Anne
and Wentworth are unusual for a Jane Austen couple in that they’re two people
who have a romantic history before
the start of the story. It’s actually
the only time we see such a dynamic in one of her books’ main pairings. A girl-meets-boy scenario is far more
frequent, and we also get a couple of gradual couples who’ve known one another
for a good chunk of their lives before developing romantic feelings for each
other. But exes? That’s something different for Austen. It serves them well, though. Anne and Wentworth aren’t my favorite Austen
pairing (that would be Catherine and Mr. Tilney from Northanger Abbey followed pretty closely by Emma and Mr. Knightley
from Emma,) but they’re perhaps the
most interesting to me. Theirs is a
sadder, more wistful story; it’s tinged with a regret that many scholars link
to Austen herself, especially since this book was written toward the end of her
life.
But I
digress. Anne and Wentworth’s story
together begins when they’re both young, deeply in love, and mostly heedless to
their different statuses – Anne is the daughter of a wealthy baronet, while
Wentworth’s position in society is decidedly lower. Unfortunately for both, they’re not yet grown
in the ways of the world. Lady Russell,
Anna’s older and shrewder friend, convinces her to go against her heart and
break the “imprudent” engagement she’s formed with Wentworth. Chastened and despondent, Wentworth retreats
to nurse his wounds. Fast forward nearly
a decade. The more advantageous matches
Anne’s family and Lady Russell anticipated for her haven’t panned out, and
while Wentworth has risen in means and social standing through his military
service, Anne’s father has spent the Elliots out of house and home. It’s under wildly different, humbled
circumstances that Anne meets Wentworth again, and he loudly telegraphs his
satisfaction with young women who, chiefly, aren’t Anne.
It’s
such a messy, painful situation. Anne is
now 27 and regarded as a faded beauty (due equally to her age, her continued
maidhood, and her unhappiness born of lost love,) and Wentworth is celebrated,
successful, and sought after. She can
hardly bear for him to see her so diminished – I don’t really mean her reduced
fortunes, but her overall feeling of being past the point of anyone’s
desirability – and he seems to parade his flirtations in front of her. It’s a reflection of how hurt he continues to
feel about what happened between them and, unbeknownst perhaps to both of them,
it’s a sign of how much she still weighs on his mind.
With
this inauspicious foundation, their story becomes a matter of knowing and understanding
one another anew, slowly peeling back their own presumptions, and lowering
their defenses. It’s about proving to
each other how much they’ve grown for the better and how much the other’s pull
on their heart remains unchanged. It’s a
story of second chances, not just of regaining a love thought lost, but of
reopening entire chapters of life thought closed. Because of this, Anne and Wentworth have some
of the most searing, gripping scenes of any Austen couple. The letter-writing scene, as it’s known among
Austenites, was, for me, actual edge-of-my-seat reading. There’s the letter itself, obviously – a
positively gorgeous moment in literature – but I also adore Anne’s discussion
with Capt. Harville that happens in the same chapter, her defense against the
alleged fickleness of women. “All the
privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one: you need not covet it),” she tells him, “is
that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone!” If you’ve ever wondered what a human heart
looks like, read Anne’s words in that chapter, followed by Wentworth’s.
No comments:
Post a Comment