Sense and Sensibility

Elinor and Marianne Dashwood are sisters; they're both smart and hot, and they don't have any money.

Marianne is a thing some journalists would label "a messy bitch." She pays limited attention to the social graces. If someone near her is an idiot, she can't be bothered to do the good girl thing where you're like: I'm working really hard to pretend you're not an idiot. Instead, Marianne is just short of openly contemptuous, and then she'll wander off and inspect her host's private library, and the host is like: Wait, you're my guest. You should be chatting with me right now.

Elinor is sort of insufferably perfect, and she is invested in judging things accurately. It's childish to find drama where there isn't drama, to exaggerate, to stir and stir and stir the pot. (The fools in this novel like to use the adjective "monstrous." As in: "I'm monstrous excited to meet that new horse!" Or: "I'm monstrous curious to know what Lucy said about Miss Steele's scandalous new corset!")

Jane Austen was well aware that men tend not to be the greatest people on the planet, so, in "Sense and Sensibility," she has Willoughby, a handsome cad who persuades Marianne to donate some hair-in-a-locket, then fucks her over. Jane Austen has Edward Ferrars, who flirts with new ladies whilst forgetting some of the sloppy, problematic nonsense in his own past. Jane Austen has Colonel Brandon--and, my goodness, who can even guess what's going on with Brandon for one hundred middle pages?

Everything works out, sort of. Marianne learns to be less of a shit-show. (That said, I know I'm not alone in secretly preferring crazy Marianne to endlessly-proper Elinor. I know I'm not the only reader who would like to see Elinor farting, or stepping in manure, at several points in the novel.)

One of Jane Austen's many talents is her unsparing eye for self-delusion. In a classic scene at the very beginning of the novel, a dude realizes he needs to give some of his money to his poor sisters. This guy has shit tons of money. But his nasty wife doesn't want generosity as a family tradition. "You didn't actually promise money," she says. "You said you'd be kind. Kindness can mean, like, moving some furniture around when you're asked." The husband--relieved--says, "YES! That's what I'll do! I'll MOVE FURNITURE." When the shafted sisters announce their new home will be very far away, the brother is personally aggrieved, because he is not going all that way to haul out some day-beds, and if he can't do this tiny thing, then he can't assuage his own guilty conscience. Also, the mean brother becomes exasperated because his sisters get to hold onto some fancy flatware--and why do they need that flatware if they're going to be living in a kind of shitty dirt hut? (The brother seems unaware that the dirt hut is a direct result of his own coldness.) All of this is done in a deadpan style, and it's breathtaking and chilling and very funny, even now, in 2020.

I wonder if Marianne's resolution could have been different. Not that everyone really needs to be happy. That's not required in a novel. Just a thought.

I recommend this weird, twisty, cunning story. Not a controversial opinion! But there you have it.

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Liars and Saints

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