Part 1: Hymen, the Rich, and the Wardrobe: Antiquated Austen Motifs in Modern Times
The modern reader first attempting a Jane Austen novel encounters a world more bewildering and nonsensical than the Narnian realm the Pevensie children entered through the Professor’s wardrobe. In Narnia, talking creatures and trees are unexpected sources of familiar speech, while Austen’s conventional human characters surprise with their alien dialogue and behavior. Readers witness the formidable power that enables the White Witch to terrorize Narnia, yet they wonder what unseen sorcery grants the elite tyranny over beloved Austenian heroines. Narnians suffer an endless winter, whispering hopes for rescue by benevolent Aslan. Conversely, Austen’s heroine fears the dismal prospect of being an old maid, begging fate to grant her one dream: a marriage—not with rights, but with comfort.
While C. S. Lewis crafted enchanted Narnia to unfold his allegorical tale, Austen penned a realistic—albeit limited—portrait of England to weave her blend of fairy-tale romance and critique of British society. However, two centuries have imbued the stories with a flavor of fantasy. As the world has changed, so too has the experience of reading Austen. A twenty-first-century audience does not connect to her books as fully as her original audience did. The unfamiliar speech and dress, the exorbitant authority wielded by the rich, and the emphasis on marriage as a woman’s ultimate aspiration contribute to a perceived diminishment of Austen’s relevance today.
The Wardrobe
The initial obstacle to the enjoyment and employment of Austen’s tales lies in comprehension. Two-hundred-year-old language, fashion, and mores enshroud her works. This “wardrobe” disguises the plot, impeding a clear understanding of the narrative’s plot, much less its subtleties. The discerning reader may decipher challenging vocabulary and archaic spellings, yet even familiar words might now possess different meanings than when originally penned. Failing to grasp why Emma’s Mr. Weston feared the party was “growing a little too nice”1 is of little consequence (E 176). However, appreciating the impropriety of General Tilney’s conduct in Northanger Abbey relies on the inference that the “unpleasantness” Catherine Morland risked on her solo carriage ride was not simply discomfort but falling victim to criminal mischief (NA 161).
Unfamiliarity with Austen’s England also causes misconceptions. While in Bath, Catherine Morland’s dislike for the rain seemingly portrays her as excessively “nice.” In reality, pedestrians pressed near buildings to distance themselves from poor roads’ dirty puddles, subjecting them to the runoff of gutter-less buildings (Adkins 130). With ladies’ gowns, bonnets, and slippers unequal to this challenge, a rain shower in Bath was more than a mere trifle.
Further disguising Austen’s novels are the customs that make Georgian England’s society foreign to a twenty-first-century reader. A different standard prevailed regarding what constitutes acceptable behavior. Marriage between cousins was deemed acceptable, but not between a widower and his late wife’s sister. Also, propriety largely limited social interactions of unrelated young men and women to balls and other chaperoned events. Mrs. Allen tells Catherine that “it has an odd appearance, if young ladies are frequently driven about in [open carriages] by young men” (NA 71). Such a relationship landscape is confusing and distasteful to modern readers.
Many audiences fail to bond with Austen’s narratives, clothed in the unfamiliar language and customs of yesteryear. This renders them less understandable and applicable over time.
The Rich
Further diminishing the relevance of Austen’s stories is the conduct of the affluent characters. Social mobility was rare and limited in England’s rigid class structure. The wealthy valued those born into wealth, not those who earned it. The few who ascended the social ladder found not acceptance but disdain for being nouveau riche. In Pride and Prejudice, Lady Catherine De Bourgh’s attack of “But what was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts?” reproaches Elizabeth’s low connections of lawyers and tradesmen (PP 243). Current culture reverses this attitude, celebrating the self-made. Socio-economic mobility awaits those willing to work. Contemporary readers struggle to identify with characters in Austen’s flawed social system.
The upper class’s leisurely life is poorly received today. In Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth nurses Jane at Netherfield. “At five o’clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner” (PP 25). A modern woman rises early, exercises, works, drives the kids to soccer, wolfs down take-out, pays bills, checks homework, and does laundry before collapsing in bed; how is she to relate to women who spend over an hour dressing for dinner followed by whist, reading, and music, while servants cook, clean, and tend children?
Furthermore, Austen’s twenty-first-century audience struggles to sympathize with the heroine’s financial concerns. Her pitiable situation is that she might need to seek employment rather than live off the income of others. Today’s readers view protagonists who want to maintain a leisurely lifestyle at the expense of others as spoiled at best, possibly oppressive. An upper-class heroine who fears her own degradation but does not act to improve the condition of those already consigned to the lower classes does not win modern approval.
Hymen
Also contributing to Austen’s irrelevance is her heroines’ fixation on securing a profitable marriage. To approach Hymen’s altar with a rich and handsome beau was a young lady’s only important goal. Austen’s heroines are upper-class women of solid principles but with little control over their futures. Except for Emma Woodhouse, the young ladies face a realized or potential inferiority of social status. Few are the respectable options to earn income. Single women with some money who cannot secure profitable matches will become old maids, giving up status and pleasures to “endeavour to make a small income go as far as possible” (E 16). Ladies in yet more pitiable situations, such as Jane Fairfax, must demean themselves by accepting a post as a governess. Attracting a wealthy suitor was one of the few ways a lady could contribute to her financial comfort. Yet matrimony was not without risk. A woman’s property and even her children became her husband’s. Obtaining a divorce was a near impossibility for a woman. The only practical options for an unhappy wife were “deserting her husband, murdering him, or waiting for him to die” (Adkins 16). While the motives to single-mindedly pursue matrimony at such peril are understandable in the historical context, the present-day reader struggles to relate to this attitude toward marriage.
Today, women exert far more control over their lives—obtaining educations, pursuing careers, managing finances, and choosing spouses (if they want to get married). Women want to write their own success stories rather than read stories about men who will save them. Progress in women’s rights renders the heroines in Austen’s stories unrelatable.
Part 2: The Lyin’, the Twinge, and the Crossroads: Timeless Austen Wisdom
Admittedly, society’s progress abandoned elements of Austen’s plots in the nineteenth century. Archaic constructs further widen the chasm between the novels and a modern audience. What, then, should today’s literature lovers do? Should we abandon Austen’s classics? No, indeed! Austen’s keen observations on human nature are timeless, serving both her original readers and new patrons. While her wit and wisdom highlight hypocrisy and absurdity, Austen did not write to amuse us; she wrote for our betterment.
By examining the successes and failures of Austen’s characters, we can direct our lives toward happy endings. Although her romances end in wedded bliss and financial comfort, those endings can be beyond our control. Austen’s more profound message is that happiness is the ability to reflect contentedly on our life choices. When at a crossroads, sound principles and accurate knowledge of the situation guide us to a wise decision. Austen’s tales teach us to listen to our consciences and identify deceptions, preparing us to choose paths leading to self-approbation and contentment.
The Twinge
Austen’s novels illustrate that upright principles help us increase in virtue and probity through the ability to heed the twinge of a troubled conscience. In Emma, the titular character exhibits personal growth due to being convicted by her conscience. She feels “anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern” over her cruel jab at Miss Bates at Box Hill. Compelled by this compunction to reflect on her inattention to Miss Bates over the years, she resolves to amend her attitude and behavior. Those who heed the qualms produced by their integrity will grow in their propriety. By sending a twinge that something is amiss, the conscience can also help one analyze deceptive emotions, eventually uncovering true feelings. Emma’s unjustified dislike of Jane Fairfax is actually jealousy; “she saw in her the really accomplished young woman, which she wanted to be thought herself” (E 115). Considering this incongruence and identifying it as envy is the first step in determining the direction needed for self-improvement. Emma recognizes another disconnect in her contrasting reactions to thinking Harriet is in love with Frank Churchill and realizing that Harriet actually loves Mr. Knightley. Noticing and considering this emotional dissonance brings Emma to the realization that she loves Mr. Knightley. By recognizing and heeding the various twinges of her conscience, Emma grows in virtue and in understanding of herself. Her conduct and felicity improve as a result.
Although we are not so fortunate as to have our own Mr. Knightley to ensure that no pangs of a guilty conscience can be ignored, reflecting on Austen’s writings can help us be more receptive to those twinges. True to the human condition, even Austen’s worthy characters are flawed. If we open our hearts and eyes as we read, we will see aspects of ourselves in her characters. Do we put on airs, talk endlessly about ourselves, and force our will on others like Mrs. Elton? Are we so sure of our perception that we have blinded ourselves to reality like Emma? Do we, like Frank Churchill, abuse others to conceal our secrets? Although we may have previously ignored our consciences’ attempts to alert us to trouble, Austen’s humorous portrayals of human folly pierce our hearts, humbling and enlightening us. We must follow the example of those who heed their consciences to take those first challenging steps on the path to betterment.
The Lyin’
Young Jane undoubtedly heard Reverend Austen exhort his parishioners to “add to your . . . virtue, knowledge” (2 Peter 1:5). Even a virtuous person, if not well-informed, will make poor decisions. To choose wisely, a person of strong morals must free themselves from the delusions in their lives. C. S. Lewis (a respected literary scholar years before his fame as theologian and author) describes the pivotal role repeatedly played by deception and subsequent disillusionment in Austen’s works. Lewis explains that Austen’s heroines “painfully . . . virtue, discover that they have been making mistakes both about themselves and about the world in which they live. All their data have to be reinterpreted” (178). Austen’s characters must recognize and refute fraud to achieve personal growth. Even the prudent will fall victim to untruth. The key is to identify and correct the error before too much damage has occurred. Austen’s novels help the discerning student gain much wisdom about defeating such deception with minimal damage.
Consider Austen’s most famous artifice—George Wickham’s fooling of Elizabeth Bennet (and much of Meryton) in Pride and Prejudice. The first lesson is to be suspicious of a speaker’s motive. Artful Wickham crafts a story that paints him in a good light. This contrasts with the version shared by Mr. Darcy, who has no motive to create a lie that exposes the folly of his beloved sister. Of further suspicion is Wickham’s manner of telling his tale. He gives no particulars until he ascertains Elizabeth’s attitude toward Mr. Darcy. Once sure of what she wants to hear, he gladly obliges. Such happy coincidence merits careful consideration.
As despicable as Wickham is, Austen’s most insidious deceiver is not a villain but the mind. Self-deception pervades Austen’s writing; intelligent Elizabeth is not spared. One danger is confirmation bias, the tendency to interpret the world in a way consistent with current beliefs. Elizabeth believes Wickham to be the victim of Mr. Darcy’s pride; thus, she discounts Mr. and Miss Bingley’s accounts of the men’s history. Also risking self-deception are those who ignore the influence of emotions on the ability to be rational. Elizabeth falls victim to the duplicity of her feelings, belatedly realizing that pride has affected her views of Wickham and Mr. Darcy: “Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other . . . I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away” (PP 144).
Austen’s writings familiarize us with the peril of deception without exposure to the risk. We recognize and guard against the cunning of a Mr. Wickham and his mendacity. We will examine ourselves for signs that we are courting misconceptions through inattentiveness to our emotions and biases. When we banish lies and misunderstandings, we improve our perception of our situations, poising us to make prudent decisions.
The Crossroads
With principles acquired and deception banished, a virtuous person is prepared to make wise decisions when at a crossroads. Fanny Price exemplifies this in Mansfield Park. Austen illustrates how knowledge poises Fanny to make prudent choices while her integrity gives her the strength to persevere despite opposition. By perusing the play Lover’s Vows, Fanny obtains the knowledge needed to judge that “the situation of one [female role], and the language of the other” renders the play inappropriate for “any woman of modesty" (MP 97). She remains firm despite pleadings and chastisement; Edmund allows his emotional ties and situational ethics to sway him. Fanny’s observations of Henry Crawford’s behavior toward Maria and Julia convince her not to accept his proposal. Bolstered by the consciousness that her decision is right, she does not waver despite others’ displeasure. Time proves her wise. As readers, we can hope for similar felicity if we have promoted probity and dispelled deceit.
Although Narnia faded into memories when Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy returned through the wardrobe to England, the children retained the lessons they learned about leadership, empathy, integrity, and courage. Similarly, when we bid farewell to Elizabeth, Emma, Fanny, and Catherine, we keep the wisdom gleaned on our literary adventure. We return from the fictional past to the present day, now unencumbered by the inequities of social class or gender. Attention to Austen’s wisdom liberates us from deception and awakens us to our flaws. Austen’s novels strengthen our virtue and improve our knowledge of human nature. In this society that offers opportunities to all without regard to money, gender, or other discriminations, this blessed combination of integrity and knowledge empowers us to write our own happy endings.
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