A Charming Rake

“The gentleman offered his services, and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without further delay and carried her down the hill.”

Willoughby, oh Willoughby. Such a dashing rake. No wonder Marianne falls for him in Sense and Sensibility. First, he comes to her rescue when she twists her ankle. Next, he is discovered to be graceful, uncommonly handsome, and well-spoken. In the eyes of his female admirers, Sir John’s assessment of him (a decent shot, a bold rider, possessing a fine pointer as well as very pretty property) does nothing to detract from his other charms. The added intelligence that Mr. W is a tireless dancer, a talented musician, and an enthusiastic reader seals the deal. He is exactly the sort of gentleman capable of attaching Marianne’s affections … and he does so effortlessly.

In the early chapters, the reader’s only hint that Willoughby may not be so perfect after all is his open contempt for Colonel Brandon. “Brandon is just the kind of man … whom everybody speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to.” His words serve as no warning for Marianne, however, since she feels the same way – a clue to her own shortcomings. Of Brandon she declares, “… he has neither genius, taste, nor spirit.” Elinor objects to their cooperative character assassination, and Willoughby offers the following explanation:

“I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon: he has threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has found fault with the hanging of my curricle; and I cannot persuade him to buy my brown mare. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however, to be told that I believe his character to be in other respects irreproachable, I am ready to confess it. And in return for an acknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the privilege of disliking him as much as ever.”

Well, at least he has good reasons for his prejudice. Thinking of the ’95 acclaimed production, where Greg Wise whirls Kate Winslet around as he delivers a close approximation of this speech, I daresay I would have been convinced as well. I liked the above quote so much, in fact, that I included a portion of it in my second book, For Myself Alone – one of the many Jane Austen lines I managed to slip into the text. This time, it’s a father disparaging the worth of his potential son-in-law:

“Upon my honor, Josephine, I had hoped to see you do better for yourself as to fortune. A man of some little property would have suited my ambitions very well. Mr. Arthur Evensong may prove a great success in the end, but as of this moment I have seen very little evidence of his genius. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however, to be told that I believe his character to be in other respects irreproachable, I am ready to confess it …”

We can’t always explain our gut-level dislike for someone, but we would fight to defend our right to our opinion, however irrational. In Willoughby’s case, though, his instinctive antagonism toward the colonel is not totally misplaced, just premature, since the worthier Brandon gets the lady they both love in the end.

Posted in Jane Austen, my books, Shannon Winslow's writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Leaving One’s Own Fireside

“A man must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most agreeable fellow … Here we are setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be heard again tomorrow. Going in dismal weather to return probably in worse – four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.”

What a daunting indictment of hospitality! It’s enough to make anyone think twice before sending out invitations. This statement, from Emma, is made by Mr. John Knightley in complaint of having to leave the warm fireside at Hartfield and travel through snow to a Christmas party at the Westons‘. For this man, the glass is definitely half (or even three-quarters) empty! His lengthy diatribe, which I have taken the liberty of abbreviating, proves the character Jane Austen has already described for us: he’s not altogether ill-tempered, but sometimes out of humor, sometimes acting ungraciously, and capable of saying a severe thing.

Part of the problem, of course, was purely logistical. Traveling to an evening party in those days was not a simple undertaking – no paved roads, no cars with headlights and heated leather seats. As mentioned, getting to the Westons‘ involved a cold carriage with horses and servants to operate it. And the party would have had to be scheduled (as all evening balls and parties were then) for a night with a tolerably good moon so they could find their way after dark. These things were taken as a matter of course by everybody except the guy with the bad attitude.

I suspect there’s a little bit of Mr. John Knightly in me. He’s far too harsh, but I can relate to some of what he says. I’m basically a homebody, not a party animal. Although I know I’ll probably enjoy myself once I arrive at the gathering, my natural tendencies tempt me to forgo the inconvenience of going out and stay comfortably in front of my own fireside. Especially if I am tired, the idea of curling up with a thick book or a good movie may sound more appealing at that moment. Making the extra effort is worth it, however. And, lest I be omitted from all future guest lists, let me be clear. I appreciate any invitation as a sign of favor and of generous hospitality, not (as Mr. John Knightly does) as proof that the host has too high an opinion of himself.

Posted in Jane Austen | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Well-Writen Letter

“Let us never underestimate the power of a well-written letter.”

Okay, so I hear you JA aficionados saying, “Hey, where did she dig up that line?” And you’re right; it is not strictly a Jane Austen quote. But it certainly could have been. She must have subscribed to this policy (as I do) because she often allowed her characters to explain themselves and express their innermost feelings in letter form. Perhaps it’s a holdover from the epistle prose that had been popular before the advent of the true novel. In one of her lesser-known works, Lady Susan, Austen used this format herself, telling the story entirely through letters exchanged by a handful of interrelated people.

The line above is actually taken from the movie The Jane Austen Book Club and is said in reference to arguably the most compelling letter composed by one of her characters: the culminating note left by Captain Wentworth for Anne Elliot near the end of Persuasion. Although they had fallen in love when they first met, Anne had been forcefully “persuaded” by her family to reject the captain’s proposal. Now, years later, they have a second chance.

“…You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been; weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant…”

Did I hear a collective sigh, ladies? Was there ever a more poignant plea for the ultimate consummation of long-thwarted love? I think not.

Posted in Jane Austen | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Truth in Irony

“A woman especially, if she have the misfortune to know anything, should conceal it as well as she can.”

This well-known line is taken from Northanger Abbey, the narrator’s response to Catherine Morland’s admission that she knows little about what is thought to constitute a picturesque view. The author points out that Catherine needn’t be ashamed of her ignorance, that it’s actually an advantage when desiring to curry favor with others, since everyone enjoys having their superior taste and understanding admired. “Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid.” Of course, as with so much of Jane Austen, this advice is given tongue-in-cheek.

Irony, however, always grows out of a grain of truth. The quote above is no exception, particularly as it relates to women. Then as now, women usually find it’s best not to flaunt their intelligence in front of the men they meet, socially or even in the business world. In my second novel, For Myself Alone, Jo Walker learns this hard lesson and tells us, “To my dismay, I have discovered that most gentlemen do not wish their prowess in the intellectual realm challenged, especially by anyone female.” Is it any different today? Maybe we haven’t come as far as we thought in the last two hundred years.

Posted in Jane Austen, my books | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Man of Good Fortune

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

With these immortal lines, we set off on the delightful romp that is Pride and Prejudice. When the wealthy Mr. Bingley enters the neighborhood, Mrs. Bennet immediately declares him the rightful property of some one or other of her unmarried daughters. Other families in the vicinity would have held similar beliefs of entitlement, however, so the case was by no means settled. And never mind that we haven’t heard from Mr. Bingley himself; he has no say in the matter whatsoever. Therein lies the joke at the heart of this Jane Austen witticism.

It’s interesting that, although Mr. Darcy is soon discovered to be far wealthier, we don’t see him relentlessly pursued by a horde of local maids and their ambitious mamas. In a society where marrying well was the only goal to which a young lady could aspire, it seems unlikely that even advanced age or well-established criminal tendencies would have saved a man with ten thousand pounds a year from such an onslaught. Mr. Darcy’s flaws were not as grave as these, but, besides his wealth, his virtues were not immediately apparent either. In a bit of reparte from my sequel The Darcys of Pemberley, Lizzy says to him, “As I recall, it took much longer for me to discover your merits; they were so well-concealed.” Taking up the game, Darcy responds in kind. “If you were so long in discovering them, perhaps the fault was not with the subject but with the observer.” And so they go …

Posted in Jane Austen, my books | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Starting Out

Authoring a blog should be a piece of cake for a compulsive writer. I have opinions about almost everything, after all. But, then, I realize the world may not be particularly interested in my ideas about proper dental hygiene, base jumping, or the relative merits of cotton and polyester blend fabrics.  I needed a focused purpose and theme.

Okay, so what do I know, love, and never tire of sharing with anyone who will listen? It should have been obvious from the beginning: the writings of Jane Austen. Her stories and style are what inspired me to get serious about my own writing in the first place.  Therefore, I will choose a Jane Austen quote for each post and confine myself to editorializing on whatever subject it suggests.  Here’s number one:

“Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody not greatly in fault themselves to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.”

This quote (taken from Mansfield Park, chapter 48) is my favorite in that it pretty much defines my literary philosophy. I’m interested in books that entertain me, that make me feel good, that sweep me away to another world. Although I know without conflict there is no story, I’m glad when it’s time to do away with the culprits and resolve the crisis for a happy ending. Reader satisfaction, in my opinion, stems from the hero or heroine overcoming their difficulties, not being destroyed by them. If someone prefers a dose of harsh reality, they can turn to “other pens” or turn on the news instead. But, like Jane Austen, I can be trusted to not dwell on guilt or misery any longer than absolutely necessary, and to restore the characters I’ve come to care about to tolerable comfort by the end of the book.

Posted in Jane Austen, writing | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment