The Latent Book Club examines Austen’s masterwork Pride and Prejudice: replete with wit, irony, and pathos, her place in the western canon is assured with this regency era tale of middle class machinations and misunderstandings.
“Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.” - Mary Bennet
The Novel
Jane Austen is a masterful writer. She is masterful in the sense that in Pride and Prejudice, she respects the reader - nothing is spelled out for them, and nothing needs to be. And she is masterful because she creates believable and compelling characters. She is a skilled observer of the human condition, and though her works are often light in the action department, it is the connection the reader makes with her powerful and witty characters, that make Austen such compelling reading.
The plot of Pride and Prejudice is pure regency era, middle class manners. Mr Bennet has five daughters; Elizabeth (our heroine, and the second eldest) and Jane (eldest) are the standouts. Lydia, the youngest, is headstrong, mercurial, and intemperate: more on her later. Catherine (Kitty) and Mary, the middle sisters, are vapid and unquestioning. Catherine is supposedly in the thrall of her younger sister Lydia, and Mary is somewhat arrogant.
The sisters all live together with their mother and father, Mr and Mrs Bennet, in the very nice house Longbourn, which although never described in the novel, screams upper-middle class to the contemporary reader.
All the daughters must marry, and that is the preoccupation of the book. Because Mr Bennet has no male heirs of his own, upon his death his estate will pass to Mr Collins, his notably awful, boorish, pompous cousin. Mr Bennet does not seem particularly perturbed by the prospect of this happening, which would see his daughters being cast out of the familial home. This is somewhat surprising, given how much insight his character shows into the lives of those around him, despite his sparse dialogue in the book. Mr Bennet is an absolute wit, and his spartan presence is cleverly employed by Austen: the reader comes to treasure his every entrance. But Mrs Bennet, who it is presumed will outlast him, bleats about about the prospect of losing her home ad infinitum.
Mrs Bennet, portrayed as caring for her daughters, but certainly not well catered in the intelligence department, is the archetype of the anxious neurotic. Can one be officious as a mother? Because if you can, she does it. Mrs Bennet embodies almost everything one would find irritating in a prospective mother in law. She is self-centred; she is boastful. She thinks only of how much money each of her daughter’s prospective husbands can bring (and she knows it down to the penny!) She constantly complains about how things are effecting her and her nerves. Although she cares for her daughters, this plays second fiddle to main act, which is of course, herself. Everything is directed to either compliment her, or vex her, with no middle ground.
As the story commences, Netherfield Park, a nearby manor, is let to Charles Bingley, an amiable son of a wealthy tradesman who is on the quest to improve his lot in life and take some form of aristocratic rank in the future. The Bennet girls all attend a ball at Netherfield, as arranged by Mrs Bennet, in a seemingly desperate bid to get as many of them married as fast as possible.
At the ball, we get the first glimpse of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Mr Darcy. An absolutely unforgettable character in the novel, and in the larger world. Mr Darcy is - alongside Elizabeth - the hero of the story. He is seemingly aloof, reserved, proud and arrogant.
Much as in Sense and Sensibility, Austen has done some heavy lifting in the title of the novel for you (it alone is a stroke of genius in our view) and you, the reader, are trying to work out which of the adjectives apply to whom in the story. Who is proud? Who is Prejudiced? The answer, ultimately, is that both Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy both are to different degrees, however Darcy’s principal trait is pride, and Elizabeth’s prejudice.
As Mary Bennet puts it, “Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
At the ball Elizabeth gives Darcy the eye, but Darcy is less keen, remarking to Bingley:
“She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”
Elizabeth overhears this remark and is unsurprisingly unimpressed. Jane, meanwhile, has fallen for Mr Bingley at the same dance.
Soon after the Ball the contemptible Mr Collins arrives and starts vying for the attention of Elizabeth. He makes an offer of marriage which she instantly rebuffs. This repudiation at the time bounces straight off Collins, who dismisses it with a startling lack of insight, no doubt to defend the indignation he feels. He believes that Elizabeth’s rejection of his proposal is apparently not a serious one. But Elizabeth, showing the strength of character she demonstrates throughout the novel, gives him the appropriate rebuff, and in spades, to this second piece of conceit:
[Elizabeth]:“Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline them.”
“I am not now to learn,” replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, “that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second, or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.”
“Upon my word, sir,” cried Elizabeth, “your hope is a rather extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so.”
Bravo Elizabeth. This integrity in her character, her unwillingness to yield to external pressure, and her passionate belief in herself is a feature that makes her so compelling, and dare we go so far as to say an asset to feminism? And that, followed by this, when Collins tries to ignore her protestations by saying the rejection was merely to torment him:
“I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart.”
Can she speak plainer indeed? There cannot be a more polite, yet clear imperative to the odious Collins to go forth and multiply. Bravo again.
This rejection Elizabeth makes to Mr Collin’s proposal sends Mrs Bennet into a doom spiral and she tries to cajole Elizabeth to change her mind. She entreats Mr Bennet to intervene who, wittily as ever, puts is thus:
“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”
Whereas Mrs Bennet is interceptive - her main concern is herself, despite professing to be concerned for others - Mr Bennet is perspicacious with a savage wit. It does set the reader wondering about the course of their marriage: The pair are not well suited, and there is a seemingly significant age disparity, though they seem to tolerate one another well enough.
Meanwhile, a militia army officer, George Wickham enters the scene. He appears to know dark secrets about Darcy. He alleges Mr Darcy has prevented him getting a promised inheritance from Mr Darcy senior - Darcy’s father. Elizabeth, who already hates Darcy, initially takes this accusation at face value and believes Wickham.
Mr Darcy goes to London with Mr Bingley and convinces him not to marry Jane Bennet, more or less saying, ‘she’s just not that into you,’ despite all indications to the contrary. Elizabeth works out that Mr Bingley is being dissuaded from Jane despite his feelings for her, but attributes this machination to Miss Bingley, his sister rather than Darcy. In one respect, Elizabeth is not wrong - Miss Bingley is insanely jealous, and wants Darcy for herself: she is certainly working both sides. But unbeknownst to Elizabeth and Jane, it is Darcy who is having the final say.
Ghastly Mr Collins marries Elizabeth’s poor best friend Charlotte Lucas, and takes (condemns) her to live with him in Kent. Mr Collins tries to play off the rejected proposal as if he rebuffed Elizabeth, and relishes in rubbing Elizabeth’s nose in his superior station (for a while in the novel at least). “Look what you could have had,” he seems to goad. Elizabeth rightly ignores this. On a plain analysis, ultimately Wickham is supposed to be the most contemptible person in the book, however we found Mr Collins the easiest to loathe.
Elizabeth goes to Kent to visit her friend and Mr Collins, and visits Rosings, another nearby estate, where Lady Catherine De Bourgh lives. De Bourgh is treated as a virtual god by the servile Mr Collins, who is always praising her at length and, generally grovelling around her. Elizabeth is not so impressed by her. While there, she encounters Mr Darcy and his cousin who are visiting. She learns that Mr Darcy has recently saved a friend from an unsuitable marriage. Elizabeth works out that he is referring to Jane and Mr Bingley. She is very unhappy.
Seemingly out of nowhere, although we all can sense it is coming, Darcy is overwhelmed with feelings for Elizabeth. In a fantastic scene, Mr Darcy proposes to her in the most condescending manner imaginable. He starts it thus:
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Mr Darcy he continues his condescension by reporting to her that, although they are from different stations in life, he has essentially deigned to love her!
Elizabeth, meanwhile, is already whipped into a rage by his previous actions - his pride, his comments at the ball, his treatment of Wickham, and his meddling in Jane’s happiness. Instead of accepting him, she gives him an excoriating rejection.
Darcy returns the next day with a letter for Elizabeth explaining his actions, regarding Mr Bingley (no real defence, but at least contrition) and Wickham (absolute defence - it transpires Wickham spent all the money owed him and then tried to elope with Darcy’s sister).
This letter, coming halfway through the novel is symbolically and literally the turning point in the relationship between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. Later, Elizabeth effectively goes on holiday with the Gardiners, her aunt and uncle. On this trip, she ends up visiting Pemberley, Darcy’s estate.
Darcy returns home early to Pemberley by coincidence, and sights Elizabeth. For her part, she notices Darcy’s softness, and manners, and is even enamoured by how favourably the housekeeper speaks of him. Perhaps he is not as bad as she previously judged?
During her trip, Elizabeth is also notified by letter that Lydia has run off with Wickham. They are unmarried. This is the height of scandal at this period. Elizabeth tells Darcy, and returns home to a distraught mother, and a father who goes off with Mr Gardiner in desperation to search for Wickham to no avail.
Little does she know but Darcy is operating in the background at this point, to ensure Wickham and Lydia get married, to support them financially, and even purchase an officer’s position in the army for him. He doesn’t have to do this, and knowing what kind of person Wickham is, he probably shouldn’t. But Darcy is doing it vicariously, and silently, to please Elizabeth.
Ultimately the truth emerges from Mrs Gardiner, and Lidya herself. Accordingly, when Mr Bingley returns to Netherfield, happy endings are in sight. He has been corrected about Jane’s opinion, and proposes to her.
Lady Catherine De Bourgh attends Longbourne (not, as Mrs Bennet thinks, to honour the family) but instead to frighten Elizabeth away from marrying Darcy, who is promised to her daughter - so, at least, she alleges. Elizabeth gives this totally uninvited and unwelcome intrusion into their lives the rebuff it deserves in easily one of the most scintillating chapters of the book. She says:
“Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these.”
Go get them Elizabeth!
On that triumph, let us pause for a moment to reflect on Elizabeth’s character. She is everyone’s favourite for a reason. She is razor sharp, she is contrarian, and she is extremely witty. We feel, though cannot confirm, that there is a lot of Austen herself written into this character. Elizabeth is most enjoyable in how unafraid she is to stand up for herself: In confronting Darcy and Lady Catherine she displays courage, temerity and a fierce temperament that is a credit to her. She thinks of her sister’s happiness before her own, and even her mother and father’s. She is balanced and, other than taking a misunderstood affront further than it deserved, is a great judge of character. She is truly a powerful woman in literature. She is a lesson in at least what one type of real heroine can be: powerful, strong, unafraid to challenge and ready with repartee. She is undoubtedly brilliant.
Suffice to say Elizabeth gets the ending she so rightfully deserves.She does end up with Mr Darcy. His pride, and her prejudice, have been corrected. Mrs Bennet is happy. Jane is happy with Bingley. Lydia and Wickham soon settle into a loveless marriage of indifference, which although the reader feels they deserve some denunciation, setting them up for an unfortunate lifetime of unhappiness seems to be a bridge too far. Kitty and Mary remain unmarried at the end, but are both improved by the undivided attention of their parents, who remain largely unchanged.
Prose and Themes
Austen has a fantastic economy of language, without being laconic like Hemingway. Chapters are generally short. Descriptions are scant - she sets the scene, but leaves the details for the reader to fill in.
There are some themes to her prose - ‘condescending’; ‘haughty’; ‘conceited’ and ‘proud’ are all words that feature repeatedly. Whenever marriage is proposed the recipient is going to be: ‘The happiest of all creatures’ (a slight diminutive on the part of the maker of the remark, in our view). The Austen favourite, ‘approbation/disapprobation’ is not as liberally applied as it is in earlier novels. ‘Obeisance’ is a recurrent favourite, although if there is a one word theme of the book it is: ‘conceited’.
The chapters are extremely pithy, particularly for the time. It is a novel in the truest sense of the word, and is easily contrasted with Sense and Sensibility on that basis. Sense and Sensibility, an earlier work, was much more challenging for the reader, in trying to picture exactly who was who amongst the Dashwoods. Whereas Pride and Prejudice is all together much better composed: tighter, polished, with a more satisfying character arc.
Because of the era in which this book was written and set, another comparative with Sense and Sensibility can be drawn: nothing can be said directly. Everything is oblique, and often sarcastic. It certainly would have cut the book down if the opaqueness of the characters was placed in a modern context. This is a brief example - a snipe by Mr Bingley’s sister against Elizabeth:
“Elizabeth Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”
These features index the book in its own era, perhaps, but it is impossible not to enjoy Pride and Prejudice largely due to, not in spite of, the idiosyncrasies of its time.
Free indirect discourse is a feature of the novel which we suspect was fairly novel itself at the time it was written. The narration is third person omniscient, but adopts each characters’ thoughts and feelings as its own. Even the ultimate chapter shifts into a quasi ‘god mode’ voice, where it sums each character’s thoughts up and ends in narrator mode, saying: “I wish I could say…”. Far from being confusing, this adds to the book, in fact it kind of makes it - having explained each characters’ thoughts and motivations so well. It really, really works.
Overall
Aside from settling the question as to who is proud, and who is prejudiced, the novel drips with wit. Elizabeth, the real hero of the piece, (alongside best supporting actor, Mr Darcy), is constantly dishing out oblique dressings down. She is sharp and vivacious, certainly someone you would like to meet. She is an excellent heroine.
What remains notable about the novel is that each character seems to get, at the end, what they deserve - other than Charlotte Lucas, who has to put up with Mr Collins. In this way it is quite a fatalistic book.
But all that said, Pride and Prejudice doesn’t come across as an overly ‘serious’. novel. It is a critique on the manners and the pretentiousness of the time, and funny in an ironic way - if rarely laugh out loud for it. However, its substance doesn’t really have a lesson to deliver: it’s no condemnation of squalor a la dickens, it is no Conrad’s observations about hegemony, and homogeny . But it didn’t need to be, and perhaps it is better for it. It is a true novel for the ages.
Before you go…
Read Our Catalogue of Long Form Literary Criticism:
Iris Murdoch’s triangular The Bell
Henry James’ Gothic Horror Classic, The Turn of The Screw
John Updike’s tale of selfishness, dissolution and frustration, Rabbit, Run
Joseph Heller’s masterwork novel Catch-22
Booker Prize Winner Iris Murdoch’s The Sea, The Sea
Booker Prize Winner Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of The Day
Or see of our full range of literary criticism in our archive.
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