How do
you like that – this is the third of seven major Jane Austen romances I’ve
reviewed, and I’ve yet to get around to Lizzie and Darcy. That just speaks to how many fantastic
relationships she cultivated in her works, and Emma/Knightley is one I’ve
always appreciated. Not as fun as
Catherine/Tilney or as searing as Anne/Wentworth, perhaps, but of all of
Austen’s pairings, these may be the two who do one another the most good.
I
really like how often Austen’s romances show the characters as friends before
they’re lovers. Emma and Knightley are a
particularly great example – their families have been close since before Emma
was born, and Knightley has always been a fixture in her life as a friend and
neighbor. There’s attraction, of course
– buried so deep that neither is aware of it for most of the book – but more
than that, there’s a sense of companionship, of familiarity. These are two people who can speak the
absolute truth with one another.
Not
that Emma is always crazy about that.
She spends a good portion of the story as a doted-upon, well-meaning but
misguided young woman, and there aren’t many who can recognize her faults like
Knightley. She resents his chiding on
the grounds that he doesn’t pay enough attention to important things like
position and perception, but she values his opinion more than she can say: Knightley’s words can get under her skin like
no one else’s, can prick at her conscious and make her realize how shallow or
foolish or insensitive she’s been. For
Knightley’s part, Emma challenges him, and it’s more than just her stubbornness
or pride propelling her. More than once,
she opens his eyes to something he’d
dismissed or failed to recognize, and he’s a better person for it.
This
facet of their relationship is good for them both, but especially for
Emma. She’s spent much of her life being
the little lady of the house, and she’s both used to flattery and unused to
being denied. Essentially, she’s been
raised to think the sun rises and sets by her flashes of brilliance, and though
she’s a bright woman well positioned to do good in her community, this
indulgence threatens to spoil her. With
Knightley there to remind her she’s as fallible as anyone, she can mature and
learn to be her best self.
It’s a
little thing, but I also love the way Knightly demonstrates so much care toward
Emma’s father, a fussbudget hypochondriac whom she clearly adores. Unlike many in town, who desire Mr. Woodhouse’s
society but fail to consider his delicacies or try to accommodate him,
Knightley seeks to put him at ease in potentially stressful situations. He regularly visits, knowing Mr. Woodhouse
enjoys company but rarely ventures out, and when an excursion is held at
Knightley’s estate, he prepares a selection of knickknacks and curiosities to
occupy Mr. Woodhouse while the others are out, all from the comfort of
Knightley’s finest chair. That scene, to
me, tells so much about Knightley, and it’s obvious that Emma could never be
with a man who doesn’t regard her father like she does. It’s funny; maybe it’s just my aceness
talking, but stuff like that makes me root for a relationship much faster than heat
or chemistry. They can making longing
eyes at one another as long as they want, but if they connect on a personal
level and cherish the same loved ones, values, or even hobbies? I am all
over that.
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