Does anybody know where I might buy the VIDEO:
"The Making Of Pride And Prejudice" ? ?   The A&E one.  ?
Thank you very much.
Robert Falcon
Houston, Texas

Here is a link to a valuable resource on the filmed versions of Jane Austen novels. Here is another.

If, in your travels, you find out what Jennifer Ehle is doing these days, come back and tell us about it.

Dear Ashton,

I agree with your description of the Emma-Knightley relationship as more of a mentoring relationship than a father-daughter relationship.  The reason I at first described their relationship as father-daughter is that Emma's relationship with her real father sometimes seems like the relationship of a woman married to a much older man.  She must take constant care of him and he gets very upset if he feels that she is not paying enough attention to him. Mr. Woodhouse very rarely criticizes anything that Emma does or says unless it interferes with his comfort in any way.  Emma, in return, is very solicitous of her father's feelings and does as little to upset him as possible. At one point in the novel, Emma even suggests that she feels she owes her loyalty and attention to her father, and that is one of the reasons she thinks she will never marry.  Mrs. Weston's relationship with Emma is similar to Emma's relationship to her father because she has both of them so wrapped around her little finger that she can get away with anything.  The other thing that I would like to point out is that Mr. Knightley, in the conversation where his and Emma's true feelings are revealed to each other, tells Emma that he didn't realize his love for her until after he thought that she was in love with Frank Churchill.  As soon as he realizes his feelings, he runs off to visit his brother and Isabella in London, giving him no time to improperly reveal his feelings for Emma.  As for the "reversed relationship" between Emma and Mr. Knightley that you proposed, I agree that that is a very apt comparison.  I never really thought about it that way before, but it does seem to make a lot of sense.

By the way, I am currently reading Sanditon.  I have just started it and I have not yet gotten to the part where the mystery authoress takes over for Jane Austen.  It's a real shame that she was never able to finish the story herself.  It seems like a pretty good story so far and also seems to have a lot of potential.  It should be interesting to see how the mystery authoress finishes the story.

As for Emma and Knightley, we have, oddly enough, the perfect arranged marriage: older man, younger woman.  She's marrying up, yet he (presumably) gets plenty of cash and property out of the deal.  Mr. Woodhouse's estate stays in the hands of a local.  You couldn't find anyone better than Knightley, unless Emma has a cousin somewhere.  I can't help but wonder if JA started with the idea of an arranged marriage of apparently unsuitable people and worked backwards, as it were.  If that's the case, let's just be glad we got Emma instead of Forever Amber and the rape fantasy genre it spawned.
Cheryl

Dear Cheryl,

I don't think that Emma was marrying "up". In fact, I believe the Woodhouse family was the first family in the neighborhood. I also don't think that Hartfield would go to Knightley. Knightley only went to live there while the old man lived. Jane Austen told her nieces and nephews that was only another couple of years. Remember that Emma was the younger daughter so we can guess that the older sister was to be the principal inheritor. In fact, Mr. Woodhouse's male heir was that daughter's son and that would not change even if Emma were to bear a son. (Although, Mr. Woodhouse strikes me as a man who would prefer his daughter to his grandson.) Also, that arrangement would have been satisfactory to everyone because, in that way, each daughter would be the mistress of a fine estate.

I would imagine that Emma went into her marriage with a good dowry, that would only have been good manners and the old man's acknowledgement of his sweetest companion and protector. At his death, I imagine Emma recieved some token of affection, but the convention was to leave the wealth concentrated in the hands of the principal inheritor.

I've always just assumed Knightley has the higher social status because we're always hearing about his tenants and because of the meeting that Mrs. E refers to at the end of the book, but of course I'm willing to admit that I may be wrong.

I pondered who the estate would go to, and eventually concluded that, although Emma is the younger sister, Knightley as the older brother would be more likely to inherit.  Of course now I realize that it would defeat the whole purpose of marrying cadet sons (or would it be minor sons?) to propertied young women.   Though that leads me to wonder why Colonel Brandon couldn't have married Eliza.  Just too honest for his dad and older brother, eh?

P.S. I hate to say it, but we need some of your weather this way. We've been cool and cloudy with sprinkles for about 10 days.  This is NOT good for the local wheat crop which around here, runs to thousands of square miles.

Dear Cheryl,

There is no "right" or "wrong" around here - just a bunch of audacious friends stumbling about, trying to help each other, and trying to understand what Jane Austen intended.

I found some explicit things that might help you and me in our stumbling-bumbling about. This first thing is from the third page of the novel.

"Highbury, the large and populous village almost amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn and shrubberies and name, did really belong, afforded [Emma] no equals. The Woodhouses were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. [Emma] had many acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil ... ."

Here is a comparison of Knightley's Donwell Abbey to Hartfield (Chapter XVI).

"...[Elton] must know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family - and that the Eltons were nobody. The landed property of Hartfield certainly was inconsiderable, being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune, from all other sources, was to make them scarcely secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of consequence; and the Woodhouses had long held a high place in the consideration of the neighborhood ... ."

Early in that Chapter, we have this tidbit:

"... Miss Woodhouse [Emma] of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds ..."

The interesting thing here is that Emma is not referred to a someone who was to become an heiress, so maybe Jane Austen intended that Emma had inherited that much from her mother. A lot of folks become impatient when I try to convert these amounts to modern purchasing power, but the devil makes me do it anyway. England's Prince Edward has recently produced an excellent video Crown and Country and then he produced a sequel. In that, the devil makes Edward use the factor of 200 to compare amounts (go ahead - make my day - challenge the authority of a Prince!) That would make Emma's 30,000 pounds the equivalent of 6 million pounds of modern purchasing power or $10 million American.

Compare that to this passage from Chapter VIII of Volume 2:

"[Emma] ... was pleased to see Mr. Knightley's [carriage]; for Mr. Knightley keeping no horses, having little spare money and a great deal of health, activity, and independence, was too apt, in Emma's opinion, to get about as he could, and not use his carriage so often as became the owner of Donwell Abbey. ... ."

To All,

I'm ba-a-ck!  No, I don't think that the Donwell family were the social superiors of the Woodhouses - rather, their wealth was expressed differently. Jane Austen speaks of the landed property as being 'a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune, from other sources, was such as to make them scarcely secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of consequence   and the Woodhouses had long held a high place in the consideration of the neighbourhood which Mr Elton had first entered not two years ago, to make his way as he could...' Emma was feeling rather out of sorts at the time she made these mental observations, having just been proposed to by a man without any alliances but in trade!  She further notes to herself that the Woodhouses had 'been settled for several generations at Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family.'

Emma and her sister each had thirty thousand pounds.  Where the actual estate went upon Mr Woodhouse's death, we are unable to say, but it was not uncommon for obscure cousins, etc, to turn up and inherit.  Jane Austen in her letters mentioned more than one acquaintance, and had at least two male relatives, who changed their names upon inheriting estates from distant relatives.  Things being as they were, it is quite likely that the Hartfield estate was entailed 'in default of heirs male' onto some other branch of the family.  But this can only be speculation.  I have always been a bit curious about those 'other sources', myself.  A lot of good old British money had some connection with slavery - I doubt, for instance, that Sir Thomas was paying award wages to his Antigua farmhands.  Slavery is touched upon in 'Emma', by Miss Fairfax, and Mrs Elton, coming from Bristol, would be very likely to have known people whose money was made in some degree by slave trading.

Emma's marriage to Mr Knightley, assuming that it produced children, significantly changed the fortunes of Mr John Knightley's children.  Emma herself was against Mr Knightley's supposed engagement to Miss Fairfax on the grounds that Master Henry Knightley would then cease to become the eventual heir of Donwell.  Of course, she had no such concerns regarding her own marriage to Mr Knightley, and has by that stage gained sufficient insight to laugh at herself and her earlier scruples.
Julie

From the Meister: Where in hell
have you been!? You know I worry!

Dear Heather,

I was startled by your revelation about your parents. Umm - do you think that sort of thing wide-spread? My parents were pristine - I'm sure - pretty sure - I will ask my brothers and sister. Your comments are fascinating - Skookum.

Prior to your posts I had a positive feeling about the Juvenilia, but you have made my respect grow for our young Lady. To me, those early writings had seemed the humorous efforts of a bright, and lively young girl. One maddening aspect is that the various writings are not dated. Why should they be, as these were merely the attempts of the juvenile Jane Austen to amuse her family. (What would this sweetheart have thought if she had known that academics and Male Voices would be pouring over them two hundred years hence?) Yet, I found no evidence of the great author to come in her "Volume the First". Your postings help me understand that Jane Austen had a precocious sense of literary style. THAT is impressive. You are the first to impress upon me the possibility that Fielding was an influence. That makes a lot of sense and is consistent with some other things that I have read.

By "Volume the Second", the fully formed Jane Austen had emerged and the transition seems sudden to me. She must have succeeded in her efforts to entertain, because, we are told, when her dad bought this second notebook, he took care to buy the finest writing paper then available in England. Only the first sign that papa knew what was growing in his home.

It is possible to buy the Juvenilia of both Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte under the same cover. I didn't buy it because I made a snap judgment based upon the cover: The editor could not have been very good because he did not title the combination Sense and Sensibility.

I have a couple of questions. First of all aren't you being a bit harsh about the epistolary form when you say this about it: "... a conceit which authors still love to use, and contemporaries picked it up not only to copy it, as Austen does in Lady Susan, but sometimes, as with Fielding’s Shamela, to ridicule it."? Our Lady also wrote the first draft of Sense and Sensibility in this form. Was Fielding ridiculing the epistolary form or was he ridiculing Richardson? I guess the epistolary form was a failure because it proved too inefficient, but it always seemed to me to be a good experiment.

A question about your "Jane Austen as Radical" seminar, are we to think Jane Austen a radical because she had a precocious sense of literary styles and a gently irreverent sense of humor? I seems to me that, by those standards, this Bulletin Board has become a forum for Mongols and Huns.

Reference: 6/27/99

Dear Ashton,

I once subscribed to an e-mail "program" which consisted of a story told through e-mails as if I had accidentally intercepted them.  Every day or so, I would receive another e-mail from one or other of the two lovers who were writing them.  Eventually, over the course of two or three weeks, the whole story was told and the relationship was over (as was my subscription).  Had I been at all displeased with the epistolary form of writing a novel, I certainly would never have subjected myself to the program.

But I see where you're having the problem with my opinion of the epistolary form.  I have misused a word.  I should have said that the epistolary form is a style or construct that is often used.  A "Conceit" in literary terms is not simply an old form of "concept," but rather a concept that compares two things, such as stars compared to the eyes of one's beloved. I could say that it was a typo, but it wasn't.  I was just in too much of a hurry to get to the bones of my argument to be careful.

The epistolary form is a marvelous and difficult way of communicating a story, and much as I dislike Richardson (he's soooo booooring), he is quite masterful in the form.  Many contemporaries picked up on that style of writing because it was so unique and intriguing, and a form of writing that everyone is familiar with.  Not everyone was a gifted letter-writer, but Richardson's letters are all written by people who know how to make their correspondence interesting (if not concise).  I also think it was and remains a popular style because of the voyeuristic feel to it.  I mean, it is such bad manners (not to mention illegal) to read other people's mail, and yet here we are allowed, in fact encouraged, to do so.

Other writers poked fun at the style because the sheer volume of mail that passed through the pages of Richardson's novels makes one wonder when the authors of same had time to get out there and have the adventures of which they write!

I am sorry that Austen cut short her novel in the epistolary form, using a "mere" narrator to sum up the final events of Lady Susan.  I often wonder what prompted her to do so.  Was she under some sort of self-imposed deadline?  Was she hoping to finish it to read or present to someone on a special occasion?  Was she merely bored with the whole effort and wanted to conclude it as expeditiously as possible?  Did she plan to get back to it?  I have no idea.  All I am certain of is that she showed in the first part of the novel that she was perfectly capable of writing in that difficult style and no predicaments arose in the ending of the plot that would prevent people from writing to one another.  Certainly, in Clarissa there are many occasions when letter writing becomes difficult (as when she is being watched and must hide the letters in the garden for their intended recipients) or unnecessary, as when she actually moves in with one of her correspondents.  Eventually, the poor woman dies, and yet letters written by her hand continue to be found or delivered here and there.  Richardson was nothing if not inventive, and Austen an astute pupil.  I know she could have finished the novel in the same manner that she started it, and am disappointed that she didn't.

Dear Heather,

Let me mention two well-known examples of epistolary form lest we concentrate too much on Richardson. I am thinking of Goethe's Sorrows of Young Werter (1774), and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1817). Are you familiar with Richardson's Gradison? I am not, but I do know that the teen-aged Jane Austen was infatuated with that novel to the extent that our Lady celebrated the wedding anniversaries mentioned in the novel. And, of course, Jane Austen's next literary love, Fanny Burney, wrote in that style.

If you think about it, letters play an important role in some of Jane Austen's novels. I am thinking, primarily, of the letters of Darcy and Wentworth. But there is also the letter of Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston about which, bye the by, Julie and I have an unresolved argument.

For me, the style has two appealing aspects. For one, we are allowed to learn about a character from reading between the lines - lines written by the character herself. That is the way we have to do things in real life. I mean it frees the reader a bit by eliminating the authorial voice. Would you agree that an "authorial voice" is unnatural in the sense that we can never know the absolute truth in real life as we do so often when reading novels in the narrative form? The other advantage is that the epistolary form lends itself, more naturally, to the development of two or even more main characters. I like that - I prefer the Roshomon-view of life.

I think that Hardy achieves a bit of this in narrative form. I am thinking of the end of The Return of the Native where we are not absolutely sure that Eustacia committed suicide. I mean that if you and I were sitting on a coroner's jury, we would both vote for that judgment with some confidence, but the narrator does not tell us this explicitly. So, just as in real life, you and I might leave that hypothetical inquest with a little doubt. I am so very glad that Hardy did that - it should be done more often.

Dear Sir,

We have no disagreements regarding Mr Churchill's letter: you simply haven't come around to my point of view yet.  Quite a different thing.

I have never like the 'epistolary novel' - in fact, I have never been able to read through Lady Susan (I have the same problem with much of the juvenalia).  Genuine letters, however, like diaries, I find fascinating. I'm probably being unfair on a style of writing simply because it doesn't suit me, but to me the epistolary novel is lazy, inasmuch as the novelist is spared the effort of constructing much physical detail, many subsidiary characters, and most of the 'live' interaction of the characters.  Jane Austen was capable of much better work, as she proceeded to show us all. And where would have been the fun of Darcy's letter to Elizabeth, for instance, without our being able to be with Elizabeth at first hand after she had read it?
Julie

I have some news of interest but I fear I am about to be become sexist and/or anti-feminist. So I present this information in the full and certain knowledge that I should know better.

Just this very day I got the list of the twelve people who will be attending the seminar. Here they are (first names only) Helen, Helene, Jeanne, Elmira, Carla, Maureen, Rita, Mona, Claire, Dorinda, Caroline and last of all, Ray. To keep from getting in more trouble than I am probably already in, I will have nothing further to say on the subject, at least until I get back.

From the Meister: You are right;
you are about to become very sexy.

Moving right on here, I have for your enjoyment an anatomy of a mis-quote. Julie raised the question as to whether or not Lady Russell should have had the quote about "heat keeping one in a continuos state of inelegance " attributed to her. Here is a perfect example of how these things happen: several years ago I saw that quote somewhere and since I am usually in a state of inelegance, and since that state is often caused by the heat, I seized on the quote without paying the least attention where I had seen it, never dreaming that I would have cause years later to regret that I had not written down the source, Then I was struck down by the BBC which made a film version of Persuasion which I was watching several months ago. Right there on the screen Lady Russell says to Anne the thing about the heat. I perk up and say, "Ah, that's where it came from."  Now I ask you, if you can't depend on the BBC to be true to this text thing you guys are always talking about, who can you depend on?

When I read the letter from Julie I went to the index to all six novels and found only one use of the word inelegant, and it was not in Persuasion. Also, "heat" did not lead me to the quote so I can only conclude, which actually I did as soon as I read Julie's post, that I was in trouble with this "text" thing again.

I have learned one thing from this experience and that it that I do not need to be more exact, I need to be more vague. If I had just been vague enough to pass the quote off as "Jane Austen said" I would be home free.

Dear Folks,

All of this talk about feminism and the passing reference to "Jane Austen as radical" has made me nervous. I have this nightmare scenario in which eleven women force me to consider the possibility that my favorite author was no more than an early-day feminist and was radical to the extent that no man could ever understand and that the fact that she was charming, had a great command of the language, and was a observer of the human condition without rival, has no bearing on her real importance as a rallying point for women and their rights, which, as we all know, are being downtrodden by men, and is it not a shame, and how did I have the nerve to even show up?

What I need here is for everyone here assembled to get over on the wrong side of the politically correct fence and give me some lines to use in case neither my charm nor my size can pull me through an all out attack. Or have we given up? What I’m hoping is that others will have mercy on me, go against their beliefs and tell me what to say. I swear I will never reveal the source.

If even the most basic help is out of my reach, perhaps I could get just a little example of what I might expect so that I will not be completely without prior exposure.

This is my first time, so please be gentle with me.

Reference: Ray's post of 7/2/99

Dear Ray,

This is a page for Male Voices.  You go ahead and set the tone, and don't worry your pretty little head about it.

I think Ashton and I have decided to forego the argument on feminism as his definition is quite satisfactory and fits with his usage.  He was trying to say that Austen did not dislike men.  I agree.  As for my definition, I must warn my fellow Voices that, I often view my lexicon as Carroll’s Humpty Dumpty views his:

. . . and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents--'
`Certainly,' said Alice.
`And only ONE for birthday presents, you know. There's glory for you!'
`I don't know what you mean by "glory,"' Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. `Of course you don't--till I tell you. I meant "there's a nice knock-down argument for you!"'
`But "glory" doesn't mean "a nice knock-down argument,"' Alice objected.
`When _I_ use a word,' Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, `it means just what I choose it to mean--neither more nor less.'
`The question is,' said Alice, `whether you CAN make words mean so many different things.'
`The question is,' said Humpty Dumpty, `which is to be master ­ that's all.'

I shall try to keep you all informed as to what I mean by various things, but since it’s all very clear to me, you may have to call me on my usage sometimes, and that’s glory for you.

Oh -- while I'm on the subject of glory and birthdays, many happy returns to the oldest living democracy in the known universe, and thank you.  And if you'll allow me to wave my charming little flag a moment, our 132nd was on the first of the month. Your nation was born in revolution and united by liberty.  We sent a petition and tied ourselves together with a railroad track (and it's getting pretty rusty out there in Quebec).  Oh well, so far, so good. Happy birthday to us, and a very merry unbirthday to the rest.

Now, as for my back-handed reference to "Jane Austen As Radical", that was the name of the course which was just meant to be a study of Austen’s works with a goal in mind.  It could have been anything, really. I can’t say what motivates professors to come up with these ideas ­ boredom, perhaps.  Do we really want another course in "Irony in the Works of Jane Austen"? Ray, I know your answer.

In another course, we tried to prove that Elizabeth Gaskell was as fine a writer as other more famous Victorians, but our unanimous opinion at the end of it all was that she was a very good writer with a fine sense of humour and a marvellous ability to create characters, but her plots had no real brilliancy and she had nothing to say that others hadn’t said better.  Similarly, we all bravely attempted to prove the idea that Austen was a Radical, and interestingly, some were convinced, but I think that overall, it was a failure.  Austen was certainly ahead of her time, stylistically stands on her own, and her works have amazing staying power, especially when compared to those of her contemporaries.  Very little of what she has to say in her novels can be construed as being in the least bit Radical, however.  She seems to me to be someone who would prefer that life be kept simple and rustic if the only alternative is to make it slick, sophisticated and citified, that the family unit and the institution of marriage withstand all the forces of change that are beating on them, and that true affection, the likeness of minds, maturity, and some financial means are the very things to give much needed strength to every union.  Pretty traditional thinking, really, which makes her something other than a radical. Austen didn’t blow along in the winds of revolution as did many of the other much ballyhooed writers of her time. The word "maverick" (if we can keep from picturing Austen as a young calf or an automobile) fits her much better.

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