I read this book for the
Back
to the Classics Challenge 2018.
JERRY: Just talking? Well,
what's the show about?
GEORGE: It's about nothing.
JERRY: No story?
GEORGE: No - forget the story.
JERRY: You've got to have a
story.
GEORGE: Who says you gotta have
a story?
Emma – Jane
Austen
We pick up Emma
and after giving it a good shot we start to fret, like the dismayed Goodreads
reviewer who said, “Having loved Pride
and Prejudice, I can only say that I'm most disappointed by this book. I
couldn't even finish it. I read about 100 pages and not once did I find
something about it that's intriguing and what's more the story is not only
bland but also empty...”
Here’s the story, thin as it is: A clever, handsome, rich
woman dotes on her comically hypochondriac father and makes cruel funny blunders
of omission and commission in the areas of love and romance for herself and
others. The characters, both rational and irrational, are motivated by avarice
or generosity, pure love or comfortable settlement, selfishness or devotion,
aristocratic vanity or bourgeois vulgarity. Nothing extraordinary happens,
though nine-day wonders do. The vicissitudes, it must be admitted, are neither
numerous nor varied though a sore throat (by no means trivial in the early 19th
century) takes a character conveniently off stage, and reliable old Death moves
the plot along too. Austen contents herself, in general, with everything –
especially marital ties - wrapped up tidily in the end.
Or does she?
Austen as writer and artist does not really care about
the story in Emma. Austen knows life
is this, life is that, life is a pat on the back, life is a kick in the pants, setbacks open up doors, good fortune imposes
burdens. Austen knows cause and effect can be traced back to the Garden of
Eden. Decrease and increase, ripening and rotting are the constant accompaniments of
life and death. Decline, fall and surge, growth alternate in continuous
succession, and we are not aware – much less mindful - of any interval. Emma
engrossed by her friend Harriet and a dinner party just lives, alert and
attentive in the in-betweens:
She was so busy in admiring
those soft blue eyes, in talking and listening, and forming all these schemes
in the in-betweens, that the evening flew away at a very unusual rate; and the
supper-table, which always closed such parties, and for which she had been used
to sit and watch the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to
the fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse of a
spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing every thing well
and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted with its own
ideas, did she then do all the honours of the meal, and help and recommend the
minced chicken and scalloped oysters, with an urgency which she knew would be
acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples of their guests.
Waiting for Harriet in a store, Emma gets into the
moment:
Harriet, tempted by every thing
and swayed by half a word, was always very long at a purchase; and while she
was still hanging over muslins and changing her mind, Emma went to the door for
amusement.—Much could not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of
Highbury;—Mr. Perry walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox letting himself in at
the office-door, Mr. Cole's carriage-horses returning from exercise, or a stray
letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she could presume
to expect; and when her eyes fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old
woman travelling homewards from shop with her full basket, two curs quarrelling
over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling children round the baker's little
bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no reason to complain, and
was amused enough; quite enough still to stand at the door. A mind lively and
at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.
This is life flowing by. Austen knew this is what life does. It flows. Heaven grant me a
mind lively and at ease, able to see the flow, of life doing what it does, the ordinary, the not-much, the neglected,
for the gifts - or the white elephants - they are.
Okay, back on the planet earth, I think that she wants to
focus on the characterization of Emma and see if she can pull off something
difficult. Her intention is to describe how Emma grows from a complacent
busy-body to a more humble discerning fiancé. It was daring of Austen to focus
on her clueless title character instead of disadvantaged Jane Fairfax with the outré
hairstyle, the
Fannie
Price figure. Austen must have known the difficulty of changing a
reader’s first impression of a character. However, in my case anyway, I was
pulling for Emma by the end. Know thyself, Emma, inspire us all.
This is also worth reading for two comic figures. Emma’s
father Mr. Woodhouse uses his valetudinarianism to manipulate and subtly
tyrannize the people around him. He keeps up a stream of feeble petulant whining about the risks to
health posed by everything in nature. He is also so dismissive and fearful of
the institution of marriage – probably because of the unhygienic conjugal
duties involved – that we wonder how Emma got conceived. He’s as monstrously funny
as the conceited vulgarian Mrs. Elton.
The other comic masterpiece is Miss Bates, the gabby aunt of
Jane Fairfax. Her monologues are amazing.
Very true, very true, indeed.
The very thing that we have always been rather afraid of; for we should not have
liked to have her at such a distance from us, for months together—not able to
come if any thing was to happen. But you see, every thing turns out for the
best. They want her (Mr. and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over with Colonel
and Mrs. Campbell; quite depend upon it; nothing can be more kind or pressing
than their joint invitation, Jane says, as you will hear presently; Mr. Dixon
does not seem in the least backward in any attention. He is a most charming
young man. Ever since the service he rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were
out in that party on the water, and she, by the sudden whirling round of
something or other among the sails, would have been dashed into the sea at
once, and actually was all but gone, if he had not, with the greatest presence
of mind, caught hold of her habit— (I can never think of it without
trembling!)—But ever since we had the history of that day, I have been so fond
of Mr. Dixon!
And yet she was a happy woman,
and a woman whom no one named without good-will. It was her own universal
good-will and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved every body,
was interested in every body's happiness, quicksighted to every body's merits;
thought herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings in
such an excellent mother, and so many good neighbours and friends, and a home
that wanted for nothing. The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her
contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body, and a mine
of felicity to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters, which
exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and harmless
gossip.
Keep it simple: respect others, do no harm, be grateful,
be fair. Not easy for a guy like me, though the rules seem simple enough.
For those of us stiff-necked readers who need a moral to
the story, Austen is saying that Emma develops the emotional intelligence to view
others more generously and accept people as they are. With the help of the
admirable Mr. Knightley, she learns to assess her own rationality and
discernment in order to exercise keener judgment. Austen hints that maybe the
reader too can apply lessons learned by reading literary fiction to everyday
life, where we - I mean, me, actually - get too distracted to follow the golden
rule for more than three minutes at a time.
Or does she?
