Jane Austen, Sense and sensibility (Vol. 1, redux)

Jane Austen, Sense and sensibility

In 2011, my Jane Austen group started a slow read of her novels in chronological order of publication, which meant that we started with the 1811-published Sense and sensibility. By slow read, we meant that each month we’d read a volume of the chosen novel, given most novels in those times were published in three volumes, and discuss just that volume to see what new ideas or insights we might have. We finished the project in 2017. Having spent the last five years looking at other works by Austen (like her Juvenilia) and exploring other topics relevant to her, we decided last year that it was time to “do” the novels again. So, once again, we’ve started with the first one.

For some of you, this will seem very dry, but for those of us who love Austen, there is much to be gained from these slow reads. If you are interested in what I wrote last time on volume one, check out the post, but here I’m sharing what thoughts popped up for me this time.

First though, I’ll repeat the caveats from 2011. I’m assuming that most readers who come to this post will know the plot. (If you don’t, Wikipedia provides a good summary.) Also, this is not a formal review but simply a sharing of some of the ideas that struck me during this slow reading.

Slow reading of Volume 1

I have always liked Sense and sensibility, while my dear Mum thought it one of her weakest. (There’s no accounting for tastes! In my group there are many who will never forget that Mum loved Northanger Abbey, which some of them don’t like much at all.)

Anyhow, here goes. It’s fascinating how each read of an Austen book focuses the mind on something different. That’s the richness of Austen, and what makes her a true classic. In my last slow read, my first-volume thoughts focused particularly on the idea of judgement, and money and income. This time, other ideas came to the fore for me, some partly affected, I think, by current concerns.

Autobiographical first novel?

But first, an idea I hadn’t fully thought through before was that it could be seen as a “typical” first novel, by which I mean, it has strong autobiographical elements. Anyone who knows Austen always think of this novel’s basic set-up of in terms of her life: the fact that Austen, her mother and sister, lost their home on the death of their husband/father, and had to wait for the kindness of relations to come to their aid, just as happens to the Dashwoods. However, on this reading, I realised there were other autobiographical elements. Others in the group had come to the same conclusion, and yet none of us had discussed this last time. Curious.

So, for example, our two sisters, the younger musical Marianne and the older artistic Elinor mirror musical Jane and her artist sister Cassandra. Moreover, Jane, we believe, was lively, like Marianne, compared with her more sober older sister. If Austen did draw on herself for Marianne, however, she’s gorgeously self-deprecating – though she does present Marianne as over-enthusiastic and excitable but fundamentally sound. There are several other elements we could point to from Austen’s biography, including her flirtation with Tom Lefroy being reflected in Marianne’s with Willoughby. They are very different men, but both men are whisked away by relations from the attractive but unsuitable, ie not-rich-enough, girl.

Appearances deceive?

Perhaps partly because I’ve been listening to ABC RN’s Face Value series, I seemed to be particularly alert to the many references to appearance. Admittedly, Austen describes appearance in all her novels, but it felt pointed here in a way that I don’t recollect seeing in later novels.

So, Edward Ferrars and Colonel Brandon are both described as not handsome, but both are appealing for their good understanding and interested attention in others. Willoughby, on the other hand, is described differently. When he appears on the scene, having rescued Marianne from her fall in the rain, Austen says that Mrs Dashwood would have would have been grateful had he been ”old, ugly, and vulgar”, but his “youth, beauty, and elegance” gave him added interest.

As for the women, Sir John Middleton and Charlotte Palmer talk of Elinor and Marianne as being pretty and therefore marriageable, while Lucy Steele is seen by the perceptive Elinor to have “beauty” but to “want … real elegance and artlessness”. And then there’s Mr Palmer who, just like Pride and prejudice’s Mr Bennet, had chosen his wife Charlotte for her beauty not her sense. Beauty, Austen seems to be saying, is something we should not give undue credit to.

Fond mothers?

Another issue which caught my attention this time around concerned mothers and mothering. Mothering (poor or lack of) features in many of Austen’s novels. Lizzie Bennet’s mother (Pride and prejudice) is silly; Emma (Emma) and Anne (Persuasion) don’t have a mother; Fanny’s (Mansfield Park) is too busy; and Catherine’s (Northanger Abbey) is away from her at a critical time. By contrast, Sense and sensibility has several active and involved, though not necessarily great, mothers, from the loving, hands-off Mrs Dashwood to the ultimate controller in Mrs Ferrars.

Very early on Mrs Dashwood’s style of mothering is described and Mrs Ferrars’ is hinted at, in relation to the apparent growing attraction between Elinor and Edward.

Some mothers might have encouraged intimacy from motives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who died very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for, except for a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality.

Mrs Dashwood, who is probably the most present mother in Austen, is loving but not always wise. When Marianne falls into excessive despair at Willoughby’s sudden, unexplained departure, Elinor suggests she ask Marianne directly about her relationship with Willoughby. Mrs Dashwood replies that she “would not ask such a question for the world … I should never deserve her confidence again … I would not attempt to force the confidence of any one”. Elinor disagrees, seeing “this generosity overstrained, considering her sister’s youth … [but] … common sense, common care, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs Dashwood’s romantic delicacy”.

However, Mrs Dashwood does provide good “maternal” advice to Edward, suggesting that finding some useful employment would help him be “a happier man”. She then mentions his mother:

Your mother will secure to you, in time, that independence you are so anxious for; it is her duty, and it will, it must, ere long become her happiness to prevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent.

We haven’t met Mrs Ferrars at this point in the novel, but earlier references to her have not suggested a particularly loving or even dutiful mother. If Mrs Ferrars is one matriarch in the the novel, Mrs Jennings is another. Austen tells us that “She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world”. She comes across in Volume 1, as gossipy, “vulgar”, but good-natured. Without second-guessing the next volume, let’s say that I think she warms as a motherly character then!

Her younger daughter, Charlotte Palmer is pregnant, but the older one, Lady Middleton, is the mother of three young children. She is the “fond mother” who “will swallow anything”. Her very existence depends on her role – she only comes to life when her children are around – and the shrewd Steele girls take advantage of this.

For Austen readers, the issue of mothers in Austen’s novels is a loaded one. Why are there so few sensible mothers in her novels? There is much we don’t know about Austen’s life, and one of the mysteries concerns her relationship with her mother. Some Austen researchers believe it was prickly. We’ll never know, but great mothers are rare in her novels – which may or may not tell us something .

And …

Other issues that grabbed my attention included the many references to goodness, compassion and kindness, and, not surprisingly, to sense and sensibility (which I briefly discussed in my previous volume 1 post).

Goodness appears on page 1, when we are told that Mr and Mrs Dashwood had shown “goodness of heart” to the uncle from whom they had inherited Norland, the estate that Mrs Dashwood must leave after her husband dies. As the volume progresses, Marianne talks of Edward’s “goodness and sense”; Sir John Middleton is described as being of “good heart”; and Colonel Brandon as having a “good nature”. These are not just words. Sir John’s “good heart” translates into real and practical kindness to the Dashwoods, and Edward values the “kindness” of the Dashwood family “beyond anything”.

I won’t continue because we’ll have to see how or whether these issues remain to the fore as I read on, or whether others will raise their heads. Instead, I’ll close one one of those insights that I love reading Austen for. It’s on Mrs Dashwood not being prepared to consider the tough possibilities (in this case concerning Marianne and Willoughby):

But Mrs Dashwood could find explanations whenever she wanted them, which at least satisfied herself.

How often do we justify things to ourselves that we’d be better not to? Mrs Dashwood isn’t alone I think. (Or, do I speak only for myself?)

Roll on volume 2.

20 thoughts on “Jane Austen, Sense and sensibility (Vol. 1, redux)

  1. It’s nice to read this. I’m not going to read S&S again (I’ve read it three times already) but I do enjoy revisiting the book through reading your thoughts about it.

    • Only three times Lisa! (Just teasing.) There are Jane aficionados who read every book every year! I’m not one of those, but I do like to read them every few years. I’m glad that my post provides a nice revisit for you.

  2. Lovely post. Sense and Sensibility is sadly my least favourite of Austen’s since Marianne and Mrs Dashwood have a tendency to get on my nerves too much. But one day, I may decide to come back to it. I like the autobiographical influences that you bring up, not something that had struck me or been pointed out earlier but quite obvious now that you mention it.

  3. Sue, I really enjoyed this post. For a while there, I was writing my own reaction posts, but I think I need to re-think even how I do those. I’m limbo-ing somewhere between my reactions and a review, and I want to do better. I read and didn’t enjoy Northanger Abbey unless the guys were in the scene. All the stuff about dancing was boring, but the guys were mischievous.

    I truly enjoyed Sense and Sensibility because I had this huge, fantastic edition that had “side notes” instead of footnotes, which included how much money they had in today’s sums and paintings of objects referenced in the story, like clothes, furniture, etc. I didn’t care much for the editor’s analysis; I simply want some help as I read, and I think I was able to like S&S for that assistance.

    As for mothers: my views on mothers has changed as I’ve gotten older. I had certain thoughts when I was growing up, but now that I am 37, which is how old my mom was when I was 13, I think about the person I was in my mid twenties. What kinds of thoughts did I have, what kinds of mistakes did I make. I am a firm believer that humans place for society, but we’re all, to a degree, animals that have stood up and put pants on. And with that in mind, I think about how mothers really, really cannot know and be everything. For that reason, I like how Mrs. Dashwood isn’t wise like the mother from Little Women, for example. Mrs. Dashwood is saying, “Hey, I’m distressed by the death of my husband and getting kicked out of my home and being put on an allowance,” so it seems like the responsibility shifts to the daughters to make their own lives, be responsible for their own actions. Given their ages, I felt that was right.

    As for the mother who married her daughters off and now wanted to find matches for everyone, I giggled when I thought more about that just now. Today, we have dating websites; so maybe that lady was just ahead of her time. We could all use some help when it comes to meeting people!

    • I enjoy writing these slow read posts, to do something other than a review. I don’t think you need to think about how you do your reaction posts. I enjoy them. I think, in a way, the sort of book it is, and the sort of reaction you have, can drive how you write about it, rather than having “one” way to do a review and one way to do a reaction post?

      Oh this is lovely Melanie. I think we have talked about S&S before and that edition you read? I’m sad you didn’t like Northanger Abbey but you’re not alone. Most people love P&P, and Persuasion, I think. After that, different novels do have different fans, even among Austen followers, though I love them all. Emma used to be my least favourite, but on one of my re-readings, I suddenly saw what it was about and just how cleverly it’s written and I changed my mind. But back to NA. Although it was published last, just after her death, with Persuasion, it was the first one sent to a publisher, so was, in a sense her first novel. It’s young and exuberant, and has a lot to say (including about young men, as you noticed!). It also has her famous defence of the novel, which argues that novels aren’t trifles but present the best analysis of human beings.

      I like your comments on mothers. My mum was 35 when I was 13. I adored her. That’s about when she read my first Austen to me, though I think I’d seen the original P&P film before then. She was great. I never did rebel against her, because she was just right – caring, intelligent, supportive but also witty. She expected us to behave sensibly and reasonably, and I guess I never felt there was ever any reason not to. Which, of course, may say more about my personality, than hers! I always feel more Elinor, except in one point, which is Marianne’s habit of pontificating on things she doesn’t know, only to find when life happens that she has to think again. This is why I love S&S!

      • I think that you’re right; my posts change based on if the book hit a nerve with me. For example, the one about fat girls and women and fitness. I had a lot to say about the commercialization of movement and ye olde gym class days.

  4. Have just finished reading The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner, a timely juxtaposition. This had similar comments to those here, about favourite Austen, and how the males behave, and so on. Alas, I have only read Pride and Prejudice, and that a long time ago, so I didn’t enjoy the book as much as others would. That didn’t stop me staying awake to finish the story at 1am! Maybe I should expand my Austen horizons.

  5. I haven’t read S&S for many years but recall enough to really enjoy these insights. I also love the idea of a slow read of her works. Perhaps summer will be a time to revisit and I’ll have your notes to give me things to look for. 🙂

  6. Lovely thoughts. I “did” all of Austen a while ago so it’s probably time for another go-through. I love Northanger Abbey, too, I think because I read it in just the right context, in a general survey of the period course at university, among all the gothic novels it’s sending up.

    • Thanks Liz. I’m glad you like NA too. One of the reasons I especially like it Is because it also sends up readers of Gothic novels! Poor Catherine. The opening paragraph is priceless.

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