Why I'm Forever Lost In Austen

Once or twice a year, or whenever I feel the flu coming on, I pick up a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice, proudly presented to me by my Father at age 7, I open and...

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that...”

I had a particularly nasty day today, and the comfort that the familiar words between Elizabeth and Darcy bring me still, after a love affair between them and I lasting nearly 20 years, is inexplicable. But it comforts me. Like a hug from Dad, tea from Nanna, one of Pa’s hankies when my nose is runny, it is one of the things in life I don’t think I could ever live without. Desert Island scenario.. I honestly think one of things I would want to be stranded with is my copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Jane Austen is one of my heroes, I will read, watch, listen to anything even remotely to do with her or her stories. I even have a copy of “Jane Austen’s Guide to Dating.” I cannot offer up any rational reason as to why I love her so, but I think it is because I secretly wish to belong to a simpler time, when it was scandalous for a gentleman to be alone with a lady and thrilling if they brush the skin of the upper arm where the sleeve meets the glove. A man that could dance was not considered a “dandy” and one’s world was one’s village. I love the freedom that (Western) 21st Century woman enjoy, and am proud of the Suffragettes who fought so hard for our liberation. But secretly, deep down, I want Mr Darcy to gallop towards me on his noble steed, preferably adorned in wet shirt a-la the delectable Colin Firth and lay his coat over a puddle so my feet will not get wet *sigh*.