Hogwarts! and Jane Austen
Nov. 13th, 2007 06:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unforthIn a way, by the by, I sort of like that I now have to post once a day. It means I can come up with one interesting thing on which to comment. ;) Todays thing relates to Jane Austen.
It might come as a surprise to any who know of my utter devotion to Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice that I've never actually read any Austen before. The reason for this is simple and slightly embarrassing. My mother has loved Austen since long before I was born. I remember watching P&P with her when I was so young that I couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on. Then, when S&S came out in 1995 (thank you, IMDB) we saw it in theaters, and I fell utterly in love with it. A few years later, in a lull in my reading fantasy, I forced mom to produce her well loved complete works, and endeavored to read it.
I hated it. I couldn't follow the prose. I thought it was boring. I got about 5 pages in, set it down, and never picked it up again.
In the years since then, I've reproached myself for that over and over again with out ever seeking to rectify it. I couldn't believe for an instant that there was any flaw in the book, which meant the flaw had been in my 15 year old self. Well, I'm not 15 any more. So a few days ago, I stumbled on an interesting mental conundrum: I very much wanted to read something familiar - something that would hold no surprises for me, something not terribly complicated, something I could be assured would have a happy and romantic ending. At the same time, though, I didn't want to read something that I had read before. What a ridiculous - and largely impossible to meet! - situation. Thinking on it, I tried to determine what would suffice, and thought sadly that all I really wanted to do was sit and watch Sense and Sensibility.
Problem solved. I went to a bookstore yesterday, found myself a copy - I wanted P&P too, but they didn't have it; I think maybe I'll try to find it tomorrow - and proceeded to begin to read it immediately. I finished it today. And I LOVED it. Oh, it was even better than the movie, and I love the movie! In truth, I had the feeling that my love of the movie caused a feedback, so the added depth of the book was enacted by those same actors whose performances so endeared me to the story as I knew it, and the result was that the book played in my head as the movie, only more so. I couldn't have hoped for anything better, really. And so I have rectified my crime of many years ago, and found a book which brought me utter delight. I got an interesting insight into growing older and wiser, too, for there is clearly some improvement in my reading comprehension that a book I found so dry before could be so eminently readable to me now. Of course, my 15 year old self made it through pages and pages of Patrick O'brien describing the tacking on the main stay sail, so who can say? What I can say is that I'm glad I bought Emma yesterday, too. :) (my only exposure to Emma is in the form of "Clueless," a loose adaptation at best, so it will be almost entirely new to me, which I'm also looking forward to. P&P, meanwhile, I've seen three different versions of. ;) )
Meanwhile, tomorrow I get to cheat immensely at my writing, for the entirity of it will be made up of a letter that Marcus sends Delia, and the Quidditch match. Since I have the actual letter that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drake_rocket sent me, and the Quidditch match that buzzermccain wrote, both saved as word documents, all that will need to be done is to rewrite them from my characters PoV, which means I expect tomorrows word count to be vast and unwarranted due to the ease of these tasks. :)
I cannot help but feel that to attempt a full description of the dancing of the evening would be to profane one of my dearest and most precious memories. I could, I suppose, speak at length on it. I could comment on how my feet seemed to scarcely touch the floor, and I thought that Marcus must surely be the best dancer in my – granted limited – experience. I could discuss how I never even noticed the size of the floor, and not until later did it dawn on me that the house elves had removed the table. I could say with smiles how at one point Marcus lifted me, and set me down with a enough force that the phonograph then repeated the same few bars of song for a minute before we could figure out how to make it stop. I could attempt to describe how, staring in to Marcus’ eyes, I sensed a depth of feeling, a devotion, that took my breath away. However, none of this could do even the most simple justice to the event. Suffice it to say that, looking back with the perfect hindsight of many years, that evening changed my life.
How much later it was when we both stopped I could not say. I felt as light on my feet and as fresh as if I hadn’t spent the entire day on a broomstick or the past unknown minutes – or hours – dancing. Yet the hour must surely have been late, and so we said our goodbyes. My mind was all a whirl, and I barely knew where I walked, but I was scarcely to the end of the dusty hallway when Marcus called me.
“I have forgotten to tell you the most important part,” he said apologetically, and I realized that he must be as flustered as I felt. “This very afternoon, Katrina, apparently much frustrated with my behavior since the ball, demanded to know if I intended to continue to court her, and what my intentions where.” I think my heart stopped. “I told her,” Marcus was looking at me intensely, and my heart resumed, now with a desperate fluttering as if racing to catch up to what it had missed. “That under absolutely no circumstance did I intend to pursue that which she had forced on me. I also made sure she understood that I intended to spend my attentions on you.” He frowned with concern. “I’m afraid I was unbearably rude to her, but then she was hardly polite to me in the manner of her request, and she has said some truly low things concerning you in the past days as well, that I hope can be some excuse for my behavior.” I tried to reply, to tell him that it was no great matter, but I could find no words. A surge of triumph filled my being. I had been competing with Katrina for weeks now, and I had won. The prize had been Marcus’ attention, and I had won. But far from feeling delight at this, it filled me with the strangest sense of dread, self-reproach, and horror. It was all I could do to keep from crying on the spot. Marcus seemed the more out of sort by my inexplicable response, and I pulled myself together enough to make polite good evenings, and began the walk back to the Ravenclaw common room in much different spirits than even moments before.
How, then, to explain how such good news could have resulted in such a change in my good humor. At first, I could not come up with an explanation of any kind. I should be elated – indeed, for a scant moment or two I had been elated, before the emotion faded into bleakness. I had triumphed. Marcus was as good as mine. And in that thought, I think, lay the heart of my despair. Marcus felt genuine affection for me, surely he must, and I had deceived him, and used him, in the most unworthy fashion imaginable. With no thought but my own convenience, my own selfish desires, I had seduced the heart of a good and decent man. For he truly was such; all of the features that had drawn me to him as a “good enough” companion spoke to his worthiness of affection. He was smart, and handsome; he was brave, noble, well spoken, sweet and eloquent. He was caring and concerned and loyal. And I had used him, used him horribly, entirely so that I would not have the inconvenience of an arranged marriage. I was no better than Katrina! No, I thought bleakly, I was indeed far worse than Katrina. Her pursuit, while just as false as mine, was at least predicated on a respect for his good qualities, on his handsomeness and the fact that he had rescued her from a terrible fate. I did not even have that defense. I would have asked anyone with Marcus’ lineage to the Ball as long as they were not of that most odious of pure-blooded mindsets, simply because at least by asking I preserved my right to choose which my parents thought to deny me. I had known nothing of Marcus’ good qualities when I had asked him, and, I knew in my heart, I don’t think it would have mattered to me at all had he in fact been something of a cad. All of this, now, caused me to take nothing but bitter unhappiness from my triumph. All of this caused me to see with the rankness of irony the situation I created for myself. After this evening, I could delude myself no longer that this was an arrangement of pure convenience. He felt affection for me, and, may I be cursed for it, I felt what I feared was even more deep than affection for him. The symptoms that must surely have been obvious to anyone reading this narrative had, in the course of dancing, finally made themselves known to me. I was in love with him, firmly, unswervingly, and devotedly. And that love would not permit me to leave him in ignorance of what had first drawn me to him. I resolved that at the next possible opportunity, I would acquaint him with my ignoble pursuit, assign him my judge, and hope only that he could in time forgive me for my selfish crime. In one evening, I had gone from the very heights of joy to the very depths of wretchedness. Ignoring the calls of support from my housemates – wishes for luck in the Quidditch game to occur the next day – I marched directly to my bed, threw myself upon it, and cried until sleep finally overcame me.
It might come as a surprise to any who know of my utter devotion to Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice that I've never actually read any Austen before. The reason for this is simple and slightly embarrassing. My mother has loved Austen since long before I was born. I remember watching P&P with her when I was so young that I couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on. Then, when S&S came out in 1995 (thank you, IMDB) we saw it in theaters, and I fell utterly in love with it. A few years later, in a lull in my reading fantasy, I forced mom to produce her well loved complete works, and endeavored to read it.
I hated it. I couldn't follow the prose. I thought it was boring. I got about 5 pages in, set it down, and never picked it up again.
In the years since then, I've reproached myself for that over and over again with out ever seeking to rectify it. I couldn't believe for an instant that there was any flaw in the book, which meant the flaw had been in my 15 year old self. Well, I'm not 15 any more. So a few days ago, I stumbled on an interesting mental conundrum: I very much wanted to read something familiar - something that would hold no surprises for me, something not terribly complicated, something I could be assured would have a happy and romantic ending. At the same time, though, I didn't want to read something that I had read before. What a ridiculous - and largely impossible to meet! - situation. Thinking on it, I tried to determine what would suffice, and thought sadly that all I really wanted to do was sit and watch Sense and Sensibility.
Problem solved. I went to a bookstore yesterday, found myself a copy - I wanted P&P too, but they didn't have it; I think maybe I'll try to find it tomorrow - and proceeded to begin to read it immediately. I finished it today. And I LOVED it. Oh, it was even better than the movie, and I love the movie! In truth, I had the feeling that my love of the movie caused a feedback, so the added depth of the book was enacted by those same actors whose performances so endeared me to the story as I knew it, and the result was that the book played in my head as the movie, only more so. I couldn't have hoped for anything better, really. And so I have rectified my crime of many years ago, and found a book which brought me utter delight. I got an interesting insight into growing older and wiser, too, for there is clearly some improvement in my reading comprehension that a book I found so dry before could be so eminently readable to me now. Of course, my 15 year old self made it through pages and pages of Patrick O'brien describing the tacking on the main stay sail, so who can say? What I can say is that I'm glad I bought Emma yesterday, too. :) (my only exposure to Emma is in the form of "Clueless," a loose adaptation at best, so it will be almost entirely new to me, which I'm also looking forward to. P&P, meanwhile, I've seen three different versions of. ;) )
Meanwhile, tomorrow I get to cheat immensely at my writing, for the entirity of it will be made up of a letter that Marcus sends Delia, and the Quidditch match. Since I have the actual letter that
drake_rocket sent me, and the Quidditch match that buzzermccain wrote, both saved as word documents, all that will need to be done is to rewrite them from my characters PoV, which means I expect tomorrows word count to be vast and unwarranted due to the ease of these tasks. :)I cannot help but feel that to attempt a full description of the dancing of the evening would be to profane one of my dearest and most precious memories. I could, I suppose, speak at length on it. I could comment on how my feet seemed to scarcely touch the floor, and I thought that Marcus must surely be the best dancer in my – granted limited – experience. I could discuss how I never even noticed the size of the floor, and not until later did it dawn on me that the house elves had removed the table. I could say with smiles how at one point Marcus lifted me, and set me down with a enough force that the phonograph then repeated the same few bars of song for a minute before we could figure out how to make it stop. I could attempt to describe how, staring in to Marcus’ eyes, I sensed a depth of feeling, a devotion, that took my breath away. However, none of this could do even the most simple justice to the event. Suffice it to say that, looking back with the perfect hindsight of many years, that evening changed my life.
How much later it was when we both stopped I could not say. I felt as light on my feet and as fresh as if I hadn’t spent the entire day on a broomstick or the past unknown minutes – or hours – dancing. Yet the hour must surely have been late, and so we said our goodbyes. My mind was all a whirl, and I barely knew where I walked, but I was scarcely to the end of the dusty hallway when Marcus called me.
“I have forgotten to tell you the most important part,” he said apologetically, and I realized that he must be as flustered as I felt. “This very afternoon, Katrina, apparently much frustrated with my behavior since the ball, demanded to know if I intended to continue to court her, and what my intentions where.” I think my heart stopped. “I told her,” Marcus was looking at me intensely, and my heart resumed, now with a desperate fluttering as if racing to catch up to what it had missed. “That under absolutely no circumstance did I intend to pursue that which she had forced on me. I also made sure she understood that I intended to spend my attentions on you.” He frowned with concern. “I’m afraid I was unbearably rude to her, but then she was hardly polite to me in the manner of her request, and she has said some truly low things concerning you in the past days as well, that I hope can be some excuse for my behavior.” I tried to reply, to tell him that it was no great matter, but I could find no words. A surge of triumph filled my being. I had been competing with Katrina for weeks now, and I had won. The prize had been Marcus’ attention, and I had won. But far from feeling delight at this, it filled me with the strangest sense of dread, self-reproach, and horror. It was all I could do to keep from crying on the spot. Marcus seemed the more out of sort by my inexplicable response, and I pulled myself together enough to make polite good evenings, and began the walk back to the Ravenclaw common room in much different spirits than even moments before.
How, then, to explain how such good news could have resulted in such a change in my good humor. At first, I could not come up with an explanation of any kind. I should be elated – indeed, for a scant moment or two I had been elated, before the emotion faded into bleakness. I had triumphed. Marcus was as good as mine. And in that thought, I think, lay the heart of my despair. Marcus felt genuine affection for me, surely he must, and I had deceived him, and used him, in the most unworthy fashion imaginable. With no thought but my own convenience, my own selfish desires, I had seduced the heart of a good and decent man. For he truly was such; all of the features that had drawn me to him as a “good enough” companion spoke to his worthiness of affection. He was smart, and handsome; he was brave, noble, well spoken, sweet and eloquent. He was caring and concerned and loyal. And I had used him, used him horribly, entirely so that I would not have the inconvenience of an arranged marriage. I was no better than Katrina! No, I thought bleakly, I was indeed far worse than Katrina. Her pursuit, while just as false as mine, was at least predicated on a respect for his good qualities, on his handsomeness and the fact that he had rescued her from a terrible fate. I did not even have that defense. I would have asked anyone with Marcus’ lineage to the Ball as long as they were not of that most odious of pure-blooded mindsets, simply because at least by asking I preserved my right to choose which my parents thought to deny me. I had known nothing of Marcus’ good qualities when I had asked him, and, I knew in my heart, I don’t think it would have mattered to me at all had he in fact been something of a cad. All of this, now, caused me to take nothing but bitter unhappiness from my triumph. All of this caused me to see with the rankness of irony the situation I created for myself. After this evening, I could delude myself no longer that this was an arrangement of pure convenience. He felt affection for me, and, may I be cursed for it, I felt what I feared was even more deep than affection for him. The symptoms that must surely have been obvious to anyone reading this narrative had, in the course of dancing, finally made themselves known to me. I was in love with him, firmly, unswervingly, and devotedly. And that love would not permit me to leave him in ignorance of what had first drawn me to him. I resolved that at the next possible opportunity, I would acquaint him with my ignoble pursuit, assign him my judge, and hope only that he could in time forgive me for my selfish crime. In one evening, I had gone from the very heights of joy to the very depths of wretchedness. Ignoring the calls of support from my housemates – wishes for luck in the Quidditch game to occur the next day – I marched directly to my bed, threw myself upon it, and cried until sleep finally overcame me.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-13 09:54 am (UTC)I am such a literary dork.
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Date: 2007-11-13 10:23 am (UTC)It's enough to make me wonder if I should read Elizabeth Gaskell's "North and South" again. I read in HS and it was AGONIZINGLY BAD. Hell, I might even like it now. :)
Thanks for the Bronte recommendation - not long after posting this, I started working, and I wrote this whole long work related e-mail and concluded it by begging my mom for reading recommendations. ;) Nothing wrong with literary dork-dom. ;) And I love that you have a Mr. Collins icon. It really is the most remarkable closet, you know.
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Date: 2007-11-13 12:52 pm (UTC)Then when I went to France in 2003 I took a copy of Pride and Prejudice, because my mom really, really wanted me to read it. (We are once again engaged in the same game: "Jessie's abroad and far from English language libraries so she'll read whatever Mom sends her!" She has threatened to send Gone with the Wind next.)
But...the funny thing is...I loved Pride and Prejudice. If I'm gonna read a romance story, that's the kind I want to read. It just struck me as so cute. (I guess because Elizabeth isn't much into romance stories herself, even if she happens to be in one!) And more than cute -- it was about quirky stubborn people. I love quirky stubborn characters.
Okay, enough rambling from me, because it's five to ten and I haven't started my 750 for the day. (I was at a friends' for dinner, so...! But no more slacking!)
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Date: 2007-11-13 01:58 pm (UTC)Since then, I've grown rather embarrassingly fond of romance. I tend to think any book less enjoyable that doesn't have at least some romance, I thrive on romantic entanglements in my roleplaying, and I'll even admit to reading the occasional trashy romance novel and enjoying it very much. :)
I like the "mature" romantic themes as emphasized by Austen, though, especially the Comedy of Manners that's a constant "character." I really am a total sucker for a good romance, though. :)
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Date: 2007-11-14 12:51 pm (UTC)That being said, if do ever read any of my stories, I would love to know if you find them interesting despite the lack of romance. It is my goal to win over at least a few people to appreciating non-romantic relationships, but I feel that may be a lost cause, considering what most fanfiction is about.
I could ramble on a lot more on this subject...I have some unorthodox (mostly benignly so, though some might unnerve some people) relationships in my stories, and they are mostly free of romance, but the way people like to read that in makes me wonder what they'll make of them. But I will be quiet now and go write my 750. ;)
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Date: 2007-11-14 01:06 pm (UTC)And I do hope to read some of your work at some point - otherwise, how will I ever learn what happens to Azilie? ;)
I find I'm very curious about the statement "I have some unorthodox (mostly benignly so, though some might unnerve some people) relationships in my stories" - once you finish your 750, I'd love to hear what sort of thing you mean, it sounds intriguing. :)
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Date: 2007-11-14 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 08:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-18 10:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-13 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-13 06:56 pm (UTC)My favorites are P&P and Persuasionn, then Emma. I still haven't re-read Northanger Abbey or Mansfield Park to rank them properly, but I liked the former more. I liked the movie Mansfield Park a fair bit; I recognized all the changes but liked it anyway. Or maybe because of the changes.
The movie Emma (Paltrow) was nice, but the spot in my heart is for Clueless.
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Date: 2007-11-13 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-14 08:02 am (UTC)Emma, so far, I'm not enjoying as much. It's odd, because I love Clueless, and now that I'm reading Emma the extent to which Clueless is directly based on it is obvious (I've heard varied reports on this in the past, indicating that Clueless was almost nothing like to Clueless being direct translation, the truth appears to be closer to the later) yet this isn't directly translating in to an affection for Emma. Of course, I'm still in the part where Cher/Emma is a total bitch, and Mr. Knightley (who I'm guessing is the "Josh" equivalent) just doesn't strike me as utterly to die for hot as Paul Rudd always has - I had kind of a thing for that character when I was in HS. ;)
Still, I'm enjoying it, just not as much. All the horrors haven't unfolded yet - though I'm just on the brink of them doing so, I think. :)