I should not read Jane Austen.
Traveling back from an out of state business visit, I had the opportunity to read Persuasion. I had only read Sense and Sensibility and seen screen adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Emma.
I should not read Jane Austen.
Jane Austen fires one with a sense of the romantic and the glorious. To read her is to be pulled breathlessly into a world of morals and manners, of loves unspoken and then at the end realized, of sacrifice and ultimate triumph.
I include a passage from Persuasion in which the main male protagonist, Captain Wentworth, has written a letter to Miss Anne Elliott:
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you broke it eight and a half years ago. Dare not say man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan - Have you not seen this? Can you fail to understand my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings as I think you have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost to others - Too good, too excellent creature!. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in
F W.
I must go, uncertain of my fate, but I shall return hither, or follow your party as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's home this evening, or never."
Does the romance and love not drip off the page? And in the context of the book (which I highly recommend) does this not come at the climax, a love delayed but not denied?
And then I ask the question "Why is life not actually like this?"
I should not read Jane Austen.
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