There’s something I’m rather embarrassed about but no longer wish to be. My mother and sister and I are Jane Austen addicts. Pride and Prejudice is our drug of choice, and I will tell you right now I have watched at least 4 versions of it, read the book, and listened to the Irene Sutcliffe audio version numerous times. I will also tell you, in strictest confidence, that we bought the board game (this, I blame entirely on my mother). It turned out we knew all the answers anyway, so we only played it once.
In no way do I wish to argue that this is healthy. It is merely enjoyable, and it has become a tradition for my mother and sister and I to watch the 1980 version (we imprinted on it like baby chicks; we enjoy the other versions but they do not give the same sense of home) once a year or so when I am back in Iowa. My dad has typically avoided this activity, presumably out of some half-formed desire to hold onto whatever masculinity can survive living in a household full of women and a pug for however many years — but THIS year, I cleverly brought home a cold virus that weakened his defenses, so he huddled sniffling and gurgling in front of our small television with the rest of us.
And it was the best! I had feared that a cold-sodden skeptic would dampen the festivities somewhat, but it made it all new again — watching him chortle at jokes that the females in the room had known so long they had transmuted from joke into Universal Law.
As usual, we drank tea (and Manhattans, my mom has invented a truly amazing new recipe for them) and my Mom made her usual arguments that Mrs. Bennett was perfectly right about all the things that fit into her (admittedly small) worldview; my sister fought the usual accusations that she was just like Lydia (I am always Eliza, because I was born first and made the call early, though I sometimes think I may be Jane, or fear I may be Mary); we all judged the fashions and yelled along with our favorite lines. But whenever a pivotal scene or favorite joke came up, all eyes turned to my dad, to catch that first delightful grin of comprehension.
High fives to all the Jane Austen lovers in the world. (To those of you who aren’t, you’re not reading it right. Try again.)
