January 23, 2005

There must be a majillion British novels we could have read for Brit Lit 2, novels involving knights killing each other, novels involving boys stranded on an island killing each other, novels involving Africans killing each other, novels involving anthropomorphic rabbits and church mice killing each other, I'm not particular. But no. We had to read Pride and Prejudice, a novel whose original title, according to several eminent biographers of Jane Austen, was A Novel In Which Practically Nobody Kills Anyone. It is terribly disappointing.

Girls everywhere assured me that I would love the novel, forgetting that the last novel of any literary merit that I actually enjoyed was Orwell's 1984. This is not, to be fair, a novel for those blessed with a Y chromosome. There are hardly any dinosaurs, for example. Or long-haired people belonging to imaginary races with names like "And'althar the Truculent." Or people killing folks. It's all terribly dull and---

*GASP*

I think I have discovered, to my infinite dismay, that I can not get that terribly over-precise and lengthy style of conversation, so thoroughly pervasive in Austen's work, out of my head. "Terribly dull" indeed. The whole thing is ridiculous. The story has no drive or real conflict or any sense of urgency (that's medical speak for "the need to pee"). It just plods along, conversation after conversation about villages or whether anybody around can sing or who's getting married to whom. You almost think that, if the spectre of a plot were to raise its head, it would be bored to death immediately by a character referred to only by his or her last name with a lengthy monologue on "the present state of affairs concerning &c, &c," and when the plot had breathed its last, struggling gasp, the blathering nothingness would continue apace.

My suitemate, whom we shall refer to here for the sake of anonymity as "Nathanael Steven Melson, Cone 114-B," is not surprised. According to him, novels in the 19th century (referred to by some scholars as "The Boring Century") are about nothing because all of life was about nothing. In fact, if anyone's life hinted at being about something, he was scorned and looked down upon as "one of those people." So I have thought, what would it be like if life at Harding University today was like it was then, as represented by Jane Austen's book?

So here you have the answer, gentle readers, Gall and Gullibility.

VOLUME MCLVII
CHAPTER XVIIVIVIIIXII

The wicked cold of the long winter months had at last begun to wane a bit, and at length the suitemates at Searcy Hall found that they could venture out of doors without fear of frostbite or exposure. The many days spent huddled about the DVD player had left them all in a frightful state of anxiety; not in the least was Miss Holbern affected, who fancied herself more injured by her confinement than the others, and being of the sort to form into words whatever thoughts happened into her mind, spoke often of her ordeals. It may also be suggested that, after such confinement, they all had begun to grow desirous of fresh company, particularly after nothing to converse on excepting the dullness of chapel, the injustice of the university's rule on this or that, and, of course, the weather. Miss Ryan's judicious attempts to liven the place with talk of theology and philosophy met with sharp reproval from her compatriots.

"That, my good Miss Ryan," said Miss Holbern, "is to speak of something when the only civil thing to do is to speak of nothing. I will not hear of it. If we can not enumerate the men we most wish to marry, let us speak of celebrities and fashions."

It happened, however, that the threesome were given a respite when the desk worker sent up word that a Mr. Spears had come to call, and along with him a friend. Entreaties to description by Miss Holbern found out quickly that the friend was tall and thin, with a peculiar frivolity of manner that struck her as somewhere between endearing and off-putting.

"It is Mr. DeSisso, the Bible major, I am certain of it," Miss Holbern pronounced with a satisfied air, and her suitemates all nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I dare say, you have put your finger on it," said Miss Ryan, laughing, and ordered the desk worker bid the gallant young men enter, and the lot of them repaired to the lobby in great eagerness at the prospect of their renewed acquaintance.

They found Mr. Spears as quick witted a conversationalist as ever, and not any the less animated for the cold winter. Mr. DeSisso received them somewhat more coolly than they had expected, but with all the requisite civilities, exchanging words on the caprice of the Arkansas weather, and the hope that, if the eccentric Professor Fortner were to again launch into a rambling and vigorous exegesis, its subject ought to be something not heard twenty times in the last week. As for Mr. Spears, it was not known by any of them whether, over the time of their separation, he had perhaps acquired a new feeling towards one of the suitemates of Searcy Hall, and although it was openly acknowledged as unlikely by all, not a one could help but secretly harbor wishes that it were not so, and all schemed to catch his eye before the visit (or this sentence) was to end.

"Oh, Mr. Spears, do tell us about your adventures at the estate in Bald Knob," said Miss Holbern. "It has been so long since I have heard any news of the place, I should wonder whether it has not vanished from the face of the earth!"

"What news is there to tell?" said Mr. Spears, only briefly meeting her eyes. "My family is well, and though the final levels of Mario Sunshine remain uncompleted, it is with confidence that I say my days at home were well spent. Since then I have exchanged Instant Messages but briefly with my acquaintances there."

Miss Holbern observed this with no small amount of perplexity. His eyes wandered equally between the three of them, with no predilection for any one, certainly not for her, and certainly not for any other pronoun which might be italicized for no apparent reason. She resolved, however, not to be discouraged so easily, and continued. "Well, I have spent a wonderful holiday in Austin, is that not right, Brittany?"

To this Miss Sanders nodded assent, but before she could open her mouth to add to the conversation, she found herself outpaced almost immediately by Miss Holbern's breathless interjection.

"La! and had you been there, Mr. Spears! All the time we could only say, how wonderfully warm a place Texas is in the winter but yet how dull with only the same company calling day in and day out, is that not right, Brittany?"

Again Brittany found herself made superfluous.

"And o! how we cooked, Mr. Spears, and think! With no one to feed but ourselves!" She laughed. "I've such a wonderful new recipe to try out on you, &c, &c"

Miss Ryan, sensing immediately that poor Mr. Spears was at grave risk of being reduced to rudeness by this onslaught, wisely interjected, "Shall we take a turn about the front lawn? The weather is at last warm enough to."

Miss Holbern eyed her roommate fiercely but did not protest, as the company stood and began their walk across the parking lot. It happened that, as they walked, they fell into two separate parties, Mr. Spears in the lead, discoursing on the peculiarities in the Episcopalian custom of Lent with animated gesticulations and the occasional French phrase, with Miss Holbern eagerly attending his every word, and Miss Sanders opposite, listening with equal intent. As it would have been terribly awkward to walk in parties any greater than three, it fell to the unfortunate Miss Ryan to keep the heretofore silent Mr. DeSisso company in the rear, and after several silent moments passed between them, gamely began a conversation with, "And how are things with you?"

Mr. DeSisso, known to be yearning in particular for a chance at marriage with anyone he could manage (as his livelihood was to depend on his having married), whether plain or fair, was enlivened by the opportunity to exercise his training and, in response, launched into a lengthy sermon that I shall reproduce for you here because, let's face it, I have nothing better to do:

"Ah, tolerably well, I expect, but as always, you are to remember that it is not meet to dwell so forcefully on our present condition lest we lose sight of future matters, which is where our Christian minds must take us, and as such 'twould be more appropriate, I should think, had you asked 'How are things to be with you?' and I might have had more ease in satisfying your question with any appropriate length or number of semicolons; do not forget, madam, that we Bible majors are a studied sort, and that it is not wise to tempt us to pride with such displays of theological ineptitude (you must pardon my rudeness, I intend only to speak plainly and thus honor the proscriptions of the faith) and ."

When Mr. DeSisso paused momentarily to draw a breath, he observed that, in the course of his sermon the entire party had become engaged without his noticing.

Before he could regain his composure, however, And'althar the Truculent suddenly rode onto the Front Lawn atop his ferocious velociraptor, unsheathed the Mighty Elvish Whirlblade of Mythril and slew them all right then and there.

FINIS.