So with the prospect of zombie mayhem looming, I figured I should finally pull my thumb out and actually read Pride And Prejudice.
And I'm really glad I did. Despite the book's reputation for being more than just a love story, I wasn't sure what to expect of a 200-year-old romantic comedy. But it pretty much won me over from the first page on; that famous opening line - "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife" - turns out to be dripping with irony as Austen sets about sending up the social, sexual and class-related norms of her day. Which, occasionally, aren't all that different in nature, if not degree, to ours.
Of course, reading Austen with 200 years' worth of perspective on those issues (and no personal experience of 19th century upper class twits), it's probably easy to read it as more revolutionary than it was intended. [spoiler]Elizabeth does end up marrying wealth, after all - and doesn't protest when her father says she wants to "look up to [Darcy] as a superior".[/spoiler] The Second Sex it certainly ain't - not even A Doll's House. Still, it makes its points and makes them well - simply by sketching how the world worked and then inserting a female protagonist who asks, perhaps not the world, but at least a say in what part of the world she'll end up with - without ever getting preachy, and with characters so well-described (not in appearance, but in personality) that they still feel real all these years later. As an aside, I can't help thinking that it would be nice to slip this into the hands of people currently claiming to defend the ancient, sacred institution of marriage, too. Somehow I doubt that this is what most of them truly want to go back to.
"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, that I am convinced that it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly--which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. (...) To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married."
It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.
"You are too hasty, sir," she cried. "You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline them."
"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, "that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second, or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long."
Romantic fellow, that Collins, isn't he? And bear in mind that this is considered a favourable marriage by just about everyone except Elizabeth herself (and her father, but he's what he is.)
Of course, it's all very obvious how it's going to turn out and apart from one twist that I should probably have seen coming ([spoiler]Wickham running off with Lydia[/spoiler]) it's not the kind of book you read for the plot. But still, even if the basic story is a bit by-the-numbers, it's beautifully written (though I was glad of the footnotes) and holy crap, the dialogue! Rapid-fire back-and-forths (especially Elizabeth and her father) loaded with barely-hidden sarcasm that just... zings as well as sings. Ah, dry British wit, how happy you make me. Even in a tale as dated as this undoubtedly is - though it's far from irrelevant - both the jokes and the subtly serious points still carry enough truth and venom to sting and tickle.