Why Jane Austen Matters

As you may well be aware, today marks the 200th anniversary of the first publication of Pride & Prejudice. Much is being said on the matter, especially by frenzied fans of the films. I enjoy the films very much myself; however, I am frustrated when people (fans and indifferents alike) reduce to her work to be called "romances," or label it as interesting/ relevant for women only. Then there seems to be the sort of confused group of people who scratch their heads and wonder why on earth she is praised both by intellectual circles and pop-Hollywood productions--how her work can be treated both so seriously and flippantly (a word I learned from Jane herself).

Literarily speaking, what she ought to be most praised for is the invention of the English-language novel as we know it. It's a huge claim to lay on her shoulders, but it is in fact accurate. Have you read any novels written before about 1810? There's probably good reason for that. The novel was still a new and somewhat unaccepted art form when Jane Austen came on the scene. The novels written prior to Sense & Sensibility's first publication in 1811 (Oroonoko, Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe) are meandering, poorly focused, contradicting tales. This doesn't mean that the stories are necessarily bad or that the writers were bad writers--rather, that no one had been able to take the concept of the novel and say, "Here is this art form. This is what works, this is what's important. This is how to provoke your reader." She knew which elements to expand (character development, action) and which to contract (physical descriptions of what people look like, where they live, etc.). She was able to harness the concept of a long fictional story and make it complete--not a word wasted or superfluous or boring.

Consider her contemporaries, like Mary Shelley or Sir Walter Scott (who was a great Austen fan). Her work is enormously different from theirs. Where Shelley and Scott are often repetitive, unfocused, or convoluted, Austen is direct, concise, and funny. She knows it's more important to describe character rather than person, allows her characters' actions to speak for themselves rather than belaboring a point.

Just a generation later, when the Bronte sisters wrote, the novel had become a much more sophisticated beast. Charlotte Bronte in particular turned her nose up at Austen as being a bit too prim and pressed, probably not considering that her own highly skilled work depended on the foundation of literary techniques that Austen was first to define.

On top of all this, she wrote characters who were multi-dimensional. Read Robinson Crusoe, for example--it's a marvelous concept for a story, and often I couldn't bring myself to put it down. But what one really longs for and does not get is a character that seems like a real human being. It would be wonderful if we were all born fully-composed people, knowing who we are, what we want, and how to get along with each other. But we aren't this way at all; we're lucky if we have a sense of self and an average ability to get along with each other. Even with these things, of course, we all know ourselves to be not only fundamentally flawed but curiously contradicting--how often we want two things at once that are simply mutually exclusive (like my deep desire to return to pre-pregnancy weight, and my just-as-equal-sometimes-greater desire for chocolate chip cookies...). Austen was able to write characters who were both flawed and attractive, whose motives ought to be other than what they were. Yet, we still like them, still root for them.

Another (and perhaps the most important) reason Austen matters is that she was skilled at observing and relating human behavior and emotion. No matter how well-written her work, if her subject matter did not continue to strike a chord with people, her skill would perhaps not mean much of anything. No matter who you are and where you come from, one thing that all human beings can relate to is the concept of home and family--even if you are without both, your relationship to them has informed who you are. Austen writes about these things that everyone has in common. She writes about a world that is bound by structure and rules, and characters are defined by which rules they choose to keep and which they choose to break.

Last night, Chris and I watched a program about her on PBS, where we learned that she has a substantial male following from a group of intellectual elites called the Janeites, of which Rudyard Kipling and F.R. Leavis were both members. Kipling even wrote a short story about the Janeites. We also learned that her work was enormously popular with soldiers during the world wars--who wanted something to read in the trenches, wanted to read about home, and found their solace in Austen's clean, structured, sunny world.

It's the propensity of fans and filmmakers alike to mistake her clean and direct writing, her happy stories as "simple." They do whatever they want with her work; sometimes, of course, it's brilliant (Clueless is still one of my favorite adaptations of her work); other times, like the Keira Knightley P&P, it's a mixed bag. (Oh, I could write an entire essay just about that...) The greatest sin of all, in my book, is to polarize her characters--Elizabeth Bennet is no angel, and she's certainly not Darcy's moral superior, as is often seen in adaptations. Mr. Bennet is far from a charming, perfect father. Mrs. Bennet, however aggravating, works tirelessly for the welfare of her daughters who otherwise would literally be homeless without marriage upon their father's death. It's not as though Mr. Collins has the generosity of heart to care for them. Actually, I think that in any adaptation, the only character consistently well-portrayed is Mr. Hurst. How sad is that, when her characters are so delightfully relatable just the way they are? And when, in fact, the story's power is derived from the friction of these characters' desires and shortcomings?

In any case. Still more than all of this is that her language itself is delightful. It's impossible to come away from Pride & Prejudice without feeling uplifted, and this is perhaps her greatest gift of all: to make people feel better. Even Winston Churchill once credited reading her work for curing an illness he was suffering from. She's delightful and funny. She has given me hope when I was lonely, entertainment when I've been bored. I love her. And I don't care who knows it.

Resolute: 2013, "Just One Thing"

It's that time of year again; that time when we set impossible standards for ourselves, then banish ourselves out of guilt for not living up to them. I would say I am an above-average goal-setter/achiever. I say this with humility, as I feel fortunate that goal-achieving is a skill I was taught well by parents who are even better at it than I am. I say this with humility, because not everyone has the advantage of goal-setting-achieving being part of their nature. I say this with humility, because good as I am at it, I still (very often) fall short of attainment.

Usually, I love setting my New Year's Resolutions. I can't wait to come up with the new me on paper. This year, however, I've been dreading it; dreading it because, (in spite of my previous protestations) it's been a while since I've accomplished a NY resolution that actually changed my life. I was mulling over why this was, and trying really hard to not fall into the "easy" trap of blaming my motherhood. While it's true one can't be all things at one time, it's also true that I can usually accomplish a few things if I really set my mind to them. I've been examining my past resolutions, trying to figure out why it is they (and I) succeeded or failed. I've been reading a lot of blog posts about others' resolutions, and some more academically minded articles about finding success or failure in those resolutions. I'm trying to figure out what the golden key is here --and I think I just may have found it for myself.

Just one thing.

That's it. In the past, my most successful resolutions are the ones that have been singular and relatively easy to meet. Case in point: One of my very most successful resolutions was the year I promised to sing every hymn in church. I'd been in my student ward for a while, and was starting to get lax about not singing in meetings; it started with choosing not to sing the songs I didn't know, and had gotten to the point where I didn't sing simply because I didn't feel like it (which was happening more and more frequently). So I told myself for one year I was going to make myself--no matter what. By the end of the next year, I was surprised to see how much more I enjoyed singing, how many new hymns I'd learned (and even learned the alto line!), and how my overall sense of the Spirit had grown.

Another valuable lesson from the hymn experiment was that it pretty much didn't get easier to make myself sing the hymns until I was nearly to end of the year. The lesson? It's hard to change habits--but even if we have a hard time changing who we innately are, we can still force ourselves to make choices that we really, really don't feel like making. Maybe the core of who we are will never change (I'd be lying if I didn't also mention that while I still almost always sing hymns--unless I'm sick--there's very often that part of me that groans and throws a stink about it); but maybe making the decisions to negate who we are become just a tiny bit easier every day.

There are some things we can do to help in this process that I personally think make quite a bit of difference in how well you stick to your goals. Basically, this boils down to rearranging your life so that the single most essential goal is always fits into the mix (with all the other essential things in your life). With singing hymns, this meant that most Sundays I tried sitting next to my friend Elizabeth, who loves to sing, is a wonderful singer, and from whom I could learn the alto lines, simply by sitting next to her. Plus, I know she's got gumption enough to encourage the person sitting next to her to sing. Second, I brought cough drops to church when I was sick. Or breath mints. Or gum. Whatever. Basically, I just didn't give myself a reason to make excuses.

This also usually means cutting other things out. For me, that means cutting out other resolutions. I've never been successful when I've had more than one. Usually, the demands of one end up invalidating another. Pick one, rearrange your life to suit it, stick with it.

With that said, this year, my goal is to take care of my body. That's it. I have an entire year to get the baby weight off (and there's thankfully not too much of it to lose in the first place; an entire year is entirely plausible). What this actually in-the-real-world means in my life is that I am giving myself permission: Permission to exercise at 2 in the afternoon if that's how long it takes for me to finish my morning routine with the kids. Permission to look "ugly" on those days when I exercise later and don't want to apply makeup/do my hair for the 2 remaining wakeful hours of the day. Permission to neglect social media (including this blog) if it means I get to brush my teeth or prepare a healthy snack or read an inspiring article. Permission to say "no" to social engagements with friends if it conflicts with exercise, healthy food prep, etc. I'm just going to make it happen, and try to get back to living in a body that feels good to live in.

What will you be trying to accomplish this year?

Christmas 2012

This Christmas was just lovely. It's the first year since we've been married that we stayed in our own space; last year, we woke up here on Christmas morning, went to church, then hit the road for a family vacation to AZ. This year, we got to have a nice Christmas morning in our own space and on our own timeline. It was lovely. In the afternoon, we went to my brother's in Ogden; he took over doing the shrimp feast my mom always prepares on Christmas Day. It was great to just hang out with family and relax.

There are a ton of pictures on my real camera, but guess what? I don't feel like uploading them right now. So you get some awesome iPhone pics which I'm not even going to edit for you. Feeling special yet?

Well, here are the highlights:

1. Ada and Eloise Aspen, her cabbage patch doll. I may or may not have cried in the middle of Costco when my mom and I found Eloise. I loved my own cabbage patch doll (Patricia Myrtle) so much I couldn't wait for Ada to have Eloise. Then I panicked that maybe Ada was too young for such a doll and worried I'd become one of those moms who insists on her daughters being exactly like her. But no worries: Ada and Eloise are bosom friends. I've never seen a little girl love her doll so much. And it's so fun seeing her push Eloise all over the house in her teeny tiny stroller (which, btw, W insists on using as a vacuum/lawn mower/rocket/etc.).

2. D&G. I can't stop smelling myself. Even in public. Yes, it's embarrassing, but I don't really mean to. I just look around for the fantastic smell I caught a whiff of, and guess what? It's always me! Thank you to beauty magazines for making me feel like having a "signature scent" is crucial to knowing who you are in life (sarcasm).

3. Ada's mid-morning meltdown when we explained there would be no more chocolate until after lunch. Chris and I couldn't stop laughing. Her reaction was so immediate and so sincere; I actually felt sorry for her (but didn't give in!).

4. Chris and I decided to do a handmade gift exchange this year. I decided to take my hand to my own melted crayon art. I am not crafty or artistic. This, however, was pretty awesome. I used crayola metallic crayons, and it was magical and ruined my blowdryer, to boot. But when all was said and done, I felt like Picasso, which is a new experience to me.

This year, I was unable to get Christmas cards out in the mail. We've been sick for more than a month, so consider yourself lucky; I don't know if germs can be carried by letter, but if they can, you'd all be miserable right about now. 

Merry Christmas!