Jane Austen proves "Life is depressing"
by Liv | Published on August 31st, 2009, 8:33 am | Arts
So last night we watched Becoming Jane which is the "real-life" dramatic incarnation of Pride and Prejudice. It's based on the not-so-happy-ending of Jane Austen's life which her fictional novel was based on. It's a good watch, but Jesus Christ it was depressing.
Jane Austen: My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.
It really made me think of my "Happy Ending" piece from a few weeks ago. Here's one of the romantic's most cherished love stories and it's written by someone who only could never get her happy ending. This idea is explored in detail in the movie, but it makes you want to slit your wrists. I mean; I love twisted, dark, dramatic endings... but the idea that this life, our reality can only be made into a happy ending is by "imagining" it, seems like a cruel joke upon humanity.
Tom Lefroy: I have no money, no property, I am entirely dependent upon that bizarre old lunatic, my uncle. I cannot yet offer marriage, but you must know what I feel. Jane, I'm yours. God, I'm yours. I'm yours, heart and soul. Much good that is.
I'm still young enough to not know what the future may hold, but old enough to be fearful that I myself may become forever doomed to suffer life "unimagined". I identified with Jane in many ways. While my happiness in love has been fulfilled, I still find myself suffering similar family dilemmas of our own "pride and prejudices", especially with family. Similarly I've in the recent month written a piece of fiction which similarly mimics my life, but just as Austen, found myself coming to the conclusion life is a dark and perverted place which can only serve as a beginning and a middle but not it's end.
Jane Austen: It's something I began in London. It is the tale of a young woman. Two young women. Better than their circumstances.
Cassandra Austen: So many are.
I may never rise to Jane Austen's fame, but knowing that it's a common experience for humans to imagine a life better than the one they truly experience seems like a genetic hoax, some evolutionary joke, a self-serving drug to keep our existence upon the earth more pleasurable in light of the truth. The truth? There is no dream realized, no picket fence, no white knights, no fairy tale endings. Love is a mere illusion to cover-up a biological need, money is more powerful than happiness, and in the end we're all going to die with regrets.
See, I told you it was bloody depressing.
Rev Austen: To sacrifice her happiness? Jane should have not the man who offers the best price, but the man she wants.
The only consulation I have, is I could be wrong.