Lou’s Review: Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that Pride and Prejudice is one of the greatest romances of all time. And in a way reviewing it feels redundant – people have been analysing and commenting on this book for over 200 years, so there’s nothing much new to say. Also slightly off-brand because, until now, I’ve only reviewed sapphic books. But with three sapphic Pride and Prejudice inspired books on my To Be Read list (Written in the Stars; Just As You Are; Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh) I wanted to revisit the source material to get the most from those titles.

Also, I started Lou’s Reviews as a way of expressing appreciation for romance novels. And, over the course of reading and re-reading, Austen’s work has made a real mark on me. This novel’s relevance transcends the bounds of place or time to tell a widely relatable romance. Two people who nearly miss out on the love of their life because they’re blinded by their own assumptions. It’s the OG Idiots to Lovers with a delicious side of miscommunication.

The Hand Flex

Plus, testament to Austen’s skill, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy are one of only two male/female pairings I ardently ship – the other being Roman/Gerri from Succession. Even that has a Pride and Prejudice link: Matthew MacFadyen, who plays Succession’s scheming social climber Tom Wambsgans, is also Mr Darcy in the iconic 2005 film. Incredible range that he can fully embody characters who are the antithesis of one another. And even my misandrist lesbian heart has to admit that flex he does after handing Elizabeth into her carriage is the stuff of dreams.

But, as my recent re-read made clear, the film adaptation didn’t entirely do the book justice. The film focuses almost entirely on romance. Which is delicious and deeply moving. But the book is broader in scope, with a piercing social commentary about the precariousness of women’s lives. Even wealthy white women from reputable families were at the mercy of fathers and husbands, with very few paths to independence.

People mock Mrs Bennet as a melodramatic hypochondriac going on about her nerves, but what a terrible strain to know that – if her husband were to die first – she and her five daughters would be homeless, living in desperate poverty. That entail willing her home to Mr Collins was hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles. And whereas the film positions Mr Bennet as the saintly long-suffering husband, the book fully recognises he has failed in his duties by not adequately providing for his wife and daughters’ futures.

More importantly, Austen’s novel gives Mr Darcy a remarkable growth arc. Whereas in the film it’s primarily Lizzie who changes, realising she’s misunderstood and misjudged Darcy, the book doesn’t shy away from his faults in the beginning. Mr Darcy starts off as an “ungentlemanly” character – meaning he’s rude, judgemental, and high-handed.

When she’s turning down Darcy’s proposal, Elizabeth points out that the condescending style in which it was delivered is part of why she’s rejecting him. And Darcy realises that all his talk about the lowness of her connections, claiming that Elizabeth is beneath him socially, was a dick move. Elizabeth calls Darcy out, reading him to filth.

And Darcy has an epiphany. His own behaviour cost him what he most desires. He reflects and corrects. When they next meet, Darcy is courteous and friendly to Elizabeth’s family. The opposite of his earlier behaviour. This kindness wins her affection.

Austen’s Darcy starts off deeply flawed. And his evolution makes Darcy’s side of the story much more meaningful. He does the difficult work of personal growth instead of simply breezing across the moors in an unbuttoned shirt. This is what makes him a God Tier love interest.

Austen’s writing exemplifies the core principle of romance: these two people should make each other better. Elizabeth and Darcy catalyse positive change in each other. That’s why the novel is called Pride and Prejudice – those are the traits our protagonist and her love interest must unlearn to be together.

Charlotte Lucas, Millennial Icon

There is one area where the film outshines the book. And I’m not talking about “You have bewitched me body and soul and I love… I love… I love you.” Nor even Charlotte’s iconic speech, beloved of Millennials: “I’m twenty-seven years old. I’ve no money and no prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents and I’m frightened.” No, what I mean is that Elizabeth and Darcy spend a far greater proportion of time together on screen than in the book.

I’ve attended a lot of romance writing workshops. Over a hundred. And there’s a piece of advice I only understood at a gut level when reading Pride and Prejudice. In a lecture for Reedsy, author and editor Michelle Hazen pointed out that – for a romance to reach its full potential – your couple must spend as much time together on the page as possible. If they’re apart it has to serve the story. Because the dynamic between them is your novel’s beating heart.

Maybe it’s silly applying contemporary advice to a classic novel. But there are stretches of 50+ consecutive pages when Elizabeth and Darcy don’t have a single interaction. And those were the places where my attention wandered; the times when it became easy to put Pride and Prejudice down. That’s not coincidence.

Still, Pride and Prejudice is one of the greats. The fact people are still reading this book and falling in love with these characters after 200 years is proof of its excellence. Yes, there’s the slight issue of Darcy’s £10,000 a year almost certainly being profits from the transatlantic slave trade. But it’s a book well worth reading.