Do You like book The Annotated Pride And Prejudice (2007)?
I enjoyed this version by David Shapard very much I've read it several times. I'm currently reading a new version by Patricia Spacks and it's got lovely pics etc. I just haven't been able to complete it tho'.
—Danielle
Critics who consider Austen's works trivial because of their rigid, upper-class setting, wealthy characters, domestic, mannered plots and happy endings are almost totally disconnected from reality, as far as I can tell. What can they possibly expect an upper-middle class English woman to write about in 1813 but what she knows or can imagine? Sci-fi? A history of the American Revolution? A real-life exposé of underage exploitation in the garment district of London? Come on. What other setting can she be expected to tackle with authority? Austen's value lies in her portraiture: her characters are believably human in their concerns, vanities, failings and quirks. The plots serve largely to showcase their interaction and thus, her observations of human nature, which are pointed, accurate, and hysterical. Here, in her best work (my opinion), her technical skill as a writer also shows in Pride and Prejudice's tight plotting and economical casting; there are no superfluous characters or wasted chapters here. My college lit professor used to go on and on about this novel as a revolution of literary form in that dialogue drives the plot as much as exposition; I'll buy that but it doesn't thrill me for its own sake as much as it did her. It does mean, though, that Pride and Prejudice is a relatively smooth and lively read, that we learn about events and characters as much from what they say to each other as from what Austen narrates to us. The banter between Darcy and Elizabeth isn't empty flirting, it's a progression, a chart of their ongoing understanding/misunderstanding and a way to take stock of plot developments as well as an enjoyable display of wit. Austen's heroines are famously caught between love and money are famously criticized for always getting both in the end. I've got no problem with this wish fulfillment. Keep in mind that being married is basically the only possible 'job' available to a woman of her position--marrying a rich dude is the only viable escape from the life of poor-relation dependency Austen herself lived, there's nothing reactionary or anti-feminist about it. The other option--becoming a governess--is barely respectable, putting a woman into an ambiguous class limbo of social invisibility that translates directly into a loss of safety and self-governance. Expecting Elizabeth to, what, become a doctor? is silly and anachronistic, and perhaps if that's your preference you'd be better off reading Clan of the Cave Bear, with Ayla and her bearskin bra, or what have you. Pride and Prejudice is simply a joy to read, a dance of manners and affection between the leads and a parade of human silliness in the supporting cast. edited to add: some thoughts specific to the Patricia Meyer Spacks annotated edition I received as a gift for Christmas 2010:It’s quite remarkably handsome, and sturdy, and useful for whacking spiders if you are that sort of person. Generously illustrated with color and black-and-white sketches, engravings, and reproductions of earlier editions, household objects, relevant artwork, contemporary cartoons, diagrams and fashion plates.My attention wandered during the editor’s introduction in what turned out to be a horribly familiar way. While I appreciated Spacks’s discussion of historical background, her warnings about the subtlety of language and characterization, and the dangers of identifying too much with our favorite characters because Austen stacks the deck for that purpose, etc etc, it was a sort of technical appreciation--dry, and a little bit soulless. I was, perhaps, impatient. At some point as I yanked my eyes back to the pages I kept trying to read, I realized: Spacks is a Professor Emerita at the University of Virginia--my former stomping grounds (wahoo-wa!) (...sorry, that happens)--it’s more than possible she was MY professor back in 19. I don’t remember her name or face, but certainly her style, the steel trap of her mind, and the mildly pushy feeling of her obsession with language all felt very very familiar. So, grain of salt: I may have some kind of baggage here.That said, this is a must-own for the serious P&P fan. As with any annotated edition, I wouldn’t recommend it for a first or even third reading of the book--these notes take up half-to-full pages, sometimes continuing to the next, and only if you’re already familiar with the text of the book itself can you spare attention to wander off down these other roads. Keep another straight copy of P&P around for when you just want to read the thing. Some footnotes are simple definitions, or style notes: some are mini-essays that include their own cited references. Spacks includes centuries of Austen scholarship in her notes, not just contemporaries, so points of view vary widely. There’s quite a smorgasbord of textual commentary to pick through, and you’re sure to find little tidbits that strike you as especially resonant or horrendously wrong and weird. Two tidbits I liked: first, a primary source. One note, in discussing the complicated British class system of the day, refers to a table constructed by one Patrick Colquhoun in his A Treatise on the Wealth, Power and Resources of the British Empire, in Every Quarter of the World (2nd ed., London, 1815, pp 106-107)--a table which lays out exactly where, for instance, Darcy stands in relation to the Bennett family. He’s in the “second class,” they’re in the fourth. Clearly people put a lot of time and effort into codifying and arguing about societal structure, status and behavior, and I think that would be a fascinating thing to read. Another note I lingered over involves Mr. Collins, a character we love to hate. Here's the upside of an annotated edition: I’d never bothered to give Mr Collins much of my attention, since he’s icky--but Spacks points out the oddity of a snippet that I'd always ignored before. In bidding Elizabeth farewell from Hunsford, Mr Collins apologizes profusely for the humbleness of his style of living, as if he considered her socially above him--and this is a complete 180 from his incredibly condescending proposal of marriage earlier in the book, where he deigns to presume he’s taking a burden from her parents by opting to support her. Also, Spacks has a lot to say about Elizabeth's inconsistency and lack of generosity towards Charlotte Lucas--traits I'd noticed in past readings without following through to some of their logical conclusions and their connections with Elizabeth's later behavior.Definitely worth the purchase price! Add it to your collection, but don't make it your only copy, since it's hard to tuck under your pillow.
—Anne
Reading Jane Austen, like dancing in public, makes me uncomfortable. I see people either dancing or reading Austen all the time, and to them, it seems natural. They clearly love what they're doing, and many of them will try to tell you about how great it is, and how if you'd just give it a shot, you'd love it, you really would. And so you always say no, no thanks, not this time, but every once in a while, just for kicks, you give it a try. And as soon as you start, nothing works, and you feel painfully self-conscious and certain that everyone is staring at you, so you naturally quit doing it an go home and watch a baseball game, which feels much more your speed.And then, just to make yourself feel better, you look down your nose at the people dancing in public or reading Austen, wasting their time on something so frivolous when there's real work to be done. Like watching more baseball, or reading more Philip Roth.Now that I've finished P and P, I can see that that I was being excessively proud in thinking that way. You might even say I was showing something like prejudice against Jane Austen and her fans by avoiding her for most of my life. For shame! Now I understand why there are so many fans of Austen in general and this book in particular.I knew she had the reputation of being a careful observer with a sharp wit, and it's true. Her characters are lively, hilarious, and often ridiculous, but she creates them with incredible verisimilitude. There's the preposterous Mr. Collins, the infuriating Mrs. Bennet, silly Lydia and dastardly Wickham. Then there are the two main characters, Elizabeth and Darcy, who seem so solid and confident with their very different views of the world that they would never compromise. And then, of course, they do.But more interesting to me was that the revelations that these two characters experience don't come in an epiphanic flash, or in a melodramatic confessional that you always see in romantic comedies these days, and that, for some reason always takes place either at the airport or in a rain storm. Jane Austen hated cliches like that, and she carefully avoided them in her novel (except, for a few times, to make fun of them.) Rather, these two characters are drawn together, bit by bit, over hundreds of pages. And it's not a mere misunderstanding that stands between Elizabeth and Darcy; they are definitely, stubbornly against one another. It's only through dozens of different tests of character and patience that the two come to understand one another and then become a married couple. The author forces each character to take her or his point of view, which seems sensible and just, and then reexamine it from the other's vantage. My prejudice against this book was that it was frivolous, just about five daughters who had to find a man in order to maintain their genteel status in society. And, partially, that's correct. The Bennets, as down-and-out as they are, are still flirting with the upper fringes of society, living in wealth and trying to avoid the kind of destitution that might require them to join the working class. Their struggle is not a life-or-death one; in fact, in the whole of the novel, not a single character dies! But there is real tragedy in the book. The first, most evident one is that the five women in the Bennet family will never be able to choose their own fate because of their gender. They are merely women and must either be married or enter into spinsterism. But the second, more tragic notion is that it didn't have to be this way. Mr. Bennet, the patriarch, seems cursed. In five tries, he had five daughters, but never gave up hopes that a son would come along until it was too late. He should have known better! He has utterly mismanaged his family's fortune and brought about its destitution. He may or may not have been able to prevent his estate from being entailed only to a male heir; even if he couldn't have prevented that, he could have saved his income for the benefit of the five girls, but he didn't. All he can do is watch his daughters' misfortune with a despair that he covers with irony and humor.And, lest I miss the point, I must point out how charming and wonderful Pride and Prejudice is. It's a riot. I wrote "ha" in the margins of my book many, many times, and I loved chatting with my wife about all the dips and dos between Elizabeth and Darcy. We've watched most of the 1995 BBC production of the book, and I find myself starting sentences with "Darcy this...." or "Darcy that..." Pride and Prejudice is irresistible, great stuff, and everyone should read it--even dudes.From mrbramesblog.org
—Aaron Brame