Reflections on Emma: Letters - "Is it too short?"

Note to readers: So my brain has been, for good reason, a bit bewildered lately. I apologize to those who read my bizarre assertions earlier and thank Barbara C for bringing the situation to my attention. Let's call it a blunder, in the spirit of the heroine.

Letters are shared and passed around Highbury with glee and interest (we are even treated to a discourse on the great merits of the postal system), but while the contents of these many missives are happily imparted, it seems so odd that Jane Austen, who began her writing career experimenting with the epistolary form, should so deliberately exclude all but one. This is because Emma, as much as it is focused on the emotional maturation of its heroine, is a detective story whose mystery is premised in misinformation. The truth is cleverly concealed behind assumptions, prattling gossip, and the misguided games of a mischievous, if well-meaning, man-child.

The first letter we hear of is Mr. Frank Churchill's to his new step-mother, Mrs. Weston.

Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his new mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit in Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received. "I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life."

Highbury, here represented by the voice of Miss Bates, judges a person based upon the quality of their letters. Frank Churchill's letter to Mrs. Weston causes everyone to think well of him despite the fact, as Mr. Knightley so wisely points out, that a good letter does not necessarily equate good character:

"He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and persuade himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the world of preserving peace at home and preventing his father's having any right to complain. His letters disgust me."

However, at other times, preexisting prejudice determines readers against a letter writer despite evidence, in the form of a well-written composition, that their assumptions are wrong. When Harriet receives a written proposal from Robert Martin, she is more concerned that the brevity of the letter should render it not worthy than its substance, but Emma sees past the length to the sentiment expressed:

Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprized. The style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a "Well, well," and was at last forced to add, "Is it a good letter? or is it too short?"

"Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma rather slowly—"so good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for—thinks strongly and clearly—and when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it,) than I had expected."

Despite her own admission that his letter reveals Robert Martin to be more worthy than she suspected, Emma struggles to undermine his effort, suggesting he is not the originator of the composition, and responding in kind by largely composing Harriet's response herself. One assumes that Mr. Martin, upon reception of the refusal, recognized that it was not his Harriet's words on the paper, though her hand wrote it. I imagine a scene much in sentiment like that enacted by Marianne Dashwood when Willoughby returned her letters and hair, though far less dramatic.

It is Miss Bates who has the honor of spreading the contents of letters throughout the drawing rooms of Highbury. So determined is she to share news, particularly about her beloved niece, that Emma intentionally tries to avoid paying a call on the worthy lady unless she is "just now quite safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax." But alas, Jane writes out of turn and Miss Bates receives the happy epistle that announces her visit just in time to share it with dear Miss Woodhouse. This is one of my favorite chapters in the book, the first of the second volume (as depicted in the C.E. Brock illustration above, borrowed from that excellent resource, mollands.net), ending in this fabulous line:

She regained the street--happy in this, that though much had been forced on her against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax's letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself.

When Miss Bates receives a note from Mrs. Cole, whose husband received a letter from Mr. Elton, sharing the great news of Mr. Elton's engagement, she just manages to share the word with Hartfield before Mr. Knightley can spill the beans. Amusingly, he echoes Harriet Smith's observations regarding length:

"It was short--merely to announce--but cheerful, exulting, of course."--Here was a sly glance at Emma. "He had been so fortunate as to--I forget the precise words--one has no business to remember them. The information was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I should imagine it just settled."

Always the voice of reason in the story, Mr. Knightley shines light on the fact that length and flourish are not important, but that the substance of and manner in which a letter is composed do reveal much about the writer.

Were the majority of these communique included for readers to analyze, we, like Mr. Knightley, might see through all the blunders and misconceptions to the truth, thereby destroying the mystery. The only letter which Austen does include (thank you Barbara C) brings us full circle as Frank Churchill acknowledges his wrongdoing and requests the forgiveness of Mrs. Weston. Though he complains that "it seems long", Mr. Knightley is persuaded to carefully pursue it and do justice to the good feelings of the author. The majority of Chapter 51 is taken up by Mr. Knightley's comments as he reads, finding fault where Emma see flattery:

"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with you."

"Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants."

His opinion of Frank Churchill not changed but confirmed by events, Mr. Knightley, while reading the letter, utters the concise line that perfectly summarizes the themes of Emma:

"Mystery; Finesse--how they pervert the understanding! My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other?"

Happy Emma conclusion everybody!

Reflections on Emma: Adverse Weather

We currently have about 14 inches of snow at 8:30 AM and it's not supposed to stop until 4! Poor Mr. Woodhouse must have been petrified with concern for both the horses and his family on the rare occasions when such a storm came his way. Southern England isn't known for massive snow fall, but only last February Surrey did get a whopping 32 cm (just over a foot). The event inspired Jane Odiwe (author of Lydia Bennet's Story, Willoughby's Return, Effusions of Fancy, and painter of this wintry representation of Jane and Cassandra, of which I am the proud owner) to write this post reflecting back on the year 1795 and how Jane Austen might have employed her time. The winter of 1795 is one of the coldest on record and is the same year in which George IV married Caroline of Brunswick and the Pump Room was opened in Bath by the Duchess of York, Frederica Charlotte of Prussia. It wasn't until 1963 that the weather was more adverse than in that notable year. Mr. Woodhouse must have been overcome with anxiety as diminutive versions of Emma, Isabella, John, and George Knightley frolicked in the snow around Hartfield, very much as the gentlemen are portrayed doing as adults in one of my favorite scenes from the new film.

I have a soft spot in my heart for Austen's curmudgeonly gentlemen, like John Knightly and Mr. Palmer. It's not very charitable or feeling of me, but I sympathize with (and enjoy) John's provocation of his overly worrisome father-in-law in this classic scene:

She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the reproof, so rapidly did another subject succeed; for Mr. John Knightley now came into the room from examining the weather, and opened on them all with the information of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing fast, with a strong drifting wind; concluding with these words to Mr. Woodhouse:

"This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way through a storm of snow."

Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body else had something to say; every body was either surprized or not surprized, and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.

"I admired your resolution very much, sir," said he, "in venturing out in such weather, for of course you saw there would be snow very soon. Every body must have seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour or two's snow can hardly make the road impassable; and we are two carriages; if one is blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will be the other at hand. I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."

I'm off to make hot chocolate and curl up by the fire with my husband. I expect it will be a lovely day.

Apologies and Plans

Many of you are aware that I am in the first trimester of pregnancy and those of you who have been here before will perfectly understand what I mean when I say my brain just isn't working right. The image to the left (snagged it from the Early Signs of Pregnancy website) is not me, but aptly demonstrates how I feel right now. I've started several posts this week but just can't finish them - my thoughts are incoherent and rambling. Plus, the doctors have been treating me like a pincushion, taking tons of blood and administering all kinds of injections. I have a lifelong phobia of needles, resulting in my feeling very out of sorts this week. I apologize for my current, totally unproductive state.

I just want to make a few announcements in hope that putting my intentions in writing will force me to act on them. I have several half written posts on Emma that I hope to finish, in particular a two parter on the function of letters in the story. I also have a few books in need of review - I have finished George Knightley, Esquire Volume One: Charity Envieth Not by Barbara Cornthwaite and Rainy Days by Lory Lillian, both of which I greatly enjoyed.

Yesterday I received a shipment from Amazon containing Relations Such as These by Sara O'Brien, A Noteworthy Courtship by Laura Sanchez, and Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict by Laurie Viera Rigler. It would behoove me to get busy reading. Observant followers will notice the accumulation of non-fiction titles in my "I'm Currently Reading" sidebar posting. Honestly, I just don't have the concentration right now to complete these books, so be prepared for them to sit there for a while. Be assured that I will, eventually, finish them.

I also have a few non-Austen reviews to complete. I am very excited to have joined the Classics Circuit's Georgette Heyer Tour, which will be taking place in March. Ms. Heyer will be here on March 9th for my review of Black Sheep. I have not yet read this book but my husband and I have read several of her novels out loud to each other over the past several months, laughing rather hysterically all the way through them, and I look forward to enjoying sharing this one with him as well. Here is the Amazon description:

Abigail Wendover, on the shelf at 28, is kept busy when her niece falls head over heels in love with a handsome fortune hunter and Abbie is forced into a confrontation with his scandalous uncle.

Miles Calvery is the black sheep of his family- enormously rich from a long sojourn in India, disconcertingly blunt and brash. But he turns out to be Abbie's most important ally in keeping her niece out of trouble.

But how can he possibly be considered eligible when she has worked so hard to rebuff his own nephew's suit for her niece? And how can she possibly detach from an ailing sister who needs her? This is a heroine who has to be, literally, swept off her feet . . .

My other non-Austen review will be for the All About the Bronte's Challenge I am participating in, hosted by Laura's Reviews. It has been my intention to complete one book a month and for February I plan to read The Professor by Charlotte Bronte. I first read this book in high school but barely recall it, so look forward to rediscovering Charlotte's least-known work.

Most exciting, from my perspective, is that I should shortly have a release date for my novel First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice! If you are interested in reading the first three chapters, please refer the the listing in the sidebar.

February is a short month and I feel like I am dreadfully behind on all this. I'll keep praying for a burst of energy that will see me through it all but, in the meantime, I'm off to take a nap.

Bit of a Rant Regarding Mark Twain and Jane Austen

Earlier this week, Vic of Jane Austen Today quoted a Times Online review of Emma 2009 from last October by A.A. Gill, in which this gentleman (not sure that is the correct term) says some rather scathing things about our dear, beloved Jane:

Last week in this newspaper, I read that Mark Twain had said if he knew where Jane Austen was buried, he’d dig her up and beat in her skull with her own femur. My sentiments entirely. The world can be, and indeed should be, split between those for Jane and those for Twain.

Upon reading this, my first thought was, "Who is to say that fans of Mark Twain cannot be fans of Jane Austen?" I greatly enjoy Twain, though I am certainly not obsessed with his work to the degree I am with Austen's. Why must admirers of an author agree with all that said author had to say? Just because Twain, or Charlotte Bronte for that matter, didn't care for Austen, are their tastes to dictate what others enjoy? Certainly not. What would possess a writer to record such an inane proposal?

I am house/dog sitting for my parents this week, providing me with the novel and dubious luxury of not just a television, but digital cable. I woke up this morning to a TMC broadcast of The Adventures of Mark Twain (1944), a film I had never seen before but really enjoyed (once I overcame the extremely dated and offensive characterizations of African-Americans). An extremely moving portrayal of the great humorist, the movie reminded me of the great joy his work imparts to the reader. Known for his wit, cynicism, and hyperbole, I must ask if Twain really despised Austen as much as he professed. He is known, after all, to have read her books repeatedly and, based upon his character, it seems quite believable that he derided Austen in hopes of wrangling his audience.

Let's examine some of what the man had to say about Austen, beginning with this quote Mr. Gill refers to:

I haven't any right to criticise books, and I don't do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticise Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can't conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Everytime I read 'Pride and Prejudice' I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone.

- Letter to Joseph Twichell, 13 September 1898

So he wants to criticize Austen, but somehow just can't manage to? I take this as an admission of not actually hating her. Could this mad frenzy be the result of an internal conflict - did he want to hate her but just couldn't quite manage it? Some ten years ago, The Virginia Quarterly Review published a fascinating essay entitled "A Barkeeper Entering the Kingdom of Heaven": Did Mark Twain Really Hate Jane Austen? in which Emily Auerbach makes the argument that Twain was really closeted Austenite by exploring one of these unfinished criticisms of Austen. She says:

Twain obviously enjoyed taking verbal pot shots at "classic" authors. In his famous essay "Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses," Twain lambasted Cooper for scoring "114 offenses against literary art out of a possible 115" and committing "a crime against the language" through his stilted diction and sentimentalized characterizations. Perhaps Twain planned a similar essay to pillory the much-praised Jane Austen: an incomplete and unpublished fragment called "Jane Austen" is now housed in the Mark Twain papers at the University of California-Berkeley Library. Why might Twain have become uncomfortable with a vitriolic attack on the "impossible Jane Austin"? Could it be that he found too much common ground?

It is very hard to imagine that Twain would not agree wholeheartedly with Austen's famous statement, from a letter to her niece, Fanny Knight, "Pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked ...", but as her letters were not published until well after his death, it is doubtful he had the benefit of wholehearted agreement on this point. Still, is it possible that someone with his wry sense of humor could not see through the morality of Austen, which he professed to despise, and perceive the satire behind it? In fact this seems to be exactly what he is hinting at in this fragment of an essay analyzed by Auerbach:

Whenever I take up "Pride and Prejudice" or "Sense and Sensibility," I feel like a barkeeper entering the Kingdom of Heaven. I mean, I feel as he would probably feel, would almost certainly feel. I am quite sure I know what his sensations would be -- and his private comments. He would be certain to curl his lip, as those ultra-good Presbyterians went filing self-complacently along. ...

- from "Jane Austen", 1909

It is the images of perfection that irritate him and, as all careful reader's of Austen know, her characters are never so perfect as they might, on the surface, appear.

This is exactly what Gill doesn't get. It pains me to print this, but let's look at what he goes on to say about Emma:

There is nobody to like. There is nobody you could even bear. The eponymous heroine is the most worthlessly loathsome in all fiction. She is manipulative, vain, selfish, arch, shallow, insensitive, capricious and a bully. Her only mitigating feature is a vaunting snobbery so absurd and overweening, so hopelessly eugenic, that it could only be a medical condition. It’s not even that she can claim to be naive or misunderstood or well meaning. She’s a knowing, arrogant little bitch, and we’re supposed to watch and care about her until she reaches a wholly undeserved happy ending and marries that wet bloke who argues with her all the time, as if you hadn’t already guessed. If you hadn’t already guessed, then I’ve just given you a reason to go and do something useful instead. Nobody in this confection of simpering is likeable or forgivable, because none of them has the guts to hack Emma’s leg off and beat her brains out with the bloody stump.

Like the most seasoned Washington politicians, Mr. Gill takes a quote out of context, spins it in an outrageous direction, and produces something completely inconsistent with the original intent. I have to imagine that his description of Emma would have left Mr. Twain aching to read the book.

Twain also said:

Jane Austen? Why I go so far as to say that any library is a good library that does not contain a volume by Jane Austen. Even if it contains no other book.

- quoted in Remembered Yesterdays, Robert Underwood Johnson

And:

Jane Austen's books, too, are absent from this library. Just that one omission alone would make a fairly good library out of a library that hadn't a book in it.

- Following the Equator

Yet he obviously read and reread at least Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, making it hard to believe these novels were not a part of his personal library. It seems there is far more common ground between the two authors than haters of Austen would like to admit. Like Elizabeth Bennet, it Twain was apt to "find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact [were] not [his] own."





















Twain also said:

Reflections on Emma: "Poor Little Miss Smith"

I have always found it fascinating that Austen doesn't provide anything but the vaguest physical descriptions of her heroines, allowing us the freedom to engage in this fascinating debate over whether Emma should be depicted as a blonde or a brunette. Actually, we know a lot more about Emma's appearance than any of the other heroines, thanks to Mrs. Weston's description:

"Such an eye!—the true hazle eye—and so brilliant! regular features, open countenance, with a complexion! oh! what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure! There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance. One hears sometimes of a child being 'the picture of health;' now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of grown-up health. She is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?"

Still, this only gives us an idea of her appearance; other than her eye color, we are free to imagine Emma as we will. This is why it is so striking that Harriet Smith's appearance is described in rather precise detail:

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance.

Of course, as Harriet has little to recommend her other than her appearance (unlike Austen's heroines who are defined by their personalities), her physicality takes on a heightened importance.

Louise Dylan cannot exactly be described as plump, but other than her figure she fits the description fairly well. Unfortunately, her portrayal of Harriet is that of an even bigger dimwit than she appears in the text. The scene in which she first dines at Hartfield is, frankly, embarrassing. The following exchange takes place when Mr. Elton enters the dinning room after all the other guest are already seated:

Mr. Elton: "Excuse me Miss Woodhouse. I have been delayed in the village on the errand of one whose business I hold in only just higher regard than yours."

Harriet: "On whose business?"

Mrs. Goddard (sotto voce): "The Almighty's."

Harriet: "God's? Oh, of course. God's business. Just a little more regard than Miss Woodhouse. Yes I see. How very civil.

And then Emma has to demonstrative for Harriet how to correctly use her spoon. Certainly table manners would have been included in Mrs. Goddard's curriculum, safely taught without any danger of turning her pupils into "prodigies". This would also have included instruction on not speaking out of turn, especially without an introduction, across the dinner table, as Harriet is here depicted doing. Also recall that Emma was "as much pleased with her manners as her person." Once again, the amount of license the directors took with the text stands as my biggest impediment to fully enjoying this adaptation.

Harriet Smith is one of the most victimized characters in all of Austen: Emma toys with her emotions like she is a doll, the Eltons go out of their way to snub her, and she is even besieged by Gypsys. In the new film, she is forced into even greater suffering by the extreme ridiculousness of the pose she is forced to hold while Emma takes her likeness (Ms. Dylan should be given credit for the incredible dexterity she displays when secreting away Mr. Elton's abandoned pencil while holding that impossible vase above her head). My point is that there is absolutely nothing threatening about Harriet Smith - she is all innocent complaisance - which is what makes Emma's insecurities so dramatic when she begins to perceive her as a menace. That the haughty Miss Woodhouse, safely ensconced at the pinnacle of Highbury society, should consider Miss Smith, grasping at the rungs of gentility, a rival perfectly demonstrates how effectively humbled Emma has become by the end of the book. Earlier she unthinkingly swats Mr. Knightly with the words: "Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you." When forced to consider the realities of such an arrangement, it becomes clear just how hasty Emma had spoken:

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--It was a union to distance every wonder of the kind.--The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or thought.--Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--Such an elevation on her side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers, the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification and disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences to himself.--Could it be?--No; it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible.

Wrapping up these meandering thoughts, my mind turns to the cinematic depiction of Harriet that most emphasizes her heightened sense of her own worth, that makes the most of the lines:

How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to Mr. Knightley!--How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such a man till actually assured of it!--But Harriet was less humble, had fewer scruples than formerly.--Her inferiority, whether of mind or situation, seemed little felt.

This distinction belongs to the recently deceased Brittany Murphy, who played Tai in the modern adaptation of Emma from 1995, Clueless. Regardless of your feelings for this film (some people think it's the best Emma ever while others consider it a travesty), Brittany Murphy was a talented actress who met a tragic death, the result of her own capitulation to the outrageous physical expectations our society has for women. Like Harriet, she would have been happiest being who she was born to be - the "short, plump" brunette with "a great look of sweetness" that I first became entranced with in films like The Devil's Arithmetic and Drop Dead Gorgeous. She was only a year older than I am, on the cusp of what is proving to be the most exciting phase of life. She will be sorely missed.

Mercy's Embrace: So Lively A Chase by Laura Hile

Oh when will The Lady Must Decide be available?!? I never dreamed I would be so desperate to learn Elizabeth Elliot's fate, but as Book Two of the Mercy's Embrace series by Laura Hile ended on a total cliffhanger, it's highly likely that this question will dominate my mind until I finally have the satisfaction of holding the book in my anxious little hands.

As mentioned in my review of Book One, So Rough A Course, I was concerned that Book Two, So Lively A Chase, wouldn't live up to my expectations. While I wasn't quite as entranced with this book as I was with the first, I think that can mostly be attributed to my very high expectations. I certainly was not disappointed. My only complaint is that as I read both of these books in less than an afternoon, it seems rather unfair to have split the story into three volumes (especially as they only number about 200 pages each and sport the outrageous price tag $14.50 a pop). While such a scheme undoubtedly will generate more money for Ms. Hile, it has left me in the rather uncomfortable position of forking out nearly $45 (plus shipping) for a single days worth of reading material. Oh well. As she has me hooked, I have little choice but to submit to this outrageous cost.

In this book Elizabeth Elliot is no longer the frivolous, carefree creature Austen created but a lady facing the most difficult trials of her life - her independence infringed upon, her debts overwhelming, and her self-identity under severe strain. While she suffers and Admiral McGillvary, the hero of our tale, works to assist her while maintaining a false identity (contrived in Book One), Sir Walter and Lady Russell, in an attempt to extricate the gentleman from his increasingly impecunious situation, embark on an outrageous adventure. Mr. Elliot continues to connive, Charles and Mary Musgrove approach a dangerous dilemma in their relationship, and poor Anne and Wentworth seem destined to be caught in the middle of all this Elliot family drama.

The funniest moment in this volume is supplied by Sir Walter. When I first read this passage I was rather disturbed by the implications, but upon reading the footnote (transcribed below) I laughed as hard as I have at any book in quite sometime, possibly years:

Sir Walter continued to talk. "The face is the first to show the effects of age-it grows lank and wrinkled. The neck succumbs next and then the breast and arms. You might not realize this, but I have read extensively on the subject," he explained. "It is known as the Deficiency of the Fluids. It appears first in the highest parts. But the lowest part," he said more brightly, "that is to say, those below the waist, continue as plump and fresh as ever! Indeed, in those areas it is quite impossible to tell a young woman from an old one!"

Note: Sir Walter is indebted to Benjamin Franklin for his theory regarding the Deficiency of the Fluids (Advise on the Choice of a Mistress, 1745).

From everything I have heard about Benjamin Franklin, he would have known! This is about as raunchy as I ever intend to be on this blog and I apologize if I have offended anyone's sensibilities. Be assured that the topic of the above quote is not demonstrative of the content in the rest of these books, thus far. However, it is hilarious, is it not?

If a kind reader out there has any information regarding the release of Book Three, I would be very grateful if you would share it. In the meantime, I'm tempted to reread the first two volumes again. Well done Ms. Hile!

Reflections on Emma: Frank Chruchill

Just a quick post. Episode one is behind us and I have spent the morning reading feedback. I am sorry to learn that Rupert Evans as Frank Churchill is not to the majority's liking. The most consistent criticism I've read regards his appearance - short, pug-nosed, not dashing enough. I must come to the man's defense.

I think Mr. Evans is absolutely adorable. As Frank Churchill he is playful and charming, in my opinion. In fact, I find him far more handsome then Johnny Lee Miller (I imagine I'll get some feedback on that comment). The problem with the role in this new adaptation isn't the actor but the screenplay. In particular, this completely contrived scene in which he first meets Emma and Harriet. In this one moment, Frank Churchill becomes a far more despicable character than he ever appears in Austen, for the implication is that he has been to Highbury in order to see Jane Fairfax without paying the long overdue visit to the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Weston.

Frank Churchill is often classified amongst the rogues in Austen, a characterization I totally disagree with. He's immature and foolish, like Emma herself, but he doesn't set out to hurt anyone and certainly doesn't have the sinister nature of Wickham, Willoughby, or Henry Crawford. He may disseminate (and even enjoy it) but he is not a scoundrel. Emma forgives him and so must we all. If Austen did not like Frank Churchill, she never would have provided him with such a felicitous ending. Like Emma, he acknowledges his faults, is pardoned, and moves on. It would behoove readers to do the same.

"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said."

"No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person."

He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness.

"Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."

But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing.

"I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame."

"The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none."

"I never had the smallest, I assure you."

"That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing."

"It is not now worth a regret," said Emma.