As you may or may not know, fine reader, is that I’ve recently enrolled in Graduate School (as generic as that sounds) and am on the fast-track to earning my Master’s Degree in English Education. Some of the courses I’ve enrolled in this semester are literature based (as I am a big fan of those pesky bricks of paper containing words and story). One of the first novels I have to read for my Romanticism course is Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. I’ve never read Austen before. Reading this novel now, I can understand why.
Austen didn’t write for the people. She wrote for the middle-to-upper class (more upper than middle) and her stories take place in said worlds. I don’t care about rich people. Especially rich white girls whining about the possibilities of marriage.
“But dude, the girls in this story aren’t rich. They really don’t have that much.”
Okay, you read a different book. In the book I read, the so-called girls who don’t have much have servants. Yes, multiple servants. Ask any poor person you know if they have servants, and the answer will no doubt be no.
While I was reading this wretched filth, my mind started to only care about one thing: who should die first? So I started keeping a list of all the characters in Sense and Sensibility I wanted to kill:
Please not Willoughby! (9/10)
I hated each and all of them and just wanted them to die. Over and over again; horrible deaths of doom. We have to read Jane Eyre next. What I know about it makes it sound promising, but I am still a little concerned. Hopefully Bronte writes in a more interesting fashion than Jane Austen.