Pride & Prejudice, ch. 1: Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda

If there exists a novel that has been over-analyzed to the point where any new analysis would feel stale and beside the point, Pride & Prejudice would tie for first on that list. Detailing all of Elizabeth Bennet’s endearing blunders and sharp quips and swooning over Mr. Darcy’s awkward attempts at courtship is practically a cottage industry. Modern adaptations shine a light on even the most minor characters to unearth some unappreciated quality of theirs. That’s not even going into the dozens of unofficial sequels, re-imaginings, or that one time some guy decided to add zombies to the mix.*

It’s been done, is what I’m trying to say.

But I’m gonna do it anyway.

With my chapter-by-chapter dissection of Mansfield Park, I was attempting to mount a spirited defense of one of my favorite novels. Now with one of my other favorites, I think I’m going to take a more laid-back approach. This means I have no plan, no agenda, no self-righteousness drive to prove a point. But I will have questions. And, obviously, a deep obsession with Lizzy Bennet.

We open on one of Western literature’s most famous lines, offering a preview of the playful irreverence the novel has to offer. That line that all Janeites know by heart. And it goes like this: Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, of Longbourn, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much—

Oops. Uh, sorry, wrong British classic … here we go: Two households, both alike in dignity, though maybe a loosely-defined version thereof/In fair Hertfordshire, where we lay our scene—

Damn, wait. I meant to say: It was the best of times to marry well, it was the worst of times to marry well—

Okay, okay, I’m done. Okay, seriously, this is it: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Taste that tartness, readers.

It’s funny how quickly Austen makes a U-turn into this portrait of an older married couple after mentioning this hypothetical rich single man. We learn through Mrs. Bennet’s prodding that such a man actually exists, and must be introduced to her daughters before he meets any other young pretty thing. And just through dialogue alone, you get the feeling that Mrs. Bennet is exactly the kind of busybody who’d constantly be trying to prove that the housewife across the street is actually a witch.

Or to put it another way, by the chapter’s end, you are fully on Mr. Bennet’s side. When I first read this, I remember liking Mr. Bennet right away, which is by design. When he mentions his “little Lizzy,” it’s so intriguing—the sarcastic dad has a favorite daughter, hmmm … And that makes the reader question why Mrs. Bennet comes down rather hard on this Lizzy girl. If she’s not the prettiest or the nicest of the daughters, then why single her out?

Let’s look again at Mrs. Bennet. Annoying as she is, there’s something she has that Mr. Bennet doesn’t. Mrs. Bennet is urging her husband to go out, meet with Bingley, and then have Bingley meet their daughters. She is essentially pushing him to get the plot going. On a meta level, this means that we the readers align ourselves with Mrs. Bennet—like, yeah, you silly old man, let’s get to the first plot point! Stop dragging your feet!

Through a feminist lens, this presents a frustrating dynamic. As Mr. Bennet jokes, Mrs. Bennet cannot make this meet-cute with Bingley happen on her own; she needs her long-suffering husband, the male character, to do that for her. This eagerness, along with her nervous energy, foreshadow the tension between movement and stillness in P&P (and, honestly, in all of Austen’s mature work). And like her daughters, Mrs. Bennet is ham-strung by conventions that force her into a passive role. The men have the ability to move; the women must remain still.

When I first read P&P, I assumed it was a straight-up romance, no question. But I also never questioned why its first chapter focuses solely on an older married couple passive-aggressively arguing about their kids (and maybe by extension, their own marriage). I can’t think of a modern romance novel, famous or otherwise, that would choose to do this (unless it’s an adaptation of P&P). It’s taken years of re-reads for me to unearth the underlying frustration of this society and era.

Next chapter: We meet the rest of the Bennet gang and Mr. Bennet has more fun with his wife.

*If anyone wants me to post my review of Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (written back when it first came out), sound off!