"Pride and Prejudice" (1995)

**This article was contributed by Cinema Muse in response to the review of the 1995 BBC miniseries "Pride & Prejudice" posted earlier this week.**

Those of you who are regular readers of my blog Seeing Sepia will remember that this adaptation made #1 on my list of Top 10 Most Faithful Movie Adaptations from Novels of All Time. I did not give that award out lightly as a film buff and lover of classic literature. Of course I realize it's not perfect, since no adaptation can be, but I still don't think some of the charges Publius has made against it are entirely fair. Please bear in mind that he esteems it almost as much as I do, and he should by no means be lampooned for daring to find fault with it. It is not my intention to question his right to find fault with it, as indeed he is correct in saying that is overall stellar quality gives us license to concentrate on the minutiae. In that spirit, therefore, I mount my defense.

British-American actress Jennifer Ehle handles the complex character of Elizabeth Bennett with just the right amount of sweetness and cynicism.

I will start with his slight objection to Jennifer Ehle's portrayal of Elizabeth. In it he says that Elizabeth's cynical streak had been softened somewhat, but I don't think that's so. I think she gives plenty of looks in the film that show just how weary she is of hypocrisy and injustice, especially when Lydia's elopement comes up. Consider during that episode when she hears that Lady Lucas has given assistance several times: "Assistance is impossible and condolence insufferable! Let her triumph over us at a distance and be satisfied!" I think that's about as cynical as you can get. Also, you don't want Lizzie's cynicism to be too prominent, lets she lose the mirth for which we love her.

Publius also claims that because the production is shot so much from Elizabeth's perspective, all the other characters seem one-dimensional. I will grant him that in part. Many of the characters do seem one-dimensional, but I would argue that Mr. Darcy does not suffer from this problem nor does Mr. Bennett to a certain degree.

I actually like that we get to see the characters from Lizzie's perspective for the most part. It means that our reactions coincide more with her own. After all, if we don't agree with her condemnation of Darcy in the beginning, we would lose sympathy with her subsequent treatment of him. I think experiencing the narrative largely through Lizzie's eyes gives us a softer view of Mr. Bennett, and a harder one on just about everyone else, Jane notwithstanding. Mr. Darcy, of course, averts this problem partially because we have the few scenes from his POV that reveal his true affection for Elizabeth. Still, however, we are given little hint that his appearance of  haughtiness is partially due to shyness apart from a few instances of him being tongue-tied in Lizzie's presence, which could be easily attributed simply to his being in love. Those scenes, however, combined with my foreknowledge of shyness being the novel's partial explanation of Darcy's actions were enough to produce that impression on me. At the same time, however, it's subtle enough that the nuance will still be lost on Elizabeth, which makes her assumption of pride more plausible.

I also know that the reason that some of the characters aren't as well-rounded as they should be is because the filmmakers wanted to make sure that the humor of their actions still came across, and I feel that this adaptation preserves the humor better than any other version of P&P. For those of you who haven't read it the book, it is laugh-out-loud funny, and this adaptation is the only one in which I find myself laughing at the same scenes and lines as I did in the book. That is a very high compliment indeed. Unfortunately this also means that the film short-changes some of the deeper aspects of these characters, especially Mrs. Bennett and Mr. Collins. I can excuse this, however, on the grounds that even though Jane Austen is renowned for well-drawn, rounded characters, her primary intent with them was to provide humor, and thus it is more important that they fulfill that function than that they appear well-rounded at the expense of the humor. It's sad that it has to be that way, but as Publius pointed out, even in a 6-hour miniseries, there simply isn't time to flesh out all the characters.

One thing that Publius got spot-on was that this version like all the others before it doesn't seem to know what to do with Mr. Collins. Of course I think this version's Collins is the funniest one of the bunch, but he's way too slimy and not quite dense enough to fit the character that Austen wrote. In fact he's so transparently a grasping sycophant that it's impossible to believe that Charlotte can even have a modicum of contentment with him. And speaking of Charlotte, she's a character that isn't nearly explained well enough so that she comes off mercenary. This version shows that she's certainly as smart as Lizzie and doesn't have the looks to catch a man, but her lack of fortune and spinster status are never alluded to, and thus leave the audience as shocked as Lizzie when the engagement is announced.

As to Publius' claim that the cinematography lacked panache, I think first off that it exceeds all the previous BBC cinematography I've seen--but not subsequent--and secondly that it was made for TV not theaters, which means both budget and expectations were decidedly lower. I can easily excuse it because it so far above the home-video quality of the BBC Austen adaptations of the '70s and '80s as to be a positive breath of fresh air in comparision.

Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth and Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy perform the "up a double and back" figure from the English Country Dance "Mr. Bevridge's  Maggot," in a slowed tempo that emphasizes the stateliness and formality of their relationship and Mr. Darcy's personality.

Of the many good points that Publius spoke of, moreover, he failed to mention two of my favorites, namely the score and the dancing. The score is a mixture of period classical pieces, English Country Dance tunes, and original compositions by Carl Davies including the famous theme song. One thing I know that Publius and I both appreciate is how much of the music heard comes from Mozart. For example, Lizzie sings an aria from The Marriage of Figaro when she's at Pemberley, and the musical piece played as everyone arrives for the Netherfield Ball is from the wedding scene in that opera. In addition Mrs. Hurst plays another Mozart piano piece during the ballroom scene, and Lizzie plays another while she's at Rosings Park. This is particularly appropriate because Figaro and P&P are often compared to each other in terms of sparkling wit and social commentary. As for the dancing, I can say being an English Country Dancer myself that the dances are well-executed and are real Playford English Country Dances that existed at the time instead of being something the filmmakers created. That being said, many English Country Dance aficionados have pointed out that the dances chosen in the film were hopelessly outdated by the time of  P&P, but I think that's a minor point because it's still the same style of dance. It's not like the replaced it with the polka or the electric slide.

So yes, this film/miniseries does have some faults. Are they bad enough for me to retract the title of best novel-to-film adaptation ever? No. Until someone shows me one that captures all the events and the spirit of the novel as well as this one, I will still maintain that it is the most accurate I've ever seen.

"Bride and Prejudice" (2004)

**After reviewing the novel and two direct adaptations, I'm now going to move in a completely opposite direction and review this 2004 Bollywood take on the classic Austen story.  This will be my last review for "Pride and Prejudice Week;" there is are other films and a 1980 BBC miniseries that deserve some attention, but I lack the time to do them justice.**

It's really hard to even know where to begin in reviewing a film like this.  "Bride and Prejudice" conveys so much infectious joy that it's hard to stop smiling long enough to start writing. It encompasses so many themes and genres that it's even hard to describe it. I would encourage you to read Roger Ebert's review of the film; that is probably one of the best reviews by him that I've read, and certainly one of the most enjoyable for its own sake

 

"Bride and Prejudice" is a Hollywood-made musical incorporating the plot elements of an Austen romance and the cinematic elements of a Bollywood comedy. It's almost frightening how well it plays both roles. Ebert notes that the director "employs the Bollywood strategy for using color, which comes down to: If it's a color, use it." As a musical, this film is brilliant, though the Indian songs are much more enjoyable than those sung in English. On the whole the script knows when to thumb its nose at itself and at the conventions of the genre. Entire streets of people suddenly burst out with song and dance, and two tubas materialize out of nowhere to play a few notes. My jaw quite literally dropped when I saw a fully robed Southern Baptist choice appear on the beach where Lizzie and Darcy had gone for a date, singing the background vocals while the couple falls in love.There is the obligatory "random celebrity singing an unrelated song" in true Bollywood tradition, and even a quasi-Hong Kong action set-piece (brilliantly set in a theatre with a real action film playing in the background). However, since my main focus is on the novel, I'll limit myself to mostly noting how it works as an Austen adaptation.

Aishwarya Rai (who I'm contractually obliged to describe as "the most beautiful woman in the world") plays the main character, Lalita Bakshi (which is as phonetically close to Lizzie Bennet as one could reasonably expect). She lives with her family in Amritsar, India, which is here depicted as a country town along the lines of Austen's Meryton. The original setting of the novel, England in the Regency period, was dominated by family dynamics and strict modes of etiquette. Considering that India was (until relatively recently) a British colony with similar social norms and family dynamics, I was quite impressed with how well the transposition of the story to India worked. As for main family, of the original five Bennet daughters, only four remain in the Bakshi  family -- Kitty (who in other films exists merely to tag along with Lydia) has been struck. I don't mind the omission; given how poorly Kitty is handled by other adaptations, I think leaving that character out entirely is almost preferred. Jaya (Jane Bennet) is a serene beauty, Maya (Mary Bennet) is overly serious, and Lakhi (Lydia Bennet) is overly silly. Their mother, Mrs. Bakshi, is quickly established as a gossipy matron with more in common with Lakhi than her other daughters, while Mr. Bakshi is the dryly droll dad.

At a friend's wedding, Jaya and Lalita meet Mr. Balraj, a British-educated Indian, and his friend William Darcy, the fantastically rich American hotel-owner. This is probably the best aspect of the film, from an Austenian point of view, simply because they reflect the original characters so well. In the novel, the Bingley family had recently acquired their fortune by trade (which is why Bingley was purchasing Netherfield Hall to begin with), while Darcy's family could boast far more elevated and ancient roots. For this reason, Bingley becomes Balraj, an Indian character with similar roots as the Bakshi family, while Darcy is played as an American, hilariously out of his depth. The depiction of Darcy is spot on: he is socially awkward, but comes across as arrogant. In an early scene, the drawstring for his pants comes undone, forcing him to make his excuses for not dancing with Lalita. It's a great piece of physical comedy, but it also allows us to see how he is simply uncomfortable while she reads him as stand-offish.

The story follows the expected Austenian lines, though the lines themselves are significantly less witty than the original. Lalita is determined to despise Darcy, despite his efforts to impress her. Mr. Wickham (this time named "Johnny") rises with a bronzed physique out of the ocean surf and immediately impresses her with his charm. The film presents Wickham as a much more viable love interest than most other adaptations, rather than the merely lukewarm regard Lizzie has for him in the novel. As for the inimitable Mr. Collins, he is transformed into Mr. Kholi, a Silicon Valley entrepreneur returning to his Indian home looking for a bride. Rejected by Lalita, he soon proposes to her best friend Chandra and returns to Los Angeles. The girls follow for the wedding, and so the courtship (and inevitable misunderstandings) can continue. Lalita meets Catherine (here treated as Darcy's mother, rather than his aunt) and Darcy's sister Georgina (played by Alexis Bledel, taking a break from her seven-year stint on "Gilmore Girls").

The film makes an interesting choice by treating the courtship of Lizzie and Darcy more extensively here, and allows Lizzie to actually develop feelings for Darcy during this time. Afterward, Lalita is naturally flummoxed when Catherine introduces Darcy's "girlfriend" Anne, and appalled when Georgie tells him that Darcy separated Balraj from Jaya because he thought her mother was a gold-digger. Lalita flees to Britain with her family, where Lakhi (Lydia) runs off to the carnival with Wickham (a much tamer version of the novel's "she elopes with him"). Darcy appears and reveals that Wickham had tried to force his way into the Darcy family fortune by getting Georgie pregnant when she was only 16 (a much more extreme version of the novel's "he tried to elope with her"). Darcy pursues Wickham and fights him for Lakhi's honor and brings her back to the Bakhi family -- there isn't a duel in the novel, but it seems strangely appropriate (especially given the duel under similar circumstances in "Sense and Sensibility").  By the end of the film, Jane and Balraj are getting married, and Lalita and Darcy are engaged -- happy endings for all.

It is really quite difficult to judge this film by the standards of other Austen adaptations. It makes no effort to rigidly follow the text, which does cause problems in some instances. Lalita and Darcy go on a few dates while she is in Los Angeles, which pushes the period of their courtship forward considerably. The film doesn't seek to make them hate each other, but is content to rely on simple misunderstandings and poor judgment to supply the obstacles for the lovers to overcome. The logic isn't as strict as Austen intended, but then, it's a Bollywood film, so I couldn't really expect any more. The joy and exuberance underlying the novel are decidedly present, and that is the greatest virtue of the film.

"Pride and Prejudice" (2005)

**Here is my third review for "Pride and Prejudice Week," this one for the 2005 film with Kiera Knightley and Matthew MacFayden. I will likely be tarred and feathered for these opinions, or at the very least ostracized from the ranks of Austen loyalists, but such is life.**

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a classic story in possession of a blockbuster film must be in want of a remake.  After the resounding success of the 1995 BBC adaptation  of "Pride and Prejudice," starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, it was almost inevitable that the ensuing wave of Austen-mania would reach Hollywood. Somewhat surprisingly, no one wanted to compete against the original with a straightforward adaptation, so most films based on the novel were reinterpretations, either chronologically or geographically displaced from the original setting.  It wasn't for another ten years that a newcomer to Hollywood, Joe Wright, would actually attempt a direct remake of the novel.

Let's get something out of the way first: it is a tad bit unfair to compare a two hour Hollywood film to the BBC adaptation. These are different media, and it simply is not possible for the film to be anywhere near as a faithful to the novel as a six-hour miniseries marathon. The fact that the producers of the 2005 film managed to condense a tightly written novel down to two hours while preserving the narrative sequence and many of the best lines (including many that were excised from the 1995 script!) is immensely impressive, however you cut it. The omissions and inaccuracies in the 2005 film may be readily excused as an inevitable by-product of the running time. The real question is, how did this film deal with the material within those time constraints?

The 2005 film was marketed pretty directly as a romantic comedy, and tended to shy away from the "period piece" description. This led to several artistic licenses with the text that were pretty widely decried by the loyal adherents of the 1995 film, and I admit several of those licenses made me queasy. For instance, the setting for Darcy's second proposal was moved from a country lane in midday to a lush meadow in a misty dawn. I laughed quite a bit when I first saw that scene, for it was so unbelievably cliched. The epilogue (which only appeared for American audiences, Lord love the British) was also nauseatingly cheesy. On the other hand, the epilogue did occur after Darcy and Lizzie were married, which almost redeems it in my book. So many adaptations of Austen novels are content to end with a declaration of love, or with a wedding, where Austen is generally pretty careful to show the couple in their married state.

There were other stylistic decisions that riled the Janeite community. One common complaint was that the costumes weren't authentic to the Regency period. In the film's defense, the producers apparently intended to set the story in 1797, when fashion in the (slightly earlier) Colonial style would have still been common among the lower gentry, while Miss Bingley and the elite would have dressed in the more up-to-date Regency fashion.  I am not an expert in Regency fashion, and do not particularly care to be, and am therefore somewhat apathetic on the subject.  I cannot fault the film for slight anachronisms of style, when the story and characterizations weigh so much more heavily on my mind. In a similar vein, many Austen loyalists noted that Lizzie's home is so dirty that it could hardly be called the house of a country gentleman: perfect order was considered the sign of beauty (a baroque and classical sensibility), and disarray was not considered picturesque until much later, under the romantic and impressionistic influences. Both choices were deliberate, since the film's director wanted to move away from the staid environment of a "period piece" and make the setting more relatable to modern audiences.

Due to the limits of time, several minor characters were cut out or greatly reduced in importance; however, of those who remain, I think I prefer this version's treatment of them to that of the 1995 adaptation. The 1995 version was so leisurely paced that the humor became somewhat muted; to preserve a sense of fun, the minor characters were obliged to become caricatures, and were played for laughs. The harried pacing of the 2005 film preserves the quick wit and pace of the novel; thus, I think it is paradoxically due to the time restraints that the minor characters were given enough room to shine.

My favorite minor character in the film is Georgiana, Mr. Darcy's younger sister. She is described in the novel and in the 1995 miniseries as shy. In sharp contrast, the 2005 version makes her an energetic companion to Lizzie: this is not entirely like the book, but is true to Georgiana's "eager[ness]... to be pleased" that is not so readily shown in the 1995 version. Moreover, the 2005 film brilliantly depicts the affection between her and her brother, and we get a real sense of the family bond that they will share with Lizzie after the end of the book. Also, it should be said that the knowing glance she casts to Darcy when she meets Lizzie for the first time is absolutely brilliant. It is hinted in the novel that Darcy had spoken to her about his feelings for Lizzie, and this is the perfect 'younger-sister' look that conveys that back-story.

The members of the Bennet family are likewise cast in a much superior light. Mr. Bennet is given a more compassionate edge -- less of an insensitive outsider who only cares to laugh at his family, and more of a sensitive father and family participant with a keen sense of humor. He consoles his daughter Mary after her disastrous performance at the Netherfield Ball, and at the end of the film we get a glimpse (thanks to a brilliant performance by Donald Sutherland) of his true affection for Lizzie. The characterization of Mrs. Bennet is almost an infinite improvement on the 1995 version: she is still played for laughs, but she depicted in a much more reasonable light. This is, in my mind, truer both to Austen's original description, and to the social realities which would produce such a character. Their daughter Mary is likewise almost infinitely better than the 1995 version's view of her. Mary is plain, and self-conscious about it; she is neither pretty nor accomplished, and is overshadowed at every turn by her sisters. She desperately seeks attention, and wishes to perform for that reason, but she hasn't received the guidance to enter society gracefully. This is no self-righteous prig; this is a young girl trying to grow up.

I liked Mr. Collins far more in the 2005 film, and that is to its credit. He is odious, of course, and we are intended to dislike him for his obsequious attentions to Lizzie, but we cannot forget his essential good nature. He is, after all, introduced into the novel because he wants to repair the breach between his late father and Mr. Bennet, and his design to marry a Bennet girl is an attempt to let the Bennet family partake in the estate after their father's death, to make amends for the unfortunate entailment that would have otherwise deprived them! Mr. Collins is low-born and overwhelmed by the sensation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s generosity to him (as well as her rank and general formidableness), so it is not surprising that he praises her over-much. He is a comic creation, but we must not forget that he is hardly one-dimensional.

As for his wife, the former Charlotte Lucas, the 1995 version greatly annoyed me by treating her as essentially mercenary, who married Mr. Collins solely for the comfortable living.. The 2005 film did a much better job of depicting her desperation, from living on the verge of becoming an old maid, and her good nature. I felt as though the 1995 version made her friendship with Lizzie almost a mystery, they had so little in common, but the 2005 film went a long way in correcting that mistake.

As for the two leads, it must be said that neither can compare to the main characters in the 1995 version. They simply don't have as much time to make a clear impression. While I concede freely that Kiera Knightley was not the best choice for casting Lizzie, it was not as disastrous as some might say. Jennifer Ehle had six hours of screen time to establish Lizzie's good nature through small brushstrokes -- discreet and knowing glances, a brief scene of playing with Bingley's dog, etc. Kiera Knightley did not have the luxury of a understated performance, and was obliged to establish Lizzie's good nature within a shorter span. I felt Knightley's portrayal was a bit freer, more relaxed and perhaps even quicker to laugh, than Jennifer Ehle's. She has been criticized quite a bit for her performance, but I cannot condemn it so readily.

As for Matthew MacFayden, he must suffer in comparison to the definitive performance of Colin Firth, but in one respect he was superior. MacFayden much more clearly conveys Darcy's essential awkwardness and shyness from the beginning, which is in fact true to the novel. We can see why Lizzie would despise him, but we get glimpses of his true nature earlier on and therefore understand both his true nature and Lizzie's misapprehensions about that nature. The 1995 version follows Lizzie's perspective quite closely, correcting her mistakes as she does, but this has the disadvantage of making his ultimate conversion into a romantic hero somewhat befuddling (and also comes perilously close to the classic romantic comedy error of letting the heroine "change" the hero from his former "bad boy" persona). In the 2005 version, Darcy is given the chance to defend himself, particularly in the first proposal scene, where he acquits himself of Lizzie's attacks on the subject of Jane and Mr. Bingley quite well. While we understand Lizzie's resentment, we sympathize with Darcy, and that is essential to understand the novel.

I cannot heap enough compliments on the cinematography, and the soundtrack is absolutely perfect. Given the fact that almost all of the music is original, it is stunning in its resemblance to music from the period. These two aspects go a long way in accentuating the other virtues of the film. It is not a period piece, but that was not its intent. The film conveys the essential joy of the novel in a way that cannot be adequately expressed within the staid environment of Regency England. It should be remembered that the settings of medieval fairy tales were originally very familiar -- castles and cottages were as as common as cars today -- and did not become exotic until much later. Likewise, the atmosphere of the times would have been familiar to Austen's readers: they would have had no difficulty in relegating the setting to the background. Today, however, the setting is so foreign to modern readers that it almost invariably dominates our impression of the novel. By removing that 'period' atmosphere from consideration, the 2005 film offers a different (and in some instances clearer) perspective at the underlying characterizations and story.

Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice

One of my co-bloggers has posted a literary review of Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice" on her blog, Seeing Sepia. It's an opening salvo for a series of posts she'll be writing in response to my own.  We disagree vehemently on the merits of certain adaptations, so I can hardly wait.  This post, though, is insightful and delightful, and I'd highly recommend you check it out.  I've posted a brief excerpt below:

Jane Austen has the distinction of being a classic author who's exceptionally fun to read. This makes some critics dismissive of her merits, but I beg you not to sell her importance in the literary world short just because she only wrote romantic comedies. Her works both transcends that genre and in doing so becomes its canon to the point that most romances today are just different iterations of the plots she formed. To use a food analogy, if ordinary romantic comedies are like Dreyer's brand ice cream, full of artificial flavors and high-fructose corn syrup, then Jane Austen is two scoops of organic Sicilian lemon cheesecake gelato.

To finish reading her post, click here.

"Pride and Prejudice" (1995)

**As promised, here is my second review for "Pride and Prejudice Week" review of the universally acclaimed 1995 BBC adaptation of "Pride and Prejudice."  Between this and my review (to be posted tomorrow) of the 2005 film version, I can't see how I will escape unscathed.**

"Pride and Prejudice" is one of the most recognized titles in English literature.  It is also one of the most adapted. From the first black-and-white film adaptation released in 1940 (starring Laurence Olivier as Mr. Darcy), to the 2001 hybrid "Bridget Jones' Diary," to the 2003 adaptation placing the story in contemporary Utah (!), and the 2004 Bollywood effort "Bride and Prejudice" (starring the "most beautiful woman in the world," Aishwarya Rai). The novel has spawned six separate BBC miniseries, the earliest released in 1938.  The most famous of those, which is also the most famous adaptation of the novel by far, is the 1995 miniseries written by Andrew Davies.

It is hard to do justice to this adaptation. It has received (and deserved) so many compliments, that it has become quite a challenge to compose an original thought. It is also a thoroughly paradoxical adaptation: rigorously faithful to the novel in the screenplay, for which it has received a good deal of praise, while at the same time reducing many of the minor characters to one-dimensional caricatures played for laughs, which is not so faithful to the book but nevertheless receives praise from the same sources. Finally, it is also a marathon six hours in length, and thus requires a good deal of endurance merely to watch.

The 1995 miniseries is one of my favorite literary adaptations, and one of my favorite adaptations of Austen. I cannot give it a superlative, simply because there are (admittedly minor) aspects that dissatisfy me, and with six hours at its disposal, I am rather more inclined to expect perfection. This may be unfair, but it will certainly allow for a more interesting review, than one that merely heaps praise on a work already swollen with it.

I take it as a general rule, that where a work is viewed with nearly universal regard, it is far more interesting to me to write of its faults, and that when a work is treated with general disdain, it becomes far more valuable to seek out its merits.

The two leads have received a good deal of praise for their performances, and they richly deserve it. Jennifer Ehle is the definitive Elizabeth Bennet, though her performance is perhaps a bit more muted than I would have interpreted the character. She conveys the propriety of a Regency woman, and the sweetness we expect in a heroine, but her portrayal lacks the almost cynical streak we might expect from a character who at one point states: "There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it." By the end of the novel, the astute reader will have noted that Lizzie really is quite similar in temperament to Mr. Darcy, both in positive and negative aspects. Their conversational sparring shows them equal in observation and quick wit; and in the aftermath of Darcy's first abortive proposal both he and Lizzie realize how greatly they had each been blinded by vanity. In light of such similarities, it is quite interesting to note how differently they are portrayed on screen: Lizzie's character is a good deal softened, while Darcy's is anything but.

The miniseries follows the perspective of Lizzie very closely, to the point where we largely see the other characters from her perspective. In practice, this means that each character seems to act out Lizzie's impression of them.  Thus, Darcy and very every other minor character are cast in an almost simplistic or one-dimensional light, and only given occasional moments to express the true depth of their natures.

From the moment he emerged sopping wet from a lake, Colin Firth was firmly established as the definitive Fitzwilliam Darcy. I cannot dispute his masterful performance. Firth is given just enough screen time to craft a multidimensional character out of those few subtle moments he was allowed. But, just as I found a chink in Jennifer Ehle's armor, so will I readily point out Firth's vulnerability. This one is, indeed, quite a bit easier to spot. After all, by the end of the novel, we are made to realize that "Indeed he has no improper pride" and Mr. Darcy was reserved simply because he is shy and lacks social grace. It is sometimes amusing to note how often this is forgotten by casual readers, and rather depressing to see how often it is missed by Austen loyalists who should know better.

I think our mistaken impression of Darcy is the fault of Andrew Davies' script, who initially portrays Darcy from Lizzie's first impression. Thus, Firth is made to play the character as essentially proud, more self-satisfied than socially awkward, even though the novel later clarifies that the latter is his true nature, and that the former is merely arose as a false impression from confirmation bias, due to Lizzie's wounded feelings. By the middle of the novel, after Darcy's proposal, Lizzie begins to realize her mistake and grasp Darcy's true character, at the same time that Darcy makes a renewed effort to master the social graces. When they next meet in the miniseries, Firth's performance is so drastically different that in the end he really has played two separate characters. The second Darcy, the man whose charms are perhaps even exaggerated in the light of Lizzie's growing affection for him, is a very different sort of creature than the first Darcy whose very presence had been so odious to her. Colin Firth is hardly to blame for this, and indeed does masterful work at hinting at Darcy's true nature even while being bound by the mistakes of the script. But he cannot overcome the false impression that has unfortunately become the consensus opinion of Darcy's character.

While Darcy is given enough screen time to overcome the simplistic characterizations of the script, the minor characters simply are not. Mrs. Bennet is depicted as a shrill insolent woman who gives offense to everyone and causes nothing but embarrassment to her more sensible daughters. Mr. Bennet is a withdrawn man who enjoys nothing so much as laughing at his wife and daughters, and only demonstrates fatherly affection in the occasional conversation with Lizzie. Jane is all goodness and perfection, Mary is all vanity and awkwardness, Kitty is a mere addendum to Lydia, and Lydia is simply silly.  To be quite honest, the portrayals of Jane and Lydia hardly depart from the tenor of the books, but Mary and Kitty are much more interesting characters than they are portrayed on screen.  Kitty has never been adequately captured on film, and for Mary I must give credit to the 2005 film, which did a masterful job of showing her true nature with very limited time. The other minor characters -- Mr. Collins, Charlotte Lucas, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Hurst, Colonel Fitzwilliam,  Georgiana Darcy, even Mr. Bingley -- are all given short shrift, and most of those are played for laughs. I will get in trouble for this next sentence, but here goes: I cannot think of one performance that adequately captures the complexity of the characters as Austen wrote them. Only Mr. Wickham, the debonair demon himself, is given a multidimensional character, and that is simply because Lizzie's opinions of him change at the same time her opinions of Darcy change. While I understand the centrality of the love story between Lizzie and Darcy, and understand the centrality of Lizzie's character in that story, the 1995 adaptation's treatment of virtually every other character in the piece is lacking.  It accurately portrays the events of the narrative, but the participants in those events are made into stick figures, barely discernible as human and more easily recognized as caricature.

Jane Austen's greatest gift was the ability to craft real characters. Everything in her stories depend on that; every event hinges on that. The narrative falls apart if the characters are not accurate. Georgiana is shy so Lizzie can discover that Mr. Darcy is shy as well; Georgiana is eager to be pleased by Lizzie to show that Mr. Darcy had spoken to her of his feelings for Lizzie. Miss Bingley is arrogant so that Lizzie may be convinced that the whole party is intolerably vain; she is infatuated with Mr. Darcy so that Lizzie may dismiss her cruel words as simple jealousy, and more easily rehabilitate her good opinion of the party and of Darcy's character. Mr. Bingley is naturally humble so he may be persuaded by Darcy that Jane does not care for him; he is naturally energetic so that, when assured of Jane's love, he will shortly thereafter propose (conveniently removing the last impediment to Lizzie marrying Darcy).  The events naturally flow from the characters.

The 1995 miniseries preserves most of those events, but only retains the characters insofar as their personalities contribute to those events depicted. Now that I think of it, it was almost essential for the miniseries to end with a wedding, rather than allow for a more complete depiction of the happy endings for the other characters. After all, how can we conceive of a happy ending for Charlotte Collins, née Lucas, married as she is to a disgusting self-righteous snob without any trace of the good nature that is conveyed in the novel?  How can we fathom a happy marriage for Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, since she is so clearly established as ridiculous and he is so far withdrawn from his family? There are no happy endings for these characters, because the miniseries did not do the groundwork of making them real and complex people. It must end with a wedding, because Lizzie, Darcy, Jane and Bingley are the only four people who can possibly be happy at the end of it.

It may be thought, in light of my rather harsh criticism, that I did not appreciate this miniseries.  That is hardly the case.  As I said, it is one of my favorite adaptations of any of the Austen novels, and is as close to a perfect reflection of the original novel as has ever been captured. My criticism arises rather because of that perfection, rather than because of the imperfections: it comes so close, that any faults must stand out in far greater relief than in a lesser effort. Even though the characterizations are inadequate, they still capture much of the original personalities that Austen described, and everything else about the miniseries is spectacular. I didn't much like the cinematography -- mostly because it was so sedentary, so lacking any sort of panache -- but the script is wonderful, the settings are beautiful, and the soundtrack is exquisite. There is a delightful epigram from "Northanger Abbey": "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid." I would not go so far (nor would Mr. Tilney, as he was being facetious) but the point stands: it may take a well-developed literary palate to fully appreciate, but this miniseries remains an indelible treat.

Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice

**It's 'Pride and Prejudice Week' here at Worthy of Note!  For no particular reason at all I've decided to review the novel, and several of its adaptations, over the course of the next week. Tomorrow I will be posting a review of the epic 1995 BBC miniseries starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, and after that I will be reviewing the much-maligned 2005 adaptation starring Matthew MacFayden and Kiera Knightley. My fondest hope is that these reviews may upset my fellow Janeites sufficiently to vehemently critique me in the comments.**

"Pride and Prejudice" is one of the most recognized titles in English literature. Released to almost universal acclaim, the novel has preserved its ascendancy in English literature for the past two centuries. It has been adapted for a BBC miniseries on six separate occasions (1938, 1952, 1958, 1967, 1980, and most famously in 1995). It has also been brought to the silver screen five times, including two direct adaptations in 1940 and 2005, and three reinterpretations which placed the story in such settings as modern England (2001), Utah (2003) and India (2004). In 2003 it was rated the second best-loved book in the United Kingdom, only behind Tolkien's fantasy epic "The Lord of the Rings," and was the top pick among Australian readers in 2008. The world has Jane Austen fever.

If you don't know the story of this novel, I am heartily ashamed for you. Here's the short version: boy meets girl, girl despises boy, boy proposes to girl, girl rejects boy, boy is kind to girl, girl begins to like boy, boy marries girl.

Now for a bit more involved summary. Elizabeth Bennet, the second daughter of a country gentleman, meets and immediately despises the aristocratic Fitzwilliam Darcy, who appears to her a proud gentleman who disdains her and her relatively poor family (when in fact he's merely shy). She also meets Mr. Wickham, who knew Darcy as a child and who accuses him of withholding Wickham's rightful inheritance. Alas, the hapless Mr. Darcy has by that time fallen in love with Lizzie, despite their differences in class and the mockery of his best friend's sister, Miss Bingley. He stuns Lizzie by proposing to her, but is quickly and almost viciously rebuffed. The next morning, he defends himself in a letter, specifically by informing her of Mr. Wickham's true character: he was a dissolute man who tried to elope with Mr. Darcy's younger sister for the sake of her fortune. Over the next few months, Darcy works to improve himself in social graces, and Lizzie begins to fall in love with him, especially after visiting his estate at Pemberley and meeting his sister Georgiana. Alas, Lizzie's younger sister, Lydia Bennet, is discovered to have eloped with Mr. Wickham, which tears the lovers apart and drives Lizzie to despair of ever having Darcy's heart. But Darcy visits Wickham, who had been living with Lydia in London, and forces him to marry the girl. This partially restores the family's honor, and allows him to once again propose to her. She accepts, and they begin a happy life together at Pemberley.

A comprehensive review of the novel would be foolishness. There is too much that deserves attention, and too much that inspires delight, to do the entire performance justice. The characters are realistically and deliciously portrayed, and the lines sparkle with social commentary and brilliant wit. The story works like clockwork: every subplot, every intrigue, every moment conveys something of importance that fits perfectly into the big picture. "Pride and Prejudice" is regarded as one of the best romantic comedies for good reason.

I want to focus in this review on two particular sections of the novel: the first meeting between Lizzie and Darcy at the Meryton Ball, and the ending. When we first read the novel, we view the events from Lizzie's perspective, and feel her resentment at Darcy's angry words to his more social friend Mr. Bingley. Bingley had proposed to introduce him to Elizabeth Bennet, and Darcy had described her as "tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me!" This is enough to confirm Lizzie's first impression ("First Impressions" was, incidentally, the original title of the novel) and establish her loathing. But Jane Austen has done a very clever thing with this bit of overheard dialogue: she makes us understand why Lizzie despises him, but gives us enough information to see how she is mistaken.

The conversation between Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy goes as follows:

'Come Darcy,' said [Bingley] I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.'

[Darcy] 'I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.'

'I would not be so fastidious as you are', cried Bingley, 'for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls as I have this evening; and here are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.'

'You are dancing with the only handsome woman in the room,' said Darcy looking at the eldest Miss Bennet [Lizzie's sister, Jane].

[Bingley] 'Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.'

'Which do you mean?' and turning, [Darcy] looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, 'She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'

I am greatly indebted to this article in The Loiterer, that presents Mr. Darcy's perspective of the early events of the novel. That article pointed out that the conversation was oriented around Darcy and Bingley, and that the reference to Lizzie was largely incidental. Bingley is trying to drag his friend out to dance, and Darcy is declining -- notably citing his own shyness around strangers. Bingley insists and Darcy concedes a bit of ground by noting that Bingley's partner is the "handsomest woman in the room." Darcy is obliquely indicating that he would dance if Bingley would let him do so with Jane! Bingley soon realizes Darcy's meaning, and quickly recalculates. He realizes he could score points with Jane by finding a partner for her sister, and offers to introduce Lizzie instead. That is when Darcy responds so angrily to his friend.

The words that followed were not intended by Darcy to insult Lizzie, but to nettle Bingley. First, "she is... not handsome enough to tempt me" merely means that she is not as handsome as Jane, with whom Darcy had sought to dance. Second, the reference to Lizzie as a lady "slighted by other men" is a pointed reference to the fact that Bingley (who enjoys dancing) had already danced twice with Jane but not yet once with Lizzie!  Bingley certainly got the message. At the end of the chapter, as Mrs. Bennet is relating the events of the evenings in raptures, she notes that Bingley had danced a second time with Jane, and then danced twice with Lizzie immediately thereafter... which would also be immediately after his conversation with Darcy.

It is too easy for us to view things as Lizzie does, and feel her pain at Darcy's jilting of her beauty. But even when the conversation turned to her, the meaning of Darcy's words was never about Lizzie herself, but about Bingley's conduct and needling. Very soon thereafter, Darcy came to admire Lizzie's features, entranced by "the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow." The rapidity of this shift in judgment indicates that Darcy wasn't very serious in his initial appraisal, and was much more focused on responding to Bingley. In this brief episode, Austen provides just enough information to justify Lizzie's initial mistake, and to reveal that mistake in a second reading. It is a brilliant literary performance, just subtle enough to escape our initial notice.

I would also like to comment on the ending of this novel, because that is the other section of the book to which no adaptation has done justice.  Romantic comedies have an unfortunate tendency to end abruptly with a declaration of love, a proposal, or a wedding. Even Shakespeare is not immune: the awkward proposal of the Duke to Isabella in "Measure for Measure" fits this mold perfectly. Austen is not so liable, and usually spends a good deal of time portraying the characters after the leading lady married the man of her dreams.

Thus, the last chapter of "Pride and Prejudice" is dedicated to sketching each character's future even after the close of the novel. Mrs. Bennet, who had so longed to see her children married, is at last satisfied by their good fortune, and it is strongly implied that she settled down a bit later in life; "though perhaps it is lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and invariably silly." (This is, incidentally, the clearest indication we see that Mr. Bennet is happily married, and has at least some real affection for his wife despite her faults). As for their two remaining daughters, Kitty is separated from the influence of Lydia and matures considerably under the guidance of Jane and Lizzie, while Mary is "obliged to mix more with the world" because she is finally noticed by her mother, and no longer suffers from the comparisons with her older or younger sisters.

Jane and Bingley move away from Netherfield, finally tiring of the proximity to the Bennet family and friends, and purchase an estate near Pemberley -- thus, Lizzie is able to visit her favorite sister with little inconvenience. Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine are respectively mortified and estranged after Darcy's marriage, but they ultimately are reconciled, and Miss Bingley "paid off every arrear of civility to Elizabeth." Most notably, however, Darcy brings his sister to live with them at Pemberley, "and the attachment of the sisters was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see." Under Lizzie's tutelage, Georgiana not only matures but is able to laugh more easily, and grows out of her shell. This is perhaps the happiest part of the ending, as Lizzie is brought into an almost maternal role, and shepherds the next generation to a similar perfection of wit and good nature.

There is a delightful quote from the film "Stranger Than Fiction" to the effect that tragedy is about the finality of death, and comedy is about the continuance of life. "In a tragedy, you die, in a comedy you get hitched." Unfortunately, so many romantic comedies seem to forget that, and simply end when the couple gets together. But the love story is not over, there is so much more, and such better things, still in the couple's future. It is quite frustrating to see how few authors and directors actually remember this lesson, even among those who adapt Austen's work for the silver screen. Austen herself never forgot that, and her novels serve as a useful antidote to those who fixate on the lovers while forgetting their friends, families and futures.

Dorothy Sayers: Have His Carcase

Welcome to part two of four in my Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane series. When we last left the most attractive man in fiction, he had just saved the woman he loved from the gallows, but got no closer to winning her affections. After writing a few other Lord Peter books which did not feature Harriet, author Dorothy Sayers picks up her story again with the novel Have His Carcase (That last word is the British spelling of the word "carcass").

Two years after she was exonerated of the charge of murder, Harriet Vane is still trying to create a normal life for herself. The publicity from her murder trial has made her book sales skyrocket, but her personal life remains unsettled. Lord Peter Wimsey continues his attentions to her, but Harriet still cannot decide what to do about him. She will not accept his proposals, but at the same time she does not have the willpower to send him away altogether.

In order to dodge her noble suitor, Harriet decides to go on a walking tour of England. This goes well until  one day she comes across a body with its throat cut lying on a remote beach. Since the tide is coming in quickly, and Harriet knows it will probably be impossible to get the police to the scene before it gets covered in water, she takes pictures of grisly deed, then runs for help.

To all the world this death looks like a suicide--why else would a man with a full beard be in possession of a razor with which to cut his throat? And there is no discernible evidence of another person having been at the crime scene. In Harriet's mind, however, there are enough incongruous elements to make her suspect murder. Being a shrewd businesswoman and generally wary of the press, she calls in the media in order both to garner publicity for her upcoming mystery novel and to deflect suspicion away from herself, since her character has already been darkened.

Unfortunately--in her view, anyway--all that press immediately attracts the attention of Lord Peter Wimsey, who could no more resist an opportunity to solve a murder and court his great flame than a cat could resist a ball of catnip. With the impetuous Lord Peter proposing to her every five minutes, Harriet nevertheless set out with him to solve a case that only seems to get more baffling the further she and Peter go.

The murder victim turns out to be a Russian dancer named Paul Alexis who worked at a local resort. Far from having any reason to want to kill himself, however, Paul Alexis had been about to marry a rich widow and enjoy the life of ease and luxury that he'd always wanted. Of course the fact that he was about to come into a large some of money means that there should be a motive for murder. When the widow's son shows up the next day with very unkind things to say about Paul Alexis, Peter and Harriet get an inkling that this man would be the likeliest candidate for their murderer. The only problem is that the son has an airtight alibi for the time of the murder. In addition Harriet ran into a few other suspicious characters on the road to the beach immediately after the murder, none of which have been traced yet. So Lord Peter and Harriet have their work cut out for them in solving this caper.

In the meantime the two of them indulge in some wonderful flirtation and witty banter, which only gets interrupted at one point when Lord Peter reminds Harriet to be careful what she says because even though her heart isn't involved, his is, and she thus has the capacity to hurt him much more deeply than he could ever hurt her. In Have His Carcase we get a glimpse of both what a good team Lord Peter and Harriet of them make at crime-solving, and of how much fun they can have together when Harriet lets her guard down. By the end of the book, however, it becomes clear that Harriet still has a lot of issues to work out and is not comfortable with the idea of a romantic relationship.

I must now admit that this is my least favorite of the four books in this series because it lacks the depth that the others have and instead tries to concentrate more on the murder itself. This is not to say that the murder in itself isn't any good. On the contrary, it's quite ingenious and baffling, and it only loses my interest at the part where Lord Peter and Harriet try to solve a cipher, a passage which is both overly long and impossible to follow. So the murder does well, and the banter between Lord Peter and Harriet is delightful, but I still cannot excuse the absence of the introspection that elevates the other books beyond the pack of common murder mysteries. Fortunately the next book in the series more than makes up for this one's weakness.

Still, however, this book is delightful and well worth reading. A good entry to the Wimsey/Vane series, even if it's not as strong as the others.

Robert Ludlum: The Bourne Identity

"The Bourne Identity" was published in 1980, and soon secured a reputation as one of the best action-adventure novels ever published. It was adapted to film in short order: a television miniseries by 1988, and a silver-screen blockbuster by 2002 (which is how I first learned of it).  Its sequels also received Hollywood treatment, with "The Bourne Supremacy" released in 2004, and "The Bourne Ultimatum" in 2007. In 2006, it was rated by Publisher's Weekly as the second best spy thriller novel of all time, behind only the blockbuster "The Spy Who Came In From The Cold." This novel also marked a first for me, since it was my first attempt to go through a full novel in an audio-book format.

First things first: this novel bears little resemblance to the films. Besides the premise -- Jason Bourne is a former assassin and retrograde amnesiac who's trying to recover his memories -- there is little resemblance between the narratives.  Some of the names remain (Bourne, Marie St. Jacques, Alexander Conklin, etc.) but their personalities have been scrubbed: Marie St. Jacques is no longer a professional economist from Canada, but seems to be instead a wandering French bohemian without roots or family. I suppose economists just aren't sexy enough for the big screen. Moreover, many characters don't even appear in the film, most notably the primary antagonist Ilich Ramírez Sánchez (alias Carlos "the Jackal," who was apparently a terrorist in real life).

The first thing I noticed about this novel, perhaps because it was being read aloud, was the quality of the descriptions given.  Ludlum is truly gifted at depicting atmosphere, the settings of his plot. Throughout the book I felt as though I were participating in an authentic French (or Swiss) cultural experience. The back-story is likewise detailed and rich, ranging from covert missions in Vietnam to assassination rings in France to intelligence agencies in America. Ludlum maintains a fairly intense momentum throughout the narrative, especially in Bourne's movement from almost total ignorance to a fair degree of self-knowledge.

However, it is precisely in this movement of the narrative that the novel develops problems.  First, I felt that too much time and effort were spent on Bourne's ignorance and confusion.  While it was a useful vehicle for presenting new information and filling in the back-story, the plot device grew old. After a certain point I just stopped counting how many times the novel resorted to Bourne saying or thinking "I recall something, it strikes me as familiar, but I don't remember; please explain what it is." Phrases and images, from an unremembered past or from his months recovering with the alocholic Dr. Washburn, were repeated almost ad nauseum. Many fragments of memory were given without letting the audience know their significance, which I suppose would be useful for priming a shocking revelation towards the end, but the references continued even after their meaning was revealed.

I was also bothered by the novel's tendency to erect and dismantle the obligatory rabbit-holes at an alarming rate. It's not possible to move from amnesia to complete self-knowledge without at least a few false starts in between, and these could have been quite useful for setting up twists and unexpected reveals along the way. But most of these red herrings were essentially non-starters, quickly dismissed as new facts become available or (worse) already known by the reader to be fallacious due to previously disclosed information. Using false starts for twists and third-act reveals would require that they be preserved for some length of time, but the author did not seem to be patient enough to let these misconceptions play out.

The greatest failing of the novel, however, is in the ending. Despite excellent pacing throughout, the story falters pretty pathetically towards the end of the novel, and the tone borders on incoherence. After setting up all of the innumerable difficulties lying between Bourne and his safe return to America or to his former life, the author seems content to sweep all of those previous difficulties aside with a wave of his hand. Thus, 'shoot-on-sight' protocol notwithstanding, the untrained Marie St. Jacques is able to contact the Canadian embassy without difficulty, find a receptive audience, tell her story, return home, and move the entire American bureaucratic apparatus to save her One True Love before his untimely demise later that afternoon!

Likewise, Alexander Conklin, Bourne's nemesis within the American intelligence community, who had heard the amnesia story from Bourne personally, and tried to kill him on the same occasion, is at the last minute and on very unconvincing grounds brought to realize his mistake. What's worse, his transformation is so complete that he ends up acting as an almost paternal figure, and lets Carlos the assassin escape from the trap Bourne had set up in order to save Bourne's life. This was not only contrary to the nature of the character (Conklin was the hard-nose C.I.A. man who had been using Bourne as the bait to catch Carlos, after all) but also the conventions and expectations of the plot. After all was said and done, how is it that the villain Carlos remains at large, with the merest glimpse of his face being our big payoff? Carlos isn't even the subject of the sequel; his storyline is concluded two novels later in "The Bourne Ultimatum." So, to sum up this ending: obstacles are summarily swept aside without explanation, largely helpless characters suddenly develop the ability to work miracles, sworn enemies are reconciled at a glance, and the villain gets away. What's up with this?

The horrid ending notwithstanding, "The Bourne Identity" is still a worthwhile read, and was at times even tremendously enjoyable. The momentum is excellent, the plot is involving, and the imagery is to die for, sometimes literally. I think it's possible to appreciate the many layers of complexity and difficulty the author set up, even while recognizing his inability to satisfactorily resolve them in the end. If you're looking for resolution, though, you'll have better luck with the movies.

To purchase, check out Amazon.com:
The Bourne Identity: A Novel

Orson Scott Card: Ender in Exile

Ender’s Game is widely regarded as a classic in the genre of science fiction, perhaps even the classic. But the full story does not end with Ender on the colony ship to former formic lands. Since the original publication, Orson Scott Card has expanded the universe of Ender’s Game in multiple directions: exploring the rise and regime of the Hegemon, the political and military movements on Earth by former members of Ender’s jeesh (Card’s term for ‘squad' or ‘cadre’) and the voyages of Ender himself far into the future.  I’d read a few of the Earth-based sequel novels, and lost interest after that, but I was curious to read about Ender’s travails after the book. So, mostly on a whim, I picked up Ender in Exile.

The book takes place almost entirely between chapters 15 and 16 of the original Ender’s Game. It serves as an expansion of the original, a sequel to the Earth-based novels, and a prequel to the Ender-based sequels, which puts it in a somewhat awkward spot from the beginning. Furthermore, this is one of the later novels he wrote for the Ender’s Game universe, which meant that a good deal of effort was spent reconciling the various accounts from all of the books, especially the sometimes “careless and cavalier” inconsistencies (his words) from the earlier novels . Yet despite the difficulties, the book succeeds in its own right.

The book itself is a compilation and extension of a number of short stories Card has written over the years, which lends a certain episodic nature to the narrative. The main storyline concerns Ender’s recovery from the trauma depicted in Ender’s Game, and thus doesn’t really determine external events. The book opens in the immediate aftermath of Ender’s victory over the formic, with his parents, his siblings, and various world powers trying to figure out how to respond, how to turn Ender’s victory to their own advantage, and how to deal with this military genius when or if he returned to Earth. Ultimately, Ender decides to take himself out of the global political power-struggle, by traveling with the first colony ship to a former formic world. This is the next episode in the plot: how Ender deals with a power-hungry admiral of the colony ship who commands the only military regiment and might be tempted to seize power on their arrival.

A bit of time is also spent focused on Ender’s friendship and quasi-romance with Alessandra Toscano, a young woman who is pressured by her mother (the admiral’s wife) into seducing Ender to hopefully remove him from the power dynamic. It’s your fairly typical “boy meets girl, boy wants girl, girl offers herself to boy, boy analyzes the situation, boy leads girl to self-actualization” story. Thinking about it now, it kind of reminds me of that delightful scene in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, where a sleazy creature approaches Obi-Wan at a bar and offers to sell him “death-sticks.” Obi-Wan responds with a mind trick: “You don’t want to sell me death-sticks.” The creature is suddenly struck by a thought: “I don’t want to sell you death-sticks.” “You want to go home and rethink your life.” Ditto. George Lucas’ dialogue is often excruciatingly bad, but that scene is truly wonderful.

The next episode in the plot is oriented around Ender’s time on the Shakespeare Colony, particularly his discovery of the Giant’s Head (from the original Ender’s Game) and of a larval formic queen, for whose preservation Ender dedicates his life. He goes on a voyage, relying on the relativistic nature of time to bypass several generations until humanity has forgotten its loathing for the formics and might be more welcoming to these creatures. Along the way, he stops at the Ganges colony, where he meets Randall Firth, the ostensible son of evil genius extraordinaire Achilles but in reality the youngest child of Bean and Petra, two of Ender’s closest friends from Battle School. The confrontation between Ender and Randall provides and emotional center-point for the novel, though I personally found it less compelling than other episodes depicted.

This novel is defined by a conceit, or rather a whole string of them. Each chapter begins with a letter written by one of the characters (that is, in first person). The chapters themselves are written from the perspectives of a character (in third person), though the person at the focal point differs from section to section. While we may relate to Ender, to an almost unique degree we are not bound by the main character’s perspective. The thought strikes me that perhaps Card set himself up for the fall. People don’t explain things to Ender: he’s often kept out of the loop, and is clever enough to find things out on his own besides. Without that easy narrative fallback, Card had to find a way to convey the relevant information to readers, preferably without relying on a third-person omniscient voice. If you don’t know what that means, watch the movie Stranger Than Fiction.

Furthermore, since we’re dealing in space travel at light-speed, time itself is relative, and Card must deal with multiple (and constantly shifting) timelines. Generations live and die in the few years spent on the colony ship; Ender is sent to Ganges to deal with the problem of Randall Firth when Randall was still barely an infant; Ender’s brother Peter, only a few years older than he, is dying when a still-adolescent Ender leaves Shakespeare. In sum, Card is dealing with four separate “worlds” – Earth, the colony-ship, Shakespeare, and Ganges – running on multiple timelines, and that’s not even to mention some of the lesser conceits invented to keep characters alive, such as Graff’s ingenious scheme to only “live” two months every year and spend the rest in space, resting in an ageless stasis.

In short, this is an exceptionally impressive effort, demonstrating invention of a less whimsical but more methodical mind. This is not Scott Pilgrim; this is the Lord of the Rings. A world is invented, populated, and developed along clear and logical lines. Characters are drawn and given voices, their own voices, not mimicries of character but personalities of their own. It is also an immensely rewarding effort, as we are given the chance to see the events of the novel through multiple perspectives. We are allowed to truly empathize with each person we come across. Like Ender himself writing as the Speaker for the Dead, we are given a uniquely penetrating glimpse into the inner-workings of almost everyone we meet. We get to see them as we presume Ender sees them: stripped of their duplicity, with all their secrets on parade.

To purchase this book, check out Amazon.com:
Ender in Exile

For other reviews of the Ender's Saga and Shadow series, check out these links:

Ender's Game (13 Aug. 2010)
Ender in Exile (23 Sept. 2010)
Speaker for the Dead (8 Apr. 2011)
Xenocide (9 Apr. 2011)
Children of the Mind (11 Apr. 2011)
Ender's Shadow (15 Apr. 2011)
Shadow of the Hegemon (19 Apr. 2011)
Shadow Puppets (25 Apr. 2011)
Shadow of the Giant (29 Apr. 2011)

 

Dorothy Sayers: Strong Poison

**This guest post was contributed by The Supreme Arbitress of Taste, who reviews films of Golden Age Hollywood and movie adaptations of classical literature at her blog, Seeing Sepia.**

Welcome to the first of a 4-part series on the Lord Peter and Harriet Vane Mysteries by Dorothy L. Sayers!  Those of you familiar with my article My Top 10 Fictional Boyfriends of Page and Screen know that Lord Peter Wimsey was my unequivocal choice for the most attractive fictional man of all time. Apparently my description piqued Publius' (Perhaps I should say Publii if I want to decline the Latin noun correctly) curiosity to the point that he asked me to review some Lord Peter books for the sake of public edification. Of course I was only too happy to oblige him, but before I get on to the book review, I would like to say a few words about Dorothy L. Sayers.

Sayers was one of the first women to be awarded a degree from Oxford University, and before she became famous as a mystery writer, she developed a reputation as a Christian theologian. She was also the only female member of the Inklings group that included C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. During the 1920s she took her first foray into fiction when she published Whose Body? a murder mystery starring the socialite sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey, younger son of the 15th Duke of Denver. Needless to say, the book was popular enough to launch a whole series of Lord Peter novels and short stories over the next twenty years, making Sayers second only to Agatha Christie in popularity for British detective fiction. Perhaps the reason that Sayers was so successful was that she didn't try to copy Christie's style of labyrinthine plots and mile-long lists of suspects. Instead Sayers relied on compelling and realistic characters, an area in which Christie with all her brilliance could not come close to equaling Sayers. 

Like most successful detective novelist, Sayers had a plan to "kill off" her famous detective, not by poison or a bullet, but rather by having him marry, settle down, and live happily ever after. Thus in 1930 she introduced us to Lord Peter's future bride Harriet Vane in the book Strong Poison. Harriet was a thinly veiled portrait of Sayers herself: an Oxford grad and mystery writer who was haunted by an ill-advised love affair, and because of this Sayers injects a depth of feeling and insight into that character that exceeds her already-high standards.

In what I think is one of the best opening in detective fiction, Sayers sets the scene for the murder trial of Harriet Vane:

"There were crimson roses on the bench; they looked like splashes of blood.

"The judge was an old man, so old that he seemed to have outlived time and change and death."

Miss Vane has been accused of murdering her former lover Phillip Boyes, but the case against her is purely circumstantial. Unfortunately public opinion is almost uniformly prejudiced against her because she is a "loose woman" who had the gall to refuse her lover's offer of marriage. Her reasoning makes more sense, however, when we learn that Boyes had hounded her for over a year about her living with him, claiming that he was against marriage on principle and that co-habitation was the only way they could be together. Then after Harriet had given up all her friends, relatives, and moral scruples for Boyes' sake and had been living with him for quite some time, he had the effrontery to ask her to marry him, at which point she broke off the relationship entirely, saying, "I didn't like having matrimony offered as a bad-conduct prize." I for one entirely agree with Harriet's decision because what Phillip Boyes did to her was manipulative and boarding on the mentally abusive. To hound someone into disgracing themselves like that and then tell them that it was all for nothing is the sign of a sick mind. Unfortunately the only person who seems to agree with that assessment is Lord Peter Wimsey, who has fallen in love with the intelligent and  defendant.

With Harriet's character thus blackened by her past actions, it looks as if she will hang for sure until a lone juror ruins the trial by refusing to go along with the guilty verdict. Lord Peter, therefore, has only one month to exonerate Harriet before the re-trial.

There are many brilliant parts to this novel, but many people have made the case for the first few chapters--the trial scene--being the best. Of course it's rather ingenious to start a mystery story with a summation of the case against the prime suspect, and my lawyer father says that it's the best portrayal of a hostile courtroom he's ever seen in print, even better, he says, than Agatha Christie's Witness for the Prosecution . And this is all contrasted to Lord Peter's comments to his friends during the trial, his firm conviction that Harriet is innocent. Of course I have no wish to deny that the scene is wonderfully written, but I feel that there are some equally good moments later on.

My favorite parts of this book are the encounter with Blindfold Bill, now an Evangelical minister, and Miss Climpson's fake seance. Even though Miss Climpson is extremely moral and honest, she pretends to be a psychic medium in order to obtain a copy of a will that proves someone besides Harriet had a motive for killing Phillip Boyes. What's delightful about this scene is that is conveyed in the form of letters from Miss Climpson to Lord Peter in which her tone is half-child-like giddiness at having an adventure and half-apologetic for the subterfuge to which she must stoop. As for the Blindfold Bill scene, I just appreciate how lovingly Sayers draws a character that in another author's hand would be a  stereotypical religious fanatic and possibly a hypocrite. Instead Bill is extremely likable as he now uses his safe-breaking powers for good and not evil, helping investigators to break into safes in order to retrieve evidence. Of course the whole scene is still hysterically funny because the best lock-picker in Europe is a family man and says "By God's grace," whenever referring to the past events of his life, but it doesn't feel cruel or anti-religious.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of the book, however, is the beginning of Lord Peter's courtship with Harriet Vane--if you can call it that at this point since Harriet is completely non-receptive to Peter's advances because of the extreme trauma she's going through. I really appreciate how realistically Sayers portrays a woman who has been badly hurt by men. We see her dejection, her bitterness, her self-loathing, reticence for any further commitment, and none of these things conveniently vanish for the sake of advancing the plot

Of course compounding Harriet's issues is Lord Peter's awkwardness in dealing with her. A sane, normal person would never speak of love to someone who is both emotionally bruised and in dire peril as a result of it. We can assume that Lord Peter knows this, but he gets so flustered when he's around Harriet that he just kind of blurts it out without thinking. Despite his clumsiness, however, I really admire the reasons for which Lord Peter falls in love with Harriet. Lord Peter is looking for a true partner and companion, and he sees qualities in Harriet like deep feeling and and intelligent, analytical mind--to say nothing of her interest in crime--that complement his own. I also appreciate that he doesn't judge her for the mistakes that she made in the past. We all make big mistakes, after all, but most of ours aren't as public as Harriet's. Also, although it's never stated, Harriet holds the additional allure of being a damsel in distress whom Lord Peter can rescue from the gallows, which certainly appeals to his romantic nature. If Lord Peter wants to win his lady fair, however, it's going to be a long journey because by the end of the novel, he has made absolutely no progress in her affections.

So there's a lot of reasons why you should read this book, even if you're not into mysteries generally, because it has so much more to offer than just a baffling case to solve. Obviously that dimension of the story holds up well, but the book has true merit in terms of characters, comedy, and underlying social issues. This--the whole series, in fact--is one of those rare genre novels that transcends the bounds of its categorization and moves into the realm of true literature.

** This was a guest post by the Supreme Arbitress of Taste. The Supreme Arbitress is the second-generation heir to the title, which was first held by her grandmother, a fashionista and interior decorator, and then by her mother, the most cultured woman in the world. The Supreme Arbitress is a San Francisco native with a degree in English from Seattle Pacific University. When she's not composing the next great American novel, she writes articles for her blog Seeing Sepia, which reviews the films of Golden Age Hollywood and film adaptations of classic literature. In her spare time, she enjoys knitting, dancing, and long walks in the country.