Devonshire, it's not really situated on the coast. So it felt to me like the only reason to add "Sea Monsters" was for the alliteration. Turning Colonel Brandon into a fellow cursed not only by a broken heart but by a sea witch (hence the facial tentacles) is weird, not revealing. Changing the sisters' trip to London to a visit to "Sub Station Beta," an undersea colony headed for disaster? Distracting, not enhancing. Putting Barton Cottage on an island that's really located atop a Lovecraftian leviathan? Just plain strange. The whole thing was quite silly, really, and I finished it just to finish it.

I suppose the publisher thought that after the success of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (not only was it a bestseller, it's been optioned for a movie), they could cobble together any Austen novel and any monster, but in this case they ignored what made P&P&Z so much fun: it was still mainly Austen's words, around 85%. The story was just tweaked here and there, enough to amuse but not confuse. S&S&SM goes way over the top, adding too many new things and changing the characters from their essential natures. You change things too much and it's no longer a parody, just a weird pastiche that's neither familiar nor amusing. I would have preferred mixing S&S with vampires—the novel's themes of letting emotions run away with you would seem to be perfect for it—but it turns out there are already a couple of Darcy as vampire novels out there. [rolls eyes] (I'm really going to have to run out of "sequels" before I get to those...) So enough with the weirdness! Next week I'm heading back to original Austen and Northanger Abbey.

Janespotting: Sense and Sensibility (1995 film)

I'm going to wrap up my survey of works inspired by Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility with the 1995 starring Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant, Alan Rickman, and just about everybody who's anybody in British film. (As a fun aside, check out the number of actors common to this film and the Harry Potter films ... at least six, by my count.) In addition to starring as Elinor, Emma Thompson also wrote the screenplay, winning an Oscar and Golden Globe, among other awards, for her work. The film was nominated for the Best Picture Oscar (losing to Braveheart, really?), won the Golden Globe for best drama (take that, Mel!), and was generally beloved by critics and Austen devotees. I didn't really count myself as a devotee at the time, but the film set off a desire to seek out more of Austen's work, and I date my mini-obsession with Austen to seeing the film.

I think the film works even if you aren't a fan of Austen, or even period drama. Thompson cuts to the essentials, and they are very clear: the Dashwood women are left with little money and are dependent on others for a comfortable lifestyle. It would be nice if marriage could be for love, but it's not always possible. Thompson cuts out characters who don't reinforce this basic situation—the child-obsessed Lady Middleton and beau-obsessed Anne Steele, for instance—and we don't really miss them. She brings Austen's wit to the fore, and we see Fanny Dashwood's cheapness and social climbing. Best of all, she develops the dry wit of both Elinor and Edward; it makes them more interesting characters, and makes their romance really seem like a meeting of minds. When reserved Elinor can't control her emotions at the denouement ... well, I can't help but watching that scene a couple times over.

Although Elinor and Edward's romance provides the final conclusion, and that of Marianne and Willoughby supplies the passion and drama, the romantic hero of the film, at least in my eyes, is Colonel Brandon. That's entirely the fault of Alan Rickman, who could read the phone book and hold me transfixed. His Colonel Brandon is tender, agonized, resigned, hopeful—all with a few looks, some softly spoken words, and a shy smile when he is finally rewarded with true love. Every time Rickman is on screen I can't help but want more Brandon in the story.*

So overall, I have to consider this version of Sense and Sensibility to be one of the finest adaptations of Austen's work, as I think it actually improves some aspects of the original. Is it the best? Well, it's hard to argue against the faithfulness and completeness of the Pride & Prejudice miniseries ... so maybe it's the best film adaptation ever. I will have to reserve judgement on that, however, until I revisit the excellent film version of Persuasion.... And that will have to wait until later this year. This will be the last Janespotting entry for a while; I'm devoting my summer to my remedial lit project. Coming not too far in the future, I hope, will be a review of Dante's Inferno.

*It makes me really anticipate Rickman's work in the final Harry Potter films, to see him show Snape's tragic history. I also should get a copy of the 1990 supernatural romance Truly, Madly, Deeply, in which Rickman has a wonderful leading man role, as well as an unfortunate mustache; if you haven't seen it, you should.

Janespotting: Suspense and Sensibility by Carrie Bebris

This is the second in the "Mr. and Mrs. Darcy Mysteries," a series that features the protagonists of Pride and Prejudice as they encounter various mysterious circumstances after their wedding. The first volume, Pride & Prescience, involved the Darcys solving the strange behavior of Caroline Bingley after her engagement to a mysterious American. I thought it was a pretty fun read, although I wasn't thrilled with the paranormal angle to the story. It was fun to see the Darcys as a married couple, loving towards each other yet still bantering back and forth.

In the second volume, Suspense and Sensibility, the Darcys encounter various characters from Austen's Sense and Sensibility. Since that novel was set 15 years before P&P, the character we first encounter is Mr. Henry Dashwood, the now-grown son of John and Fanny Dashwood and nephew of the three Dashwood sisters. He appears as an adult during the social season in London; there he meets the Darcys, who have brought Elizabeth's sister Kitty there to expand her horizons (and perhaps find a husband). Henry seems a little shallow at first, interested in little other than entertainment, but seems to become more serious after meeting Kitty and the Darcys. Mr. Darcy takes him under his wing, and by the time Henry proposes to Kitty, the young man seems eager to take up his responsibilities as a landowner and gentleman.

Of course, that's when things get complicated: Henry's behavior starts to change, as he drinks, gambles, and carries on in a scandalous manner reminiscent of his infamous ancestor, Sir Francis Dashwood. (Francis Dashwood was a real person associated with the Hellfire Club in the mid-18th century; while we lived in London, we actually visited the caves where Dashwood and his compatriots supposedly indulged in Satanic rituals—actually, probably just drinking.) Henry's actions force Kitty to break off the engagement, and he quickly descends into debauchery, going so far as to re-establish the Hellfire Club. Elizabeth, of course, suspects something strange behind the sudden change, and with Darcy's help manages to free him from the influence of a sinister mirror.

Now, I'm not giving anything away by telling you the problem is a sinister mirror, since we see Sir Francis and the mirror in the prologue to the novel, and that's the big problem with this mystery. It's really no mystery; we know from the beginning what is causing the problem, and so we're just waiting (and waiting) for Mr. & Mrs. Darcy to catch up. This giveaway isn't a fatal flaw; we still get to enjoy the interactions of Elizabeth and Darcy, plus we get to see them meet Elinor and Edward, still loving and practical, as well as the still-annoying Lucy Steele Ferrars.

So as a chance to revisit some of Austen's characters, this is a diverting enough book; as a mystery, not so much. I'll be interested to see where the author takes the Darcys when they visit the less well-known Austen works.

Janespotting: The Third Sister by Julia Barrett

I continued my journey through the "sequels" to Austen's Sense and Sensibility with this 1996 novel by the author of the P&P sequel Presumption, which I enjoyed tolerably well. As you can probably tell from the title, The Third Sister looks at what happens to Margaret Dashwood, the younger sister of Elinor and Marianne, once they have found their happy endings. Margaret is described by Austen in S&S as "a good-humored well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance, without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life." Barrett supposes, however, that Margaret has learned from observing her sisters' experiences, and at the age of 17 is a thoughtful girl who chafes somewhat at the limited company she finds with Sir John Middleton and his very silly family.

She is somewhat surprised, then, when she a visit by two of Mrs. Jennings' girlhood friends brings some companions very much to her liking. Lady Clara is older, but provides excellent conversation and company; the Comtesse du Plessy is hard-to-please, but her son William du Plessy is handsome and friendly—but maybe a bit too friendly for Margaret's skittish sensibilities. And soon another suitor appears on the horizon: George Osborne, a polite young man of good standing. In fact, as a relation of the Ferrars family, he may just be in line to receive a fortune from the fickle Mrs. Ferrars, who had favored youngest son Robert over Elinor's Edward, but is now concerned that Robert's profligate ways will ruin the family.

Of course, we have to leave Devonshire to really get the story going, and Lady Clara invites Margaret to Brighton, where they can take in the sea air and enjoy much society. Margaret takes the opportunity to seek out Eliza Williams, Colonel Brandon's fallen ward, who seems very happy nonetheless with her well-behaved son. At various parties and assemblies, Margaret enjoys the attentions of du Plessy, and believes she may be falling for him, but his evident affection makes her nervous. When he suddenly leaves Brighton with no reason, she suspects the worse. George Osborne takes the opportunity to court her with tactful and delicate attentions; when he proposes, she accepts him, believing it will be a good match and she will grow to feel affection for him.

In a plot twist stolen right from Persuasion, it is Eliza Williams's friend who reveals the horrible truth about George Osborne: he is a swindler who takes people's money for "investment" but pockets most of it himself. (Very modern, isn't it!) And in a move stolen straight from Mr. Darcy, it is du Plessy who pursues the villain and sets things right for her family, regaining the church funds poor Edward and Elinor scraped to together for investment. Margaret, having learned to listen to her heart as well as her head, is able to accept her true match, du Plessy, whom she had overlooked through too much caution. Sigh! A happy ending!

One of the best parts of this sequel is that we get direct glimpses into the lives of many of the characters from S&S, not just Margaret. We see Elinor and Edward, not well off but making the most of what they have and earning the respect of the entire district. We see Marianne and a transformed Colonel Brandon, happy together and improving the district with music and good works. We revisit the silly Middleton household, and see Lucy Steele Ferrars and her foppish husband Robert reaping the results of their extravagance and vanity. Plus, we get a new romance to top it off. This was a fairly enjoyable, if quickly forgettable, take on Austen's characters; a quick read if you're in the mood.

Janespotting: Eliza's Daughter by Joan Aiken

I was eagerly anticipating getting into this take on the characters from Sense and Sensibility, because Joan Aiken (1924-2004) is an author I remember fondly from my childhood. She wrote the historical adventures The Wolves of Willoughby Chase (hmmm, Willoughby?) and Black Hearts in Battersea, among many many other novels and stories, including mysteries, period romances, fantasies, supernatural, for children, young adults, adults—well over 100 books in all. These include six novels based on Jane Austen's works, including this tale that follows the daughter Willoughby sired (and abandons) on Colonel Brandon's ward, Eliza.

The novel opens with Eliza (named after her mother) telling her tale with the story of her birth and childhood in Byblow Bottom, a village where many "unnatural" children of well-born men are fostered. Because Eliza is recounting her story in the first person, already we have a very un-Austenish tone, and as the story progresses, it becomes almost Dickensian: children (especially orphans, or may-as-well-be-orphans) at the mercy of unfeeling adults, trying to get out of scrapes and making a way for themselves. (It has been a very long time since I read Aiken's children's books, something I shall have to remedy, but I do recall a similar tone to them.) I point this out not as a complaint; I was quickly swept up into the story, and Eliza is an engaging narrator, but it does make for a very different kind of read. Did I mention that Eliza was born with an extra finger? Again, different.

As Eliza grows up, she encounters the writers Coleridge and Wordsworth, saves a stolen infant, and is taken into a wealthy family as a child's companion. Of course, this shelter does not last, and she is briefly taken in by Edward and Elinor Ferrars, serving in place of Colonel Brandon, who has taken his wife and left the country on military assignment. She is sent to school in Bath, where Marianne Dashwood teaches, and develops her own musical skills. Eventually she is forced to move again, tricked by a young dandy who offers friendship but ruins her name. She goes to London and is taken in by a duke who had once loved her mother—which comes as a surprise to Eliza, who was told her mother died shortly after giving birth. She tries to find out more about her birth father, but finds little until she makes a journey to Portugal, hoping to rescue her childhood companion, who has been severely affected by an attack. There she finds more answers, as well as a way to financial independence, which comes in the form of an inheritance from Colonel Brandon, which concludes her story.

I was fascinated by Eliza's story, if not completely satisfied with how Aiken revisits the characters from S&S. Uniformly, they are almost all worse off: Elinor and Edward are horribly poor, with Edward's pride compounding the problem until Elinor almost dies of fever; Marianne appears bitter over Brandon's support of both Elizas, and is rumored to have refused him her bed, driving him back into the service; Margaret is slaving away as a teacher with no other prospects; even Mrs. Dashwood is going senile. Not a very pretty picture, although it does compound the Dickensian air of the story.

Still, I was well pleased with Eliza's story, and her very modern insistence on finding her way in the world—at least, I was until the last page. There Eliza reveals that she is expecting a child, one which will not need to fight for her freedom. This rang false to me, after an entire book with the character taking little interest in romance, even when an arrangement with a fond childhood friend might have brought her financial security. But this is a minor quibble; I was otherwise very diverted by this novel, and I find myself intrigued to find out if Aiken took a similar approach to her other Austen sequels. Those will have to wait until I move on to other Austen novels, in a few weeks.

Janespotting: Brightsea by Jane Gillespie

This novel from 1987 is one of the earliest "sequels" I found to Austen's Sense and Sensibility. (The earliest actually dates to 1929, but it was only published in Britain and is looong out of print.) It's by British novelist Jane Gillespie, about whom I can find little information besides she wrote over 20 novels between 1971 and 1998, most of which were romances or historicals. Five of them are Austen sequels, including this one.

Brightsea takes a minor character and builds a story around her, rather than following the main characters into the future. So the Dashwood sisters are only mentioned in passing; instead, we follow Miss Nancy Steele, the older sister of Lucy Steele, who so tormented Elinor by sharing her secret engagement to Edward Ferrars. In the original, Nancy provided a bit of humor by being continually obsessed with "beaux"—although as Lucy's elder, less attractive sister, she often seemed deluded when it came to her own so-called suitors. Nancy is such a minor character that she was omitted from the 1995 film version; in Brightsea she is at the center of the story, although not really the heroine. It is at least 10 years after S&S and Nancy is *gasp* 40 years old, still going on and on about her beaux, still somewhat delusional, and still being passed around from relative to relative. Having had a spat with her sister Lucy, she is at the home of Charlotte Palmer and her dour husband when she is provided the opportunity to become a companion to a young girl just out of finishing school.

Of course, Nancy believes she is above taking a position for pay ... but then, it would be at the coastal resort city of Brightsea (likely a stand-in for Brighton), living with a wealthy family who would give her entree into all the best society. Before long she is living with Louisa Retford, a bookish girl who cares nothing for dancing or shopping and would rather be reading or studying Latin. So we get several enjoyable chapters where the foolish Nancy's efforts to decorate herself for her beaux are contrasted to Louisa's sensible and kind behavior.

This being a Regency romance, there are many complications. Louisa falls in love with her Latin tutor, but is simultaneously being courted by Mr. Forgan, a handsome, courtly widower. (Amusingly, Nancy believes herself to be the object of his attentions.) When Lucy Ferrars comes for a visit, she attempts to complete the match between Louisa and Mr. Forgan, whom Louisa has discovered to be a gold-digger. After some misunderstandings with a locket, a daring rescue from caves at high tide, and an encounter with a suave Italian singing teacher, everything all comes right. Louisa (our real heroine) finds happiness with her Latin teacher, and Nancy ... well, Nancy is still vain and silly, but in an innocent, eternally hopeful kind of way. It's too much to ask that she learn anything from her experiences (why start now after 40 years?), so she is left much as we found her: traveling from relative to relative, talking about her beaux.

This was a relatively short read, only 160 pages, but very enjoyable. The characters seemed very Austenish—a sensible heroine, a pleasant gentleman who turns out to be a villain, some amusing secondary characters—and the plot followed the template as well. I thought the setting was most interesting; a resort town like the Bath of Persuasion or Northanger Abbey, but with the seaside aspects from Lyme in Persuasion. Best of all, the use of Nancy Steele's character seems totally believable, and the other characters from S&S who make brief appearances are similarly true to the original.

So while this novel may not have been as philosophical as Sense and Sensibility, it had plenty of wit and character and Austenish details to make it a fun read, and one of the better sequels I've read so far.

Janespotting: Sense and Sensibility (2008 miniseries)

When PBS announced that they would be airing a new version of Sense and Sensibility as part of their Jane Austen season, I was very curious to see how it would turn out. (Actually, my first thought was, "Why bother?," but I suppressed that in favor of curiosity.) I was particularly interested when I discovered that this version was scripted by Andrew Davies, who also penned the 1995 miniseries of Pride and Prejudice. Give him three hours, I thought, and surely we'd end up with something much more interesting than the 1981 series.

It was certainly more modern; this version opens with the seduction of Colonel Brandon's ward Eliza, tastefully (and briefly) shot by firelight, before moving on to the Dashwoods at the deathbed of their husband/father. Then we are allowed to linger over Edward's visit to Norland, getting a complete picture of his growing relationship with Elinor, including her puzzlement over his reluctance to speak his feelings. The remainder of the series is fairly faithful to the book, including two scenes that were omitted from the 1995 film: Edward's strained visit to Barton Cottage, and Willoughby's attempt to ask forgiveness during Marianne's illness. The latter scene is a bit changed from the novel, with Marianne overhearing Willoughby's confession. It's not the only little addition; besides a few extra scenes between Elinor and Edward and Elinor and Marianne—very nice for developing character—we also get a full rendering of the duel between Brandon and Willoughby that is only briefly mentioned in the novel. Finally, we get many more scenes between Brandon and Marianne near the conclusion, so that we can truly believe her when she says she is marrying him out of love and not just gratitude.

The production values are vastly superior to the older miniseries; best of all is the use of the Devonshire countryside, including the wild, rocky coast. The cast is full of British vets, including Oscar-nominated Janet McTeer (Tumbleweeds, 1999) as Mrs. Dashwood, and they all perform very well. Hattie Morahan conveys Elinor's hidden emotions through a mere widening of eyes, and Charity Wakefield makes for a pretty and passionate Marianne who comes to realize she needs wisdom. David Morrissey is a strong and silent Brandon (who wins in a duel, taking care of that vile puppy—rowr!) and Dan Stevens is an amiable Edward. Strangely, he looks very similar to Hugh Grant's Edward from the 1995 film, which was a little distracting:

Still, overall I thoroughly enjoyed this version, which brought the novel to life—and perhaps a made it a little more lively than the original. I'm not sure I like it as much as the 1995 film, but I'll have to explore that when I'm done reviewing all the other S&S adaptations out there. Definitely, though, if you like the novel and haven't seen this version, you'll want to seek it out.

Janespotting: Sense and Sensibility (1981 BBC series)

This is the earliest adaptation of Austen's Sense and Sensibility that I could get my hands on.* It was produced by the BBC as a 7-part series in 1981, with each part lasting around half an hour. Of course, I didn't think it would measure up to my gold standard, the 1995 film, but I hoped that with 174 minutes to devote to the story, it would at least be a faithful and detailed rendition.

It took me a while to get into this version; it was taped, not filmed, and the sound quality/mixing was just dreadful—dialogue swallowed and lots of empty, silent spaces where people were just moving around. That was the style back then, and after a while I got accustomed to it. I also got used to the blandness of the scenery and costumes. Sure, Regency England isn't supposed to be particularly colorful, but in S&S Marianne is always enjoying the beauty of the outdoors, and we didn't get to see much besides sunlit grass and trees, maybe a nice walking path. Pretty, but all very similar in look.

I'd like to say that the actors made up for the blandness of the visuals and sound, but alas! It was all very mannered and stage-y. (I wasn't familiar with any of the five romantic leads; looking them up on IMDb, I saw one appeared on an episode of the new Dr. Who, and another on a couple episodes of Babylon 5; other than that, their credits were all British TV—no future stars like P&P's Colin Firth among the cast.) I don't know if it was the actors' or director's choice to remove all hints of wit from Edward and Elinor, or make Marianne seem flighty instead of passionate, but in any case, it sucked a little more life out of the story.

As far as using the luxury of time to be faithful to the novel? Well, I was disappointed there, too. They completely cut out the character of the third Dashwood sister, Margaret, who sets up some of the story by accidentally revealing the initial of Elinor's favorite to Mrs. Jennings and Sir John Middleton, who then tease her mercilessly. This provides some amusement at their indelicacy, but also tension after Elinor discovers Edward is engaged to another. I don't know why they removed the character—they didn't want to deal with a child actor, perhaps—but as a result it sucked just a little more wit and drama out of an already bland production.

I don't mean to say that watching this version was unbearable. It was pleasant enough, and it was interesting seeing some of the scenes that didn't make the feature film, such as Willoughby's confession while Marianne is sick. Still, this version is bland and has little of the sparkle and wit that I think distinguishes Austen's work. I'd rather spend the time and re-watch the 1995 version (twice). Here's hoping that the recent BBC adaptation is more worthwhile.

*There's also a 1971 BBC adaptation, but it's not available in the U.S. I'm very curious, since the actress who plays Elinor is Joanna David, who played Mrs. Gardiner in the 1995 P&P miniseries and is also the mother of the actress who played Georgiana. But I knew I wouldn't be able to access every single adaptation, so my curiosity will have to go unsatisfied.

Janespotting: Sense and Sensibility (Austen's original)

I'm giving P&P pastiches a rest for a while and moving on to Sense and Sensibility and the works it has inspired. Perhaps I should say I'm moving back, as S&S was the first novel Austen wrote (as Elinor and Marianne at the age of 19) and also the first novel Austen published, anonymously in 1811 (when she was 35, after a long process). This is one of the novels that I didn't read early on. I first experienced the story via the 1995 film adapted by and starring Emma Thompson, a film I found so delightful that it immediately sent me back to the original text. Having first encountered it in that context, I still find it hard to read and think about Austen's original without having the film in mind ... but I shall try.

A brief summary: The three Dashwood sisters and their recently widowed mother find themselves losing their home, which has been bequeathed to their elder half-brother. (It is the same situation that Mrs. Bennet fears in P&P, making her so obsessed with marrying off her daughters.) With their avaricious sister-in-law Fanny now mistress of the house, the Dashwoods look to find a new living situation, and eventually move to Devonshire—but not before the eldest sister, Elinor, falls in love with Fanny's brother, Edward Ferrars. Edward is heir to a fine estate, but Fanny has made it clear the family expects him to marry highly, so Elinor does not believe an offer of marriage will come her way any time soon. She is the sensible one in the family, often having to encourage her mother to economize, and she will not indulge her feelings when they may come to nothing.

Her younger sister Marianne, however, is an emotional girl full of romantic (small and big R) notions. She pooh-poohs the need to control her feelings, and when she meets the dashing (of course) Mr. Willoughby, she soon falls head over heels and doesn't care who knows it. Obviously she embodies the "sensibility" of the title, while Elinor represents "sense." Both girls find themselves in the same situation: in love with a man who, it turns out, is not free to marry them. Elinor responds by keeping her feelings secret, even when she becomes the unwilling confidente of Edward's scheming fiancée. Marianne, on the other hand, indulges her emotions, refuses to eat, and eventually becomes ill and nearly dies. In the end, both girls find love and marriage: Elinor through her steadfast devotion and convenient plot twists, and Marianne by acquiring sense and learning to appreciate a worthy man who was close by all along.

As I re-read the book, I tried not to envision the film—just focus on the text, I told myself. I found it difficult, and I think it's because of the the conflict inherent in characters Austen chose to represent the contrasting viewpoints of the title. Elinor's viewpoint wins out in the end, but Elinor herself is a restrained character, with little sparkle or wit, always having to be the voice of reason. Marianne, on the other hand, is beautiful, musically talented, passionately articulate, and modern in her outlook. So while Elinor's behavior is more sympathetic, she's not as appealing a character as Marianne. I know some people are unsure about how to feel about the end, when Marianne accepts a man she previously overlooked as too old and boring. Has she been tamed? Is she settling? I don't really think so, because Colonel Brandon's character is shown as sweet, faithful, and intelligent from the beginning of the book. But there still seems to be a little something lacking.

Of course, there is still plenty of wit and amusement in the minor characters. The scene where Fanny Dashwood convinces her husband that his promise to take care of his sisters shouldn't mean more than an occasional basket of fruit or piece of game is priceless. Many minor characters provide tons of fun through their inappropriate behavior (as is typical for Austen). And while I may have mixed feelings about the characters themselves, the journeys they make are interesting and emotionally satisfying. So overall, I consider this mid-range Austen: not my favorite, but not at the bottom of my list. And mid-range Austen is still better than any modern romantic fiction I might encounter.

A last note, about editions. There are tons of versions of each Austen novel out there, some cheaper, some more detailed, some fancier than others. The one I have I picked up at a very small bookstore (the only one within half an hour of where I lived at the time, long defunct) so I could use the cover for work. Now, this edition came out shortly after the 1995 film, from a publisher who normally focuses on genre fiction but had recently decided to branch out into young adult. So, take a classic romance that's public domain (no royalties to pay, yay!), slap a girly cover with frilly dresses and secretive whispers on it, and boom! Extra money! Of course, they would have done better to pay a little more for their foreword. The more expensive editions get literature professors to write their forewords. This one ... I'm not sure who it was, but I don't think they'd read the novel recently. It says, "Elinor, the eldest sister, is engaged to be married to conservative Edward Ferrars...." Well, no, she isn't, that's the whole point of the book! Then it says, "Marianne, the younger sister, is smitten with Holloway, a man of dubious lineage." Well, no, it's Willoughby—I don't think there's any character named Holloway in any Austen novel—and he isn't of dubious lineage, just behavior. I should just tear that page out of my book so the next time I read it I don't start it in a bad mood. Or else spring for a new edition with a real foreword. Because, of course, I will read it again (and again) in the future.