Mansfield Park
by Jane Austen
Original Publication: 1814
This is my third foray into the works of Austen in my resolution to read her collected works this year, and it’s as disappointing as the first two–maybe more.
Once again, we have a collection of mostly empty-headed young women who fawn over largely unworthy men with healthy inheritances/incomes. There are two of these women who are capable to some thought, of being almost well-rounded, and they’re both in love with the same man (who, other than being utterly clueless about this fact for the entire novel is the only single guy worth bothering with). But there’s a twist this time–the protagonist doesn’t come from the same social class as everyone else, she’s been taken in and raised by her wealthier uncle. Hardly a Dickensian orphan, but still, not “worthy” of being in the company with these people.
Everyone else gets married and whatnot, leaving the triangle socially isolated until things finally come to the only just (and entirely predictable) conclusion for all involved, and they all lived happily ever after.
There was nothing real here–no real heart, no soul, just a bunch of cardboard cutouts going through the motions. Once again, I have to ask–how did Austen get the rep she has? I want to fall under her spell, I want to like her stuff, but I just can’t. Not yet anyway. Here’s hoping Emma‘s better.
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