Dear Voices,

Oh, you guys have such fun on the weekends, and my only reasonable access to the web is at my office computer. Today, Monday, my daughter is sick and I'm still at home, so I have accessed your page on my terribly slow clunker.  I'll try to post something from here, but this never seems to work.

Anyway, Ray is toughing it out by himself rather well, so no need for me to add my two cents on his behalf.  I'm not sure if Canadian currency is accepted here anyway.  Besides, I only agree with him on the point of Mr. Bennet, whom I have always loved.  I almost fell off my chair with the comparison between Darcy and Sir Walter, but now my curiosity is piqued.  Theoretically any two things in the universe can be compared to one another.  Hence, this posting in which, since I'm too far out of the loop in this argument, will consist of a comparison of two 18c writings, one of which will come from Austen's Juvenilia.  (A word that I hate in reference to Jane Austen because it reminds me of genitalia and makes me feel as I did when I was about twelve and had a dawning suspicion that my parents had - gulp - you know.)

While I'm on the subject of sex, a general comparison of Austen's early works with other writers that she admired or at least must have read, makes me decide that Austen is more concerned with human interaction than human form, and while she acknowledges sex as a motivator of action, she does not dwell upon it as, say Henry or Sarah Fielding do.

Comparing her early works with her later ones, I have decided that she does not depend as much on irony for her humour, and uses a great deal of hyperbole, role reversal, and surprise, or shock to make people laugh.  I also think that we get a clearer glimpse at Austen herself, as we do in her letters, as if these works were written for the eyes of her family and friends only. They reveal, like her letters, an unreserved expression of Austen's ideas.  She won't learn self-editing skills for a while, I suppose, and so we get some truly unguarded comments.

Over the next few postings I will compare Austen to one other 18c writer who either wrote sentimental novels or poked fun at them.  The first from the latter category, Alexander Pope. From "The Rape of the Lock" (Line 1717 or Canto II 1-6).  Belinda emerges from her toilette where she has appropriately armed herself to meet with Society (Pope is satirizing a much earlier form of writing - the epic - from which the sentimental novel takes its cues.)

Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain,
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main,
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams
Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames.
Fair nymphs and well-dressed youths around her shone,
but every eye on her was fixed alone.

This is mock-heroic, mock-serious, and a parody of a difficult form.  It relies on subtlety and a knowledge of the form that is being parodied for its humour.

JA's answer to Pope I have taken from "Jack and Alice" (Ch.1)  The country gentry attend a masque and various individuals and their costume are described.

Of the Males a Mask representing the Sun, was the most universally admired.  The Beams that darted from his Eyes were like those of that glorious Luminary tho' infinitely superior.  So strong were they that no one dared venture within half a mile of them  he had therefore the best part of the Room to himself, its size not amounting to more than 3 quarters of a mile in length and half a one in breadth.  The Gentleman at last finding the feirceness [sic] of his beams to be very inconvenient to the concourse by obliging them to croud together in one courner of the room, half shut his eyes by which means, the Company discovered him to be Charles Adams in his plain green Coat, without any mask at all.

This is all hyperbole and ridiculousness.  It has the same sort of silliness that made Stephen Leacock a great humourist years later.  Austen is perhaps a little less polished than Pope, but no less clever.

My daughter beckons, so that's it for me.  Maybe someone else can add something.

Next posting:  Samuel Richardson's The History of Clarissa Harlowe (my favourite lines therefrom) compared to Austen's "Frederic and Elfrida."  Be sure to read Clarissa so that you can be fully prepared.  Please refer to the unabridged version.

To Everyone,

Having recently finished Emma, I am having trouble understanding the relationship between Emma Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley.  It's obvious that they've been friends all along, but they act more like father and daughter than lovers. I'm sure that in some ways they do love each other, but it seems like cradle-robbing to me, especially by today's standards. I also have a little trouble with Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill's relationship. Obviously they can mutually improve each other, Jane improving Frank's character and Frank improving Jane's position in society, but other than that they don't seem to have much in common.  Overall I liked Emma but I must say that I liked Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park better. I'm planning on rereading all six novels later on in the summer, but right now I'm taking a break and reading a few books by Daphne du Maurier.  Maybe when I re-read Emma things will become a little more clear to me.

P.S. Congrats to Ash and his wife and (belatedly) to Julie Grassi and her husband on celebrating their anniversaries!

Happy Solstice Day and happy Anniversary to Ash and his no doubt lovely wife. I suppose that at 16 years this past March, my husband and I would rate as high as a condescending smile?
P.S. As there is no full moon this year, the local virgins are safe.

Ray:  any (literate) southerner who says he can't read Margaret Mitchell is MY kind of southerner.  I've never even made it through the movie. Of course I am a Yankee, and the more civil war history I read, the Yankier I get.

Julie: the World Cup -- Wow! I suppose it's been a two day party down in your part of the world.

From the Meister: Ah-oh - maybe you shouldn't have said that!

Dear Ashton,

I just watched Sense and Sensibility (again) recently and I can't for the life of me figure out why Emma Thompson changed the story of Eliza, Colonel Brandon's cousin and first love. It seems to me that if the intention was to put a purely feminist spin on the movie, the fact that Eliza was coerced into marrying the older brother to save the estate from debt should have been left as it was.  And if the spin was class wars then the novel truly was perverted from its original intention.

The statement that Thompson's Elinor makes -- something like "We cannot even earn our fortune," seems like an insult to the millions of working class women who did just that.  The problem is that when we root for JA's heroine's we're rooting for what is essentially a parasitic class of women. Unlike a farmer's daughter, the Misses Dashwood bring little or no direct economic advantage to the household, except a dowry.  They don't spin or weave; they can't work in the fields for eight hours a day; and, it's doubtful that they can even cook.  Mrs. Price shows us how disastrous it can be when such women marry into real life.  This isn't to say that running a household where the equivalent of cold running water involves half a dozen servants wasn't a serious job, just to point out that it's not on the same level as doing without almost anything (clothes, shoes, soap, etc.) you can't manufacture in your own home.

So did I just miss something in the movie, or the book (my least favorite JA) or what?

Dear Cheryl,

At this site, it is you and I that are the least capable of putting aside our blue-collar backgrounds. We wear those blue stains with pride. It is you and I that are least able to focus upon the class of Jane Austen's heroines and we wonder about the other 99% of the women in Jane Austen's England.

Still, I want to say something positive about those heroines in reponse to your characterizations. I think of those estates as mid-sized corporations. The principle families might have been like the top managers of today, but with far more humanity. When Elizabeth joined Darcy at Pemberley, she brought valuable management skills that were acquired as a natural part of her upbringing. If his income was ten thousand a year before his marriage, it might have increased to eleven after when Elizabeth relieved him of household responsibilities so that he could focus on the estate, the farms of his tenants, and any investments. If you think about the woman, you might agree that Mrs. Darcy probably more than made up for her tiny dowry. I would estimate that Elizabeth had the responsibility for the management of something in excess of one hundred servants, many of whom would have lived under her care and protection as well. Mrs. Darcy would have to keep track of the well being of the servant families and any servant pensioners. What a boon she must have been to that estate.

It is a near certainty that Elizabeth could not cook because Mrs. Bennet boasted to Mr. Collins that none of her daughters could cook. It is equally certain that Mrs. Darcy always served the best meals in the neighborhood.

Another thing, Darcy was educated and refined and would have been grateful for any art and music that came in his way. He could not obtain CDs or prints and was dependent upon his wife for supplying those needs. It was Elizabeth who had been trained to bring culture into the home and it was Darcy who had been trained to appreciate it and be thankful for it. Remember, there is more than a single reference to Darcy's admiration of Elizabeth's musical skills.

And who presided at Pemberley? We live in an age of feminist bowdlerism and so we assume that Darcy decided on who visited and what was to be done during the evening, and we assume that it was Darcy that sat at the head of the table. Maybe that is correct but I suspect it is not. I think the woman sat at the head of the table and the man sat at the foot. I may be dead wrong since my wild guess is based upon a single passage from Emma. This is from Chapter XVI of Volume 2. Emma has just been introduced to Mrs. Elton and decides (note) to honor the new bride with a dinner:

"Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons. They must do no less than others, or she should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful resentment. A dinner there must be. After Emma talked about it for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, with the regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him."

Dear Ashton,

I agree with what you're saying about what Elizabeth may have contributed indirectly to Mr. Darcy's income, and I don't want to discount that, but we can really only theorize this based on Elizabeth's personality.  Lady Bertram and (I suspect) Lady Middleton can not by any stretch of the imagination be supposed to have taken on any of the managerial burdens you described. Georgiana Darcy is the woman of the house at Pemberley.  Do you think her duties go beyond issuing invitations (a duty Mr. Darcy appears to be slowly forcing on to her) and deciding on the menu?  Can you honestly see Mr. Darcy forcing her to dress the servants' chilblains?

You don't describe for Elizabeth a duty that would not have been expected of poorer women, except that they would have  to produce the servants (read: children) as well as take care of them.  Not to mention do the work until the children were old enough to do it themselves. And of course, either work in the fields or do piece work or be in service.  All the while seeing to their husbands' comforts, which aren't that much different, whether one is lord of the manor or a coal miner.

What I was trying to find a roundabout way of saying is that, no matter how terrible it looks from afar, the dowry system, for the gentleman class, made good economic and social sense from the woman's standpoint as well as the man's.  Elizabeth can't look at Mr. Darcy and say "I spun the yarn and wove that shirt you're wearing," or "I raised that chicken you're eating," or "My wages from working at the great house bought that pot we cook in."  She can say, though, that the present she bought him for Christmas came from "her" money, even if it is only the fifty pounds annual  interest her dowry earns.   And just a couple of economic pegs below Darcy, that fifty pounds would be a substantial addition to the family income.  Any adult  who has ever been entirely dependent on another person understands how important that distinction can be. Certainly Darcy is too much the gentleman to ever use money as ammunition for an argument, but of how many real men or women can we say that?

Nope, I said parasitic, and I think I'll have to stick by it.  My mistake was naming only Elizabeth when Darcy should have been included.  But that's another post.
Cheryl

Dear Julie,

Ah, that’s what I’ve got - "mental scurvy". Like all of us that suffer from that disease (and if it is caused by lack of greens, I have definitely got it), I will respond to your well-reasoned point of view by totally ignoring it (although I did read it very carefully and found it to be the type of argument that would win over anyone who did not have "mental scurvy") and will proceed to present my own position which is based somewhat on my position on going to funerals. I decide what funerals to attend based on whether or not the deceased would likely attend my funeral if I had died instead of him/her. This position is, to me, a perfectly logical way to decide such things. Carrying that line of reasoning into other areas of my life, I have come up with a logical extension, which is: I like and appreciate people based on whether or not they would like and appreciate me. Now, in my wildest dreams and under no circumstances would Darcy ever like or appreciate me. Tilney might find me delightful; I might serve under Captain Wentworth and win his respect; Col. Brandon might find me as plodding as he was and thus worthy of being his friend; my hero, Mr. Bennet and I could chat about the worry of raising daughters; and, Knightly might find my sense of duty to be of the highest order. Darcy would not give me the time of day and would probably have me arrested for fishing in his trout stream.

Thus it is that I don’t like the guy. I delighted in Elizabeth’s blast that she delivered to Darcy upon the occasion of the first proposal. In all points she was right and she should have left it at that. But no, he had money, he had that house, and because he was smitten by Elizabeth he managed to pull himself together and deal with Wickham.

I know that the name on the door here reads Male Voices in Praise of Jane Austen and I do praise her, but not to the extent that I can’t see that she was off on the wrong track with Darcy. Elizabeth was pleased when she got Darcy, so was her mother and so was the author who clearly intended for us to be pleased too.

Lets face it, if Elizabeth was to up and die after having a few daughters, then Darcy would sure as the world become Sir Walter.

Dear Julie,

I might not have read her book, but I have actually seen Margaret Mitchell (no relation). My mother, who knew her socially, pointed her out to me on several occasions. One of my mother’s favorite stories concerns something that Ms Mitchell said to her. They were at a party and my mother said to her, "When I go up north, people are always asking me if I am kin to you." Ms. Mitchell replied, "I would be thrilled to think that people might think that I am kin to a woman who is as gorgeous as you are." Who could ever forget being told something like that, never mind that it was Margaret Mitchell who said it?

Ms Mitchell might not have been highly educated but she surely had all the charm and grace that women of the south used to have. That much charm and grace will replace a lot of education. Peggy, as her family and friends called her, was from an old Atlanta family. She had a bit of a wild streak and her first marriage was to a charming, abusive and alcoholic man. Her second husband was the opposite of the first.

I guess I had better get to reading Gone with the Wind if I am going to be a true representative of the south. Why I have not been able to read the book, I do not know. My great grandfathers were right in the middle of the war, and there are family stories galore about the Yankees marching through Georgia and stealing everything in sight.

Dear Ray,

I thought Margaret Mitchell married but once, and that she died in a car accident at quite a young age.  Or are we discussing somebody else?  I'm confused.

And you're confused too, if you have in any way been able to manufacture a comparison between Darcy and Sir Walter Elliot.  Darcy is not a straightforward character, I grant you (like Jane Fairfax, he is reserved, and likely to be misunderstood), but in no way does he resemble Sir Walter's vain stupidity.  Can you REALLY imagine Darcy running through his money to the extent that he would be obliged to let Pemberley?  Can you suppose him gaining pleasure from the society of such a woman as Mrs Clay (Good heavens, man, look what he thought of Miss Bingley!)?  Consider his housekeeper's comments of him 'I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him since he was four years old.'  And regarding his sister 'anything likely to give her pleasure will be done in a moment.'  And in comparison with his father, 'and his son will be the same - just as affable to the poor.'  And remember that Darcy had already stepped in on Wickham's behalf, and discharged the fellow's debts on his first leaving Lambton (long before Elizabeth was on the scene). Can you imagine Darcy 'giving hints to the afflicted tenantry to show themselves' on his departure?  And name one instance in the novel, please, where Darcy gives evidence of running after his uncle, the Earl, in the way that Sir Walter runs after his cousins, the Dalrymples.

Dislike him as much as you like, of course, but at least be fair!  Darcy was accused of pride, Sir Walter diagnosed by his creator as suffering from vanity ('beginning and end of Sir Walter'). What did Mary Bennet say?  'Pride is what we think of ourselves, vanity relates to what we would have others think of us.'
Julie

Dear Ray,

Darcy is my hero and now you have joined the ranks of those who torment me with ill treatment of my main man. Fortunately, by my calculations, there is one day left of spring so we can still provide you some practice scrimmages in order to prepare you for your trip to England, spring drills as it were. In this way we can test both your game plan and your knees. (I don't want to hear any moaning and groaning as you try to use scurvy as an excuse for resting on the sidelines.)

The drill is to be about gentlemanly behavior. From my perspective, debating a southern man about gentlemanly behavior is like bringing coals to Newcastle - er, I mean insights to Chawton. No problem, this is only a drill and one designed for you to win and so gain confidence.

Try to justify your opinions of Darcy by pointing to the text - I don't think you can do it. I don't think you can do it anymore than Elizabeth Bennet could justify her first impressions. After you place the ball on my side of the court, I will try to refute and, in the bargain, I will reply to Elizabeth Bennet's early opinions point by point. I will then point to the specifics of Mr. Bennet's behavior that make that man's deportment certainly unacceptable in the south, and unacceptable even in the Neanderthal villages of California. You have a scouting report: I often point to contemporary descriptions of Jane Austen which make our Lady seem very much like Darcy. Watch out for that maneuver.

Dear Julie and Ashton,

You guys seem to place a lot of importance on the text. What a quaint approach.  As for me I am the loose cannon type of reader, one who allows his own feeling about the characters to rise above (or as you might suggest, sink below) the text. I can tell that I would have a terrible time with the lot of you if your were to surprise (and delight) me by showing up in Exeter. It would seem that with you there, I would have a terrible time either defending OR attacking the male characters without a lot of "using the text". I had no plans along those lines.

The only point I made and that was conceded (I guess) was my feeling that Darcy would not like me and would have me arrested. I do hereby concede that Jane Austen was pleased with Darcy and that she might have been Darcy, in which case I now have to worry that our Lady would not like me either and would also have me arrested. That is not the kind of baggage I need to carry to England. On the other hand, a statement to the effect that "Jane Austen would hate me.", might be just the kind of ice breaker that a shy guy like me could use to advantage.

Julie, we are talking about the same woman. Margaret Mitchell was born in 1900, was married twice and was killed in 1949 after being struck by a taxi while she was attempting to walk across Peachtree. It was a sad day in Atlanta. Ms Mitchell is buried in a rather nondescript grave in a large cemetery in Atlanta. Tour guides report that it is mostly Japanese tourists who ask to be taken there.

Dear Ray,

I am so embarrassed; I do beg your pardon; I simply didn't understand the rules! (I can be so dense at times.)

Well, this is wonderful because you are completely demolished in this debate and that under your own Georgia rules. How Lydia would laugh. No, you will be welcomed warmly and often at Pemberley. I have taken you for a patrician; however, even if I am wrong about that, remember that Jane Austen established Darcy's liberal credentials early on when our Lady told us that Bingley's family wealth had been "acquired by trade".

No, you will be a great favorite with Darcy, but let me caution you about his wife. When she asks you to advise her about whether or not to have Mr. Hurst arrested, she is only teasing you - just notice her mock-serious manner. Other than that you will be fine - well, except for that time when Elizabeth seats you at the same whist table with Lady Catherine, Lydia, and Mr. Hurst. More teasing though as you will understand when Mrs. Darcy looks at you with that glowing, naughty smile each time she nibbles at the candy dish. If you need any more advice, I will be turning the music for Mary Bennet.

Dear Ash,

Patrick O’Brian, the author of the wonderful seafaring series of books set during the early part of the 1800s, has one of his characters say, "There are two things no man will admit to: being rich or being asleep."  I would like to add one other thing to the list: No man will admit to being a patrician. Except, of course, Darcy and Sir Walter (If I may risk my life by putting those two men together one more time--I swear, Julie, I’ll never do it again).

If you and your buddy Darcy could have seen me tonight when I came into the house drenched in perspiration (or sweat, as we say here in the south) after cutting the grass, you, as a text maven, would no doubt have been reminded of Lady Russell’s remark, "Hot weather does keep one in a continuos state of inelegance." When you and Darcy got a good look at me in my inelegant condition and then found out that I went to work at a drugstore when I was thirteen, making thirty three cents an hour and that I drove a truck delivering auto parts and then, during the summers I was in school, worked on the final assembly line at Lockheed Aircraft, you would do two things at once. First you would withdraw your kind offer of patricianship, and second you would see that I never darkened the door of Pemberly. Unless, of course, there was a desperate need for a fourth to partner Lady Catherine at the whist table. In which case I might be sent for.  My talents at whist and dancing would be my only hope for admittance to the hallowed halls.

I give you and your wife joy on your anniversary. As for me, I have been married for forty-four years, but in my case it has been off and on and to various women, although, in my own defense, I have been married to the last one for twenty five years.

From the Meister: A patrician is as a patrician
does. You are a patrician my friend.

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