Seriously, in general I loves me some Jane Austen. I see the manners of the age, the courtliness, the gentlemen, etc., and think that maybe I should have been born back then, and in that place. Then of course I happen to remember things like lack of good medical care, lack of comforts, no computers or video games, the whole "women aren't equal to men" thing, and, most importantly, corsets ALL THE TIME, and think mmmm, I'll just stick with the books, kthxbye.
But anyhow, I still have to wonder how someone who wrote the personalities of Emma and of Lizzie Bennet, of the Dashwoods and of Anne Elliot, could also gleefully create such an insipid, prudish little mouse as Fanny Price for a main character. I mean, really!
On the other hand... I tried to make myself go read Northanger Abbey for the second time, to see if it improved with better acquaintance. And I got about two chapters in, and figured "bugger this for a game of soldiers, I have better things to do." I decided to go ahead and re-read Mansfield Park instead, and by comparison and am actively happy with my choice.
I guess it's weird that in general I think negatively of Mansfield Park and yet would want to go re-read it occasionally, but... I don't know. I guess it has its good points, I mean, it IS Austen with a lot of the same quirky but subtle humor and the setting and all... it's just marred by a really wretched protagonist. And she doesn't even have the decency to be someone you can really actively dislike for any good reason. She's just... boring and prudish and timid and ANNOYING.
I also had a weird bit of dream that I remembered from last night, which I thought I might as well share since I should probably write more in my journal anyhow. For some reason I was being hired by someone, to do... well, I don't know what (and I didn't know yet in the dream either, we hadn't gotten to that before I woke up). But the thing is, I would be working through this woman for Harry Potter and friends. Who, like, were real, and unbeknownst to the rest of the world, they and the whole magical world did exist apparently, but the books about them were just taken as fiction by the Muggles or something.
The thing that I remember about this though is that the woman decided that she'd obviously have to prove to me that magic was real, so to do so, she cast a spell (well, I don't think she cast it herself, I think it was like one that someone cast for her that she could trigger at will), and asked me which language I'd like to be able to understand. I said Romanian, and she triggered the spell, and then I went and listened to Dragostea Din Tei (the numa numa song), and understood it as if it were my native language. So then I was convinced.
Sometimes I wonder what the hell my brain gets up to behind my back. o_O