“Sense and Sensibility”, by Jane Austen

 

299 pages, The Folio Society 

Sense and Sensibility, the first of Jane Austen’s novels, appears to be as straightforward a Regency romance as there is: Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters Elinor, Marianne and Margaret are forced from their home, Norland Park, a large country estate in Sussex, after the late Mr. Dashwood leaves the property to his only son, born to a previous wife. The women eventually find loggings at Barton Cottage courtesy of a distant relative, but this change in location separates Elinor from a close and (potentially) loving friendship with her brother-in-law, Edward Ferrars; it also introduces many new characters into their lives, including John Willoughby, the man that Marianne falls instantly in love with, and Colonel Brandon, who falls instantly in love with the flighty Marianne in his turn.

The crux of this tale is the differences between Elinor and Marianne and, especially, the differing ways in which the sisters navigate their romantic predicaments, which boils down to the “sense” of Elinor and the “sensibility” of Marianne. Elinor’s reserve vs. Marianne’s no-holds-barred approach to romance may seem wildly different, but their relationships share significant parallels and both young women must accept that they could learn something from the other. I mean, it’s all there: men and women of contrasting and complimenting characters thrown together with the chances of love thwarted by the social conventions of the period which prevent honesty and openness and instead breed duplicity and secrecy – but, upon further reflection, the discerning reader can see that Sense and Sensibility is also a carefully crafted critique of social ethics that leaves the reader with much to think over, then and now.

“I wish as well as everybody else to be perfectly happy, but like everybody else, it must be in my own way”. One cannot but smile when reading Jane, with her distinctive style and proper mannerisms, so in keeping with the Regency era in which she lived and yet so different from the same – such as the way in which she uses her characters’ personalities and foibles to convey truths, both acknowledged and unspoken, of early 19^th Century British society, what with the way in which she sets her scenes with this family of this social standing, living on which estate in which county, and with how many pounds a year (well, of course). Her style is such that she can disclose all of this to the reader through description and innuendo, allowing her readers an appreciation of her characters and their strengths and struggles.

One favorite tactic is her pairing of opposites, leaving one to wonder just how in the hell this couple or that pairing came about (opposites attract?). In regards to Sense and Sensibility, the prime couple in question are the sisters Elinor (sense) and Marianne (sensibility), so different one can’t help but wonder how these siblings  ever find common ground, but by bringing such disparate personalities agreeably together, Jane proves her point that there really is an idealized middle-ground, that happy mediums do exist between seemingly disparate ideals. At times the traits and aspects of her characters are spelled out for the reader quite explicitly, although there are many occasions in which the reader can find themselves tested when such things are not spelled out and in which one must read the dialog with a fine tooth comb, as it were, adding, I think, something to the enjoyment of Jane.

There are other parallels besides those between Elinor and Marianne or, for that matter, between Brandon and Willoughby. Austen was not writing in a vacuum, and there are several political connotations to the “sensibility” of Sense and Sensibility that compares and contrasts between this and other novels of the period that Austen was known to have read before and during the writing of her first novel. With everyone’s subtle (and not-so-subtle) intentions and motivations put on display for the reader, what with all of the conforming with and breaking of social norms and manners (along with the hints and suggestions of inner-turmoil and conflicts between private and public selves and all of those telling silences), Sense and Sensibility requires the one to read between the lines, and is as much a part of the story as the events of the plot.

One would think that this would be enough to drive the novel forward at a brisk pace but, alas, one would be wrong, for momentum, despite the parallel love stories introduced very early on, is rather lacking, and while the novel is full of heartbreak and lost love, the heroic couples of the tale see little actual page time together, which limits even the angst of unrequited love and is noticeable for its lack of Austen’s signature brand of romance (Elinor goes to such lengths to convince everyone that she’s not in love that it begins to ring true, while Marianne’s relationship with her husband-to-be is nonexistent until the book’s final chapter). There are times when the characters appear to be having conversations unrelated to the main story and I failed to question those instances and figure out what Austen is trying to say there; also, it is possible to miss the many parallels and contrasts between the characters, the sisters especially.

Another aspect of the book is that it is the younger, more passionate sister, Marianne, who drives the story along. For much of Sense and Sensibility we see Elinor and her “sense” reacting to the whims and whiles of Marianne’s “sensibility”, and all of the accompanying trials and tribulations of the Sisters Dashwood follow from the little scatterbrain who doesn’t know what she is about. So we must, then, ask the question: is Elinor’s “sense” all it’s cracked up to be, seeing as she is, for much of the book, flowing along in the emotional wake of her sister and conforming to the same? The peculiar (I think) twist at the center of the novel is that Elinor’s “sense” only makes sense by contrasting with sensibility; indeed, one could argue that she only reaches her right decisions or, at least, rationalizes their value by keeping quiet and assessing Marianne’s (many) wrong ones.

And this is the issue at the heart of Sense and Sensibility, the conflict between the need to express oneself against the social pressure to comport oneself accordingly, and the paradox of living in a society that requires you to be both sociable and private (there was, after all, a high prevalence of nervous-breakdown-type sickness in the late 18^th Century). Compare this with our own psychotic society in which women are evidently being conditioned to treat all men as potential rapists at best, and it positively makes one pine for unspoken desire and and sentimental stares.