Pride and Prejudice

Having finished the book, I will now attempt to reveal my thoughts after my 7 hour perusal.

My manner of reading:

A short disclaimer, for the book was engaging...I read the first half of it from a website on my computer and the influence of my eyes caused it to be a slightly painful instance, which was my improved by the borrowing of said book from Lyndsay Hampton, of which I am most appreciative. Thus the first half of the book was read yesterday while the latter half was digested this morn, ending at approximately ten past three this Monday afternoon.

The Style

M(r)s Austin's writing style is engaging, relying to a great extent upon the reader's imagination to form physical description of the characters and places. The bulk of the book is related in dialog between characters or as monologues and written missives. As such very little action is needed and the whole reads most remarkably like a script from which the imagination is to provide the missing aspects of imagery and action.

It is a style that I find pleasing and while she is wordy, she does not leave the dreadful distaste for the canvas that sometimes comes after 6 pages of describing a couch that comes with some other authors of the age--coughHemingwaycough--

and is a delightful respite. Not only that but in that most of the message is communicated via the means of conversation it reads easily and does not require any reviewing of material to feel that the message is 'got.'

The Characters

The true treasure of the book lies in it's wonderfully robust characters. In that the book is divided principally into couples, I find the characters easy to describe in the same manner.

Mr/Mrs Bennett: Far and away some of the more entertaining characters in the book, each brings a savor and freshness that is quite incalculable in regards to the success of the book. From the absurdness of the mother to the...humor of the father. They quickly became some of my favorite characters and stayed there for the duration of it's pages.

Mr/Mrs Bingley: One of the more boring couples, which annoyingly had prominence in the plot. Each are more or less devoid of actual character and are instead portrayed as completed products from the beginning. Of particular interest to me is that while displaying Mrs Bingley as beautiful, no actual description was ever given, allowing for the reader to create for themselves the ideal of beauty.

Mr/Mrs Collins: Perhaps one of the few messages not central to Lizzy appears here as Charlotte putting aside her own personal aspirations accepts the...incalculably awkward Mr Collins to wed. Allowing for a growth in Lizzy as she comes to the realization that there is importance in marrying one of influence. An idea not commonly accepted as pure in our day and age of "love matching" but which finds merit in M(r)s Austin's works. I ponder upon the application that would happen if our society were to return a little more closely to status affecting our choices in life...And think that little of value would be lost if we were to return to the state of familial piety and honor that is enjoyed during that time in that place.

Mr/Mrs Wickham: An opposite for the next couple in all respects, and to me, they seem to have been thrown in simply to advertise the healthiness of the Darcy marriage. And nothing can so recommend them more than Mr Bennett's opinnion stated late in the volume: "I shall like all of my new sons-in-law, but Mr. Wickham the most."

Mr/Mrs Darcy: The main attraction of the book. Mr Darcy is far and away one of the best characters I've read of in literature. His general worthiness in all aspects of his life are such as to make him, aside from Jean val Jean, a man most worth of emulation. In all that he does he attempts to do the honorable, and just. Making every choice seemingly correctly. He does not experience much actual growth, except what would appear to be a general warming of his heart towards the end of the book, as seems appropriate for a man who has finally found joy and love in another. Elizabeth on the other hand...I have to admit I was unimpressed with our heroine, and for the most part found her unworthy in most respects for the admiration of Mr Darcy. Her virtues so less pointed out that in the end, she asks Mr Darcy why he began to love her, to which she herself responds that it was only because she had the gall to challenge him. Which is well enough I suppose as she had a lively mind and goodly wit, and was by no means physically repulsive. Which is apparently all one needs find in a woman--however much more is expected in a man. At least that is what it appears to me, now, by no means am I implying that I dislike the couple, merely that it seems to me Elizabeth grew more in the process of reading and still has much more left to grow. Which might be occasioned by her very youth.

Lady de Brough, Lydia, Miss Darcy, Miss Bingley, etc: Most of the other characters are there for the plot's convenience. And require no exceptional mention, but to say that they fulfill their roles remarkably well.

I do believe that my review should soon be concluded, but I shall now give my overall impression, that the book was worthy of the praise it has gotten, if, for the sake of Mr. Darcy alone regardless of it's many other charms.

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Jane Austin

Those of you who know me...know that I HATE Jane Austin. Well...I got to thinking about it today while watching Emma and...well, the thought came to mind that I might just hate Jane Austin because I read her when I was very young and--embarrassingly--didn'

t get her. So...I've decided to give her another go. Why am I writing this? I want some suggestions as to which I should read.

So...please, tell me what you think, and why?

Sense and Sensibility
Pride and Prejudice
Emma
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey

That's the list, I want to read one of her books, not a short...so...

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Jealous

It comes quickly, from out of no where. It strikes without remorse into the most protected and precious parts of you. Worming through your body insidiously until it has eaten everything good and precious.

This thing called Jealousy, a horse that refuses to be tamed. It comes around women, in the work place, around good friends. It comes when we should be happy for others, when they accomplish something of importance.

You know, I don't really want to talk about abstracts right now, so instead I'll explain why I am feeling jealous. Please note, that this is not a solitary experience, this is a law of nature that applies to me and my relations with the opposite sex. There is a girl, that I met and thought, "Hey, I'd like to get to know her better." Said girl met me, but also some of my friends. Later, from a source we discover that she likes one of the people in that group of men she met. It has NEVER been me.

I'm really trying to discover my character flaw here, what is it about me is so lacking that others seem to have in such...abundance? I don't think I'm outrageously ugly, I have at least some sense of hygiene, I know the difference between there, they're and their and can use these words correctly. So what is it? Why am I always second or higher/lower(depending on how you look at it) on the scale?

If it happened once...or twice, that I could understand. But as I said before this seems to be a recurring theme. Last night, we watched Singing in the Rain. I felt like I was Donald O'conner. There, funny, extremely talented...but I don't get any of the girls, and really...I'm just there for comic relief and plot advancement. I really don't know why this bothers me so... and you know...at this point in my life I have a girl I'd like to date...and things are progressing...so it isn't even really so much an issue since I'm not REALLY interested in these girls anyway...and neither are my friends usually. I guess...I just don't feel special--and that's a hard thing to deal with.

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Sacrifices

How do you measure the value of a choice?

If I choose to shave, regardless of my ability to do so...does that make the action inherently more valuable? Does the fact that it will cost me more mean anything to anyone else? I've been told on several occasions that when I compliment someone it means more than if other people compliment...mostly because I so rarely compliment, and thus...the rarity of the act causes it to gain value.

There are things in my life that I know that I need to do, I don't want to do them however because they push me outside of my comfort zone, they require that I stretch and become something other than what I currently am. I am currently making steps in that direction...but progress is slow and unwieldy.

This...entry is all over the place and for that I apologize, it's strange how a choice someone else makes can affect your life in such a profound way. Hitler decides to take over Poland, and the lives of billions are changed forever. They had no say in this choice, they were sucked, irrevocably into the whirlwind of chaos that was the inevitable outcome. As such, my parents have similarly made a choice of magnitude for me. I have blocked feelings for so long that I'm not really sure what this feeling is...it becomes hard to recognize what they mean anymore. Is this fear? This churning of the stomach, the burning pith of a comment just out of reach to my tongue--is this how 'normal' people feel about the everyday foibles?

There is a core to all things, there is a core to this, these feelings of inadequacy and doubt. It's strange to think I actually believe myself inferior, I've maintained my ivory tower elitism for so long. But I don't think I can make it alone anymore, and the fear that the only people who ever really cared will now be hundreds of miles away...it scares me. Where can I turn for peace? Am I willing to accept that offering? God have mercy on my soul, give me strength I pray.

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Musings

I'm in a melancholic mood, so forgive me if this isn't up to snuff, this is written for you, but it isn't written to you. Yeah, I know, I'm strange.

For those of you who don't know, I am afflicted with an illness which makes me feel as though I should not have any kind of intimate relations. I use the word intimate is a very loose sense to mean any sort of romantic relationship. I feel that to do so would be making a commitment that my body is not prepared to keep. lately, I've been seeing a specialist for some of the more...interesting side effects of my illness.

The most difficult part about this whole thing...is that if you get into the habit of telling yourself that you can't have a relationship yet, that you need to wait, to see if things clear up, to see if you're at a point when you can make that commitment. Well, after a while you get so used to shunting emotions to the side that you stop realizing that you're doing it.

I'm afraid that there are very few indeed who are in on the inner workings of my mind enough to understand the esoteric nature of this post...and my apologies for those of you who are new here. Lately, I haven't written much, but I often times write so that I can express those...emotions that I so rarely put to the light of day. There is something cathartic about writing a missive that no one else reads...except that I have every intention of letting everyone read this. I'm not a very private person in a lot of ways, it's a defense mechanism. I let you see so much, in the hopes that the gardens will be so expansive that you will never guess or wonder at what the house contains. And so I walk the house alone, waiting for someone to care enough to walk past the gardens. And at the same time fighting tooth and nail to keep you there.

It's a strange dichotomy, I don't know how to share those parts of me anymore, the parts of me that are most precious. Know that in there, deep inside, the thorns of the garden are gone and I love you. I love you whole heartedly, for all the good that I see in you, for the pains that you hide, for the joys I sense surging through you. I wish I could help you...but I'm too afraid to leave the house.

-Cam

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