Context: finished this on my way down to Tesco’s to get myself some shopping.
Yet another Austen and, as I suspected, they’re starting to take on much of a muchness now. Catherine, the heroine of choice this time, is about the most naive and susceptible I’ve followed so far. There are all the usual misunderstandings about love and relationships, and it all turns out the same and ends in the inevitable marriage. In fact, this one seems not to be heading to that conclusion until about the last two pages. It’s a bit like Austen suddenly got bored of writing it.
I’m not going to say much about it, as there’s not much to say. The only thing of vague interest to me was that there was a bit of debate about novels and their role in our lives. There are arguments that novels inspire fantasy to the extreme that they deprive us of our ability to be rational and realistic. I don’t think that’s the fault of novels but perhaps the spirit they’re read in.
Er… that’s it.
No one who ever had seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine.
To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen, is to do pretty well; and professing myself moreover convinced, that the General’s unjust interference, so far from being really injurious to their felicity, was perhaps rather conducive to it, by improving their knowledge of each other, and adding strength to their attachment, I leave it to be settled by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny, or reward filial disobedience.