The path that has taken me to writing a book about
Pride and Prejudice, and being more familiar with Jane Austen’s novels than any other book, is not, I suspect, the usual one for people in my position. I never read Jane Austen when growing up; like most men, I believe, I tended to prefer non-fiction to fiction, and, within fiction, favored stories with plenty of action and a grand sweep. At college I studied politics and history, and did not take a single English course. My first engagement with Jane Austen was quite accidental. Having heard more than one mention of
Pride and Prejudice during a junior year in England, knowing it to be a highly regarded novel, and having selected, for my academic studies, that period of history, I decided to try it. The words
Pride and Prejudice had an attraction in themselves, for, thinking of them in a political context, I expected a novel about a dramatic clash of social classes or nationalities, in which the angry pride of one side was pitted against the bitter prejudice of the other—that, to my mind, seemed the natural formula for a great novel. It was thus a surprise and a disappointment to find myself instead reading a novel whose actions seemed to consist solely of drawing-room conversations, and whose characters were refined upper-class people, who always seemed on their best behavior. Where were the angry clashes, or the deep social and political issues? I still enjoyed the novel, finishing it quickly and appreciating the humor. But at the end I was principally glad to be able now to claim some familiarity with a famous novel and author; I formed no intention of reading further in Jane Austen.
I only altered that intention years later when, unexpectedly, several historical or philosophical books I read included admiring comments on her, and of the profound thought in her books. This made me undertake a complete reading of her works, and I was entranced, so much so that it was not long before I began rereading the novels, an unusual step for me. My entrancement even posed dangers for my work. While scrambling to finish my dissertation, on the French Enlightenment, I had picked up a battered paperback copy of Pride and Prejudice at a book sale, and found myself frequently taking time off from my writing to read it again and again, finding new brilliant subtleties every time I looked. More than once I admonished myself that this was foolish—after all, I had a looming deadline for my dissertation and needed to get back to work. But my admonishments did not always succeed, so captivated was I by the novel. Little did I imagine then that an annotated version of Pride and Prejudice, rather than an expanded version of that same dissertation, was to be my first published book.
My devoted reading also convinced me of the thorough error of my earlier assumptions and evaluation. It is true that Jane Austen does not deal explicitly with big themes or ideas in the manner of many novelists; in her there are no lengthy discussions of politics or philosophy or religion. Yet in her quiet, subtle way she deals with many of the most fundamental moral questions confronting us, and develops truly profound points about them—and all in an unobtrusive manner that never interrupts the flow of the story. Her characters rarely make dramatic proclamations, or engage in fierce clashes, but within the politic and restrained world in which they live, they reveal all the passions and perils of the human heart, anger, greed, broken hearts, bitter rivalries, as well as Pride and Prejudice. In fact, the very restricted field of her novels allows her to focus on and scrutinize those forces with a precision and astuteness found in almost no other writer. Combine this with touching romance and hilarious comedy, and her infinitely clever and ironic style, and you have a writer who can both entertain and teach us, and whom I have long come to regard as the finest novelist in the English language.
David M. Shapard
Message Edited by Bill_T on 06-01-2007 11:24 AM
