Shidduch Lit: "The Other Bennet Sister"

This past Shabbos, I began "The Other Bennet Sister" by Janice Hadlow, and while I am only fractionally in, I am already charmed. 

I have read a number of homages to Austen, and so far, Hadlow's is the most satisfying. She captures the language and sensibilities beautifully. The story initially runs parallel to "Pride & Prejudice," through Mary's eyes, intertwining, at times, Austen's dialogue with Hadlow's, and they seamlessly flow together.

Mary is "The Other Bennet Sister," and she is captured in a heart-breaking light. Sandwiched between four beautiful sisters, Mary, the only plain one, finds herself scorned by her mother and ignored by her father, who only cares for Elizabeth. She becomes serious and pious as an attempt to overcome this "shortcoming," feeling rather lonely. 

In terms of Shidduch Lit, her interactions with Charlotte Lucas definitely qualify. "[Mrs. Bennet did not] hesitate to dwell, with all the sympathy at her command, upon the disappointment [Lady Lucas] must feel at Charlotte's still remaining unmarried at the age of twenty-six, especially as there seemed so little chance of her changing her situation."

Charlotte and Mary have a number of interactions, and it is with Mary that Charlotte reveals her impatience and frustration. While Bingley leads her out for the first dance at the Meryton Assembly, he makes his preference to Jane clear by the dances following. 

"I know very well what I must say next," continued Charlotte. "I must smile and nod and look unconcerned at my dismissal, whilst laughing and teasing Jane about her new conquest. And that is what I will do. I'm used to it. but I tell you what it is, Mary—I'm not sure if I can do it for much longer. . . I am nearly twenty-seven years old. And not once has anyone looked at me with the admiration Mr. Bingley is now directing at Jane. Not once have I been the one around whom other women gather, congratulating, and exclaiming. No—it is always my lot to cheer the triumphs of my friends. . . Lord knows, I don't expect much. But I should like to have something of my own before it is too late. Some mark of affection, some sign I have been wanted and preferred." 

"You have parents who love you," ventured Mary, "and brothers and sisters to care for." 

"Yes," replied Charlotte, "and I know that should be enough, but with every day that goes past, I find that it isn't, quite." 

Charlotte later says: "When I was about your age, I imagined marriage was a reward for good behavior and patience. I thought if I was good and obliging and did as I was told, it was inevitable that I should end up as someone's wife. If it didn't happen this year, then surely it would in the next. But I waited and waited and smiled and smiled, and yet here I am—a single woman still." 

She then describes the sorry state of old maids, who have no means of support, and who are looked down upon and condescended to by society. She has decided to threaten herself by embracing spinsterhood the following year, and is now putting all her focus in securing a marriage partner. 

" . . . I'm prepared to do anything I can—within the bounds of propriety, of course—to find a respectable man to be my husband. If such a one were to cross my path tomorrow, I should not answer for his chances of escaping me." 

Charlotte, plain like Mary, sees in her a woman of similar situation, and feels she can be honest with her in a way she cannot be with Lizzie. Lizzie is young and beautiful, and can talk of love marriages. But Charlotte will not, cannot, wait for love. She wants a home of her own. She wants status. She wants to be married. 

She tells Mary: "Don't waste time as I have done waiting for something to happen. Fortune really does favor the brave, you know. Don't believe you can find happiness celebrating the good fortune of others. An eternity spent smiling and cooing over the good luck of your friends makes the heart sick in the end. And above all, don't long for what you cannot have, but learn to recognize what is possible, and when it presents itself, seize upon it with both hands. It seems to be the only route to happiness for those of us born with neither beauty, riches, nor charm."

OK, my hands are cramping with how much I've quoted, but these passages really spoke to me. For a long long time I had to go to vort after vort of "baby" cousins, smile and be gracious and wish Mazel Tov while I wondered what the heck I was doing already that rendered these kiddies married while I remained the unmarried freak. 

Anywho, like I said, I'm not that far in. I'll let you know if I liked the ending.

It Was Almost Shidduch Lit

A few years ago, HarperCollins launched "The Austen Project," recruiting excellent authors to retell Jane's novels in a contemporary setting. I read only one so far, Joanna Trollope's attempt at Sense and Sensibility.  

I have a fondness for Trollope's work. Even when I do not relate to her plots, her prose is arresting enough to keep me glued. 

But it seems that Austen must remain in Regency times. 

There are witty lines, sharp observations. She even casually sprinkles the names from other Austen novels throughout—Musgrove, Elliot, even the name Austen. 

Yet the modern world cracks heads with the old world too many times. The idea of "heirs" or "heiresses" sounds absolutely archaic, along with Mrs. Ferrars' obsession that Edward marry a specific girl that he has not socialized with simply due to her father's money.  It's not like a near stranger can propose nowadays and not expect pepper spray.

In addition, Edward's loyalty to Lucy Steele sounds rather weak. Maybe a century ago a man could not shame a woman by backing out of an official engagement, but today all it requires is a sit-down where he sadly informs her that he doesn't love her and she deserves better. There you go.

Additionally, Marianne's unchanged age—18—makes everything uncomfortable. Brandon's interest in her borders on perverted as well as incomprehensible, as Marianne is vilely rude to him. The idea that Willoughby would want to marry is laughable; why would a contemporary boy in his 20s marry a teenager after a few weeks' acquaintance? 

Elinor spends more time with Brandon, and they seem to hit it off so well you wonder why he spends his time mooning after a nasty Marianne. They do seem more ideally suited, but for the purposes of repurposing they cannot end up together. 

The reason why women today love Austen is because she describes a world that no longer exists—a world where women could not support themselves, a world with strict courtship rules, a world where husbands and wives addressed each other as "Mr." and "Mrs."

But in a time when any woman can go to uni and become an earner, does any woman need to hang around for the attentions of an "heir"? Gold-diggers go after hot-shot lawyers, rather. 

I don't think I'll be reading the other reboots. I prefer my Austen in the past. 

Emma Redeemed

The works of Jane Austen have been sacred to femalekind prior to the A&E adaptation of Pride & Prejudice. It is not my favorite, frankly (wildly ducking the hail of tomatoes)—I'm drawn more to Persuasion—and Emma never was a top contender.

Austen herself said Emma is "a heroine whom no one but myself will much like." I always found her meddling and cluelessness to be frustrating. But there were two articles regarding Emma, however, that made me consider it in a new light. 

"Jane Austen's Guide to Alzheimer's" by Carol J. Adams humbled me. She explains that Emma's querulous, demanding father is not a humorous caricature, but rather an accurate depiction of a man suffering from mental decline. Adams, her mother stricken by Alzheimer's and so her caregiver, found in Emma a priceless guide.

 

Emma is remembered mostly as a middling matchmaker harboring prejudices, nearly destroying her friend's chances at happiness. But that is not all she is. Like Adams, she is caretaker to a parent, a role all the more burdensome and heartbreaking given her youth. 

In Emma’s case, rather than arguing with Mr. Woodhouse, she redirects him. It is as though she had read the books. With Emma’s help, I could give more and not feel I was losing myself in caregiving, because she was always there, in my mind.

Emma demonstrates one of the casualties of caregiving: When you lose your cool, it might not be with your care receiver, but some unlikely individual in the wrong place at the wrong time. In an important scene that occurs toward the end of the novel, Emma is extremely rude to a downwardly mobile spinster. 

That scene did not endear me to Emma. But with the perspective that due to stress, as opposed to spoiling, she snapped a cruel comment in an attempt to divest . . . it is more understandable, and forgivable. 

 

The second was Bookends: "What Do Jane Austen’s Novels Have to Tell Us About Love and Life Today?" Adam Kirsch writes that Austen's books are not universally loved (especially not by "serious" authors) because they accept rather than object to society's conventions. (Which is true; in P&P, when Lydia runs off with Wickham, Elizabeth does not blame Darcy for leaving. She understands that, despite her innocence, she will be tainted by association. And that is that, until Darcy fights for her by paying off Wickham into doing the honorable thing.)

But still within the framework of convention, all ends (improbably) well: 

The idea that social life is just — on the marriage market and elsewhere — is the greatest fiction in Jane Austen, and the one that makes her happy endings possible. But it is also the key to her wonderfully intimate imagination of happiness. Few books make the reader as happy as “Emma,” because few depict so well the joy of being understood, the way Mr. Knightley understands Emma Woodhouse. For all of Austen’s heroines, it is this sense of being truly seen, of marrying a man who loves them as they really are, that is the great reward. The institution of marriage, like the novel itself, has changed greatly since Austen’s time; but as long as human beings long for this kind of mutual recognition and understanding, “Emma” will live.

Isn't that just perfect?

Anna Holmes notes that Emma was in a privileged position: comfortable from home, needed at home, and claimed no interest in marrying. She had the luxury to do so, and in turn, she was unconcerned for the regard of men. Nowadays, women are free of the "need" for husbandly support—and so can also be free to be themselves. 

In addition to reflecting how women’s economic autonomy creates freedom in other areas of their lives, Emma Woodhouse is a powerful example of a woman who puts herself first, placing a greater value on her needs and desires than on those of many of the men around her. Embedded within Austen’s comedy of manners is the subtle but sustained assertion that women should concentrate less on whether they are worthy of a potential suitor and more on whether a potential suitor is worthy of them.

Esther Wein explains (cannot locate the link, sadly) how in the beginning of creation, man and woman were of equal standing. But the nature of the curses meant that females, weakened by childbirth and whatever else that goes with it, would be reliant upon the physically stronger males.

 

Yet as we draw closer to the days of Moshiach, the curses will lessen. Women are no longer reliant on men to survive. Therefore, they can have relationships which are based on being "seen" and loved for one's own sake (not their dowries or child-bearing hips). Austen's popularity proves that this was the fantasy of all women—not to fight against society, but to find bliss within it, yearning for marriages based on shared values as opposed to shared land. 

The courting game has changed drastically in a short amount of time. And that's all to the good.