Courage

In the first installment of The Hobbit films, which was recently released in theaters, Gandalf delivers a speech about where we can derive courage. He is discussing the threat of a terrible evil with the elves when he says that it is the little things which little people do everyday that teach him to hope. For Gandalf, the little hobbit Bilbo provides him with great courage.

Sitting in the theater, I found this statement profound regarding the terrible evil which killed school children and teachers in Connecticut two weeks ago. Senseless shootings like this tragedy cause us to fear the world outside and question how safe we assume that we are.

So how does The Hobbit or the national tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut intersect with Pride and Prejudice?

            Well, if it is in the small, courageous actions of everyday people that we derive courage to face evil, then perhaps some of these examples come from our literature too.

Things of beauty, whether a sunset, a painting, a song or a novel possess the ability to dignify those who witness them. Pride and Prejudice dignifies us to continue believing in the ideals of waiting for real love and cherishing sisterhood. (And it also makes us profoundly grateful for real-life mothers who are so vastly superior to Mrs. Bennet.) In a similar way, Lord of the Rings teaches us to keep fighting evil no matter how little we are or how hairy the tops of our toes (that was a poor hobbit joke, in case you were curious).

In the shockwave of the Connecticut murders, another shooting, this time in San Antonio, Texas, that happened only four days later on December 17^th went relatively unnoticed. Reminiscent of the theater shooting in Colorado last July which killed twelve and injured many others, this incident happened at another theater. Reportedly, a gunman entered, ironically enough, a night showing of The Hobbit.

But this time, evil was stopped. The gunman began shooting outside and continued inside the Mayan Palace theater. But an off-duty police officer retaliated, shooting the man four times before anyone else was harmed.

Maybe it’s stories that inspire us to face evil because in stories good can, must and will win. And maybe this gives us courage to believe that the same can happen in real life.

Change

Home for Christmas break, I’ve been realizing how much people change. Family and friends and myself. I can’t always tell whether it is me, the other person or both, but relational dynamics shift.

Near the end of Jane and Lizzy’s stay at Netherfield, Elizabeth and Darcy debate the difference between town and country society. Darcy finds country society “somewhat confined and unvarying.” Elizabeth counters, “But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever.”

            Of course, Mrs. Bennet leaps into the mix, protesting, “I would have him know we dine with four-and-twenty families.” But before this, Lizzy touches on one of the themes of the entire novel.

            People are in a constant state of process. Pride and Prejudice revolves around the change occurring inside both Lizzy and Darcy and their learning about one another. As Lizzy points out, the learning never stops because people never stop growing. Whether interacting with twenty-four families or just two people, “people themselves [will] alter so much, that there [will be] something new to be observed in them forever.”

Double Chivalry

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

 I attend a small college where this mantra is readily adopted—modified to fit the century, of course. Here we assume, “Every available bachelor must be searching for a mate.” Literally. All of them. Or perhaps even more appropriate, “Every college boy saddled with student loans must be in want of a wife (provided she too can add her own debt to the relationship).”

But seriously, or maybe unseriously, girls come to our little liberal arts school to study for their MRS degree. Don’t laugh. I too thought it was a joke until I arrived here. “Ring by spring, or your tuition refunded. That’s our guarantee.”

Before they renamed the little college, students teased about attending Christian Marritage College, rather than Christian Heritage. One of the student life directors used to joke that on the first day of new student orientation, we should line up all the boys and all the girls so everyone can have a good gawk and check out the prospects because that is essentially what happens the first week of school anyways.

There is an inherently awkward relationship between the two genders. Perhaps because of the assumption that every single man wants a spouse and, as Pride and Prejudice informs us, “However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

But perhaps the awkwardness stems from a sort of gap we’ve created between the sexes. Maybe it’s just me, but often times, girls and guys don’t seem to know how to appropriately relate to one another in various social contexts. We either pretend a belief in the others' nonexistence, or the opposite occurs and we dance around giggling, “I think I like you and you might like me, so let us make utter fools out of ourselves.”

P&P does seem primarily composed of the latter option where women and men relate to one another around the marriage question. But I believe beyond the marriage estate, there proves a healthy and necessary way for male and female to rely on each other. Femininity helps to define masculinity and masculinity aids in the characterization of femininity. So why does it prove so very awkward to embrace chivalry and lady-likeness? Is there a way to be fully woman or fully man while single?

I was sitting outside our school library a few weeks ago when I played witness to an adorable occurrence. As three incredibly cute freshmen girls walked towards the double doors, a boy on his way out of the building pushed open one of the doors. Simultaneously, a young man on his way in pulled open the other glass door. The threesome smiled to the right and to the left thanking the courteous gentlemen. One of the young ladies raised a fist in girlish delight and cried, “Yay! Double chivalry.” One of the men smiled, the other chuckled a bit, and I melted right there in my seat.  

For the most part, Darcy and Lizzy interact with each other on an interest/disinterest basis. But when they re-initiate their acquaintance while Elizabeth is visiting his home in Derbyshire with her aunt and uncle, something different happens. Elizabeth sits alone reading the news of Lydia’s elopement until Darcy surprises her with a call. The gentleman becomes distressed by the lady’s distress. He attempts to assist her and then leaves to essentially do battle for her sister.

Questions about gender roles and distorted hierarchies have plagued me a bit this semester.  But the idea of protecting one another and extending courteous or even courtly attention--regardless of any romantic attachment--helps to fill the gap in the question of men and women’s relationship with each other. Whether male or female, we are each human, so it seems that the two should work together. The Darcy's of the world can open doors for the Lizzy's, and the Lizzy's can smile, appreciate and encourage in return.

Just this evening, another fascinating phenomenon happened on campus. One of the boys’ dorms staged a short evening of musical entertainment and service for any of the female students who wished to attend. Cute college girls replaced their finals week sweatpants and hoodies with dresses and heels. They were met in the hallway where two nicely groomed boys met each girl to escort her into the student lounge. Some girls writhed in discomfort at the attention while others gasped, “Awwwe” and soaked it all up. As they entered the lounge, a sign declared, “Welcome, Ladies.” And watching all this commotion, I cheered, “Yay for double chivalry!”

Frightening Pastures

A painting of Jane Austen by her older sister Cassandra.

My relationship with this semester has felt a little like Elizabeth’s relationship with Darcy. When Lizzy’s loathing of that “arrogant,” “conceited” and impossible man begins to abate and she finally realizes the existence of some virtues in his character, it appears too late.

The import of becoming mistress of Pemberley doesn’t dawn until the chance has evaporated. While I haven’t exactly rejected a proposal from an incredibly wealthy Englishman this semester, I did criticize my semester’s seemingly impossible work load and “selfish disdain for the feelings of others.” (Others’ feelings meaning my own preferences).

 Burying my head to withstand sixteen weeks of twenty-one units, I safely promised to never wrestle with that many classes again. Just as Lizzy wishes Mr. Darcy to disappear, I prayed that the fall semester would magically vanish.

Now as final exams prepare to descend, the truism rings in my ears, “Be careful what you wish for.” Vanquishing several term papers this week, I grasp the impending end of a much dreaded season. And as the unwelcome attentions of this semester withdraw and prepare to depart, I slowly understand how good it has really been.

What seemed like the taxing demand of school and work and family and friends and life, now seems virtuous in its fullness. Busyness in hindsight seems less like havoc and more like excitement.

When Elizabeth begins to comprehend Darcy’s hidden caliber as a gentleman, she doesn’t necessarily abandon her prior assumptions about his pride but reevaluates things. Similarly, I’m not willing to allow that this semester hasn’t had some challenges and periods of heightened stress. But it might have contained some greater merits than I would previously have admitted.

There have been many chapters in my book of learning contentment. I typically experience a similar pining over endings. When the gate finally opens to taste the grass on the other side, I want to brace my feet into the ground and push back to stay in what I’ve been complaining about for so long. The better pasture proves frightening. I would rather persist in the place I now know because it’s already conquered. I don’t learn contentment and happiness in a situation until the time comes to move on towards the much anticipated next phase.

            When Elizabeth learns more about Mr. Darcy, she feels a greater loss since the prospect of ever seeing him again seems unlikely. I, however, look forward to one more bout with school next semester. Looking towards this, I continue compiling research for my senior project. 

Some light Christmas break reading.

On the Virtues of a Country Dance

You’ve probably heard of Civil War reenactments, Renaissance fairs and even Viking festivals. But here’s one that might prove new to you—it certainly surprised me. English Country Dancing, commonly referred to as ECD.

From the Queen’s Jig to the Minuet, all of that dancing in period dramas is not such a lost art as might be supposed. Aside from the choreographers hired for regency films, a whole population of enthusiastic English Country Dancers thrives in various ECD clubs throughout the country. My mom uncovered one such organization called the San Diego English Country Dancers which meets once a week and welcomes visitors for lessons in these formal historical dances.

These balls often involve regency gowns, britches with coattails, a fiddle and a pianist and a large ballroom where lines of intrepid dancers learn the patterns and gracefully relive the romantic social customs of 18^th and 19^th century Britain.

A recovering klutz, dancing has never been an incredible skill of mine. When I galloped on stage like a pony during my first ballet recital, my parents decided that some other extracurricular pastimes might be worth exploring. I returned to the dancfloor in high school when a combination etiquette and manners with ballroom dancing class called cotillion was mandated for my personal growth and development. My parents hoped that I might learn how make conversation in a social situation and eventually be able to talk to people—i.e. boys.

Needless to say, the awkward sophomore me loathed the idea and dreaded these dances. But at the end of the school year, it didn’t seem quite so awful any more, and I even admitted that I had learned a few things. Come senior year of high school, I actually requested to join cotillion again. I still fumbled my way through the waltz, but I kind of liked the tango and the swing dances. And, as I quickly learned, being a girl makes it a little easier to stumble your way through. After all, girls can just follow their partners, and a good dancer who actually leads can make even a klutz like myself feel pretty accomplished. (Of course, the reverse is equally true, and the more I learned the more difficult it was to dance with a confused lead.)

I’m still uncomfortable with modern “wiggle” dances, but I sincerely like organized ballroom steps and line dances. East-coast swing has the greatest number of cool twists and turns, so it is consequently, grammatically and mathematically the best. Dancing turned out to be not so heinous as originally feared. As I grew up a little bit, dancing came in handy. It proved a capital excuse for holding the hand of a certain someone.

In Pride and Prejudice, all this dancing serves several functions. First, it was an excuse to get all the young people together at a party. Next, it allowed said folks a few moments of alone togetherness (granted in a noisy room full of eyes watching them, but it was still some time to talk—if the waltz didn’t leave you gasping for breathe). Several important conversations in the novel take place over the form of a dance. It provides Darcy an initial opportunity to neglect Lizzy but later offers a chance for him to single her out.

                                 www.sdecd.org

Even in the 21^st century, where all these social graces seem abandoned, dancing provides the possibility of spending time with a partner who you like or simply enjoying the fun art of movement. So a hearty thank you to history lovers like the English Country Dancers of the world who work to preserve the virtues of dancing.

Are Men Allergic to Pride and Prejudice?

With a number of notable exceptions, Pride and Prejudice seems heralded as a universally feminine phenomenon. My roommate’s father experiences reactive symptoms at the mention of Austen’s masterpiece. He reports, “My throat closes up and my eyes get puffy and swollen” when talking about the novel.

My family and three families of close friends used to drive into the mountains each winter to ski, snowboard and sled by day and then talk, eat and watch movies near a fire in the crisp evenings. During one of these annual symposiums, the four moms reserved the living room for an afternoon-long viewing of the BBC P&P. Quickly, the dads and children vacated the premises. When my father ventured back in the room four hours later, he exclaimed, “They’re still sitting in the same room! They haven’t moved.”

“No, I’m pretty sure she changed her dress,” another husband chuckled.

“Shhh!” The peanut gallery was shooed out for interrupting.

This brought me to the theory that Pride and Prejudice must prove a primarily feminine pleasure. Aren’t all men predisposed towards an Austen allergy?

When I was first getting to know my Mr. Darcy, the subject of Pride and Prejudice naturally surfaced. Assuming that all men cringed at period dramas in general, I felt fully prepared to make allowances for his dislike of the story—after all, this is a failing of the masculine race which merits some sympathy since they can’t really help it. Imagine my shock when he said that not only had he seen the movie, but it wasn’t really that repulsive.  

Though initially cynical of such an unbelievable communication, I was excessively glad that he could tolerate the concept with decent equanimity. (Sorry for sounding a bit pedantic and Mr. Collins-ish. What I meant to say was, THE MAN HAD SEEN MY MOVIE!).

Now that I’ve finished jumping up and down and have sat back at the desk, I can explain why this is so fantastic. This is because my first few encounters with this man sort of resembled Elizabeth and Darcy’s interactions. Granted, our story happened on a much smaller, less dramatic and more grounded manner, without balls, elopements and long dresses, but it was/is still great.

Jane Austen originally called her “own darling child” First Impressions and later changed the novel’s name to Pride and Prejudice. This first title aptly sums up Elizabeth and Darcy’s situation as well as my own. Elizabeth watches Darcy at the country dance and decides he is stuck-up, unsocial, rude and “in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men” (such a brilliant sentence).

Well, things weren’t that bad at first. But for a while, I didn’t really think that he talked. At all. And after an awkward attempt at simply squeaking “Hi,” I vowed never again to try being nice to guys and resolved that my true calling was that of becoming an old maid.

            God is a terrific comedy writer, and it wasn’t far into the very next semester that I toured his grounds at “Pemberley,” was more than a little interested and had intelligence sources reporting back that the “like” might be mutual.

There has never been any intense loathing, harsh judgment, rejected proposals or historical letters of explanation in our relationship as in Lizzy and Darcy’s. Yet, like Elizabeth Bennet, my first impressions adjusted. Just as she learns not to jump to a judgment and her confidence in the validity of her inklings suffers, I am consistently learning. Learning how to learn about differences and approaching his opinions with more humility about the certainty of my own. Lizzy and Darcy challenge each other to grow.

Perhaps that challenge sits at the essence of most relationships: the dare to test one another's opinions and learn from differences. One obvious difference proves the stereotypically masculine reaction to any Austen novel and the relatively predictable feminine appreciation of these books (I deal in generalizations of course, knowing many women who do not enjoy the genre and some men who do). Whether you adore Austen or require an EpiPen to help you recover from allergic shock, the point remains that differences of opinion present a choice between growing apart or learning something new.

Recently, my Dad—yes the same man with the insulting remarks about our beloved P&P—watched Sense and Sensibility to spend a morning with his wife. He also read a few of my blog posts about my excessively romantic and idealistic relation to Jane Austen. The learning should grow both ways, so I probably owe him a few baseball games.

A dear friend found this for me.

Janeite – noun, [jeyn-ahyt]. A devotee of Jane Austen and her works.

Maybe it’s sacrilegious, but many Jane Austen fans have commandeered the acronym WWJD? Others drive around with “I’d rather be at Pemberly” pasted on their car bumpers or carriages. Still more fantasize about their husbands dressing in breeches and coattails. These Austen obsessed folks spend their time taking personality tests online to find out which novel character they are most like. (In case you’re wondering, I actually did test as Elizabeth).

These diagnosed individuals are referred to as Janeites. Yes, it is a word—you can look it up in the Oxford English Dictionary. The term connotes any members of Jane Austen book clubs, costume balls or regency period movie marathons. In the way that a Star Trek fan calls him or herself a trekky, Janeites prove infatuated with Jane Austen, her novels and any minutiae which pertain to her and her work.

The name of this diagnosis first appeared in 1896 when a literary critic coined the phrase. It resurfaced in 1924 when the author Rudyard Kipling penned a short story entitled, “The Janeites.” The story shared an interaction of several soldiers discussing Jane's novels. Kipling wrote that “the more I read the more I admire and respect and do reverence” her work. Reportedly Kipling even read the stories aloud to his wife and daughter as the family mourned the loss of its son Jack in World War I.

After the first time I watch P&P and it finally ended with a double wedding and a carriage ride kiss, I trotted downstairs and spent the rest of the night pouring through an illustrated abridged version of the novel that had been tucked away on a shelf in our school room. Before, I had liked the pretty dresses of the sisters on the book’s cover, but now! It was the first girlish thing I surrendered to in my awkward transition from want-to-be tomboy/junior higher to young lady, trepidly becoming acquainted with girl stuff.

            Not much later, I purchased a paperback copy from Barnes&Noble and tore through all 61 chapters. Lost in Austen’s masterpiece, I could be that graceful woman with an up-do and an accent who danced the quadrille and played the piano forte. Mom bought me sheet music from the movie that Christmas.

            My enculturation into Janeite-ism had begun. While my friends romped around on the playground, I squealed with all the moms about Austen films and empire waists.

The beautiful thing was that it didn’t end with Pride and Prejudice. Then came Marianne and Eleanor in Sense and Sensibility, dear silly Emma and good little Anne Elliot from Persuasion, not to mention Knightly and Wentworth. And along with the other literature, there was the whole world and lingo of the time period. “Dear Mama, I will bring you some tea,” my best friends and I acted out our favorite scenes and quoted the beautiful passages.

It was, or rather is, an entire world to absorb you—a secret club whose members know the delight of the keywords and feel equal disdain towards common enemies like awful George Wickham and slimy Mr. Collins.

Aside from the frightening implications that there exists an entire subculture of primarily women who wish they were born in 1811 hidden blatantly in our homes, super markets and offices, you always know when you’ve met another Janeite. Instantly, a polite question such as, “What kind of movies do you like to watch?” snowballs into a giggling ecstatic exchange of “Oh my gosh, I love Austen.”

“Have you seen the new version of Persuasion?”

 “The one where he’s blonde?”

“Yes!” Instant connection and compatibility. Like a traveler in a foreign land who learns that a new acquaintance also speaks her native tongue, a stranger transforms into a kindred spirit.

A final identifier of a confirmed Janeite is perhaps a subscription to Jane Austen’s Regency World. The magazine is currently preparing to celebrate the 200^th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice’s publication which occurs next year in 2013—perfect timing for my senior project!

Check out the bicentennial celebration at http://janeaustenmagazine.co.uk/2012/08/new-book-to-mark-pp-bicentenary/

3 Steps to the Perfect Proposal: What I learned from Pride and Prejudice about Properly Proposing

Higher powers in the blogging community inform me that blog posts should contain short, sweet paragraphs and boast catchy titles like "9 Ways to Do This" or "226 Steps to the Perfect That." 
             Hmmm—Pride and Prejudice as an instruction manual. I thought to myself, if Elizabeth Bennet is an expert on anything, it has got to be receiving marriage proposals. She's one of the most regularly proposed to literary characters I know. She politely receives three such questions over the course of the novel.
              So if 71 and 1/2 lessons can be found in Pride and Prejudice, then they would definitely include how to unsuccessfully propose. Guys take note.
The proposals under the microscope today include

A) Attempt #1 An unfortunate dining room conversation with Mr. Collins

B) Attempt #2 An upsetting encounter with Mr. Darcy and

C) Attempt #3 An unexpectedly happy ending with Mr. Darcy again. (Third times the charm.)

Lesson 1. Location, Location, Location.

The most important part of any proposal is finding the right setting. Usually, cornering the girl in a dinging room with her family listening outside works best. But if you can’t swing that, try a surprise attack while she’s on vacation at her friend's house. Wait until her friends go out for dinner and she’s home alone. Then, burst into the sitting room and stare at her awkwardly.

If neither of these approaches works, I suppose you might try a walk into Meryton. It eventually worked for Darcy.

Lesson 2. Don’t Let Your Feelings Run Away With You.

When planning a proposal to your beloved, it is important to make certain that she has absolutely no idea what’s coming. While it may prove permissible to gaze longingly at her from across the room, refrain from too much conversation and dance only a couple of times so that she will have no notion whatsoever that you admire her. In fact, it's best if she thinks you abhor her and she can't stand you.

The next important part to remember involves rationalizing the idea of marriage. For Darcy, it is because, as he says,“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.” Or you might take a page from the Collins Instructional Manual and briefly state your reasons for marrying which must include that your boss first suggested the merit of the institution. Whatever you do, try to maintain a sense of rationality.

Lesson 3. Properly Insult the Girl and Her Family.

Make sure to toss in a mention of how inferior her family is and what a favor you are doing by marrying her. Mr. Collins carries this out expertly remarking, “No reproach on the subject of your fortune will cross my lips after we are married.”

Darcy sets the ultimate example of a proper insult. He shares that “In declaring myself thus I am fully aware that I am going against the wishes of family, my friends and, I need hardly add, my own better judgment. The relative situation of our families is such that any alliance between us must be regarded as a highly reprehensible connection.”

Girls everywhere will swoon at such heartfelt condescension. After all, there’s nothing more romantic than hearing about how rotten your family and situation in life appear.

            Surely I must be joking—right? Following these proposal instructions will probably only lead to a polite “No thank you” of rejection. When girls moan about chivalry being dead nowadays, perhaps it has actually come a long way.            

            I don't envy Elizabeth and her perpetually having to extricate herself from preposterous proposals, but eventually, she hears the right one. And one good one is all you really need. I'm not really sure where this whole silly discussion is ending up other than, thank goodness Mr. Darcy finally got it right.

How Elizabeth drinks her tea.

"We Neither of Us Perform to Strangers"

            A regency girl cannot be described as truly accomplished unless she plays the piano forte, right? Well, that’s what I told myself when I registered for a unit of beginning piano at school this semester.

            Don’t get me wrong because I love music. I’ve played the violin for upwards of twelve or thirteen years now. And messing around with random instruments has always been one of my favorite things to do.

            But music in front of people? That’s another story. Not only my fingertips but my entire body used to vibrato when scratching out a violin concerto at a recital or sawing away at Christmas carols for a group of friends. Mom still refers to me as the “closet violinist” because I simply don’t play in front of people. They might hear me.

“Just look at the lights,” a best friend’s mom encouraged me before a second grade choir performance. Lights or no lights to focus on, my knees tremble, my hands quake, and my voice jars as though I’m withstanding an earthquake.

             So this fall, when my piano professor informed me that part of the course included performing in two recitals, I first felt a wave of anxiety course through my veins. But then I thought of Elizabeth Bennet when she plays for Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy at Rosings.  

            When Darcy excuses himself as a poor conversationalist, Elizabeth expertly retorts, “‘My fingers […] do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take the trouble of practicing. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.’

            “‘Darcy smiled and said, ‘You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.’”

            On top of the incredibly gracious manner in which Darcy bends to this criticism, which might just possibly make me want to stand and cheer, this scene also provides a beautiful description of balance. Elizabeth’s knees don’t have to rattle as she sits at the piano because she realizes that her comparatively meager musical ability isn’t going to be a defining mark of her character. The woman was apparently too busy walking about the country, visiting with friends or “improving her mind with extensive reading” to spend a great amount of time practicing piano. But Darcy doesn’t knock her for any deficiency. Rather than placing hope in doing everything, and doing everything like superwoman, Elizabeth realizes limitations and doesn’t fret about the impossibility of perfection.

            So as I walked up the stage steps for my first piano recital last Tuesday, I thought like Elizabeth. Everyone here listening knows I’m not attempting to become a concert pianist. My hands still shook a bit, but I made it through the song, and the audience even clapped at the end. I continue to internalize the fact that a balanced life leaves little room for perfection, and that’s okay.

However, this doesn’t mean I won’t practice. In fact, I’m working on the next recital piece right now. In case you hadn’t guessed already, it’s the theme from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.

From October to October

The swollen pink hills oozed spitefully. I fanned the baggy white t-shirt away from my sticky skin and felt the moving air brush my belly. And it was in this miserable state that I met her.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, probably about fourteen or fifteen. It was midsummer, and Mom lay stretched out beside me. Bumps peppered our arms and legs from the poison oak we’d encountered on our camping trip. But sweating there in bed on a bright Saturday afternoon, I watched as dark hair, a radiant smile and “fine eyes” lit up the screen. For the six hours that comprises the BBC version, or what Mom and I like to call “the real Pride and Prejudice,” I galloped over the cool, rolling green hills and danced in the crystal ballrooms of regency England.

            She was all wit, beauty and authentic charm. By the end of the film, I felt as head over heals as Mr. Darcy himself. Miss Elizabeth Bennet waltzed in and forever altered my existence.

            Several years later, I entered my final year of college. Naturally, I planned to write my senior thesis on Pride and Prejudice. Consistent with my obsession of starting assignments way too early, I recently began mining for research and literary criticism to apply to the project which won’t be due till next spring.

Reading through a Norton critical edition, I found one scholar who described the time frame of the novel. He wrote, “What we are given of Elizabeth Bennet’s life is about a year, from about October to October, the year in which she becomes twenty-one” (Stuart Tave, “Limitations and Definitions”). Flabbergasted, I scribbled on a sticky note, “I’m going to be Elizabeth Bennet this year.” I was about to turn twenty only a few weeks later. In an extraordinary case of fantastic timing, I realized that the year in which I would dive into Elizabeth’s world set up a parallel with my real life.Then a new idea surfaced. What if while I'm working this research paper, I write a blog about Pride and Prejudice for fun?

            So in this, the October of my twentieth year, I embark on a journey with Elizabeth Bennet. As I navigate the senior year of my undergrad program and glimpse the possibility of life after school, I’ll read and write my way through Lizzy’s dance through 19^th century Britain. The plan is to post something of the experience every week, and we’ll see where it all wraps up at the end of next October. Here it goes!