Equilibrium and Energy: A Lizzy and Darcy Appreciation Post

Credit to Becca Stadtlander.

Getting Literary 

Analyzing Pride & Prejudice is a little tough. Because the ending is so satisfying and oddly righteous, there’s no big lingering “what if …?” on my end. My instinct is to apply an -ism in which to frame the text, and my go-to (for any genre or medium) is feminist theory. If you’ve been keeping up with my chapter-by-chapter entries, then you’ll have noticed that I’ve kind of dipped my toes into feminist interpretation already (combined with a growing anti-class sentiment). I’m saying all this now because I don’t intend for this to be a fully feminist reading, as I believe sticking 100% to an -ism can lead to severe tunnel vision and a lack of nuance. I’m not trying to write a term paper here. But I’d also be lying if I said that I can turn off that part of my analyzing brain, because I’ve always viewed Pride & Prejudice as inherently feminist to some degree.  

In any context, Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy deserve each other. They go beyond the now-stereotypical opposites attract dynamic there is meat to their story. They’re both fundamentally good people who have a couple of blind spots that, if left unchecked, might have eclipsed their good points. They take the the time to listen to each other and find more things to appreciate about one another. They demonstrate that they can grow and adapt as a unit. And they’re fun to read about. Like, they check all of the boxes.

Equality In Our Time?

When I think about the realities of the Regency era, even a rich woman doesn’t appear to have the same rights as a rich man. And I wonder what that would mean for Lizzy, even though she lucked out with a husband who respects women. She is shown to be mistress of her own finances, such as when she dispatches money to pay for the Wickhams’ overdue hotel bills. But this money was not hers originally; it comes from Darcy’s wealth. Lizzy is dependent on her husband for this money and the freedom it affords (some pun intended). And it stings my modern sensibilities that someone as free-spirited as Lizzy has to depend on anyone.

That Darcy proves to be open-minded and open-hearted—he doesn’t dictate to his wife how “her” money should be spent—mitigates this nagging thought. Austen created Darcy (and Mr. Knightley and Henry Tilney and all the rest) to illustrate the kind of person who should be in charge of such wealth, the ideal authority figure if we are to define authority as coming from the correct bloodline and/or rank. Austen doesn’t have Lizzy pose the possibility of changing the status quo to, say, allowing women to inherit property and attend university. But she uses Darcy and his aunt to demonstrate both effective and ineffective authority figures. Lady Catherine is an old money figure who nonetheless demonstrates negative new money stereotypes, and uses her position to push people around (or attempt to, at least). Darcy at first uses his position as an excuse to be picky about who he socializes with. Unlike his aunt, he learns that observing niceties—pleasing those arround him—is the responsibility of a person of rank. Titles alone can make people feel important; people like Lady Catherine usually stop right there. But Darcy chooses to live up to the importance of his position, to carry out the big and the small responsibilities thereof, which ends up satisfying his sense of pride.

Side note: this is the reason why I have fallen out of love with the theory that Darcy is just really shy and awkward. While this interpretation might make for a compelling performance (love you, Matthew MacFayden), it takes away from the entire purpose of the character. Darcy’s journey is largely about respecting others—a detail that is shoved to the side if we instead pity him for his reticence in social situations, or worse, extoll him for his aloofness. I also do not see merit, at least in an analytical sense, in theorizing that Darcy is neurodivergent—though people can and should feel free to relate to him if they interpret him as displaying such characteristics. Austen intends for him to be rude and closed-minded and then shows the damage it causes when a man with a measure of power and authority acts on those instincts. 

When I imply that I might be worried about Lizzy’s new position as Mrs. Darcy, it’s because Pride & Prejudice deals with real-world issues for the gentlewomen of that time. Charlotte enters into a loveless marriage with a bumbling idiot with an inheritance and considers herself lucky. Lydia was pretty damn close to becoming a sex worker (closer than Maria Bertram-Rushworth, who has a rich dad to pay for food and rent). The novel doesn’t shy away from the existence of these hardships, inviting the reader to speculate that Lizzy would have her share of struggles as she learns how to run the Pemberley household.

But there are plenty of details in the book that soothe my anxiety over this. Though Austen doesn’t illustrate how Lizzy measures up as the wife of a man of a higher rank, the fact that she implies Lady Catherine’s own curiosity about this has always struck me as cheeky. If Lady Catherine is the only one hinted to be critical of Lizzy’s handling, then by all other metrics, Lizzy’s probably doing just fine. Lizzy proves to be a capable daughter, friend, and sister all through the novel, and it appears that the reader need not worry about her abilities to conduct herself as Mrs. Darcy. Passages such as the one detailing the way she talks to Darcy in front of the impressionable Georgiana suggest that Lizzy definitely has fun with her position as wife. That he welcomes the tone she takes with him—in front of his sister, no less—suggests a level of trust and understanding between them. Emotionally and intellectually, they’re on the same page. 

It Takes Two

In creating Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Austen chose to celebrate women with an independent streak and an offbeat way of looking at the world. Lizzy is a great argument for encouraging women to think for themselves even when they make mistakes. In creating Fitzwilliam Darcy, Austen carved out an ideal man, husband, and land-owner, an authority figure who proves to possess the integrity that we would hope such a figure would have. 

But you know why I think we find them so compelling as a couple? It’s not just the debates. It’s not just the opposing personalities. It’s not just the happily ever after they get.

It’s the fact that they are both so compelling as individuals. 

I think Pride & Prejudice succeeds where so many of its copies, homages, sequels, and adaptations have fallen short: it knows that both halves of its main couple have to be fascinating on their separate terms. We are just as invested in Darcy’s self-improvement as we are with his growing love for Lizzy. We feel for Lizzy as she is humbled through her mid-story interactions with Darcy. They both have rich inner lives that draw us in even when their actual lives don’t intersect. I mean, this is why we have a reasonably popular sequel series told from Darcy’s point of view. 

I love thinking about all the ways they complement each other (he embraces her playfulness while she acknowledges his fortitude, she makes up jokes on the spot while he contemplates, she invites him to call her out when she exaggerates), but I also love thinking about how they individually process the world around them. Darcy may be less playful, but he thinks and deliberates (often when those around him simply think he’s uncomfortable or distracted). Lizzy compares what she observes with what she has experienced before and doesn’t get intimidated even in a new setting. There’s a new level of depth to both every time I sit down to read about them.

Long live the Darcys.