Sense & Sensibility, chapter 33: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

In this chapter, we actually get to meet two brothers—John Dashwood and the as-yet-unintroduced Robert Ferrars—but we’re not supposed to know the identity of the “gentleman” who makes the Dashwood sisters wait during their outing. 

And why does he make them wait? Because, “after examining and debating for a quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop,” he’s customizing his own. His own. Toothpick. Case.

He leaves after “bestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods … as seemed rather to demand than express admiration.” Of course, we’re just as bewildered as Elinor, possibly even moreso, given that Austen drops hints that this meeting is meaningful to the story in a way we can’t yet figure out. But how telling that this is also the chapter that reintroduces John, Fanny, and Mrs. Ferrars to the narrative—linking Toothpick Bobby here to the greed and materialism of the lesser Dashwoods. Goodbye, pangs of disappointed love … hello, ulcer.

Toothpick Bobby’s rude dithering also ensures that Elinor (and MA, as spirited as a bump on a log) runs into John, who arrived in London two days ago. And I must pause here to praise David Shapard for unearthing new details for me that reveal just how selfish and rude John’s treatment of his sisters truly is. He failed to visit them yesterday because he took stinky Harry to “see the wild beasts at Exeter Exchange” and then spent the day with Mrs. Ferrars. He took his son … to a zoo. An indoor zoo that’s open all day so people can attend at any time. Oh, and the tickets are super expensive. John later reveals that Mrs. Ferrars dispensed “two hundred pound” bank notes to he and Fanny to spend in London, so we can assume that they used some of this money to buy zoo tickets. 

Meanwhile, he put off visiting his poorer relations until he literally bumps into them (poorer by his own doing, mind you.) 

When John arrives for a proper visit to Mrs. J’s, he’s pleased with both the hostess and Col. Brandon (who pops by). In fact, John is incredibly pleased with everything he hears about the people at Barton Park. Those Middletons sure are rich enough “to make [the Dashwoods’] situation pleasant” through “every civility, and accommodation” they can afford, eh? And hey, Mrs. J will probably die soon—by “taking so much notice of [them,]” doesn’t it make sense that “she [would give] you a sort of claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard” and probably put Elinor and MA in her will? And, hey, this Col. Brandon guy will likely marry Elinor as long as she can “fix him” through “some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give.” Yep … Elinor and MA are set for life. Thanks to their wealthy neighbors. No one else was available to help. According to John.

Which would be great news for John, because—again, according to him—his finances are in terrible shape. While also being in quite good shape. You see, living wealthily has its expenses, like when there’s a section of adjoining land and you feel it your “duty” to buy it so that it’s part of your property. Even though it was an expensive purchase, he’s not worried that it was overpriced, since he “might have sold it again the next day” for more than it’s worth. After all, “[a] man must pay for his convenience.” I mean, the poor guy had to buy the linen and dinnerware that Mama Dashwood took with her when she moved out … 

Good thing he’s not spending his money on anything exorbitant like trips to London, growing his property, and zoo tickets.

Wait a minute. No backbone, hypocritical as hell, submissive to an older woman, assumes to know what “the ladies” are capable of, oblivious to others’ feelings, uses bizarre logic to justify his self-importance …

He’s Mr. Collins. I’m writing AGAIN about Mr. Collins. No wonder my blood pressure’s going up …

John moves onto matters of the heart. He’s noticed that MA has lost her “bloom,” calculating whether she could even “marry a man worth more than five or six hundred a-year, at the utmost.” And he talks grandly about the Honorable Miss Morton, who is not yet engaged to Edward but the process is “in agitation” (you can definitely count me in the “agitated” column). The prefix “Hon.” indicates that Miss Morton was born into nobility; her 30,000 pound fortune equates to about 1,500 a year. Despite John’s claim that it is “[a] very desirable connection on both sides,” Shapard points out that since Miss Morton is both titled and rich, she wouldn’t be pressured to make a match with a Ferrars. Notably, Edward never mentions Miss Morton, so it’s hard to tell if the two have even met. That being said, the situation is similar to Willoughby’s quick engagement to a rich girl, so in theory this could threaten, say, Lucy’s plan to marry Edward.

As if all this wasn’t enough (it is), John concludes his visit to Berkeley Street by revealing another layer of his snobbery. He admits to Elinor that since “Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a man who had got all his money in a low way,” his wife and mother-in-law were prejudiced against her and wanted at first to avoid “associat[ing]” with her. Amazing. You’re too low-ranking for our kind, but please bequeath a portion of your wealth to my poor sisters when you die. 

Get mauled by a tiger, John.

What happens when some of the worst people you’ll ever meet go to a party? Tune in next time to see Lucy Steele, John and Fanny, and Mrs. Ferrars all in the same place!