u/My_Poor_Nerves

In which Elinor reflects and we meet some very droll characters...

[Men] come and go so quickly here!  We've now had Colonel Brandon, Willoughby, and Edward leave without one of them being forthcoming as to why.

placed all that was astonishing in this way of acting to his mother’s account

"How quick come the reasons for approving what we like!" (Persuasion)  Or, rather, how quick come the reasons for excusing what we want! Elinor is, all unknowingly, thinking along the same lines of her mother in turning to the happiest excuse for what she doesn't understand in Edwards's behavior. I feel this is our third or fourth passage which contain happy speculations for questionable behavior.

“it was happy for her that he had a mother whose character was so imperfectly known to her, as to be the general excuse for every thing strange on the part of her son.”  I don't know exactly why, but this passage put me in mind of Mr. Knightley's expounding upon a man's duty in Emma: “There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and resolution." A spoiler-ish question that I'll make as general as possible: for those of you who know the ending, do you think Edward is doing his duty in how he's acting towards the Dashwoods, his mother, or another person who shan't be named? Or is it a sort of half-commitment in every direction that is leading to his unhappiness?

This is the second time that appearances are tied to a young man’s vehicle. “Knowing gigs” calls back the barouches of the earlier chapter.

“Their means were as different as their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each.”

“her mother and sisters were spared much solicitude on her account” - this is as a bit of an indictment of Marianne's very indulgent behavior earlier. I think it's interesting how blunt the narration is in condemning Marianne's choices. The narrator has a much more neutral tone for Austen's other occasionally wrong-headed heroines (such as Emma, Elizabeth, and Catherine).

 

“…and therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any news in the paper.”
“No, none at all,” he replied, and read on.  Very Wildean!

“I could look at them for ever.”  And then sitting down again, she very soon forgot that there were any such things in the room.”  Very Austenian!

"But they had no curiosity to see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of pleasure from them in any other way." Very droll!

I just marvel at Austen's ability to transform the tedious into the entertaining. How bored most of us would be listening to a Mrs Jennings or a Miss Bates in real life, but how fun did she make them to read!

Wanting to change up my usual list of things I label "What to Turn on for Background Noise when Folding Laundry," and being naturally nosy, I thought I'd finally give the infamous 2022 Persuasion ("the Dakota Johnson one") a go.

So I got settled in amidst the towels and unaccountably single socks and watched. My initial impression was "Not too bad." I enjoyed the heightened caricaturization of Sir Walter very much, for example. It seemed like they were attempting to create something similar to the vibe of Love and Freindship overall but with a modern girl-boss overlay. But (there are many buts in this review as an fyi to those who are sensitive to those things), I wasn't sure then and I'm very positive now that that particular tone doesn't quite work with Persuasion, a story of longing, quiet sadness, and reviving hope. The adaptation does have moments of sadness for Anne, but they almost felt shoehorned in and not really organic to the narrative tone. Like hitting a story speed bump. Funny funny funny *bump* wait, Anne is actually very sad, funny funny funny *bump* and repeat. But (I mentioned the buts, yes?) none of this was enough for me to turn it off. As we approached Uppercross for the first time, I remained cautiously optimistic that I might just enjoy watching this adaptation, at least to the level of "Okay for laundry folding!"

In fact, my biggest criticism at that point was Dakota Johnson being just too pretty. The opening exposition doesn't really adequately explain the whys/hows of someone looking like that has raised no romantic interest in anyone in the post-Wentworth years or why her shallow father would look down on her. But (there were to be many of those) I guess that could be smoothed away on the grounds of Anne being uninterested due to the aforementioned Wentworth.

So I kept watching. I did not understand at all Louisa-as-Anne's-BFF-slash-wingman, but (see, I told you) it wasn't offensive, it was fine. The drunken shouting, gravy-faced awkwardness weren't my favorite, but (again) I could see how it worked with this particular adaptation.

But (there it is again) then we got to the Uppercross dinner party and my sprouting cautious optimism withered and died. When Anne was casually and publicly cruel about Charles first having proposed to her, it was time to be done. I can see maybe why that scene was written and included - to show that someone had been interested in the gorgeous Anne in those intervening years and to provide a definite cause for a new rupture between Anne and Wentworth for Louisa to enter in, but (!!) I didn't feel that it worked with novel Anne or even this adaptation's interpretation of Anne. This new Anne might be goofy and awkward, but she still was presented as good, dependable, and reasonable. An Anne that is carelessly cruel isn't an Anne I can get behind. DNF and back to rewatching Avatar: The Last Airbender for sock sorting.

In which teasing occurs and is also anticipated...

With this read-through, I've really noticed how hard it is to get acquainted with Edward the character. He waffles from sensibly sassy to drearily drippy. And he hasn't had much "screen time" either way. The annotations offer this explanation of the issue that I think is "exactly so" (spoiler alert!!):

“Stuart Tave notes, 'The least successful part of Sense and Sensibility is the character of Edward. We most be convinced of Edward's value, not for his sake but because we must believe in Elinor's feelings, believe that her love is important because the man is important, that her suffering in the loss of him is deep because the man has depth. But the requirements of the plot >!are such that his secret engagement!< forces him to be reserved, dispirited, and dull and that flattens not only his spirits but his freedom to allow himself to be attractive to Elinor.'"

I would add that it diminishes his ability to be attractive to the reader as well. He has glimmers, but I'm not sold on him.

“…Marianne, who was always eager to promote their happiness as far as she could…”. Marianne's own ideas of behavior and her impatience with societal norms can be alienating for some readers, but she is a good, loving young person, with little phrases such as this adding to the evidence.

The “picturesque” both here and in Northanger Abbey seems to be a great source of fun for Austen.

“I suspect, said Elinor, “that to avoid one kind of affectation, Edward here falls into another.  Because he believes many people pretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses.  He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.” -This reminds me of Darcy calling out Bingley’s humble brag about his handwriting in P&P.  It’s interesting how comfortable the characters in S&S are talking each other’s personalities over right in front of the person in question.  

“…sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.”  Is this meant to be funny to the reader, or a real complaint about the limitations of language?

“Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her sister.  Elinor only laughed.”  This is a really charming little scene!

Is it particularly reasonable for Elinor to assume that Edward removed or caused to be removed a lock of her hair without her notice?  Especially, if I’m understanding the hair experts around here correctly, it would have been improper for her to ever be around him with her hair down or even half-down?  Also related to the ring – if this is a ring that the notice of gives Edward such embarrassment, why is he wearing it?  Just pop it in your pocket, bro, if you don’t want anyone to see it.

“You must drink tea with us tonight,” said he, “for we shall be quite alone – and to-morrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall be a large party.” -This is one of those sentences, frequent in Austen’s writing, that really makes me feel how amused she must have been at her own writing as she went along.  I don’t know how an author could put pen to such a funny little sentence without a little smirk at their own wit.  I myself was grinning ear to ear just typing it out.

Edward’s “quiet archness” is similar to Elinor’s humor.

Poor Elinor is not going to have a good time with Sir John and Mrs. Jennings in the upcoming chapters, now is she?

In which conversations are had and Margaret is allowed to speak three whole sentences...

This is a very quotable chapter:

“I cannot be forced into genius and eloquence.”

“I wish as well as every body else to be perfectly happy; but, like every body else it must be in my own way."

“What have wealth or grandeur to do with happiness?”

The early part of this chapter is mostly, for lack of a better word, cute, I think. Elinor and Marianne's discussion of what it means to be wealthy; Marianne's including hunters in her imaginary establishment; Margaret's "striking out a novel thought"; Mrs. Dashwood saying she would have no need for wealth if her children were all provided for; Edward's being "very saucy" - all combine together to achieve something very akin to cute.

"At my time of life opinions are tolerably fixed. It is not likely that I should now see or hear any thing to change them." So spoketh Methuselah Dashwood. She does quite well sitting there and being talked over by Edward and Elinor.

The annotations suggest that Elinor's little speech about character reading can be taken "as an authorial warning that the novel's characters are not necessarily exactly what they seem." I think what follows is interesting - Marianne takes a very ungenerous view of Elinor's character. Very "and yours...is willfully to misunderstand [her character]."

There is one phrase in Edward's speech about his own judgement that I would very much like to highlight, but it's a spoiler, so first time readers beware >!"I have frequently thought that I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company..." I wonder if that is a retroactive excuse on his part? An explanation to himself as to why he became entangled with Lucy? At any rate, I love how Austen sows these little seeds of what's really going on in her novels!!<

In the last chapter, Marianne called Edward Edward and Elinor called him Mr. Ferrars. In this chapter, Edward calls Marianne by her first name, but Elinor gets a "Miss Dashwood."

As always, I do appreciate the recurrence of Elinor's dry humor in this chapter and that we get to see a thought more of what she might perceive as charming in Edward, though he ends it on a dull note.

 

 

In which misery is wallowed in and coldness is mortifying...

"She would have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next morning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than when she lay down in it. But the feelings which made such composure a disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was awake the whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. She got up with a headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment; giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all attempt at consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough!"

-The annotations point out that in all of this Marianne is deliberately following a mode of behavior that she subscribes to and finds appropriate. This is at least the second time in the novel where she has been said to be feeding negative emotions. Whereas in both instances she has every right to be grieving, I do not, as a reader, have much sympathy for her carrying on beyond what would be natural and normal. When she enacts a role, when she feeds her grief and in doing so causes pain by both shutting her family out and in causing them to fear for her well-being, my cold grinchy heart stops being too concerned. There is a sort of dishonesty in exaggerated emotion that I don’t like.  But, then again, she is a teenager and her mother has set her an example of this sort of behavior.

More of the same: “The evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling...she courted misery…”

Mrs. Dashwood once again comes up with very plausible sounding excuses for something, but as Elinor thinks “common sense, common care, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs. Dashwood’s romantic delicacy.”  This is bad parenting, y’all. Sweet, kind, loving, but BAD. It also frustrating to read - the tip-toe-ing around the topic heightens the suspense of the narrative, but I'm with Elinor in wanting the are they or are they not engaged question just settled already.

“Marianne’s mind could not be controuled” - can it not be controlled at this point because she is so out of the practice of it? Or is she still in a state where it can't be controlled because she doesn't want it to be?

On the other hand, Marianne's joy for Elinor in seeing Edward is very winning: "in her sister's happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment" (though I'd like to note that we readers can't be sure of what exactly that disappointment entails, not being privy to most of Marianne's thoughts).

This chapter gives us one of my all-time favorite Austenisms: "It is not every one," said Elinor, "who has your passion for dead leaves."  If there is anything I’m going to take away from this read-through, it will be a much deeper appreciation for Elinor's dry humor.

And it also gives us one of the most teenagery teenaged things a teenaged character ever said "No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood."

The end of this chapter is awfully interesting, with Elinor carefully toeing the line of propriety and Marianne lashing out at it in favor of honesty.  Relatedly - anyone else notice that Marianne calls Edward Edward, but Elinor calls him “Mr. Ferrars?”

Edward is charming in regard to dirty lanes and a wet mop otherwise. 

 

 

 

In which Willougby weasels away…

“He turned round on their coming in, and his countenance shewed that he strongly partook of the emotion which overpowered Marianne.” The narration is telling us this – that Willoughby is partaking in the same emotions as Marianne – so no matter what we eventually discover about his behavior, his emotions at least are what they should be, right?

“She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust.”

Marianne has little actual presence in this chapter, but it still gives us interesting insight into her character and her overwhelming commitment to her own personal standards of behavior:

"she thought with the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty."

"She was without any power, because she was without any desire of command over herself."  For this latter line, the annotations point out that Marianne, in giving way as she does, is also distressing her mother and Elinor (and presumably Margaret who has been presumably banished to an attic due to her Mr. F comments), which is almost rather selfish on her part.  Either way, these two lines recalled these lines from the first chapter:  “Encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction”. “voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again”

“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except one is in favour of their engagement; but that one is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.”  Elinor coming in hard with the common sense here.  I am glad that someone is finally saying what I’ve been wondering about since we started this book – how are all these characters being considered engaged by others without anyone actually saying anything about it?

“It was involuntary , and I will not encourage it.”  This statement of Elinor’s is in direct opposition of Marianne’s behavior.

“In such a case, a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been much more to his hounor, I think…but I will not raise objections against any one’s conduct on so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judgement from myself, or a deviation from what I may think right and consistent.”  These are words to live by, I think.  

I’m wondering - Is Elinor the only true heroine of this novel? Akin to how Lizzy is the true heroine of P&P, even though the novel also ends with Jane's marriage? It just occurred to me in reading this chapter that we aren't privy to Marianne's thoughts to the same degree as Elinor's, similar to how we mostly learn about Jane in P&P through Lizzy's thoughts and dialogue. We have watched the action unfold almost entirely from the narrator/Elinor's perspective as well. I also thought that the narration was particularly sharp about Marianne's self-indulgent emotions in this chapter.  Not that establishing a "true heroine" is important (it probably isn't) - I just found it so striking in this chapter how very little we've seen of Marianne's internal life so far in the novel, and how, if we had more of that and/or been following the action from her perspective akin to how we see Elinor's, there would not have been the need for the speculation and doubts discussed in this chapter.

 In which Mrs. Jennings wonders, Elinor worries, and Mrs. Dashwood does not improve the cottage…

“She was a great wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all the comings and goings of all their acquaintance.”  Just me loving on some character description again!

Meanwhile, Marianne and Willoughby have not officially declared their engagement and Elinor is beginning to worry. Her worry is started in behavior “wholly contradictory to their general opinions and practice,” but what do we know of Willoughby’s general opinions?  We were told by the narration that he has been parroting Marianne’s, mostly. 

I love how Elinor’s character is mostly unfolding through her dialog.  Her practicality comes through here:
“…my mother will never have money enough to attempt it.” 

And her dry humor shows again here:
“With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose,” said Elinor.  

 Related to the above, the annotation says this, rather pithily, I think: “Willoughby can readily ignore the cottage’s inconveniences, because he doesn’t have to live there.”  

This is a chapter that I imagine produces widely different reactions based on whether one is familiar with the overall story or reading it for the first time.  

A long, long time ago, I read "The Three Musketeers" and I enjoyed it well enough to read the next four books in the D'Artagnan Romances. That added up to a lot of reading and, for a time, marked the sum total of my Dumas reading era. I found him an exceptional storyteller, but somehow, his writing didn't stick with me in the same way that, say, Thackeray's did (I read "Vanity Fair" for the first time around the same time), so I never revisited his works. But then I watched as "The Count of Monte Cristo" became Reddit's favorite classic novel and my nosy nature had to find out what the hype was all about.

Friends, this is kind of a mid book, at least on the average. The first three hundred pages or so are amongst the most gripping, most engaging pages I've ever read, but then the novel goes to Italy and it just never reaches the same heights again. And then goes on for 900 pages more.

I was so drawn to the character of Edmond and the earlier part of the story is mostly made up of his perspective- the reader gets to know him intimately. After he is reborn as the hashish enthusiast Monte Cristo, his character is set at a distance from the reader. We only get glimpses of what happened during the years of transformation and his thoughts/feelings are kept from us too, only apparent through smiles and turning pale. We do finally get close to the character again, towards the end, but it's something like 600 pages later. And many of the chapters in between are very sloggy and the pay-off that every "Trust me, bro" comment promises will make up for it if you push through, kinda doesn't really make-up for it. It's really a given that Monte Cristo will succeed in his revenge: he has infinite wealth and is incredibly clever - he's overpowered. The only way he wouldn't succeed is if he dies before succeeding in his revenge, but that doesn't make for much suspense. And even if you are a person who finds the novel engaging again after we get out of Italy (related - it's so strange to have so much of the novel through Franz's perspective and then he just sorta is gone for the rest of the novel. Hope you enjoyed your travels, Franz!!), we're still talking about a couple hundred pages that aren't that great (related - why does Luigi Vampa need such a long backstory, especially compared to Monte Cristo's other confederates?). A couple hundred pages constitutes a whole other book! This book has a whole other book's worth of not that great in it. I can't think of another book that is so seemingly widely beloved that has such a large chunk of it that's not the best. The best books, at least to me, maintain their quality throughout.

I can see how one could argue that there needs to be that perspective shift to keep the element of surprise, but I have read plenty of revenge stories which maintain the perspective of the revenger, as it were, without spoiling the plot. Anyway, my guess (likely a bad one) is that people just enjoy the overpowered revenge story. And, again, Dumas was an excellent storyteller. The overall novel, though, just didn't end up being a favorite for me. Definitely preferred the Musketeers.​​

In which no one becomes wet through, fatigued, or frightened, and Colonel Brandon goes away in a hurry...

“eager to be happy.”  This phrase sent me down a wormhole because I was sure I had come across a similar phrase elsewhere in Austen.  I found what I was looking for:  “Bingley was ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined, to be pleased,” though it is also similar to “Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there” from Emma.  In hunting down the phrase from P&P though, I noticed that it’s fairly common throughout Austen’s canon for characters to anticipate happiness and pleasure via such phrasing (i.e. "going to somewhere to be happy," "ready to be pleased," etc.).  I don’t know if that’s unique to her writing, but I suspect not.

To continue with the rest of that quote:  "They were all in high spirits and good humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise,” is a very lovely way of putting “mind over matter.”

“and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual time…” Such hardship in the pursuit of pleasure!

“I am afraid,” replied Elinor, “that the pleasantness of an employment does not always envince its propriety.”  
“On the contrary…for if there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong…”.   Here, Elinor’s standard of propriety is based on reason and society norms, but Marianne’s own personal guide to what is right is based solely on what she feels to be correct.  The annotations say further that  “When Marianne insists on her own, private, natural standards, without reference to common life and established common sense, or to the consistency and transparency that compose a moral decorum, she loses the ability to reflect upon and judge herself, because she loses the ability to measure her desires against an external standard." I think this brings us to some big ideas! How does a person rightfully judge when to flout established societal norms? Who is the final arbiter of what is right and what is wrong? Are we all guided by some inner sense of when we are doing wrong? What if we aren't?

I have never noticed myself feeling much sympathy (or interest) in the character of Lady Middleton, but I do feel for her obvious embarrassment by her mother's behavior in this chapter because I'm getting it secondhand. The annotations note that Austen made a small edit from the first edition in this chapter where she removed the line "Lady Middleton's delicacy was shocked; and in order to banish so improper a subject as the mention of a natural daughter, she actually took the trouble of saying something herself about the weather." The annotation conjectures that "Perhaps the author thought that the point about Lady Middleton's sense of propriety had already been abundantly made."

Anyone else bothered by the idea of Willoughby and Marianne discussing how they'd improve someone else's house (obviously both guided to some degree by the idea that the house might someday be theirs’s)? Considering how upsetting the very idea of this is in the person of Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice, I'm surprised this doesn't get more attention here. Is bad behavior generally more tolerated in attractive characters?

All the tacky in me that loves bright colors like a Lisa Frank-obsessed little girl in 1997 is adoring this set. It's from the Macmillan Collector's line (so tiny!) and was released in celebration of the Austen 250. The content is standard issue, so just the text of the novel, with the exception of a two page illustrated explanation of the connection to Austen that inspired the color of each over. MP is yellow for topaz crosses; P&P is blue for Jane's ring; Emma is white for an Indian muslin shawl; S&S is red for the brick of Chawton; NA is green for a patchwork bed cover; and Persuasion is blue for the Royal Navy uniform.

Do I think the shiny text on the cover will wear away with use? Absolutely, yes. Do I care that much? No, not particularly. 😊

I just adore the cover art on the Penguin Deluxe titles and the bright colors of the Macmillan Austen 250 set. Yay books!

In which we see Marianne's imprudence and want of thought...

“that in spite of all that she knew before of Marianne’s imprudence and want of thought…”

Elinor's dry wit is still in play: “after all, build a stable to receive them…”

“Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.” I feel like this is true to life, but I also feel like we're supposed to look askance on it as it's coming from Marianne.

"Of John I know very little, though we have lived together for years;" How much more awful does this make John's behavior/lack of support for his sisters? Before this statement, we don't know that they ever lived together as a family, but now we do and, well, ughhhh John Dashwood.

If I haven't made it clear yet, I love Austen's insight into human foibles. How often have she met someone who rises up and backs their own opinion harder in the face of any opposition: “Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach her more to her own opinion.”

The annotations note that “the fairy Queen Mab was said to send sexual dreams and to encourage fantasies of love," so there's that.

“created no other surprise, than that she, or any of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover it by accident.”  This is the second time that one of the sisters is said to be privately, unacknowledgedly engaged.   Does anyone with historical expertise know why this is the case in this novel? In most, if not all, of Austen's other novels, parental consent to engagements is very explicit, yet, in this novel, apparently both sisters are considered engaged without Mrs. Dashwood's knowing anything about it officially?

The annotations note that “secrets” are important and omnipresent in this novel and constitue a major theme.

We see Elinor's dry humor again in regards to Great Uncles.

The annotations for this one strongly emphasize the strong undercurrent of "sexual energy" in this chapter, connecting Willoughby's sniping of Marianne's hair to Pope's "The Rape of the Lock" and suggesting that the episode reveals that Marianne's over-wrought sensibility makes her vulnerable to seduction. 

Margaret Dashwood speaks (finally) and is gloriously sassy: "Well then he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such a man once" 

“Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion mindful of the feelings of others;” -Colonel Brandon puts me a little bit in mind of Emma in that it feels like there are members of the Austen community that cannot like these characters but it's not through a lack of their author putting their good qualities out there, though much more blatantly with the Colonel here.

In which Marianne and Willoughby are most exceedingly laughed at...

“But Marianne abhorred all concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves illaudable, appeared to her not merely an uncessary effort, but a disgraceful subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions.”  How does this quote work with the more famous one from Pride & Prejudice, below? 

“In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”

"When he was present she had no eyes for anyone else. Every thing he did, was right. Every thing he said was clever...If dancing formed the amusement for the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such conduct made them of course most exceedingly laughed at;"  Anyone else shuddering in remembering similar behavior around their own first crush/boyfriend/girlfriend, etc. in their youth? 

“and had Elinor’s memory been equal to her means of improvement…” what a pithy way of saying Elinor couldn’t be bothered to remember.  

“Lady Middleton was more agreeable than her mother, only in being more silent.”  “She had nothing to say one day that she had not said the day before.”  I don’t think many other authors can touch Austen for her characterizations.  These are so much more revealing than a simple “quiet and boring.”

“she had reason to suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been known by him.” -another example of Colonel Brandon being akin to a haunted, romantic hero.

“No,” replied Elinor, “her opinions are all romantic.”  “A few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself.”  Isn’t this the crux of Marianne’s personality?  

"There are inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for.  Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage.”  The annotations point to 18^(th) century novels that “increased knowledge of the world…could teach a young person the prudence necessary for appropriate adult conduct.”  

“The whole story would have been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.”  This ties back to the earlier quote of all of Marianne’s opinions being “romantic” and the idea that with very little effort, Colonel Brandon can be cast as a romantic hero.

In which there is (too) much sharing of opinions…

Austen tends to be rather stinting with the details regarding what her heroines look like.  The second paragraph of this chapter gives about as many details as one gets anywhere in her novels.  The annotation states that we are getting these descriptions here “through Willoughby’s eyes:  he is concerned first of all with their appearance.”  The annotation then notes that in MP, we don’t get much of a description of Fanny until Henry Crawford becomes interested in her, and in Emma, we only get a description of her in chapter 5 during a conversation between Mr. Knightley and Mrs. Weston.

“when she heard him declare of that of music…he was passionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation…”  One would have thought that Colonel Brandon’s intelligent and polite interest in Marianne’s music would have done something towards winning her approbation, but then again, he is contending against a flannel waistcoat.

"...her favorite authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence of such works, however disregarded before.  Their taste was strikingly alike."  By nature or by design?   The “however disregarded before” seems to be our hint that the astounding similarity in taste between Marianne and Willoughby might not be quite as natural as Marianne would like to believe. Marianne is leading him in conversation and taking his acquiescence to her opinions to mean that he has long shared them and has similar taste. Much like how seeing a handsome young man in hunting clothes has convinced her in the last chapter that such clothes are the most attractive, for him, seeing a handsome young woman spout forth opinions on music and books has made those which she delights in attractive to him as well. The annotations in the edition I'm reading take pains to point out where the narration seems to imply that Marianne is more or less constructing her ideal young man in this chapter, using Willoughby as a base, and he is doing his part by adapting to her eagerly, loudly, and frankly avowed ideals. The man is an eel.

I do so love Elinor’s dry humor.  Her (upcoming) famous quotes about dead leaves and rational opposition get sufficient attention, but this paragraph in which she teases Marianne is delightful and doesn’t get the attention it deserves.  The annotations point out that this exchange is important in that Marianne declares herself an enthusiastic partisan for honesty, whereas Elinor is showing that she aligns herself with societal norms, though I would say the narration points out that instead Elinor believes in caution.

“His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserved appeared rather the result of some oppression of spirits…” this seems like real material for a romantic hero.  I am still reading this novel with the idea that it is similar to Northanger Abbey in that it is both a satire and a pastiche, mocking the novel of sentiment in a similar way that NA mocks the gothic while also using some of its trappings and tropes.  

There aren't many instances in Austen of worthy people being blatantly the butt of someone's wit, and notably in Emma, when that happens, it is a shocking moment. From the first time I read this part, it's always made me a bit sad as it is just so very unkind:
“Brandon is just the kind of man,” said Willoughby one day, when they were talking of him together, “whom every body speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to.”

Then they continue with it:
“I do not dislike him. I consider him, on the contrary, as a very respectable man, who has every body’s good word, and nobody’s notice; who has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to employ, and two new coats every year.”

“Add to which,” cried Marianne, “that he has neither genius, taste, nor spirit. That his understanding has no brilliancy, his feelings no ardour, and his voice no expression.”

That this sort of criticism is relatively rare in Austen ought to tell us a bit about the characters employing it.

In which Marianne tumbles about and we meet a hero out of a romance…

 “the independence of Mrs. Dashwood’s spirit overcame the wish of society for her children.” -This is not the first instance we’ve seen of Mrs. Dashwood’s independent spirit.  Her wish to quit Norland quickly in the face of Fanny’s rudeness is another instance.

 “Marianne’s declaration that the day would be lastingly fair” – the annotations note that this is a tiny instance of Marianne’s tendency to confuse her wishes with facts.

Enter Willoughby, romantic hero:  “…he then departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the midst of an heavy rain.”  “His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story;” 

I thought "and she soon found out that of all the manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming" was mightily similar to "What beautiful hyacinths! I have just learnt to love a hyacinth" in Northanger Abbey. Young ladies are apt to learn to love things associated with pleasant young men!

Sir John’s views on what makes a good man:  “As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you.  A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England.”  Not to mention the pretty pointer bitch (whose coloring Marianne cannot recall!).

“Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and leave him no sense of fatigue.”  That “whatever” is problematic, I think.  One wouldn’t want to someone who has, to not be more specific, bad pursuits to pursue the bad with no moderation.  

Bravo, Marianne, for this speech! “That is an expression, Sir John,” said Marianne, warmly, “which I particularly dislike. I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit is intended; and ‘setting one’s cap at a man,’ or ‘making a conquest,’ are the most odious of all. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and if their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago destroyed all its ingenuity.” I've been reading "Jane Austen: A Very Short Introduction" by Tom Keymer and this speech seems to go well with this passage from that: "Marianne's habit of causing stirs and making scenes, while at one level a mark of culpable self-absorption, also serves to disrupt social mechanisms that empower rank, wealth, and especially masculinity at the expense of both sisters." I thought it was rather bold of her to challenge Sir John's speech in such a beautifully blunt way.  Though what good does it do in this instance when “Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as heartily as if he did..”

Since I'm a pretty vulgar person myself, I have to admit that I find Sir John's simplistic vulgarity quite funny and "he is very well worth setting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and spraining of ancles" makes me laugh.

I apologize for the bottom-tier meme work today. I am traveling and putting this all together in about five minutes between things!

In which My_Poor_Nerves is made to feel every day of her advanced age and we get to know about Mrs. Jennings' favorite hobby…

Mrs. Jennings is unleashed in this chapter:
“and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world."

I love this train of evidence:
“She rather expected it to be so, on the very first evening of their being together, from his listening so attentively while she sang to them...the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again.”  “It would be an excellent match, for he was rich and she was handsome.”

The annotations note that “the narrator suggests that she can only speculate about Colonel Brandon’s feelings, although she knows Marianne’s.”

“for she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel’s advanced years” – another twist of the dagger at all us 30-somethings out there.  OH NO, WE’RE OLD!

“Perhaps,” said Elinor, “thirty-five and seventeen had better not have anything to do with matrimony together.”  This line is worth noting – we will have occasion to discuss it later.

“A woman of seven and twenty, “ said Marianne, after pausing a moment, “can never hope to feel or inspire affection again…”.  And now Marianne has come for the twenty-somethings.  

“Had he been only in a violent fever…” here we are, through Elinor, poking a bit of fun at Marianne’s sensibility, possibly culled from the novels of sensibility this trope (declines via mysterious fevers) derived from, and that Austen apparently delighted in ridiculing. 

“did he most unaccountably follow me out of the room”  We will have to keep an eye open, as we read, to see if this behavior eventually is accounted for.

The second to last annotation for this chapter is quite lengthy, discussing the contrasting and complimentary characteristics of the sisters, as well as how, unlike other sister pairings in Austen’s works, they have a close, loving bond despite occasionally disapproving of each other as they do mildly in this chapter.

In which we improve our acquaintance with the Middletons and we meet a Colonel in the advanced stage of life…

This novel has the feel of an early novel.  Austen as narrator is very blunt here with her character’s foibles and absurdities, in a way that I think is softened in her later works.

“It was necessary to the happiness of both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward behavior, they strongly resembled each other in that total want of talent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with such as society produced, within a very narrow compass.”  “Continual engagements…supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education.”  Maybe this is why Sense & Sensibility doesn’t feel as well loved as others of Austen’s novels.  There is not much of a break from the ridiculous or “horrible” in the characters.

“The young ladies, as well as their mother, were perfectly satisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for no more.”

Poor Elinor!  Marianne is already giving her away through her kind glances!

This summarizes the disparate characters of this chapter well:  “Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton’s mother.”

The line “her ladyship had celebrated that event by giving up music” is very akin to Mrs. Elton’s giving up music in “Emma” (“Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing more to say”). This must have been something frequently observed by Austen if she comments on it in two different novels.

Austen is often critical in what she perceives as lack of taste. The following lines reminded me a bit of Harriet’s criticizing Jane Fairfax’s Italian singing in “Emma,” (“I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had any taste. Nobody talked about it. And I hate Italian singing.—There is no understanding a word of it.”):
“Sir John was loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation with others while every song lasted.”
“Lady Middleton frequently called him to order, wondered how any one’s attention could be diverted from music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song which Marianne had just finished.”

And while, again, Austen is often critical of those lacking in taste, I feel her most delicious writing comes from describing those absurdities.  It might not be pleasant, but it is fun!

“She was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and thirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling and every exquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed to make every allowance for the colonel’s advanced state of life which humanity required.”  Yes, this is *very* reasonable.  I live for Austen's irony!

Will these notes eventually become a copy/paste of the entire chapter?  We’ll see!

 

In which more handsome stairs are wished for and we meet the Middletons…

"In the mean time, till all these alterations could be made from the savings of an income of five hundred a-year by a woman who never saved in her life...". The narration for S&S seems *particularly* dry and wry to me. I love it. So droll (if you are a first time reader, note that you will become more familiar with this particular encomium as we continue!).

“...and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy." How successful do you think the various Dashwoods are at this? Do you think the excitement of settling into a new house would be enough to get them through it? But also, where's Margaret?

This annotation is something to keep in mind: “The harmony and mutual affection of this little family of females become increasingly meaningful as the novel continues, by virtue of its contrast with the other family groups represented.”

Sir John Middleton provides the game Mr John Dashwood never got around to providing, but was mentioned in chapter 2. I imagine John Dashwood would excuse himself on the grounds of whatever he had in mind not being in season!

"On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the opinion of the others." I have lived this myself - children *are* very handy as topics of conversation when families meet for the first time. As always, I'm so impressed with Austen's prowess as an observer of human nature, especially its absurdities. As she wrote in Northanger Abbey, Austen's novels are "in short, only some work[s] in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language."

In which the Dashwood ladies prepare to move and Mr. & Mrs. John Dashwood mildly gnash their teeth...

This is a short chapter of mostly action and some notable inaction, the latter being summed up with:

“He really felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.

and

"Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry he was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to prevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture."

"Mrs. John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood’s income would be so trifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome article of furniture."  

Anyone else feel this? “...this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the performance of every thing that interested her, was soon done”

Marianne's theatricality aside, “No leaf will decay because we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we can observe you no longer! – No; you will continue the same; unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any change in those who walk under your shade!” is a surprisingly moving passage, especially for those of us who have ever had to move from a beloved home.