Have I Been “Persuasion”-ed to Like Austen’s Books?

. . .oh dear

In a word: no.

In many words:

When I first finished this book, I was merely nonplussed. It didn’t move the needle in any appreciable way. But the longer I thought about it, the more annoyed I became.

To summarize the story, Anne was persuaded to give up the love of her life, Wentworth. He’s too poor, has no connections, will never amount to anything, and this engagement ain’t gonna happen, as her family and friend said/implied. Time passes and wouldn’t ya know it? Wentworth returns from the seafaring life rolling in dough and looking mighty eligible. Then begins the awkward encounters and miscommunications as these two crazy kids try to figure out if they still love each other or not.

I’m just gonna go pistols at dawn on this book and you can like it or lump it.

We’re told that Anne and Wentworth fell “rapidly and deeply in love.” That’s great.

Who the dickens are these people?

Anne’s been described a bit by that point, but I haven’t really seen her in action, so to speak.

And Wentworth!

He was brilliant, he was headstrong.

Really now? What else you got to say?

He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit and brilliancy…

Sounds like he’s gonna be an interesting character to watch fall in love.

…

I am of the opinion that when crafting a romance story, it is in everyone’s best interest to show the lovers getting to know each other. To watch them enjoy one another’s company, go on fun outings together, form lasting bonds, and so forth. When I ask, “Who the dickens are these people?” I am also asking, “Why should I care if they get together?”

That is my main problem with this book. I needed to see these two falling for each or at the very least, understand why, as separate people, they would fit together well. But there is nothing.

Why does Anne pine for Wentworth? For all I know, he could be a Willoughby 2.0 and maybe her family were right to push them apart. This book spends way too much time telling me things that hold no weight and yet expects me to buy it wholesale. It reminds me of the song in My Fair Lady where she sings, “Don’t waste my time. SHOW ME!”

Now, you might be shaking your head and thinking, “This is a book about rekindling lost love, overcoming past hardships, reconciling with youthful mistakes, the follies of being wrongly persuaded, dismantling social class issues, not judging someone off of your first meeting, altering thoughts about someone you knew, and/or learning to not jump from a high wall.” Etc. etc.

Great. Fine. Whatever. Except the story would not exist unless Anne and Wentworth were separated, and without having the strong foundation of truncated love to build off of, everything else has no importance. Sure, I can guess at what they meant to each other, but that is not an effective way to make me feel things.

The whole yearning aspect, as a concept, is great. Totally on board with that. And the iconic Wentworth letter—“I am half agony, half hope”—is very romantic. Except, again, based on the literal words in this book, these two have almost never spoken to each other and therefore the yearnings are substance-less.

Imagine if in the movie Gone With the Wind, Scarlett narrates how she saw Rhett standing at the bottom of a staircase, smiling up at her; how she ripped the curtains; fled a burning Atlanta; saw her daughter die; and how, one night, Rhett left and said he won’t be returning. BUT. You never see any of that. It’s just Scarlett, sitting in her ratty dress, cleaning the dirt from under her fingernails while telling you about these events. That is nowhere near as impactful as actually witnessing it, and yet this is how Anne and Wentworth’s romance plays out: hearsay and vague memories. Frankly, my dears, I don’t give a damn about them.

Show! The! Relationship!

*and deep breaths*

But you know who else annoys me? Anne’s dad and sisters. What a trio of self-absorbed louses. They constantly disregard Anne and rarely, if ever, ask what she might want or feel or think. One sister uses her like a personal maid and babysitter and it doesn’t even occur to her that maybe Anne doesn’t want to be a servant. Anne is nothing to them and while I don’t find her a riveting character, she does not deserve her family’s contempt and abandonment. Certain types of characters will always be on my bad side and those who rake harmless, good people over the coals are one of those types.

We’re not done with the bad people though. Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Smith are each culpable of sins aplenty. Mr. Elliot is this book’s actual version of Willoughby; the guy everyone loves and yet is not at all worthy of love. He tries for a union with Anne and many people hear rumors confirming this match. One person is Mrs. Smith, who happens to have some info on the true nature of Mr. Elliot’s character.

The thing that bothers me about Mrs. Smith is that when she hears the rumors of this impending marriage, she is mum on any issues the bridegroom possesses. Only after Anne assures her of the falseness of said marriage and presses for information does Mrs. Smith spill the beans. So this supposed friend of Anne’s was prepared to let her marry a scumbag without ever giving her the slightest hint as to what she’s walking into. What?! She even says, “My heart bled for you, as I talked of happiness.” What a terrible person! Like, “Yeah, I know this guy is bad, but maybe you can fix him.” No, no, no and no. Friends don’t let friends make terrible marriages without at least trying to warn of impending disaster. I don’t care that Anne had no real intention of marrying the guy (I applaud her for suspecting his falsity), Mrs. Smith should’ve immediately informed her instead of waiting until it was possibly too late.

One overall thing I dislike about the characters in this book, and Austen’s other books that I’ve read, is they won’t speak succinctly. I know the dialogue is a high point for many readers and I get that to a degree. But the way these people waffle on, or deliberately don’t say what they mean and instead insinuate their true thoughts, drives me crazy sometimes. They could save so much time and confusion if they were a touch blunter or less longwinded. I appreciate a good thinly veiled insult—I watched Downton Abbey; I know what genteel hate speech sounds like—but the way these people communicate is so meandering and tedious, I sometimes had no clue what they’re talking about. And fine, I will take the blame for that. I’m just some dumb American who can’t grasp these stupid women’s complaints. But this is why I think the movies are better: they have to condense what’s being said without missing the signature insults and wit, and the result is often clearer and sharper.

I like stories better when they can be enjoyed at the surface. I’d prefer not to have to rip a story to shreds to get at its meaning. In fiction, if I can’t have a solid understanding of what’s going on after reading it once, the author is a failure to me.

Speaking of ripping things to shreds, we have the bevy of social dynamics and class hierarchies. There’s really only one I want to touch on and that is money. What I find terribly ironic is that these people put inordinate amounts of importance on having money, and yet they completely discount the very real possibility that fortunes can be lost, and gained. Anne’s dad has frittered away his money on vanities and now he has to pare down his spending, much to his distaste. Wentworth starts with no money but through a great win at sea, returns with pockets bulging. And Mrs. Smith’s husband once had money but had it gradually drained by his poor choice in friends, leaving his wife poor. How you were treated depended on how much money you had and I hate this. More or less money does not automatically mean a better or worse person, but the high society of two hundred years ago didn’t seem to grasp that concept. On its own, that wouldn’t have any bearing on my opinion of a story, but here it is just one more twist in the knickers.

What else we got?

At first I was thinking the sentences are unwieldy, but after a few chapters I got back in the swing of ye old English and I knew when to “breathe” in a sentence, ‘cause Austen never met a sentence she couldn’t make into a paragraph. I like older writing but there is a limit on just how much period scarcity I am okay with and this is riding that line for dear life.

So. If I were to write this story—which, I know, is a terribly arrogant presumption, but work with me here—I would’ve started with Anne and Wentworth meeting. Their first romance only lasted a few months, so that could be the first hundred pages spent on building their love while planting hints of her family’s disapproval. Then we get the fateful parting and you think the rest of the book will be them convincing the family to change their minds, or them running away together, or whatever. But then you get socked with a chapter heading of “eight and a half years later.” Your mind is blown, your foundation shaken, the world is darkened, oh! woe are you!

Then the teasing starts. You look for Wentworth around every bush and under every greatcoat. When will he return? How will he return? Anne’s pining is heightened by your own sense of loss and heartbreak. Surely this Mr. Elliot isn’t going to turn Anne’s attention. But then, there he is, striding down the street, his brilliance outshining all others. When Wentworth and Anne once more meet you whoop for joy and loudly beg for Wentworth to reciprocate the yearning you’ve felt so keenly from Anne during these interminable pages when she wasn’t with him. Every breath and pause is analyzed, every look and sideways glance calculated. He must feel something for her, yes? We did not fall so low only to never rise again.

Wentworth looks at other girls and seems taken by them. Has he become a man of no taste? No feelings? No worth? May it never be! Anne boils in her self-doubt; did he never love her at all? But then, the clouds part and the birds take a great lungful of sweet air. Wentworth gives her attention and Anne is reminded of those blissful days of their first romance, which you also remember because you saw them too. Anne drops hints and phrases that only Wentworth would understand: her tentative probing to find out if she is alone in this love. And oh, glorious days are come again! for he does remember and he returns her comments in kind.

This restoration to how they used to be is a delicate path, one that must not be trampled lest they lose each other again. It is nurtured and held softly between them. Could it be that their tie never loosened in all that time? And then, in that moment when Anne is in half agony, half hope, she receives his letter. Cue the happy epilogue.

That’s what I think would’ve been better.

What’s disappointing though, is that the adaptation from 2007 also sucks. I remember thinking it could’ve been decent if there were any backstory to the romance. That’s partly why I wanted this book to be my next Austen; I thought the movie just cut out the flashbacks for the runtime. The other reason for picking this book was it doesn’t have a beloved adaptation, so that should leave plenty of room for me to find enjoyment in it, whereas my love for some of the other adaptations may have prejudiced me against their respective books.

However…all this being said, I am too darn determined in my quest to give Austen the benefit of the doubt to not try Emma and Sense and Sensibility. And if those fail…pfft, where do you even go from there?

[Anne] felt that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped.

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