When it comes to books and movies, there’s plenty of room for different tastes in our wide world. And I’m not the kind of guy who will usually argue with someone who didn’t enjoy a book or movie I happen to like. Even if it’s something I REALLY like. Had a hard time getting into Beowulf? I understand. Maybe try the Seamus Heaney translation? Didn’t care for Star Wars? You know, I see how it’s not everyone’s thing. Don’t enjoy zombie movies? Well. Ok.
But there are some exceptions to this. And one of those is Jane Austen. I don’t think everyone should read Austen just because she’s an important literary figure and her words are classics. There are plenty of classics that I’ve read, understood why they’re classics, but still don’t enjoy reading. And I don’t even think everyone should read Austen because her prose is absolutely beautiful. I think everyone should read Jane Austen because she’s incredibly insightful and indispensable for a good understanding of character and virtue. I just can’t trust someone who really doesn’t like Jane.
Bow Down.
It’s sad that so many people miss out on Austen because they either fail to start reading her or because they don’t quite understand her works. This seems especially true for men. And, since I am a man, I thought I’d give a brief explanation of why I think all men should read Jane Austen.
She did not write romance novels
These days, Jane Austen is so closely linked to 18th century comic romances that it can be difficult for people who haven’t read her to think of her books as anything but stories about British women looking to get married. And while it is true that Austen’s novels often follow a basic format common at the time, her novels aren’t really about romance. They are about virtue. Austen studies character. She critiques society, religion, and culture. She writes about men and women in a way that is even more impressive because she does all of this within the confines of a very narrow genre.
It can be easy to miss this if you only glimpse a scene of a BBC miniseries. There are plenty of period dramas that look similar but are worlds apart in depth of content. But saying Austen merely wrote romance novels is like saying Star Trek is just a show about space ships, Lord of the Rings is just a book about goblins, and Rocky is just a movie about fighting. Most of us know that these stories have deep meaning beyond the trappings of genre. And this is even more true of Austen. So, look past the setting, don’t worry about the funny clothes, and try to see the brilliantly drawn characters beneath the tight socks and frock coats.
She is one of the keenest observers of character in all of history
I’m not exaggerating. I won’t try to argue here that Jane Austen is the most important modern western writer for the study of virtue. But, yeah, she is. Or at least pretty close. She doesn’t write philosophical treatises on virtue, of course. So the reader is forced to dwell on her characters and their actions. I’m convinced that if we do this in earnest, we see stories that are really about the application of virtue and our common quest to know ourselves.
This is something I think is missed by even many fans of Austen. You see this sometimes when people simply praise the biting wit and sarcasm of Elizabeth Bennet but fail to see how this characteristic is actually related to a flaw she has to overcome. We can miss these things if we get caught up in the romance and fail to pay attention to what Austen is telling us about her characters.
I thought the men wore tights back then…
Reading Austen, I’m often floored when I see myself in one of her characters. Obviously, I’m not an 18th century lady-in-waiting or wealthy bachelor. So, seeing myself in Emma Woodhouse or Henry Crawford says a great deal about Austen’s strength in crafting characters. But, what’s more, Austen critiques these characters and I find myself learning something about who I am, my motives, and areas where I need improvement.
Her critiques of men are still relevant
We may be tempted to see Jane Austen’s novels as books for women. Women are the main characters. The stories are told from the perspective of women. And Austen never writes a single scene where men converse without women present. But her writing is just as relevant for men because her study of virtue is applicable to all people. And even more than this, her critiques are often specifically of men.
The female protagonist of Mansfield Park, Fanny Price, develops very little over the course of the novel. She grows up and becomes slightly braver and bolder. But, for the most part, she is constant in her virtue. Instead, it is Edmund who shows the most significant growth. It’s Edmund who must come to understand himself and his own heart. And it’s the rakish Henry Crawford whose failure to know himself leads to disaster.
Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice may be a heartthrob for many women. But he has a deep character flaw that he must overcome in order to be with the woman he desires. Without being about men or specifically for men, each of Jane Austen’s novels, shows men who fail in the practice of virtue or, conversely, show great character and strength. When I read Austen, I never fail to find a man who reflects my own flaws and calls me to change or a man who displays a kind of virtue I aspire to.
She is sidesplittingly funny
The other day I was trail running and listening to Mansfield Park in my headphones. I’d just gotten to the part where, against the better judgement of Edmund, the companions at Mansfield decide to put on a play. The silly and vain Mr. Rushworth is delighted to have a part in the play and brags to his companions:
“We have got a play… It is to be Lovers’ Vows; and I am to be Count Cassel, and am to come in first with a blue dress and a pink satin cloak, and afterwards am to have another fine fancy suit, by way of a shooting-dress. I do not know how I shall like it.”
The way Austen paints this character, the way he’s so oblivious to his own ridiculousness, the subtlety of the humor; I had to stop running because I was laughing so hard.
Two and Forty Speeches! Which is no trifle!
I missed a lot of the humor when I first read Austen. Some of her characters were silly to me but it seemed like a product of the culture, just the silliness of old British people. But now I understand that the funny characters are supposed to be funny. It can be easy to miss because of how subtle the humor is. But once you understand that Austen means Mr. Collins’ absurd statements to be absurd, it becomes difficult to read his lines without laughing.
If you’ve never read Jane Austen, you should start. And if you’ve tried before and didn’t like her, well… I think you should try again.
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Preach, Daniel! As a tween I was first drawn to Austen by the romance and top hats and bonnets, but as I have continued to reread them through college and now as a mother, I have found them to be a lovely source of moral insight and instruction. I think I am often in danger of being an Emma–wanting to be the sparkling, witty center of attention and not wanting to include the frumpy Ms. Bates(es?) of the world. The way that book teaches the true meaning of charity hits right at the heart.
Thank you, Daniel! This is great. I found your blog through Haley’s and I love your insight. Keep up the good work, and congratulations on your move to Texas! Praying for that 🙂
I love this! After being subjected to many hours of Jane Austen film adaptations, my brothers are fans of her character studies. They have been known to yell advice at Mr. Darcy as he offers his insulting first proposal to Elizabeth.
Northanger Abbey is always my recommendation to Austen n00bs since it’s such a hilarious satire that prophetically parodies vampire mania.
OK I’m in. What order would be good for someone who has never read her at all?
I don’t think the order matters so very much. But many have remarked that Persuasion is her most mature novel, so perhaps save that one for last?
Thanks!
I would suggest Pride and Prejudice. If you are into audio books at all, you can’t go wrong with Juliet Stevenson as the narrator. She is excellent.
Thanks!
Sense and sensibility would be good too, because it has more strong male characters that might make it more interesting for a man reading austen for the first time.
Great post! I completely agree. You made so many arguments I’ve tried to convey to my husband over the years. I don’t think this will change his mind either but I’m going to ask him to read your post. Thanks for the good read! ~ Jamie
My wife teaches literature. She’s a nut for Austen. I’m a nut for your other examples (Tolkien and Beowulf). I’ve watched a stage production of Pride and Prejudice with her and I admit I enjoyed it. If we watch a movie with Austen references, like something said by Colin Firth in Magic in the Moonlight, she’ll be sure to explain to me why the comment was so funny (just as soon as she quits laughing). But like DougB, I think I need a good recommendation by another guy in order to get the gumption to actually read her.
Joe. Read her. Enough said.
BUT I TRIED DANIEL. SO MANY TIMES. I TRIED. AND FAILED EACH TIME, most recently when I worked alongside a college student I know who was taking a Jane Austen class… and even still…
I just can’t. I JUST CAN’T.
Am I broken?
Yes, Lindsey, I am afraid so!
Sometimes I simply adore your writing, Daniel. Now is one of those times!
A note on the illustration you captioned “I thought the men wore tights back then”: according to the date at the bottom, it’s from an 1833 edition of P&P, and the artist appears to have decided to draw the characters in the fashions of his own time rather than those of when it was published, several decades earlier. The woman’s dress and hairstyle look nothing whatsoever like anything Jane Austen or any of her characters would have worn, and while the man’s clothing is less obviously inaccurate – 19th-century men’s fashion tended to change less dramatically than women’s from one decade to the next – it’s still different, especially the pants. Regency men usually wore tight knee-breeches (although not tights per se).
Here’s a later P&P illustration, also showing Lizzy and Mr Bennet, by C. E. Brock, who actually took the trouble to research appropriate clothing:
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/dc/33/64/dc33641d43b689cc873f6ac65e766fc8.jpg
Emily, I agree with your assessment of the illustration. The topknot hairstyle and wide neckline and sloping shoulder of the lady’s dress say 1830’s.
In Regency times, doeskin breeches were very popular, and they were worn tight, so that may be where people get the idea that men wore tights. I doubt they left much to the imagination.
I always jokingly tell my husband that you and him should become best friends (hard-rock loving, marathon-running, involved dad, Catholic convert, he only needs to understand a bit more about crops and you will basically be soul-buds), and you are once more proving my point. Would you guys fancy moving to England rather than Texas? 😀
Great article! For those who need more help appreciating Jane Austen’s humor, I recommend Robert Rodi’s books: Bitch in a Bonnet: Reclaiming Jane Austen from the Stiffs, the Snobs, the Simps and the Saps, Volumes I and II.
I experienced the same reactions to Austen’s humor – not realizing it was intended to be funny and eventually coming to a realization of how sarcastically sharp her wit was! I guess I thought for so long that her books were just deadly serious.
I required my now-twenty-year-old son to read all the Austen novels in one year while he was in high school (homeschooled). He resisted, of course, but came to appreciate them too. I teach an Austen class with a friend at my local homeschool co-op and it’s been a big hit!
Spot on! Austen’s character studies and timeless observations on human nature are what keep me re-reading her novels. And for humor, there is nothing like John Thorpe in Northanger Abbey, boasting on about his carriage like an 18th century meathead. My husband is a convert to Catholicism and a Jane-ite, so it’s nice to know he’s not the only one in that club.
Daniel, I’m a published author of Austen-themed historical fiction. Your views on Austen’s brilliance is right on point. It’s why I use her as a jumping point for my own stories. This is an excellent post. Congratulations.
I will never be able to use your article to convince anyone until you proofread it properly. You lost me at the improper use of “their.” Please fix and have someone proofread the rest of your article. Once corrections are made, let me know so that I may share it with others.
Lolololol! No thanks. I think I’d rather not.
Thanks, Daniel for your insights into Our Jane. I do know men who love her work & probably for similar reasons to you. I mean, her sharp observation of the human condition is really what makes her work “last” way beyond her time & milieu. I love her humour and flawed characters. I remember reading Emma in high school & sort of enjoying it & then picking it up in my late 20’s and loving every word, so her work also grows on you as you mature emotionally.
The only other writer who comes close to Austen’s clarity and observation is, in my opinion, Tolstoy. So, dear Daniel, when are you going to begin on War and Peace … or Anna Karenina??
My central problem with Jane Austen’s novels is not with her characters (which are well-made), or with her story lines (which have quality, and are well-conceived), or even with her subject-matter. My real problem with Jane Austen is her abominable writing style, which – to me at least – is by far the most stifling, stultifying, impenetrable prose I have ever seen. It is fantastically dull and difficult to read. The only writing I know of which is more difficult is that found in Philosophy – for example, in Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, in which the writing is far, far more difficult to read than in Jane Austen’s work. But as far as pure literature goes, Austen’s writing is the worst. I have literally never seen anything else like it.
Writing about the Landed Gentry (aristocracy) of Regency England as Austen does is not a bad thing, and can be quite interesting. It’s how Austen has chosen to go about doing so that drives me absolutely up the wall. There seem to be two main problems here: Austen’s horrendously difficult, technically-demanding sentences, and what she chooses to describe with her horrendously difficult, technically-demanding sentences. Her authorial decisions in this regard frequently make her sentences even more repulsive than they already are. Her characters (frequently females, but quite often the males too) seem absolutely obsessed with the apparent “doilies and Dalmatians” minutae of aristocratic life in general – with literally hundreds and hundreds of pages devoted to this. Never before have I seen such an attitude carried to the extremes it is here.
Basically, by the end of every Jane Austen novel, the reader is left staring at one big doily. That’s really all her prose style amounts up to, in the end. Characters frequently worry about just where the napkins are placed next to the forks, or just how perfectly the doilies are adjusted on the tea tables; did the neighbours see the doilies? Just what did they think about the doilies? How did the doilies affect the social advance of the family in general? Could Mrs. Such-And-Such have been impressed by the doilies to such a degree as is thought suitable by everyone else to the exact correct extent (but not quite TOO much, as is proper)? Could the doilies have been adjusted just a little more to one side, and if so, what shockwaves would this have sent throughout polite society? What must be felt about the doilies? What MIGHT POSSIBLY have been felt about the doilies? What COULD NOT POSSIBLY have been felt about the doilies, and in what capacity, and to what degree, and in what conditions, by absolutely everyone? Could the fate of the world (not to mention society itself) really rise and fall on the state of a doily?
Never before have I seen such massive intellectual power pumped into obsessions with wishy-washy aristocratic minutae. It is literally mind-blowing to see this kind of small-mindedness expanded out into a full novel – written in the most boring, impenetrable sentences imaginable – and to be then dignified by the term “novel.” Do we really have to know just where all the forks and spoons are, and everyone’s reaction to them, in the correct sequence and societal order? Must we read fifty pages on each and every stitch of knitting that the women do, and exactly what ramifications each knitted garment has for society as a whole? Is it REALLY that essential that the characters discuss (in obsessive-compulsive detail) every single other character’s reaction to the latest tea-party, or to every last tiny inconsequential comment of even the smallest note whatsoever, over hundreds and hundreds of pages? Because that, unfortunately, is what the majority of Jane Austen’s writing consists of (or at least, of things of a similar nature) – on and on and on and on and on, with almost no variation whatsoever. Any actual story is frequently lost among endless technical descriptions of, and reactions to, the latest tea-cozy. (Or there about.)
Whatever Jane Austen’s rationale for writing this way, it does not justify the truly painful result. It is physically hurtful to me to read her writing; my brain throbs horribly trying to digest all the trivial minutae of Regency life, told in her boring, exacting, computer-program-like sentences. Jane Austen, I must conclude, is a rather good storyteller, but one with horrible, horrible writing -rather like Herman Melville, in that respect. Hidden beneath her dreadful, tiresome prose are some genuinely wonderful, charming stories, but her writing makes this difficult to appreciate for me. I know some people seem to really enjoy her prose – I am simply not one of them. I’m just not structured that way. It’s a shame, really, because the woman (Austen) was obviously brilliant; a genius, to be sure; and even her horrid writing is still intricate and clever, and certainly required some real brainpower to create – it’s just not very much fun to read. And though I acknowledge her obvious brilliance, I actively despise the effect her writing has on me. It’s become so bad that whenever anyone even MENTIONS actually reading a Jane Austen novel, I reach for my gun…(figuratively speaking, of course.)
Your taste is bad and you should feel bad.
“I just can’t trust someone who really doesn’t like Jane.” Yep. Yep yep yep yep yeppedy yep! And she doesn’t just examine virtue within individuals, but also how stated group-beliefs about virtue play out in the real world. Like, intensely accurate, minute, deep-analysis style. I have to go jump up and down in a corner whenever people underestimate Jane Austen.