The Voices of Men in Praise of Jane Austen
Messages on the Bulletin Board - c. June 10, 2000

Dear Voices,

I was recently able to obtain a copy of The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and was wondering if you fine folks had any suggestions as to what I should read first.  I was also fascinated by the claim on the book (which by the way also contains the juvenilia of Charlotte Bronte) that Charlotte Bronte's early writings were very similar to those of Jane Austen.  Any thoughts?

I also purchased a copy of An Elegant Madness: High Society in Regency England, by Venetia Murray, which I think some of you might have read.  It seems very interesting, although I haven't started it yet.  I've been reading Alison Weir's series on the Tudor monarchs, which is excellent. I would recommend it to anyone who is interested in the history of the British monarchs.

On a personal note, I would like to announce that I have (finally!) graduated from high school. I guess all of the hard work has paid off and now I get to look forward to going to college this fall.


Dear fellow admirers of Jane Austen,

I'm very glad to see a web page where the voices of men are actively encouraged and sought in regards to the excellent Miss Austen.  I passionately love Jane Austen and identify with many of her characters, especially the inimitable Elizabeth Bennett.  I did not have much of a chance to look at this site, but I will certainly be back as I am very interested to read a male perspective of Jane Austen.  I am very gratified to know that there are members of the opposite sex who read between the lines of the text to see the beauty and complexity that lay within each and every Austen novel.


Dear Nicole,

I hope you will join our discussions - you will find them distinctly masculine.

I think, though, that this idea that Jane Austen appeals only to women is a modern misconception. Please refer to the Table of Contents; at the far right is a long list of links to quotes of famous men in praise of Jane Austen, beginning from her very own times. I am a bit perverse, so I also included a link to a number of things that some women should not have said about Jane Austen.


Dear Janeites,

While stalking the local bookstore in search of something other than the Sunday rag I came across a book entitled Charlotte by the same author of Presumption. I don't remember her name, but it's (to use a Biblical allusion) Legion.

The dust cover (and it's probably a good thing that it has a dust cover because it'll be collecting a lot of the stuff) claims that it is a completion and continuation of Our Dear Jane's unfinished novel of the same name.

Since I consider myself the Village Idiot (hereafter known as VI) of the Board, I can only say that this work will probably be as close to ODJ's original intention as Robert B. Parker's completion of Raymond Chandler's Poodle Springs. In other words, if you must read it, wait until it's remaindered and you'll be able to pick it up for less than a paperback.

God help us and forgive us. I'm just awaiting the publication of the New Testament.


Dear Janeites,

The book I mentioned a couple of days ago, Charlotte, (Actually the complete title is Jane Austen's Charlotte. Her Fragments of a Last Novel, completed by Julia Barrett) is supposed to be a completion of Sanditon. The trick is that only the first six pages of this thing were written by Jane Austen.

Beware and be aware.


Dear Ashton,

Joshua Reynolds painted a portrait of Dr Samuel Johnson that shows him a charming person with a much more pleasant face than I had remembered elsewhere.

Joshua Reynolds, no less! Pretty good company. But then The doctor hobnobbed with the best: the young King entered his library one day (finding a book is too important to send a lackey, I suppose) and noticed Samuel Johnson doing research for his dictionary. Johnson was permitted the freedom of the King's library. His Majesty condescended to speak to Dr Johnson: "Scribble, scribble, scribble, eh, Mr Johnson." The King thus proved himself both friendly and understanding of Johnson's labours. I have no word about anything else in the conversation. You replied only when you were asked to do so, of course.

Here is the picture:


Dear Julie, Ashton, and company,

I am troubled by your interpretations of Pride and Prejudice.

This a novel in which Elizabeth sheds error until the moment of Darcy's second proposal. From the beginning she is wrong about everything. It is her pride and prejudice that is the subject of the novel. Her pride and prejudice is mirrored to a more muted degree by that of Darcy and Mrs Bennet, it is true; but they are as little more than noises off supporting the action stage front and centre.

All that Darcy finds to make apology for is his failure to see that Elizabeth was a prize to be won, not a bauble to be chosen and paid for. He explains that his presumption was the cause of her angry rejection. He rejects the notion that Elizabeth was in any way blameworthy.

Elizabeth sees things differently--and so do we. With such proof of Darcy's truly noble nature, Elizabeth sheds the final layer of error. She had thought Darcy was too proud to risk a second rejection. It is clear that she would gladly have accepted a proposal at Pemberley, but Darcy was certain then that she would never marry him. Now she sees that he absolutely does not think that there was any blame to be awarded her for her words in the Collins's parsonage. He will not hear of her blameworthiness because what she said was justified by his wrongful approach to her. We remember that every other approach he had made before coming to Rosings had been scorned by Elizabeth and that he had never learned that she was determined to marry only for love.

Once Elizabeth had been freed of her final two errors and Darcy knew that she would marry him out of deepest love, we see them like two carefree children at the table writing, their letters.

And now, do I say that I think that my Jane Austen is better than yours? Well, I must say that I do. (An allusion to Mary in Persuasion.)


Dear Julie,

I don't recall reading anywhere the phrase "going to the parish", but if "going on the parish" was intended (perhaps the phrases are identities), then it means to go to the officials of the parish, for financial assistance or in the case of an abandoned, unmarried mother, for an order that the alleged father must forthwith begin financial support for the mother and child.

We see that both Mr Knightly and the Reverend Mr Tilney have serious business parish business, part of which may be to deal with women who have gone on the parish.

If there is another meaning to the phrase, then I am all agog.

From the Meister: No, Julie is referring to something I misspoke; I referred to Darcy headed to the first proposal as "going to the parish" when I should have said "going to the parsonage". I was raised in a small California town that was predominately southern European and Catholic. The priests' home was called the "parish home" or "parish" for short. In fact, I currently live across from a large Catholic complex and the "parish hall" is directly across the street. When excited and careless, I tend to call any clergyman's home a "parish" - bad habit.

Meister: Are you certain that Sir A Hopkins must renounce his knighthood. The United States permits dual citizenships. As an Englishman, Sir Anthony will keep his title everywhere in the world; as an American, in the 50's and all its territories or colonies, Sir Anthony may be Mr Hopkins--or not.

Meister: I am not certain, but I am quoting something I read recently. As a test, I tried and then failed to remember the name of any American who ever held a title and retained citizenship in this country, dual or otherwise. Perhaps someone else can remember such a person. Did Princess Grace retain her citizenship? - that would be a good test. Your spellings and interests make me think that you are Canadian; if so, you may find this difficult to appreciate.

Dear John,

I would have replied yesterday, but it has taken me a day to stop laughing.  For a year or more, I have assumed that 'going to the Parish' was a term meant to indicate 'a step taken in desperation' (because for the life of me, I couldn't work out any other meaning for it!).  You know, I thought it meant something along the lines of 'nailing one's colours to the mast', or some such.

Now, just reread all Ashton's posts with the phrase 'going to the Parish' in them, and apply that meaning ... And all the time, he was simply referring to a visit to the Parsonage!

Thank you John, for provoking our good Sir into an explanation.  I've tried every way I know to ascribe a meaning to the phrase, and all the time it was simply a mis-wording!
Julie


Dear Julie (and The BoardMeister),

In British countries, it is common to call the house of the Roman Catholic parish priest or priests the rectory. In Anglican parishes the house was formerly called either the rectory or the vicarage depending upon whether it was the "living" of the resident minister or the home of his paid substitute, but after the Nineteenth Century reforms, all such houses became the same same and are usually called the vicarage. History being what it is, Julie's parsonage can go by many names: the parish in your part of California, the minister's or priest's house in others, and I do not know what others.

It is interesting: the Meister used certain words to mean a specificity, and Julie took them to mean something else. Darcy and Elizabeth used certain words, and Elizabeth and Darcy took them to mean something else.

Where will it all end?

From the Meister: I am stunned! How can you have guessed so
much? I was not going to admit this but now I have no choice:
Julie recently refused my proposal and in a very rude manner I
should add. I should also say that she refused my first proposal.


Dear John,

You said in response to Julie (6/13/00):

"It is interesting: the Meister used certain words to mean a specificity, and Julie took them to mean something else. Darcy and Elizabeth used certain words, and Elizabeth and Darcy took them to mean something else."

"Where will it all end?"

I believe it was the summer of '69, my girlfriend and I (both Southerners) went into NYC on a Saturday to shop and see a movie - "Midnight Cowboy".  During the movie there was a scene (I don't remember which, it is unimportant) at which we almost burst into laughter.   Since no one else so much as giggled, we looked at each other and smiled in puzzlement.  Subsequently, there was a scene which caused them to laugh out loud and we looked at each other again - wondering what it was that they found so funny.

This phenomenon happened several times during the course of the movie.  Sometime later I came to realize that certain things are funny (or sad, etc.) to some and not funny to others.  At the time I took it as a difference between North and South.  I now realize that it also could be East and West - USA or the hemispheres or even across town.  The difference is evident even on this board.  Y'all speak of things that cause me to ask, "Of what are you talking?"  (Since obsessing on The Man From Snowy River I now know what a "wallaby" is.)

As Our Lady said two hundred years ago, we must "make allowance enough for difference of situation and temper."  It is still true today.

So to answer your question, John, it won't end - not in this world anyway!
Linda


Dear Janeites,

Considering myself the Village Idiot among the Board members, I feel that I cannot avoid another opportunity to open myself to abuse on a topic.

In the study of theology one or the first things one learns that text without context is pretext.

We can throw quotes at each other until the cows come home and not really get anywhere except the barn, if we're lucky.

In my considered Idiotic opinion Darcy is basically a misanthrope. He really doesn't want to think well of anyone. It's not a matter of class or upbringing. Some people are just that way. Darcy is a man who is disappointed by mankind. Just consider the disappointment that has resulted from Wickham. Here is a man (Wickham) who Darcy's father (who Darcy probably held in high regard) felt was worthy of favor and who turned out to be a rounder and a scoundrel of the basest sort. If one feels that one's father is a person of wisdom, one can only feel that, instead of one's father being wrong, the human race is worthless. To put it in more contemporary terms, Darcy probably felt, like Sartre, that " Hell is other people."

In fact, now that I think about it, the friendship between Bingley and Darcy is much like that between Sartre and Camus. Despite Sartre's general existentialist pessimism, he was friends with Camus, who was a much more optimistic existentialist. Bingley was the hydrogen that kept Darcy from sinking into total despair.

Elizabeth is, in a sense, Darcy's Simone de Bouvieur and I'm sure that Darcy, once he realizes that Elizabeth is more of a soul mate than he would like, fights like a wildcat to keep from accepting and stating the fact. In his first proposal it is almost as if Darcy were stacking the deck against acceptance. But, if you notice, all his objections have to do with secondary matters instead of against Elizabeth herself. He's looking for a way out despite himself. But as the story goes on, Darcy realizes that there is a hole in his soul that can be only be filled by our dear Lizzie, and it is upon that realization that he makes his second proposal. He sees, in Lizzie, his other half. And what more can one ask in a spouse?

If one is looking for an Austen man who is true to the end, the only name that can be put forward is Captain Wentworth. But then, Wentworth was a Navy man and the only men more true than a true sailor (note the word true) is a marine, notwithstanding Fanny Price's father.

And if all this makes any sense at all, I need another beer.


Dear Dave,

I am no fan of Sartre, but like Rudyard Kipling and Sir Walter Scott, and, I avow, like Mark Twain too, I am a Janeite. Therefore, in all respect I offer an understanding different from yours in the matter of Darcy, Elizabeth and Bingley.

"Darcy, once he realizes that Elizabeth is more of a soul mate than he would like, fights like a wildcat to keep from accepting and stating the fact."

So far, we agree.

"In his first proposal it is almost as if Darcy were stacking the deck against acceptance. But, if you notice, all his objections have to do with secondary matters instead of against Elizabeth herself. He's looking for a way out despite himself."

My contrary understanding is that Darcy feels honour-bound to warn Lizzy that her acceptance of his proposal likely will create difficulties for her. He is bound that she be aware of how his own set will receive her. He has absolutely no doubt that she will gladly accept his proposal. It is the only sane and reasonable thing that she can do. He has the certain example of Charlotte, who married a man she did not love but yet faithfully has carried out her marriage vows. He sees that Collins is happy in his marriage. Neither Charlotte nor Elizabeth had much to offer but their charms; yet Charlotte seems satisfied with her marriage (We know that she tells Lizzie that she has achieved in her marriage what she had always hoped for); she and Lizzy are dear friends and so far as he knows share common values. Darcy has great respect for Charlotte. What has made Charlotte happy surely could make Lizzy happy. Having understood that he cannot be happy without Elizabeth as his wife and the certain presumption that she will act as wisely as Charlotte, he has only to offer an honourable warning of what is likely to be in store for her, and then to offer marriage with a man who loves her. This is, I think, what happens in the rectory. He pleads his devotion against the calumnies and insults of his set. Her prejudice against him makes it impossible for her to hear what he says: she hears only insults. He has not meant insults, only honest information, but she is increasingly angered. Had he known that, unlike Charlotte, Lizzie was determined to marry only for love, who does not believe that his approach must have been quite other than it was? But he did not know. When she had read his letter only the next day, her opinion of him had considerably softened.

"But as the story goes on, Darcy realizes that there is a hole in his soul that can be only be filled by our dear Lizzie, and it is upon that realization that he makes his second proposal."

This mind-set he had before he made his first proposal. He made the second proposal only because his aunt's angry tirade against Elizabeth recounted things said that led him to believe that Elizabeth might accept a second proposal. He was not certain. After all, if Elizabeth was still determined that they should not marry, it would have been easy to say there was no engagement and that the rumours could not be more in error. He had been certain until then that Elizabeth was firm in her rejection of him. But that Elizabeth should have stoutly withstood the aunt's wrath and likely cut off further visits to Charlotte at Hunsford--well, that was something new. At Pemberley each mistook the other's embarrassment. Each wished for nothing more than to be in the other's embrace; each thought that such an embrace was the last thing the other desired. Elizabeth's embarrassment came from her fear that Darcy would think she was throwing herself at him (What a change in Elizabeth!) Darcy's from the belief that Elizabeth still detested his company and here he was inconveniencing her with being in his own home. On Darcy's first return to Netherfield, Darcy is embarrassed to be in the house where he seemed unwelcome, and Elizabeth is horribly embarrassed because she had said at Hunsford such wrongly terrible things about the most honest, generous, and kind man she had known.

On his second visit, each had determined on a course of action that each feared the other would resent. (I won't give away the end.)

"If one is looking for an Austen man who is true to the end, the only name that can be put forward is Captain Wentworth"

Oh, I think that the Reverend Mr Tilney can stand beside Captain Wentworth. It is true that Captain Wentworth waited eight years. but Henry Tilney faced  the wrath of his father and the propriety of Catherine's parents who would not give their consent until The General gave his. He endured. Bless you, Elinor.

I suggest that there were other Austen male fictions worthy of great respect.

"And if all this makes any sense at all, I need another beer."

Have a beer, anyway. And may I have the honour of joining you with my cup of tea?

And Bingley? Well, that's another story.


Dear John,

I agree with you that the use of the word "misanthrope" to describe Darcy was too strong. It was the only word that came to mind at the time and was much easier to type than "a man who takes a dim view of humanity in general."

As to Sartre & Co. Well, it was either using Sartre and Camus to illustrate an unlikely friendship, or Laurel and Hardy. I really didn't think that saying that Darcy was like Oliver Hardy in his self-importance would go over very well. And I, like you, don't think too much of Sartre. He was a pompous, ridiculous man in his youth, and a pompous, ridiculous and sad man in his dotage.

It's time for my gruel.


Dear Dave and John,

I didn't think anything good would come from that battle of last week, but I am now grateful for it because it elicited your postings. My only thought now is, were the hell have you guys been? I mean those postings are excellent and I wonder why you never expressed these opinions before now. Just keep going and post your understandings of the other five novels - this is the reason-for-being of this bulletin board.

Perhaps I like the postings so much because they are different facets of my own view of the novel. Oh - there is not a perfect congruence, of course; I think that Dave goes too far with "misanthrope". I would use "disappointed" or "dark view" and then refuse to go any further. To verify my claim of compliance, I will quote from something I posted in 1997: this is from near the end of my posting:

"I was struck by the following passage."

'... There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more that I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense. ...'

"A typical Darcy outpouring, so cynical and so above-it-all. Actually, this a speech that Elizabeth makes to her sister Jane (Chapter XXIV). Yes, Darcy and Elizabeth shared a dark view of the world, a dark view consistent with that of their inventor I think. (I have long believed that a keen sense of humor always shields an angry sense of things.)"

Perhaps only Dave can judge if this is anything like his view.

My only disagreement with John is that he sees controversy where there is none. I think that he sees another facet and his views are compatible with Dave's. In contrast, I believe that Michael and I have interpretations that are absolutely incompatible, but that does not seem to be the case here.

Tea? I don't think anything like that is sold in the US - ? - mm-mm, maybe near the embassies.


    6/11/00 John - Gilbert and Sullivan

Dear Cheryl,

It must be recognized that Sullivan had to write music that fit Gilbert's words. Sullivan was knighted for his "serious" compositions but Queen Victoria was displeased by some of Gilbert's words so that he had to wait for an Edwardian accolade.

Words and music must go well together: it took three or four writers before suitable words could be found for "Memories" in AL Webber's Cats. If one does not like the music in G&S, blame Gilbert, not Sullivan. As for me and my house, we love G&S, and my wife sang Katisha in her high school production of The Mikado. However, all other opinions are allowed to stand.

The day after I read your post I was enchanted that the G&S thing that you disliked appeared on the telly. I caught only the last bit from the Mikado--and G&S riding off in a hanson cab. It appears that G&S operettas lend themselves very well to vast choirs and that young voices are really vital. But it was followed by the Stratford, Ontario, Mikado, which is a gorgeous composition of colour and motion, a gem. Then Murder She Wrote's Angela Lansbury in Pinafore, filmed in England but with both eyes on American audiences.


    6/12/00 John - Addendum: Angela Lansbury

Dear Ashton,

"Sullivan found that the songs provided by Gilbert gave him full scope to show his potential as an operatic composer. The Pirates of Penzance comes closer to grand opera than any of the other works of Gilbert and Sullivan, with the possible exception of Yeomen of the Guard."

"The 1980s and 1990s have given The Pirates of Penzance a new lease of life. A lively modern production by Joseph Papp opened in New York's Central Park on 15 July 1980 and went on to take both Broadway and London's West End by storm. Papp's production was also turned into a film which was released in 1982 and starred Kevin Kline (who had won a Tony Award for his portrayal of the Pirate King), Angela Lansbury and Linda Ronstadt."


    6/12/00 John - A troubling sentence

Dear Ashton,

I am puzzled by this sentence in your posting:

"Elizabeth asked him, point blank, if he had seen her sister in London and he lied when he said he had not. Think about that, this man, who wished to think of himself as the consummate gentleman, lied, he lied to a gentlewoman, and he lied to the very woman he loved!"

But Darcy did not see Jane in London. Caroline told him that Jane was staying with her relatives in Gracechurch Street, and therefore Darcy knew that she was in Town--but he did not see her. He had dissembled. It was this dissembling, this lack of candour, of which he is ashamed. He felt that he had injured his honour although need never know that he had not spoken frankly to her. Who knew? only Caroline and perhaps Mrs Hurst. They could never dare to tell anyone for fear of losing the intimacy of Pemberley. He corrected his lack of openness in the letter the morning after his proposal although his confession may merely blacken him further in Elizabeth's eyes whereas he hoped that his letter would make her detest him less. What he said about not seeing Jane in London was literally true: he did not see her.

Was Elizabeth truly honest when asking, "Do you mean to frighten me ...



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