Dear Jane Austen,
It is a truth universally acknowledged that you were a remarkable woman.
You opened up the vistas of literature, impossibly expansive as they are, right before my eyes. I can't tell you how often I have fallen in love with Mr. Darcy, or how many times I have visited Pemberley while walking alongside Eliza Bennett, seeing what she sees, feeling what she feels.
You detested that anyone should determine who you ought to be and how to live your life. You would deplore how others think of you now - as this demure woman who hid her writing should anyone have walked into the room (which, by the way, is a myth). Emily Auerbach had it more correct; you were likely more sarcastic (as evidenced by the way you lampoon your neighbors in your letters to your sister), less demure (which is why your sister Cassandra burned over half of your letters when you started getting famous...couldn't have anyone finding out how "unladylike" you really were!), and more your own person than anybody here in "mainstream" today thinks you were.
You were my first real heroine. Thank you for being you, undeniably and irrevocably.
I hope the rumors are true that you found love. I know you rejected suitors, even after accepting them, because you would only marry for love, and you never married. Was Tom LeFroy the one? Did you ever love?
I miss you dearly. I am missing the expansive vistas of literature. Rhetoric can be as stolid as these brick buildings which are always crowding my view. We should meet again soon.
Much love,
~Priya
It is a truth universally acknowledged that you were a remarkable woman.
You opened up the vistas of literature, impossibly expansive as they are, right before my eyes. I can't tell you how often I have fallen in love with Mr. Darcy, or how many times I have visited Pemberley while walking alongside Eliza Bennett, seeing what she sees, feeling what she feels.
You detested that anyone should determine who you ought to be and how to live your life. You would deplore how others think of you now - as this demure woman who hid her writing should anyone have walked into the room (which, by the way, is a myth). Emily Auerbach had it more correct; you were likely more sarcastic (as evidenced by the way you lampoon your neighbors in your letters to your sister), less demure (which is why your sister Cassandra burned over half of your letters when you started getting famous...couldn't have anyone finding out how "unladylike" you really were!), and more your own person than anybody here in "mainstream" today thinks you were.
You were my first real heroine. Thank you for being you, undeniably and irrevocably.
I hope the rumors are true that you found love. I know you rejected suitors, even after accepting them, because you would only marry for love, and you never married. Was Tom LeFroy the one? Did you ever love?
I miss you dearly. I am missing the expansive vistas of literature. Rhetoric can be as stolid as these brick buildings which are always crowding my view. We should meet again soon.
Much love,
~Priya
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