Northanger Abbey, chapter 15: Sister, Sister (-in-law)
Then Isabella waltzes in and dramatically and erratically conveys to Cat the new that James has proposed to her. “[A]n idea of the truth suddenly darted into her mind; and … she cried out, ‘Good heaven! My dear Isabella, what do you mean? Can you—can you really be in love with James?’”
I feel like I just commented on the need for Cat to sharpen her observational skills, but I think it bears repeating. Even Isabella is like, “I feel that I have betrayed myself perpetually—so unguarded in speaking of my partiality for the church!” (James is on the clergy track.) Cat remains in awe of her friend’s professed love for her brother, and the two declare themselves beloved sisters and yada-yada-yada. Isabella says, “Had I the command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your brother would be my only choice” and Cat is struck with “a most pleasing remembrance of all the heroines of her acquaintance,” which in her eyes raises Isabella on a higher pedestal. But then Isabella moves onto such pressing topics as where they’ll live and what kind of wedding dress she’ll wear; both important considerations, but it’s the way Isabella considers them, and the abrupt cut from lovey-dovey sentimental stuff to practical matters, that underlines how superficial she is. (Not to mention it belies her stated anxiety about getting permission for the marriage.)
In contrast, when Cat meets James before he goes off to ask his parents’ permission, they convey their feelings through quiet, expressive looks. Maybe now that she has some context for why James got so heated with her for refusing to go a few days ago, Cat has forgiven him? If he was my brother, I’d get in at least one dig about his juvenile outburst before letting bygones be bygones.
In the twenty-four-hour period they wait for an answer from the Morlands, Cat and Isabella are two peas in a pod once again. She gets a reeeally good look at how Isabella and her real sisters act around each other, with Isabella refusing to tell them anything and only talking to Cat right in front of them. “To Catherine’s simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve seemed neither kindly meant, nor consistently supported”; however, Anne and Maria reveal that they know what’s going on, which takes the sting out of it—but doesn’t paint a cozy picture of a family unit.
The chapter doesn’t leave the reader in suspense, so neither will I: James is allowed to marry Isabella. Everyone is ecstatic. Isabella’s even nice to her sisters for a change. She doesn’t focus on where “their income” will come from, but fantasizes on being the queen bee of their new neighborhood.
Meanwhile, brace yourselves, because John Thorpe is about to put on the charm for Cat Morland.
Round one: “Did you ever hear the old song ‘Going to One Wedding Brings on Another’?” he asks her as he’s lingering in the foyer. Cat’s all, no, I don’t sing. Score one for Cat! Round two: “But you have more good nature and all that, than anybody living, I believe. [Incessant jabbering ensues] … I do not know anybody like you.” Cat’s response: “[T]here are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a great deal better.” And then she says goodbye, but he manages to sneak in another round, telling her he wants to visit her parents. “My father and mother will be very glad to see you. … Company is always cheerful.”
He keeps lobbing them and she keeps knockin’ them out of the park.
His hail Mary is to proclaim, much like his sister, that “if [the girl I like] had not a penny, why, so much the better.” And this is almost enough to stick the landing, as he gets her to agree with him on something. When she leaves, John is under the impression that Cat gave him “explicit encouragement” to court her.
They met last Monday. It is currently WEDNESDAY. During that time, they’ve argued, ignored each other, and disagreed on most of the things they found to talk about. And yet Thorpe, in his Thorpeness, thinks this girl is his for the taking. And we’re not even at Northanger Abbey yet!
The Shapard Shelf: Isabella fantasizing living in Richmond is yet another example of her hypocrisy, given that the town was “a popular residence for wealthy people … that was still close to London and thus gave access to its pleasures.” Similarly, she also imagines that James has enough money to keep a carriage for them, which was also a big expense. Regarding John Thorpe’s awkward flirting, Shapard states that “[m]ost people would understand that Thorpe is alluding to a possible match,” and that her responses appear to be genuine “encouragement.”
It's strange: John Thorpe isn't as bad a man (IMHO) as Wickham or Willoughby, and yet of all the men in Austen, I think he's the one I couldn't stand to be in a room with for more than five minutes. Mr. Collins is in there too, but I think he'd be easier to ignore or satisfy with an occasional nod, as long as you could keep yourself from yawning. It reminds me of my feelings about the Harry Potter books: Voldemort is supposed to be the great villain, but the character I most thoroughly detest is Dolores Umbridge because she's sooo annoying as well as wicked. John Thorpe is in some pretty horrible company. ;-)
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I think I disagree with Shapard here. I think Austen's whole point is that John Thorpe is so dumb he perceives ordinary statements as encouragement to his convoluted attempts at flirting.
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