Rereading "Pride and Prejudice" is like visiting with an old, dear friend you've lost track of along the way. That simile will likely not exist in another 30 years, what with Facebook and all, but for now, it holds. I remembered the story line, because of the movies, quite honestly. In 2005, Keira Knightley did a very credible job, and 1995's mini-series with Colin Firth was lovely.
To misquote Shakespeare - the book's the thing. Elizabeth Bennet is a lovable, recognizable character. Her family is as embarrassing as the cast of Jersey Shore, 19th century style. Mr. Darcy, proud, strong, silent and handsome, is all that a girl could wish for. Given the extent of Elizabeth's difficulty communicating with him (and vice versa), I am forced to wonder how happy their marriage would have been. They could likely go years without speaking to one another, over perceived slights in how dinner was enjoyed, I imagine.
This book is a lovely romp through the past, but it makes me feel pleased to be a modern sort of person. Society, as it was in those days, was a much too formal and fussy thing. Perhaps I have outgrown simple romances.
The book is a classic, in the canon of English literature, but it did not resonate any differently with me rereading it as a grown woman. The book, which made my teenaged heart swoon, did not tug on any heartstrings this time. I feel a little saddened by this. Perhaps in another decade or two I will try again.
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