Dear Julie,

Every library needs one employee who takes it as a personal insult whenever anyone checks out a book and then actually has the gall to remove it from the library. This employee is always put in charge of getting patrons to return overdue books. These "overduers" as they are called, have a natural, God-given ability to make library patrons who refuse to return books feel like dirt. As it happens, our overduer at the main library has just retired (much to the relief of our patrons) and I think I have found her replacement. So how about it Julie? How would you like to live here in South Georgia? We are kind of short on goats around here but we do have plenty of hogs and cattle. The main industry here is killing chickens and turning them into Chicken McNuggets. We are not without culture. There is a movie theater only thirty miles away. And best of all you could teach those people who had the nerve to check out our books to, by God, buy their own books. We would have one problem but it is a problem that we have with all overdoers. Libraries sometimes have to throw away books (steady, Julie) and an overduer can not stand to know that fact, so we have to do all that throwing when the overduer is on vacation. Either that or I have to do it in the dead of night. A really good overduer can walk into the library after one or two books have been discarded and immediately know that something is just not right. You sound like the woman (and overduers are ALWAYS women) for the job.

As for me, I am your polar opposite (literally and figuratively). I have no trouble with discarding books. I have no feel whatsoever for books themselves, (except that when the new books are delivered to the library, I insist on being the one to open the boxes-- this in spite of the fact that I am the one who orders the books) and own only ten books myself. If I ever buy a book for myself, I read it, then give it to the library. The truth of the matter is that a person who has a key to the library needs no books. My guess would be that if someone was to put a gun to your head and say, "OK Julie, you can keep only ten of your books--choose or die.", you would say, "Just shoot me.". You have the potential to be one of the greatest overduers in library history.

I see that you and Ash have both started work on the irony book. I think a little more agreement between the two of you might help sales. I have decided to edit the whole thing into shape. The irony nook is off to an ironic start.
Ray

Dear Ray,

It would be 'fire on the mountain, run boys, run', indeed, were I to be given charge of a library in southern Georgia, or anywhere else.  I'm envisaging bunkers and bazookas at the front door, now, and bugger the threatening phone calls!

As a matter of fact, I have long ago worn out my welcome at our local library, and my family will no longer allow me to use their cards, as they get sick of the inevitable death threats when I fail to return borrowed books.  If I like them (meaning content, not physical presentation), I simply wait for the final notice of intent, and mail a cheque.  I was gradually induced by my husband (couldn't hide it from him, as he's also the local postmaster), to realise that things were getting past a joke, and now I buy my own exclusively, helplessly and compulsively. Dreadful vice, I know, but, there, at least it's not gin. By the way, are hogs pigs? So I regretfully decline your kind offer, though the thought of the headlines - 'Loony Tasmanian Devil Occupies Library - Georgia Reels' - has its attractions.

Ironically, I think the 'irony' thing is coming along quite well. Don't worry about the bickering - I always win, even if I have to resort to dirty tricks, such as insertion of the dreaded 'B' word.

Regards from the Devil in the house of the Rising Sun (it's 7.00a.m. here),
Julie

From north Jersey: I used to meet my girl friends in the library. A.

We do a little bit of everything in our English class. We do novels, grammar, essays, timed writings, political speeches, short stories, types of literary criticism, types of poetry, and a major research paper on an aspect of an author's work.  Last year I did Edgar Allan Poe (whom I slowly began to hate) but this year I decided on Jane Austen (whom I find much more interesting). We do a lot of group work in our class also, and we do things from illustrating novels to analyzing poetry.

By the way, Ashton was pretty much right in his description of the Advanced Placement program. The only thing wrong with it is that our exam is not the SAT II but an AP exam. The English Literature and Composition exam, which is the one I will be taking in May, consists of an hour of multiple choice questions plus three essay questions with 40 minutes allowed for each essay.

From the Meister: Thank you for the information,
Laurie. Your class sounds like it must be excellent.

Dear Laurie,

I hear you was lookin' for some irony in Pride and Prejudice? I've got just the thing. Darcy goes to Elizabeth to propose. He wants to marry with her and what happens? Badda-bing - she tears him apart - tells him what a louse he is. But wait! - the last thing she says to him is

"... I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry".

Whoa! after all that bad-mouthing, we come to find out that she had even considered whether she wanted to marry him or not. And it took an entire month for her to decide. You like that? You take that - this first one is free.

I got a lot o' good stuff. I got some things to say about Marianne Dashwood and Thomas Hardy; nice things that you could put in a report or somethin'. Tell all your friends. You wanna buy a ghost story? You heard the one about that drowned giant who haunts Hemingway’s gravesite? The guy is lookin' for an ex-wife.

You're a nice kid, Laurie; don't let nobody bother you.

Sincerely yours,
A.

Dear Laurie,

Take no notice of the scarlet letter (dreadful book, by the way), as he or she knows not that portion of the novel, clearly.  Elizabeth actually had the hots for Mr Wickham for a good portion of the period of Mr Darcy's first stay at Netherfield, and for a while thereafter, as well.  The one who put forward the possibility of Darcy's taking an interest in Elizabeth was Charlotte Lucas. Remember when Elizabeth was about to dance with him, after Elizabeth, taken by surprise, accepted his invitation, and Charlotte warned her not to be a fool, and 'make herself unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his (Wickham's) consequence.'?  Charlotte is aware of Darcy's interest in Elizabeth, and Jane Austen states that Charlotte feels that it would be a 'matter of course, that (Elizabeth's) dislike would vanish, could she suppose Darcy to be in her power.' She also decides not to say anything that might encourage her friend in the belief of Darcy's interest, as it would be unfair to raise her hopes, perhaps for nothing.  I would call this passage in the relationship of these two close friends sad rather than ironic:  it demonstrates that they are living their lives in different worlds, though unaware of it.  This is what makes the news of Charlotte's engagement to Mr Collins so distressing to Elizabeth - the age-old cry of, 'I thought I knew you!'

If you would like one very superficial, but nevertheless entertaining, example of ironic exchange in Pride and Prejudice, think of the conversation between Mr Gardiner and Mrs Rynolds, on the subject of Miss Darcy, along with Elizabeth's mental aside:
'Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?'
'Not so much as I could wish, Sir but I dare say he may spend half his time here and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.'
'Except', thought Elizabeth, 'when she goes to Ramsgate.'

Dear Sir,

Yes, indeed, subsequent events did prove that Charlotte was on the right track, but that doesn't alter the point I was making, I think, which was that during the period of Darcy's first visit, Elizabeth is allowing herself to confuse emotions with insight.  I will quote myself (wow!):  'It is obvious that she had the hots for him from the start!', and this attratction, with its subtle, but vibrating, sexuality, is one of the great charms of Pride and Prejudice. But, I maintain, that during the period of the novel from which I quoted in my last, Elizabeth BELIEVES herself to be attracted to Mr Wickham.  Charlotte and the author are the two voices from whom we gain more insight into Elizabeth's feelings - oh, and, of course, Miss Bingley, who was no fool when it came to scenting a rival!

As for the Pemberley remark being cruel as well as ironic - certainly.  Jane Austen had a sharp tongue, and often bestowed a similar trait on her characters.  Two of my all time favourite quotes of Jane Austen are, in order of preference, the famous dead baby/ugly husband comment in a letter to Cassandra, and the Musgroves' 'Dick' aside - you remember, the unprofitable son whom they had the good fortune to lose.  Remember, though, that both of these are private - the first to her sister, and the second from the author to the reader.  Neither Jane Austen nor Elizabeth Bennet would pass such remarks with the intention of hurting the subjects of them, of course, but, for crying out loud, how much good (VERY good) comedy doesn't have a sting in it?
Julie

Dear Julie,

You are right in every particular. I would only add some details about timing and shift some of the emphasis. Wickham did not arrive on the scene until well after Darcy and, yes, it may have been as much as a month after. Elizabeth was indeed attracted to Wickham whom Jane Austen described as handsomer than Darcy though Darcy looked well enough. And, like Willoughby, Wickham knew how to seduce a woman - Darcy did not. Also, Jane Austen did envision Elizabeth as confident, even headstrong; so much so that Miss Elizabeth placed too much confidence in her impressions which she confused for insight - that is the point of the novel. What Elizabeth Bennet might have thought as reasoned analysis did, sometimes, become cruel sarcasm. HOWEVER, in every case of that kind of error Jane Austen punished Elizabeth for it. Most often, Jane Austen did that by delivering a telling verbal blow from the mouth of Darcy but, sometimes, Elizabeth would be taught a lesson from circumstances, such as in the case of her spiteful thought in regards to Miss Darcy.

Her punishment of Elizabeth Bennet makes me believe that Jane Austen, herself, is not to be thought of as a spiteful person - quite the contrary. Yet the things you point to, especially the "dead-baby" remark, in a letter to Cassandra, do exist and must be explained. What do you think of this explanation? Jane Austen was the family clown and came to think it her role to make every one laugh. As I have proven myself, in the last few postings, a clown can sometimes try too hard. The result of that can sometimes be inappropriate, I mean the pressure of wanting to entertain will sometimes provide a ghastly result - a result that the inventor herself would wish to retrieve. It is the mood of our century to place more faith in the spontaneous remark rather than the carefully rewritten thought, but I am in no such mood. I can easily imagine that letter being posted to Cassandra and Jane then wishing she could intercept it. In the past, you have accused me of being in love with Jane Austen, so much so that my judgment is clouded. If you argue that way here, then I will have no defense. But, can you not see the plausibility in my argument?

However, none of this is to the point; we were started on this discussion after the brilliant posting of "Anonymous" who pointed to an ironic final statement of Elizabeth at the first proposal. I have been thinking and thinking about that posting and have been completely won over. What other interpretation is possible? Smashing! It is regrettable that such a fine, sensitive mind as Anonymous's should be given over to habituating the minds of American youth to things like "irony" or "iambic pentameter". You can just sense that steel-trap like mind holding back the most important example of irony in Pride and Prejudice - probably held back to tease the already addicted mind. I am thinking here of that passage where everyone is seated about in an evening at Netherfield. Elizabeth is there to visit her sister who had been taken ill. We can almost feel Elizabeth's self satisfaction after she squashed Darcy for a remark that he had made about "accomplished women", the irony being that he had made that remark in order to defend her when she was teased by the rest of the party for her preference for reading over that of card playing.
Love, Ashton

Dear Ashton,

I reach a different conclusion with regard to the 'dead baby' comment, but my conclusion may well serve to illustrate your point re Jane Austen's position in her family.  I don't see her as the family clown, however.  To me, the fact that the comment has survived at all indicates that her sister and severest censor, Cassandra, did not see it as in any way atypical of her sister, or likely to surprise the members of her family who later saw it. As Cassandra would have appeared to excised far more (to us) innocuous comments, I must conclude either that both sisters were lacking in sensitivity (which I do not believe), or that both were able to appreciate rather barbed humour. Indeed, Jane Austen herself makes something of a comment on this issue in another letter to her sister: she rattles on for a while, then gives news of a death, after which she comments that her earlier chatter seems out of place in such circumstances.  She then goes on to say, 'Never mind, nobody else will be attacked by it (her levity), and it will do you no harm.'

From the Meister: You're right; "clown" is the wrong
choice of words. What do you say to "family jester"?

Irony, irony.  There is another dimension to the irony of the Pemberley piece you mention, I think.  Miss Bingley talks about the 'accomplished' woman.  What a useless object!  Mr Darcy, on the other hand, is talking of the educated woman, which is quite a different species.  Miss Bingley depressingly describes the expectations of many of her class, that women will be charming, elegant, able to speak French, sit a horse attractively and play the piano. Remember Mr Knightley? 'I know of no greater luxury, sir, than to sit at one's ease and be amused by two such women - sometimes with music, sometimes with conversation.'  Sounds like the pasha visiting the harem, though I'm sure that's not what he meant!  Darcy was talking of education, not superficial bits and pieces.  Now you must forgive me here if I'm being anachronistic, but I'm full of George Eliot at present, and the Pemberley scene makes me recall poor, unhappy, Mrs Transome in Felix Holt, condemned to 'useless embroidery which neither she nor anyone else wanted.'

Jane Austen examines this issue subtly, too, in Mansfield Park.  The Miss Bertrams' education, 'anxious and expensive', taught them to 'be distinguished for accomplishments, the authorised object of their youth.'  Lady Bertram sits on the sofa, pursuing handiwork 'of little use and no beauty.'

But I digress. Elizabeth may well get snotty with Darcy on the subject of the educated/accomplished woman, as she, with all her natural intelligence and facility with language, is neither. This is not necessarily her fault, as the Bennet girls seem to have been brought up with no plan for their education at all. Mr Bennet is not too far off the mark when he describes Elizabeth, at the beginning of the novel, as 'silly and ignorant, like other girls - but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.'

Meister: The point is that Miss Bingley was trying to put Elizabeth
down and Darcy was trying to defend her. And, Elizabeth was so
eager to put her foot into Darcy's mouth, that she didn't grasp what
was happening. That's not unaccomplished, it is immature.

This English attitude on education for women of the upper classes apparently lasted for some time:  The Mitford sisters, children of Lord Redesdale (Uncle Matthew from Love in a Cold Climate) all bitterly bewailed their lack of education.  They were all kept at home, and expressly forbidden to go to school (though Jessica actually qualified herself for entrance to the local school), in the early years of this century.  Their father thought school would 'vulgarise' them.
Julie

Dear Bruce,

You are quite right of course; we have slipped into assumptions about the paramount nature of the novel which are not true. Your list of alternatives is a good one to which I would only add biographies and from which I might only subtract histories. (I would leave histories to history teachers much as I would not want my youngster taught composition by a math teacher.)

Shouldn't poetry be included? Julie and my wife would want the metaphysical poets, but I would start them with easy stuff, like the lyrics from Bob Dylan songs

Still, I am thinking about Tess Durbeyfield during her argument with her mother. Mom had just heard the whole story of Tess's encounter with Alec d'Urberville and challenged Tess with "You ought to have been more careful if you didn't mean to get him to make you his wife!" Tess flies into a passion (her only defect, right?) and counters with

"How could I be expected to know? I was a child when I left this house four months ago. Why didn't you tell me there was danger in men-folk? Why didn't you warn me? Ladies know what to fend hands against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks; but I never had the chance o' learning in that way, and you did not help me!"

My family background is blue collar, to be more precise, dysfunctional blue-collar. That class is very clear in what they want in their children's English classes: They want their children to be able to read contracts, job descriptions, and manuals. Perhaps that is why so many of us did not learn what it was we should fend our hands against - I am still not sure to this day.

Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that only crappy, popular books should ever be taught in HS. I hated everything I read in HS except Lysistrata and The Scarlet Letter. Of course, much of my HS's course WAS crap; my attempts to re-read Native Son and When The Legends Die reveal that, even at the tender age of 17, I had at least some literary taste. (I know there is some well written minority fiction out there somewhere, right? But maybe their publishers don't contribute to the teachers' unions.)

Certainly, if real literature is going to be taught, it should be with a set and specific lesson plan.  The reason HS students get irony and only irony out of Jane Austen is that, just like any other job, there are too many shirkers among the teachers. Irony requires very little thought from the students and absolutely none from the instructor. Everyone can get a passing grade.  And so everyone's happy. The students, because they get an easy assigment; the teachers because they get out of real work;  the administrators because they can submit passing grades; and the parents because their kids are being efficiently babysat at little or no expense. Nor are any dangerous concepts, like that sexual attaction isn't the best judge of another's character, introduced. And let's face it, only aging fuddy-duddies like ourselve give a damn.

Not quite off the subject, there's an hilarious parody of the one-page high school papers by the "cello rock" group "Rasputina."  It's called "The Donner Party" and it's on an album called "Thanks for the Ether".  If you can sample it somewhere, it's worth the effort.
Cheryl

P.S. Perhaps Hardy kills Tess at the end because he knew that if sex, violence, or war is added, men are allowed to read soap operas and call them "literature".

Dear Cheryl, Bruce, Ashton, and Ray,

It has taken me this long to regain my equilibrium after reading Ray's revelation: A LIBRARIAN! I mean, how can you bear it?  How can you bear to have people handling your books, and actually taking them away?  I'd be beside myself.  But then, I have been known to buy up copies of books I love (and own) from bookstalls, because I can't bear to see them there, neglected.  I have seven copies of The Go-Between, six of which were acquired from second-hand book stalls. Problem?  No, of course I don't have a problem.

Perhaps the difficulties people experience with the way in which English Literature is presented to school students lies with the age at which it is introduced? Formal English (the stuff written in England, I mean, not a trans-atlantic dialect), is becoming increasingly removed from everyday use. As German and Greek, for example, acknowledges the existence of a vernacular and a 'high' or formal version, so English is increasingly developing a similar structure.  Hence Ashton's excellent point that poorly-educated parents (of which my own were two), knowing from experience the difficulties to be encountered by the formally illiterate, wish their children to understand 'business English', for lack of a better term.  If this sound education of formal English could be given, study of 'literary' English might be appreciated by the older, more committed student who finds him or herself to have an interest in language.  One simple example, from Pride and Prejudice:  Elizabeth comments on the fact that her sister Jane is 'candid'.  So she is, but to a modern reader this would make no sense, as today 'candid' means forthright, honest, and, perhaps, tactless.  Jane Austen used the word to mean 'looking for the best' - in this sense the word is closer to its Latin root, meaning 'white'.  There is hardly a page of Jane Austen's novels that would not present a modern reader, equipped with only television English, with incomprehensible sentences. The apostrophes alone would be enough to confound them!

As for your English irony teachers:  it's easy, it's quick, it's acknowledged to exist, and it may make the misery of reading all those essays a little more bearable.  I'd rather clean toilets than teach, anyway, so I don't feel qualified to comment.  But I must say, in defence of some teachers, that I was first introduced, firmly and none too gently, to Jane Austen, and the world of literature in general, by one unholy cow of a teacher, who could slay with a single clause of her tongue, who absolutely insisted that our language is beautiful, complicated, and well worth learning. As I left school at the age of fifteen, she must have done something right!

Now, I take my life in my hands and confess that I can't understand, Ashton, how you can appreciate and sympathise with a Tess Durbeyfield, and be so completely antipathetic to the attractions of Miss Eyre?
Julie

Dear Gang,

Julie has provided one interpretation of the English language and I propose to put forward a quite different view. I don't believe, as does Julie, that the boarding-school version is an ancient form; rather, I think of it as a nineteenth-century invention. If true, then it is a recent dialect and one that Jane Austen never heard. I, as all Americans, love to listen to that beautiful dialect, but I cannot help observing that it is atonal and, as such, I doubt that it resembles the language of Shakespeare. Think about the Kenneth Branaugh productions: Aren't you disappointed with his versions of Henry's harangue before Agincourt or Hamlet's soliloquies on "to be or not to be" and "Oh, what a lovely work is man" (talk about irony!)? I think Branaugh is more the victim of his dialect than lack of talent. Listen to an Irish or Scot actor deliver those same speeches sometime, and you will hear what I mean. I have heard (this will sound very odd in Tasmania) that if you want to hear Shakespeare's dialect, you must go to certain regions of Ireland or to isolated Chesapeake Bay communities in America, but it is not to be heard anywhere in the England of today. It is my prejudice to believe that legend. This difference in views is only a small part of something larger that Ms. Grassi and I must resolve; I believe that things changed dramatically in the nineteenth century after Jane Austen's death, things that must be understood in the study of Jane Austen's vision.

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