Sense and sensibility,
represented respectively in sisters Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, carry them
through romantic hopes and dashed hopes in Victorian Devonshire. They both fall
in love with men they cannot have and after ups and downs, twists and turns, end
up in marriages with reliable men. Their different approaches to romantic
disappointment are consistent with their approaches to many other situations
among family and friends. Indeed, the foibles of this Jane Austen’s novel’s
cast of characters give Elinor and Marianne many opportunities to display their
sense (reason) and sensibility (emotionality).
Would that today’s society had the good sense to practice
Elinor Dashwood’s Victorian communication habits of courteous truth-telling and
thinking the best of others. Sometimes she even has to fight to think fine
motivations for foolish behavior. She must feel the fool herself while
withholding judgment on such egregious acts of inconsideration. Her reason and good
sense also include respecting promises and others’ decisions, even when they
hurt her.
Even feelings-led, superficiality-satisfied, romantic-notioned
Marianne (representing sensibility) grows to realize that character counts.
Sense and Sensibility is an epiphany
enthusiast’s dream novel. Some characters, of course, remain blind,
self-centered fools, but others humbly learn valuable lessons from their
mistakes. Austen’s dialogue is lively. I would have liked to have known energetic
Mrs. Jennings. The warmth of the Dashwood family (at least Mrs. Dashwood and
her daughters) inspires. I enjoy Austen’s dry wit in this novel. Often it comes
in Fanny’s outrageously convoluted, self-congratulating excuses why she cannot
help Elinor and Marianne. Sometimes the humor comes in the differences between
sense and sensibility, such as this scene in which Elinor and Marianne
reminisce about their former home, Norland:
“Dear, dear Norland,” said Elinor,
“probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year. The woods and
walks thickly covered with dead leaves.”
“Oh,” cried Marianne, “with what
transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as
I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings
have they, the season, the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to
regard them. They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as
much as possible from the sight.”
“It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who
has your passion for dead leaves.” [pages 93, 94 in my edition]
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