The Pemberley Effect

          Approximately three weeks ago, the beloved one affianced to myself became the purveyor of a sprawling 429 square feet in a certain local township. And perhaps inspired by this new feat of his, I have taken fingers to keyboard for the first time in months.

While curled in an opulent beach chair inside his parlor/dining room/office/bedroom, I teased him that I was glad to have accepted his hand prior to his establishing himself in such a supreme studio. This way, he might be assured that my affections do not hinge upon the size of his property or the girth of his income.

            “It’s the Pemberley Effect,” I pronounced.

            “Ah, yes.” he grinned.

            Proceeding to ramble on and on about how funny it seemed that a book about love trumping materialism should have its heroine admit to first falling in love after glimpsing Darcy’s house. This is when the amazing man I am 37 days away from marrying, said, “I always thought she fell in love with him after he helped her sister?”

            And this prompted the very first serious literary thought I’ve thunk in over a year.

            “I think you’re right. The house is really just a symbol for Darcy’s interior life—his true self when he’s at ease and at home. And that’s what Elizabeth falls in love with as opposed to the fake person he presents in public. Fake! Masks! Mask! Mask!”

            My own Mr. Darcy paused and looked up from the mustard on his spreading knife. An eyebrow crinkled considering my exclamations.

            “I think Brezinski [an alternative Polish surname for a professor of infamy from my school days] had me read a long paper on masks in literature. Pemberley is the place of unmasking. The mask is maybe the face everybody puts on for society throughout the entire book.”

            Typing this out now, I doubt the rigor of its intellectualism. But what was truly exciting was the return of any half-decent literary notion. And as he returned his attention to sandwich making, my fiancé smiled.

            In many ways, wedding planning is like a college semester. In no ways at all are the assignments similar or comparable on a scale of enjoyment. Sorry school. Wedding wins. But, in terms of tracking a syllabus and working through a never-ending checklist of sticky notes and spreadsheets, the progression of excitement and anxiety seems comparable.

            First, there comes giddiness about a new semester or being engaged. This is quickly followed by syllabus shock. But then you get your feet under you and begin plugging away at the projects. For a while, the large assignments seem daunting and impossible. How will you ever write those 30 pages or find a venue and a caterer in the budget?

            Somehow, these things get accomplished leaving a feeling of relief and a short season of rest. Next, the relief is replaced with worry about the seemingly endless ends that require tying up before the last day of class or the big day, depending on the scenario. You know these things will get done. After all, your room is peppered with sticky notes reminded you to accomplish them. You keep chipping away, but can’t quite see how it will all come together. You know it has to, and it most likely will. But you’ve a right to remain skeptical because it is utterly impossible to predict how it will all get done.

            And that’s all the news from our Pemberley.