My Prejudice against Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen

Dear all Classics haters,

Please reconsider this book, not for my sake, but for your’s. Your lack of appreciation of long-dead authors is rather alarming. It indicates the presence of a certain boorishness, perhaps a clue to point out your Viking ancestry, full of block-headed advances on peaceful villages that would much rather stay the way they were. “What?”, I hear you ask, “I thought this was gonna be about not liking Pride and Prejudice.” You’ll see.
I am not exaggerating when I say that Pride and Prejudice is one of the greatest books written in history. (Though maybe that doesn’t apply to the Vikings’ history). However, I didn’t always love it so much.
When I first read it, I was struck by what I thought was the silliness of it all. Mrs. Bennet was a bird-brained hen, squawking anxiously all the time. Mr. Bennet was a negligent father, full of delusions of grandeur. Elizabeth was a judgemental brat, Jane was a soppy idiot, Mary was a weirdo, Lizzy was lame, and Kitty was a copy-cat.

Two years later, I read the book again. I found that my view had altered considerably. Pride and Prejudice, I said to myself, was a wonderful story, and the characters had much more depth than I’d thought. Mrs. Bennet was not very broad-minded, but like all mothers, she did all she could to get what she thought was the best for her daughters. Mr. Bennet, though detached, did care about his family. Elizabeth could laugh at herself, a quality which few possess.
Once again, two years passed, and I picked Pride and Prejudice up again. And just like last time, my love for it had increased exponentially. The characters were very understandable, and some very likable. My respect for Elizabeth grew, too, especially when I got to the part where she insulted Lady Catherine in the most ladylike manner imaginable. Anyone can hurl curse words, but not everyone can package their reproofs with propriety. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were really not bad parents at all, though their interactions with each other hardly deserve felicitation.
Of Mr. Darcy, Lizzy, Mary, and Kitty, my opinion did not alter. Mr. Darcy was just as I’d perceived him. Arrogant he was, but then , he had reason to be, and then it is not so condemnable. He was honourable too, and virtuous enough to redeem his arrogance. Lizzy, Mary, and Kitty are perfect fools, and I have not discovered a single redeeming quality in them. But who knows? Maybe I will have, in two years time.


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