I am guilty of overly romanticizing love. Which is ironic because I'm completely incapable of being romantic. I have a small problem with the giggles. Whenever things get romantic, giggle fits ensue.
But over the last couple of days I've been diving into my favorite movies, one of them being BBC's new(er) version of Elizabeth Gaskell's North & South. I'm a Jane Austen girl & have only 2 novels yet to finish. I'm half way through Mansfield Park & after that it's onto Northanger Abbey, but once they are done I will dive into Gaskell's work, which is written in the same romantic manner as Austen, but takes place a few decades later.
North & South is a tale about the class difference and how it effects the pride and prejudices of those involved. Yeah, I would hate to presume but she may have read Austen.
Anyway the whole point of this is that you should watch it and for me to write about how amazing it is. The way that Mr. Thornton looks at Margaret Hale. I know it's just actors doing their jobs, but it's brilliant. Everyone should be looked at like that, at least once in their life. Or the moments when they're hands touch, long before romantic feelings have been professed, and both unknowingly linger that extra second, because it is all they will have of one another for a very long time.
I don't know. I guess I've romanticized love in such a way and my past relationships, one horrible, one amazing have ended because of it. Because I have a cookie cutter idea of how Jane Austen would have plotted my love story. And I love to escape into it, I love to watch Darcy seek out Lizzy's attention only to awkwardly (rudely) profess his love to a ridiculous girl who doesn't yet know what it is she is feeling.
I love Anne Elliott, who made the mistake of listening to poor advice in her youth and now suffers in watching Captain Wentworth court other women. I connect with her, constantly striving to do what is best and right for her family and those around her, while neglecting her own happiness. But, she get's her happy ending, when Wentworth realizes his pride is worth nothing in comparison with his love for Anne. His letter is one of the most beautifully written professions of love:
I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W.
I am not ignorant of the fact that these words were written by a woman, a woman who was much like me, getting older & perpetually single. Yearning to hear, just once (more), that you are the reason someone thinks and plans. Hopeful to know that you sink your voice but they can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others.
I'm having a guilty pleasures type of day. Sue me.
I'm guilty of overly romanticizing love. Which is why I will probably die alone, clutching my Jane Austen novels to my chest. Maybe my dogs will gnaw off my face.
But over the last couple of days I've been diving into my favorite movies, one of them being BBC's new(er) version of Elizabeth Gaskell's North & South. I'm a Jane Austen girl & have only 2 novels yet to finish. I'm half way through Mansfield Park & after that it's onto Northanger Abbey, but once they are done I will dive into Gaskell's work, which is written in the same romantic manner as Austen, but takes place a few decades later.
North & South is a tale about the class difference and how it effects the pride and prejudices of those involved. Yeah, I would hate to presume but she may have read Austen.
Anyway the whole point of this is that you should watch it and for me to write about how amazing it is. The way that Mr. Thornton looks at Margaret Hale. I know it's just actors doing their jobs, but it's brilliant. Everyone should be looked at like that, at least once in their life. Or the moments when they're hands touch, long before romantic feelings have been professed, and both unknowingly linger that extra second, because it is all they will have of one another for a very long time.
I don't know. I guess I've romanticized love in such a way and my past relationships, one horrible, one amazing have ended because of it. Because I have a cookie cutter idea of how Jane Austen would have plotted my love story. And I love to escape into it, I love to watch Darcy seek out Lizzy's attention only to awkwardly (rudely) profess his love to a ridiculous girl who doesn't yet know what it is she is feeling.
I love Anne Elliott, who made the mistake of listening to poor advice in her youth and now suffers in watching Captain Wentworth court other women. I connect with her, constantly striving to do what is best and right for her family and those around her, while neglecting her own happiness. But, she get's her happy ending, when Wentworth realizes his pride is worth nothing in comparison with his love for Anne. His letter is one of the most beautifully written professions of love:
I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W.
I am not ignorant of the fact that these words were written by a woman, a woman who was much like me, getting older & perpetually single. Yearning to hear, just once (more), that you are the reason someone thinks and plans. Hopeful to know that you sink your voice but they can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others.
I'm having a guilty pleasures type of day. Sue me.
I'm guilty of overly romanticizing love. Which is why I will probably die alone, clutching my Jane Austen novels to my chest. Maybe my dogs will gnaw off my face.
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