Dear People,

Because I'm such a visual-oriented person, I find that I love movies almost as much as books. I like to see how they are interpreted, I particularly like to get a sense of landscape and archetecture (particularly because I've never travelled anywhere) and I love for people I love to come to life before my eyes.

Yes, I even liked the attempt to unite the two endings of Persuasion.  They are both worth a read, even though great chunks are quite repetitive, and it is clear to me why Austen abandoned the first ending in favour of the second.  The whole situation preceding the declaration is awkward and unlikely.  The filmed attempt at uniting the endings was even more awkward and unlikely, but I can't help myself.  The only alternatives would be to choose an ending or do both as seperate little chunks to the great confusion of an audience which has never read an Austen novel in their lives.  I think it would be a great loss not to have both.  Of course, what you end up with is neither, but I'm okay with that.  If you want the book, read the book.  If you want a movie, expect some artistic license.

Ashton is right about Wentworth rushing in and demanding Anne's hand, but, like the kiss in the street, I thought it was a great scene with the added bonus that it was not out of character. In the book, Sir Walter never recognizes his daughter's value.  In the movie he is forced to recognize that someone else recognizes it. He is almost made to think for half a second.

Hentie didn't like the actor who portrayed Wentworth.  Oh well, I thought he was marvelous. I am not of the school of people who likes to look at a cast of actors and pick out the main characters immediately just because they are known movie stars or because they are so incredibly attractive.  I like when a person grows on me.  Such a thing occurred in the movie version of Far from the Madding Crowd when Gabriel started out so dirty and hideous and ended up being a prince.

It is our duty as lovers of Austen to let filmmakers attempt to put her forward as an entertainment for those who have never cracked a cover of Dr. Seuss let alone a book without pictures.  It might tempt them to do so.  We must allow for some disappointment or just suspend our disbelief, and let people who would never kiss in the street, do so.  We must draw the line somewhere, though.  Olivier’s interpretation of P&P will not do at all, for example, but those of us who can tolerate film, seem to like the Ehle/Firth P&P.

Creaking Doors:  At my grampa’s homestead, you pump water from a well out by the barn, but the house has in the last decade, been furnished with an indoor toilet and electric lamps. The place is still heated entirely by the wood stove in the kitchen, however, and to get to the bedrooms, you have to open a door at the bottom of the stairs.  People who have no central heating put doors there on purpose.  I’ve never been to Chawton and never seen the creaking door, but I suspect it has been placed exactly where it should be, unless you’re trying to heat the whole darn house with your puny parlour fireplace.  Stairways and halls are the absolute last things that need to use up precious heat.

Where's our Ray?

From the Meister: I don't know if this is relevant, but
the news services carried a story his week of an American
arrested in Winchester Cathedral and charged with riot.

Dear Heather,

Point taken about judging books by their covers. I have nothing to say in my defense for I knew my statement about Wentworth was silly even before I'd finished typing it. The subject in discussion being Persuasion makes it doubly embarrassing because of the strong resemblance my statement about Wentworth bears to those sentiments so frequently expressed by Sir Walter.

Anyway, I love movies myself, and can with pride claim that both Jack Nicholson and Dustin Hoffman count among my favourite actors. This must, to some extent, prove that physical appearance does not cloud my judgement so entirely. No offence, Jack and Dustin...

You have already expressed your opinion on Persuasion and both the P&P adaptations, but I would like to know what you thought of the other screen adaptations too, especially Emma (with Gwenneth Paltrow) and S&S, the Emma Thomson version.

Although I considered heating as a possible reason for the creaking door's location, I could not be certain, since in Africa we are more concerned with keeping the heat out than preserving it. Thank you for explaining it to me.

To everyone: Let's drop the kissing thing already.

Dear Heather,

I share your love of films and I very much liked the A&E version of P&P and the Amanda-Root version of Persuasion. Have you seen the old Doran-Godwin version of Emma? Did you know that the Olivier version of P&P was based upon a play that was based upon the novel? It was like a game of rumor.

There are at least two filmed versions of Far from the Madding Crowd, both failed in my eyes. The Julie-Christy version was feminist revisionism, and the recent miniseries was too disjointed. There are at least two excellent filmed versions of Hardy novels. I am thinking of the recent production of Tess - starring that wonderful Justine Waddell - and a production of Jude, the Obscure starring Kate Winslet. (You had better be in a good mood before viewing Jude.) Incidentally, Waddell recently turned in another brilliant performance as that horrible Estella of Great Expectations. I first saw her in a minor role in my favorite filmed version of Anna Karenina.

Dear Julie,

OK, so here goes.

• (1) You quote from Wives and Daughters, published posthumously in 1864-6, and written by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell (1810-65). I began to lick my chops when I noticed that you must have sensed that you had inadvertently proved my point. In order to recover, you made your mistake #2.
• (2) "Mrs Gaskell was no contemporary of Jane Austen, naturally, but mores had not changed as much as all that." Wrong! That is the whole point of this debate. I could forgive you if I only thought of you as someone born after WW II and who lived all of her life in New South Wales and Tasmania. I do not forgive you. I was born in the great depression, became aware during WW II, graduated high school in the fifties, lived in Berkeley during the sixties, and am corresponding with you in this decade. I can assure you that mores can change dramatically in only a very short time.
• (3) "If Anne Elliot kissed Captain Wentworth, it would have appeared in the text of the novel. Full stop." This is a continuing error caused by your refusal to remember a quote from Pope that, as you well know, was a favorite of Jane Austen:

  "I do not write for such dull elves
  As have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves"

• (4) "Of course, the Princess Regent of Great Britain was, at the time of the novel's writing, cavorting around Europe with a cavalcade of lovers in her wake and may, for all I know, have bonked up and down the main streets of all European capitals before breakfast  - that is irrelevant, as well. Jane Austen despised the manners of the aristocracy, and particularly those of the court of the Prince Regent." True enough about the Prince; however, in fact, Jane Austen was clearly sympathetic to the Princess. Right?
• (5) "Terms such as 'middle class' and 'bourgeoisie' had yet to be coined ..." Ummm - what are you talking about? Of course the term "bourgeoisie" had been coined.
• (6) "But, really, do you expect to see exhibitions of passion on the street corner when you pop out to buy your bread and milk of a morning?" You can be forgiven for this one, because I know you have not seen the film. However, your Victorian confreres who are posting on this matter deserve to be pilloried. There was nothing like passion in that kiss we are discussing - Not one erotic scintilla. The kiss was one of affection, a sealing of an agreement, and a sign of relief and forgiveness. It was the sweetest of kisses - no hunger, no requests. Shame on all of you and shame on Wentworth if he had not kissed her then. Personally, I have sufficient "ingenuity myself" to be confident of Jane Austen's intent.

Dear Sir,

Oh, do shut up.  You must know by now that I consider references as my especial province, and don't welcome detail on the matter, unless I provide it myself.  O.K.:  I will, here and now, bow out once and for all on the discussion of adaptations.  They are just not me, and I sincerely believe that they were just not her, either.  All the television Willoughbys, Wentworths and Wickhams can do their worst, with my blessing - I shall make no further comment.  Nor should I, since I don't watch the things.

But I do want to explore the Charlotte situation.  I am genuinely intrigued by the anger that her behaviour provokes in so many people.  Why is it so?  From Elizabeth Bennet onwards, why, pray, do people feel at liberty to hate Charlotte Lucas?  Her creator didn't.
Julie

From the Meister: Bow out of a discussion? You know you are constitutionally incapable of carrying out this threat. And all of us are glad of it. Actually, I hope you will watch that Amanda Root version of Persuasion; if you do that, you will come back here and stand with me. After you actually see that kiss, you will be ready to march against those who would present our Lady as an eyeless, bloodless, chicken-less egg.

Dear Ashton,

Ashton, Ashton, Ashton,
As Judith Martin has said over and over, manners is about the appearance  of morals, not about the morals themselves. It's no good you trying to change the criteria on us, although you did have me going for a while.

1. It's naive to think that people in the Regency were so different from us that they wouldn't have made a decent show of being offended by something, even if they would secretly do the same thing themselves.  This, in fact, is the heart of the difference between manners and morals. As for the much abused Victorians, Judith Martin explained their response to pre or extramarital sex: "The Victorian solution  was to put them in separate bedrooms and ignore any nocturnal wandering." Rather like Catherine Morland's parents tacitly approving her correspondence with Henry Tilney, as long as she kept it decently hidden, don't you think?

2. Morals are always more changeable and elastic than manners.  This is because morals address the survivability of the individual, while manners address the survivability of the society to which the individual belongs. (It's a simplification, I know, but that's what it boils down to.) And it's morals, not manners, that have changed so drastically in the 20th century.  It was never rude to have a child out of wedlock, but until recently it was immoral.  Yes, manners are evolving, but not at the same rate as morals.

3. In response to your statement that "all the local parsons were from the same class and were educated at the same place."  Well, that may be true for C of E, but it doesn't take into account Presbyterians or Methodists, or Calvinists, or anyone else.  I also would remind you that England "proper" didn't even have single common language in Jane Austen's time.  Elizabeth Bennet would have had as much success trying to carry on a conversation with the Shah of Persia as she would have with a Cornwall farmer. (For evidence read "The Secret Garden" or "Black Ajax"  or watch "Quadrophenia" and "The Full Monty" on the same night.) Homogenous culture indeed!

No, I'm sorry, all the evidence you've presented so far is that the kiss isn't impossible from a moral standpoint, but you have yet to present anything to convince me it could happen from a standpoint of manners.  Nor has any evidence been presented that it is consistent with the characters of Anne Elliot or Captain Wentworth.  You'll just have sharpen up those elbows and get to work.
Cheryl

Dear Julie,

I think the phrase you're looking for is "good country families" to describe Jane's class.  I can't speak on her views of the aristocracy as I haven't read her letters yet.  (I know this is a mortal sin, but I do hope to get them for Christmas this year.) Your quote about  "carrying on like my housemaid" brings Margaret Mead and Samoa to mind (tactfully ignoring the fighting over her work that's going on right now) which came to the conclusion that while commoners were going at it like bunnies, with the encouragement of the Aristocracy, of course, (cheap crowd control) the ruling class was very, very careful who they bred their daughters to.  Very common to class-ruled societies I guess.

I don't think Tasmania looks too much like the "Inland Empire" or as some wags have it the "Ingrown Empire" but I could be wrong. Lots of fruit grows in this area but only  with heavy irrigation.  The natural terrain is called "channeled scablands" (pretty name, isn't it?) and only naturally grows sagebrush, rabbit bush, and quail by the millions.  Specially bred "dry land wheat" is the major crop of the immediate area "on top" of the coulee as we call it. Logging is the major source of income on the Reservation, (boundary about 4 miles due north) while it's tourism and managing the dam down here in the coulee proper.  If you find a map of the US and look at Washington (NW corner) you'll see a bunch of large reservoirs which is where the Columbia River was dammed for hydroelectric power and irrigation water.  I live not quite on the shore of an irrigation reservoir called Banks Lake which fills one of the coulees around here.

And that is probably more than you ever wanted to know about eastern Washington.
Cheryl

Dear Cheryl,

There are obviously differences, but there are similarities, also!  There have been bloody battles fought, and families divided (seemingly) forever, over the issue of logging in Tasmania, and the damming of the wilderness to provide hydro-electric power.  If some people had their way, you would soon be able to rechristen Tasmania 'scablands.'  We still have people chaining themselves to trees and bulldozers, in an attempt to stop logging of old-growth forest.  The logs are generally turned into woodchip and sent to Japan - yippee.

Have you ever read Nancy Mitford on the subject of 'good county families'? (They had dropped the 'r' by then, and were referring to inhabitants of the 'home counties.'  I don't know exactly which counties these are, but I believe one can find a member of the Royal Family living in most of them.

Anyway, get hold of Nancy (The Pursuit of Love, Love in a Cold Climate); she's hilarious (and barking mad, of course, like the rest of the family).
Julie

Dear Mr. Ashton Dennis,

Wait for it....

I worked very hard for my degree and I’m very proud of it, but I generally try to stay away from being scholarly, since it always makes me feel like a little kid in my mother’s high-heels - simultaneously awkward and pretentious.  What I was attempting in my posting was to use the names you suggested as signposts identifying a historical "place."  Fielding did not know Beethoven and Byron because his time was not ripe to produce such creatures.  Jane Austen’s time was ripe for such produce, and (this is the iffy party of the premise) only the events of her moment could have produced them.  Hence, her time is different than his.  But if you want the long version. . .

I was about to begin a long and boring treatise about the effect on England of the Greek revival of the Regency period, but you are to be spared.  I have just discovered a piece of an argument you have presented to Julie about how your life experiences have indelibly printed on you the sure knowledge that "mores can change dramatically in only a very short time."  All I need to know from you is, why can they change dramatically in the period between the depression and 1999, and they can also change dramatically between JA’s time and the Victorian era, but you refuse to admit that they can change dramatically between Fielding’s time and JA’s?  A hundred years passes between his birth and her death.  Surely some things must have changed a bit?

In the meantime, in my struggle to find some common ground on which to build this argument, I find I will have to clear some myself.  I therefore concede that while much has changed from one end of the century to the next, the manners of Fielding’s time  are not all that different from Austen’s.  I find, however, that this concession does not change my argument, which is that Fielding was as bawdy as his contemporary Richardson was prudish, and the reality is that people took their cues for behaviour from their education and station in life.  Throughout the novel we are concerned with, Anne and Wentworth, characters who sit comfortably and realistically between the types that Fielding and Richardson invented, consistently move toward each other cautiously, with embarrassment, and with restraint.  But a woman who can watch her love walk out the door in a fit of pique and still remain in her chair obeying the rules of decorum that the situation requires, is not the type of woman who would abandon all decorum at another moment.  You seem to say that such rules of social decorum simply did not exist in Fielding’s time. Obviously, you have not taken my advice and read Richardson again.  You may find that Sarah Fielding is sweeter medicine.  Read David Simple, for example, where we have a fairly similar situation written before Austen was born:

Poor Camilla knew not which way to act:  she saw David’s uneasiness  it was not her Pride which prevented her following him, and endeavouring to make him easy.  But as he had never seriously declared more than a great Friendship for her, she knew not which way to treat so delicate a Passion as Jealousy, whilst she must not own she saw it.  She sate [sic] some time silent  but at last found the Agitation of her Mind was so great, it would be impossible for her to conceal her Thoughts  and therefore on the Pretence of Indisposition, retired to her own Chamber.

If you insist that manners have not changed between Fielding’s time and Austen’s, then, since the above was written by Fielding’s own sister, you must admit that a sense of decorum and concealment of one’s true feelings when they are not appropriately revealed are elements of manner that existed at both periods.

Here's the Sex on the Sofa part:
In the abandoned version of the ending of Persuasion, Anne and Wentworth, after making their declarations to one another, behave in such a way that when Mrs. Croft finally joins them, she becomes uncomfortable and makes excuses to leave the room, while her husband remains entirely oblivious throughout the entire day to the possibility of a lovers’ agreement.  I should think a kiss would be pretty convincing that something was up, even to a man like the Admiral, yet Mrs. Croft has to give the Admiral hints of the idea after the day-long tete-a-tete-a-tete-a-tete. If these two will not kiss in the comforts of the Croft’s parlour while family members are present, where on earth are you getting the idea that they would kiss in the street?

Sorry, the sex on the sofa was just to get your attention.  But just because Austen didn't write it in, doesn't mean it didn't happen.

Meanwhile, to continue defending myself against other elements of your argument, I know perfectly what motivates Austen’s characters, even when they themselves will not admit it.  I have the narrative voice to assist me, and on occasion (look out!  here comes something scholarly!) "true indirect discourse" to direct me.  But really, Ashton, Jane visits Bingley’s house? Whatever are you talking about?  No young lover of JA’s ever goes to the house of their beloved to visit them.  Mr. Elliot specifically comes to Anne’s house to visit her father and for no other reason whatsoever.  He hangs about dropping hints to Elizabeth to be invited for dinner because he would hate to miss seeing Sir Walter before he takes a two-day trip out of town.  It is only a coincidence that not only is Sir Walter absent, but Anne is not there when he drops by, either.

Similarly, Jane does not go to Bingley’s house to visit him, but rather to see his sister.  If Bingley just happened to be there while she was visiting, and if he happened to make an offer of tea, of cake, or of marriage while she was there, well she wouldn’t have been so rude as to refuse, but that was definitely not why she went.  To make such a suggestion is very ungentlemanly of you.  As for Marianne having written to her lover, she is a woman of sensibility, "everything but prudent," and it is entirely in her character to write to a man to whom she is not engaged.  Neither would Miss Dashwood scruple dashing from a recital and throwing herself at the feet of the man she loved if the opportunity had presented itself.  In short, she is no Anne Elliot.  You keep forgetting who you are talking about when you say that kissing in the street is a possibility.  Austen was nothing if not consistent in her character development.

I find I, too, disagree with Julie on the point that if it isn’t written in the book, then they didn’t kiss.  We know that Wickham and Lydia do a lot more than just kiss, but that isn’t expressly written in the book.  I know someone who claims to have read P&P when young enough to wonder if Lydia did more than just run away with Wickham.  I suspect she pictured them with their hankies on sticks over their shoulders.  But these differences of interpretation are what make this argument such an interesting one.  It reveals how each of us reads between the lines. It is also interesting to note that Austen leaves out the kissing almost everywhere.  We know it happens, we have to decide for ourselves where and when.  And the consensus seems to be, not in the street, no matter how chaste (and you will find, Ashton, that I have already agreed that it would be an appropriate kiss under other circumstances, and an acceptable one even under these.  It is, indeed, exactly the kiss Wentworth and Anne would give one another if they did not have the rules of decorum to prevent them from exchanging it in the street). None of Richardson’s heroes would have done it, none of Fielding’s sister’s heroes would have allowed it, and certainly, fifty years later, before the Victorian Gaskell took her first breath, none of Austen’s role-models would have done it either.  The onus is still on you, Ashton, to prove that they would.

From the Meister: Let us abandon this kiss - too much heat and
too little light. We are both trying to get at Jane Austen's nature
and, in so doing, have focused upon an unimportant detail of a
filmed version. I think Julie is right, let us refocus this same
argument by debating, once again, the issue of Charlotte Lucas.

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