Sense and Sensibility is the first Jane Austen novel I have read to completion and suffice to say, I was reminded only too well why. To slight Austen on style is to rebel against almost every elitist literary canon, but slight her I must, for her language is at best claustrophobic and unbearable. I understand the ironic necessity of her writing in a style which directly mimics the social rigidity of her age, but this observation does little to detract from the sheer exasperation involved in reading it. Sense and Sensibility is Austen’s first published novel, written in the third person and divided into three parts. Part one takes place predominantly in Devonshire, part two in London and part three back in Devonshire. I have noticed that this seems to be a particular trend in 18th century literature. The protagonist removes to the city from a comfortable, yet unsatisfactory country existence, whereupon some drama takes place which results in their return to the country, usually accompanied with repentance and a greater moral understanding.
For those familiar with the works of Jane Austen, the tale of Sense and Sensibility is a relatively simple one, complete with all the romantic twists that would become a staple in her later novels. The Dashwood sisters, Elinor and Marianne, each represent a binary opposite in temperament. Elinor embodies all that is restrained, civil, sensible, prudent, and moderated, whereas Marianne reflects excess, candour, impulse, and vivacity. This oppositional device may come across as somewhat contrived, yet Austen does allow for occasional, albeit carefully moderated, overlap. As the novel unwinds, these opposing temperaments are repeatedly strained and tested to the utmost by the rigours of Regency society. The plot itself I found unbearably dull, concerned as it was with banal domesticity and the usual fixation on marriage. None of the characters are particularly endearing, indeed the only one I found any reason to esteem was the eternally disdainful and sardonic Mr Palmer. He alone seems to express any outward contempt for the folly of those surrounding him.
My aversion to the novel is by no means based solely upon the insipid themes and formal style, but also due to an infuriating tendency for characters (and the narrator) to go on about the same point ad nauseam. A detail which could have been sufficiently dealt with in a couple of paragraphs often runs on for many pages, encumbering the pace of the novel to frustration and stagnation. Whether this was deliberate by Austen is an irrelevant consideration when it comes to appreciation and enjoyment of the text. It is my opinion that a novel should entertain foremost, and instruct, or advise, secondly. I should probably admit that my vision of the tale was already dominated by the 1995 film adaptation featuring Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant, and so forth. Such exposure to an adaptation prior to reading the novel will invariably lessen its impact, create bias and force constant comparisons between the two. For this reason, any anticipation I might have felt towards plot events and the climax was completely eradicated.
The overall theme of heartbreak and disappointed love may be enough to tempt the casual romantic, but for the more discerning amongst you, the book does not have a great deal to offer. There are moments of subtle humour and a scathing social critique running throughout, but a rather flimsy plot relies far too heavily on dualism for my liking. The ending especially was immensely unsatisfactory, essentially warping and destroying a primary character’s sense of identity in order to create a happy ending for all involved. Huge suspension of disbelief is demanded of the reader in order to accept the novel’s resolution. One merely feels cheated by the closing pages and it was with this sour taste in my mouth that I closed the book. Well done Jane Austen.
Rating: 2/5
For those familiar with the works of Jane Austen, the tale of Sense and Sensibility is a relatively simple one, complete with all the romantic twists that would become a staple in her later novels. The Dashwood sisters, Elinor and Marianne, each represent a binary opposite in temperament. Elinor embodies all that is restrained, civil, sensible, prudent, and moderated, whereas Marianne reflects excess, candour, impulse, and vivacity. This oppositional device may come across as somewhat contrived, yet Austen does allow for occasional, albeit carefully moderated, overlap. As the novel unwinds, these opposing temperaments are repeatedly strained and tested to the utmost by the rigours of Regency society. The plot itself I found unbearably dull, concerned as it was with banal domesticity and the usual fixation on marriage. None of the characters are particularly endearing, indeed the only one I found any reason to esteem was the eternally disdainful and sardonic Mr Palmer. He alone seems to express any outward contempt for the folly of those surrounding him.
My aversion to the novel is by no means based solely upon the insipid themes and formal style, but also due to an infuriating tendency for characters (and the narrator) to go on about the same point ad nauseam. A detail which could have been sufficiently dealt with in a couple of paragraphs often runs on for many pages, encumbering the pace of the novel to frustration and stagnation. Whether this was deliberate by Austen is an irrelevant consideration when it comes to appreciation and enjoyment of the text. It is my opinion that a novel should entertain foremost, and instruct, or advise, secondly. I should probably admit that my vision of the tale was already dominated by the 1995 film adaptation featuring Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant, and so forth. Such exposure to an adaptation prior to reading the novel will invariably lessen its impact, create bias and force constant comparisons between the two. For this reason, any anticipation I might have felt towards plot events and the climax was completely eradicated.
The overall theme of heartbreak and disappointed love may be enough to tempt the casual romantic, but for the more discerning amongst you, the book does not have a great deal to offer. There are moments of subtle humour and a scathing social critique running throughout, but a rather flimsy plot relies far too heavily on dualism for my liking. The ending especially was immensely unsatisfactory, essentially warping and destroying a primary character’s sense of identity in order to create a happy ending for all involved. Huge suspension of disbelief is demanded of the reader in order to accept the novel’s resolution. One merely feels cheated by the closing pages and it was with this sour taste in my mouth that I closed the book. Well done Jane Austen.
Rating: 2/5
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