Other Authors' Books in Austen--Regarding Mrs. Clay's Purchase in Persuadable: Chapter 11

In the original text of Persuasion, Penelope Clay sends Mr. Elliot on an errand: "Mr Elliot (always obliging) [was] just setting off for Union Street on a commission of Mrs Clay's."

What was that commission? I attempt to answer that question in Persuadable.

I decided to make the commission a book purchase (there were several bookstalls in Bath at the time, including on Union Street). My next decision was, What book?

The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries were awash in books--not as many as now-a-days, of course, but still an appreciable amount. And ever since Richardson's Pamela, books by, about, and for women had become extremely popular. In selecting what type of book would interest Penelope Clay, I was faced with an autobiography by the wife of an American diplomat, multiple books about women in distress, not to mention Austen's Horrid Novels.

Not the cover from Austen's 

day, of course, but effectively

captures the essence of the book.

In Northanger Abbey, Austen lists a number of Horrid Novels--Gothic suspense novels that were immensely popular during Austen's youth. These novels--which can still be read today--are full of dead bodies, swooning women, white draperies, and, in the case of The Monk (mentioned separately), sulky, lust-filled priests. They may not be explicit in the twenty-first century sense of the word but they are loaded with innuendo. In fact, many books of this era were packed with raunchy scenarios.

Consequently, I always chuckle when I hear claims that once-upon-a-time, life was so good and pure--you know, back in Jane Austen's day when people had tea on the lawn and didn't kiss until they were married.

The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were as full of porn, erotic novels, sexual scandals, and salacious news about such, as our time. The counterargument is, But nowadays, all that stuff is so much more prevalent, to which I must point out that one constant of human nature is the ability to spread gossip quicker than a person can say, "Oooh, really? Tell me more!"

Consider that one of the most infamous cases of the mid-eighteenth century was Elizabeth Canning. Elizabeth Canning disappeared from home for several days. When she reappeared, she claimed she had been kidnapped and held by a perverse woman who wanted to turn her into a prostitute. Her story was suspect (though not necessarily false), but Canning's supporters--Canningites (no kidding)--treated the case less as a matter for the court and more as a cause. They behaved rather like supporters of so-called recovered memory victims. And the case took on the same high emotional fervor as cases about Satanism in daycares.

In other words, everybody went nuts.

Elizabeth Canning on trial

for perjury.

And people took sides. Fielding, who was so dismissive of Richardson's Pamela, thought Canning's story had merit, but his reputation was somewhat hurt by the case since Canning was eventually charged with perjury.

Josephine Tey used the Canning affair to write her book The Franchise Affair. The book is ardently anti-Canning, indicating that even so many years later, the story has the power to invite partisanship.

Or perhaps, it simply indicates that the human desire for SCANDAL, WACKY HAPPENINGS, SEX! will never change.

Will Elliot and Penelope Clay exchange their own thoughts about scandal and wacky happenings when he brings Penelope her book:

Will Elliot . . . dropped by Camden Place with [Penelope's] book. She received him in the sitting room; no one else was home, and the servants were typically unavailable. As soon as he entered, Will lounged into a chair and tossed over The Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bidulph.

“You have a taste for troubled heroines.”

“She reminds readers that marriage is a troubled state.”

“Isn’t she terribly selfless and forbearing? Are non-fictional women ever that self-effacing?”

“Oh, yes,” Penelope said and told him what [she had learned] about Anne and Captain Wentworth['s history].

“I thought there was a history there,” he said. “Pity for Miss Anne she didn’t accept. The man is worth thousands. But then, of course, she would feel a duty to her family, her name, etcetera.”

“In this case, it was more a duty to her friend. Lady Russell was the deciding factor.”

“She probably stands in loco parentis to Anne. Young girls are supposed to avoid calamity by listening to their mothers.”

Penelope hadn’t considered that aspect of the relationship: she so rarely felt like a mother herself—or like her mother’s child. She nodded dubiously, trying to comprehend a state of affairs where she would sacrifice her own objectives at someone’s suggestion, no matter how well-meant that suggestion.

“Although I’m surprised Lady Russell objected,” Will said. “The man isn’t that far down the social ladder.”

“Lady Russell thinks Anne deserves a duke or a prince. Someone of tremendous worth anyway.”

“Like me?!” Will exclaimed in mock astonishment.

“You have the family name.”

“Of no remarkable history.” Will tipped back in his chair.

They sat in companionable contemplation of the unexceptional Elliot name.

“You are currently slated to inherit Kellynch Hall,” Penelope pointed out.

“And naturally Lady Russell would like to see her protégé ensconced there, emulating Lady Bountiful to the obsequious villagers.”

“Anne would probably do it very well.” Penelope gave him a curious sideways glance. “You don’t have a high opinion of this baronetcy that you claim to want.”

“One should never sneer at the prospect of obsequious villagers or the possibility of more money. Besides, I need a change in lifestyle.”

“Country-life would bore you.”

“Is that why you’re threatening to give Sir Walter an heir—to keep my life interesting?”

Penelope just smiled. Will had a far more optimistic opinion of Sir Walter’s prowess than she. Penelope had no desire to produce more children in any case. She would rather Sir Walter funded her living sons’ educations than try to create fantastical ones.

She could assure Will of her disinterest in a legacy. She could tell him that she only wanted to be the wife of a baronet, not the mother of one. But he would not believe her. He would point out that Sir Walter might insist on his conjugal rights and Penelope had proven she could produce male children.

He said, “I suppose I’ll have to pursue Miss Anne more vigorously.”

“I don’t think you could achieve her now.”

“Oh?” Will’s chair tipped forward, so his laughing eyes met hers. “Are you so sure of Captain Wentworth’s ascendancy?”

“He’s a lover from her youth.”

“A spring-time lover. By autumn, young plants have grown and died. Or turned to mulch. New beds must be made.”

Penelope shook her head. “She would have married already if she didn’t still love him. Anne is the marrying kind. She is competent and sympathetic and spends her time servicing her family’s needs.”

“Not like you.”

“No.”

Penelope’s parents would look after her sons no matter what happened to her. No one would look out for Penelope but Penelope.

Will was leaning forward now, eyeing her over clasped hands.

“I do need to consider my future,” he said. “I should pursue this paragon for myself.”

“You’ll have a chance at the concert tonight,” Penelope said and stood. “Thank you for delivering my book.”

Upstairs in her tiny room, she tried to forget Will’s speculative gaze. She needed to focus on Sir Walter. Will Elliot had proved an amusing distraction, but she had to stop eliciting his attention, provoking him to spurts of laughter, trying to impress him with her insights.

I’m as bad as Sir Walter, enamored by a charming man. Only Anne seemed to have guessed Will’s true nature and held herself aloof. Let him try to win her. Let him marry her. It won’t be love. Penelope didn’t think Will Elliot could genuinely love anyone. She was not such a fool to test the possibility.

Anne's Sister Elizabeth in Persuadable: Chapter 10

Elvi Hale as Anne of Cleves shrewdly politicking

with Keith Michell's Henry VIII to avoid

becoming one of his causalities.

Elizabeth of Persuasion and Persuadable is a surprisingly distinct character from both her sisters and her father. Although she and Sir Walter are often grouped together as a single entity, Sir Walter has a somewhat warmer personality.

The Elizabeth/Sir Walter pairing is understandable since Elizabeth is not only Sir Walter's favorite but would have acted as Sir Walter's hostess since her mother's death. This position would likely be far more attractive to her than marrying "down" in any way.

Which brings us to to Elizabeth's state of singleness. 

Statistics prior to 1850 are almost impossible to track down, even with today's Internet: suffice it to say that Elizabeth's singleness is not quite as unusual a state of affairs as costume dramas and Regency romances suggest.  Even in the 1950s--when every woman supposedly married her high school sweetheart--approximately 8% of women and 9% of men had never married at age 35. In a town of 10,000 people, that's 800 women, a substantial enough number.

Elizabeth's singleness still provokes comment--from Austen at least. According to Austen, Elizabeth could marry if she wished, not due to her pretty face (although she has one) but due to her rank and dowry.

Poets and writers throughout history have extolled the beautiful face, etc. etc. etc. but for most of history, marriage has almost always been decided on factors such as parental approval, familiarity, occupation, dowry, and--in the case of royalty--political necessity.

Hence, the odd little story of Anne of Cleves. Anne of Cleves arrived in England to be married to Henry VIII, only to be divorced from him about six months later. The story goes that Henry was put off since she wasn't as attractive as the portrait he'd commissioned. The Six Wives of Henry VIII (1970) does an excellent job intimating that Anne--who was perfectly at ease with herself--was more shocked by Henry than Henry by Anne (this interpretation is supported by the historical record). She was 25; he was almost 50; he was Henry VIII . . . she wasn't.

Henry was so offended by her obvious lack of interest, he divorced her claiming the privilege of so many men in history that "it was the woman's fault." (I highly recommend the Anne of Cleves episode for the careful and intelligent politicking that goes on behind the scenes: Anne manages to keep her head but Cromwell is doomed and knows it--he has finally backed the wrong marriage.)

1971 Elizabeth--I consider her the closest to the

original. 1995 Elizabeth is too bratty (Elizabeth IS

a lady). 2007 Elizabeth and Sir Walter are too

calculating. Elizabeth is clueless, not malicious.

Elizabeth is in a far more secure position than Anne of Cleves, the Bennet sisters, or, even, Charlotte who chooses security with a silly man rather than a lifetime of dependence on her family. Although Elizabeth is not in a position to marry "up" (to an earl or a duke), she certainly could marry respectably--if she wished.

However, Austen's text makes clear that what Elizabeth thinks will happen and what Elizabeth wants to happen and what Elizabeth actually tries to make happen have almost no connection to each other: out of all of Austen's characters, Elizabeth Elliot appears to experience the most cognitive dissonance about her life.

Austen herself made the difficult choice not to marry, and she knew exactly what she was doing when she made that choice. But Elizabeth appears to have no idea that simply deciding that someone should value you and want to marry you is not altogether enormously effective if you then treat that person with utter indifference.

In comparison, Sir Walter and Anne and Mary, the youngest sister, all demonstrate a similar single-mindedness about relationships; in completely different ways, they are all gratified when someone pays them attention/shows an interest in them. For all his snobbery, Sir Walter leaps into instant friendship with anyone who likes him or flatters his ego. Although Anne is far more discerning and objective, she is touched when people like the Musgroves go out of their way to include her. And Mary spends all her time just trying to get people to notice her.

But Elizabeth takes all and any interest simply as her due. This is not the same as Elizabeth being indifferent to public opinion/making her own way in life. Elizabeth's dissonance is that she feels entitled to attention without ever wondering why people she doesn't pay attention to ought to pay attention to her.

In Chapter 7, Penelope Clay considers Elizabeth's attitude towards Will Elliot:

“William Elliot isn’t as handsome as I’d like,” Elizabeth said complacently. “But he is respectable.”

She and Penelope sat in Elizabeth’s bedroom while Elizabeth tested different brooches against her skin.

“I suppose he will wish to live at Kellynch Hall though I must say I am finding Bath more and more to my taste.”

Mr. Elliot has absolutely no interest in marrying you, Penelope did not say.

Penelope guessed that William Elliot had reinitiated contact with his relations to ensure his inheritance. He’d been clever enough to worm back into their good graces. He might try to use that cleverness to prevent Penelope from marrying Sir Walter.

He’s not as clever as me.

Penelope moved to the window and grinned down into the street. She hadn’t been tested like this since her landlord tried to make love to her. She’d gotten his wife to take her part against him—after she walked away with a new pair of gloves, money to pay the coal bill, and her virtue intact.

Far below on the pavement, Mr. Elliot’s compact form neared the front stoop.

“Mr. Elliot is gracing Camden Place with another appearance,” Penelope said mildly.

Elizabeth put away her brooches, flicked dust off her sandals and tsked over how the servants dusted, all before descending to the drawing room. Following, Penelope shook her head. Elizabeth did not exhibit the characteristics of a woman anxious over a potential mate but rather those of a woman contemplating what piece of furniture to add to her household. 

Poor Mr. Elliot. 

In Chapter 10--which includes the well-known scenes in Molland's--Mr. Elliot returns to Elizabeth's side after asking Lady Dalrymple to transport the Elliot coterie back to Camden Place. He is aware that Penelope Clay is trying to undermine his pursuit of Anne (in retaliation for he undermining her pursuit of Sir Walter) and plans to use the carriage ride to even the score. What is notable, in both Persuadable and the original text, is Elizabeth's complete indifference to what a walk with Mr. Elliot means (emphasized below):

Lady Dalrymple was a much more rational person than Sir Walter’s fawning might lead one to believe. She had an infinite store of small-talk and limited interests, but she was not callous or indifferent to a minor predicament. Naturally, she could convey two ladies to Camden Place.

Will didn’t press for the inclusion of a third. His commission had become an opportunity.

He returned to Molland’s and sadly informed the ladies that there was only room for two since Miss Carteret accompanied her mother.

“I will walk a lady home with pleasure,” Will said.

Elizabeth looked unimpressed. “I have a message for Lady Dalrymple from my father,” she said.

Her expectation that Will would court her apparently didn’t extend to actually wanting to spend time with him.

Anne said, “I could use a walk.”

From her quick but level response, Will guessed that Anne was motivated less by the possibility of Will’s company and more by a desire to avoid Lady Dalrymple’s conversation. Whatever her motives, her agreement was a gain for him.

Until, “I’m sure you would prefer to join your sister, Miss Anne,” Penelope said kindly. “I can walk with Mr. Elliot. You will avoid getting soaked and endangering your health.”

“The rain is a trifle,” Anne said, looking somewhat surprised; she had likely expected Penelope to leap at a chance to ingratiate herself with Lady Dalrymple.

“But there are puddles,” Penelope said. “My boots are much thicker than yours, you know.”

“You have a little cold,” Elizabeth said to Penelope. “Anne should go with Mr. Elliot. She will be fine.”

Penelope turned to Will, lids drooping. “Perhaps Mr. Elliot should choose.”

He wanted to laugh. He also wanted to suggest that Penelope’s cold was hardly a threat, her boots were impressively thick, and offer to take her home. An entire walk exchanging observations with a clever woman who knew him was a rare pleasure.

But the object here was to win Anne’s company. He chose her.

Penelope’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. She said, her voice like velvet, “Before you and Miss Anne embark, Mr. Elliot, perhaps you would fetch a parcel for me from the bookstall on Union Street?”

He bowed quickly and headed for the door before he broke into convulsing guffaws.

I won that skirmish, but Penelope Clay still holds the field.

C is for Characters

Cabot, Meg: Cabot is probably best known for her teen books, such as Princess Diaries. She has also written adult romances. She's a skilled writer, (although some of her books get a little rambly), but I have to admit that she isn't one of my favorites. Unlike books by writers like Lisa Kleypas, Cabot's modern romances tend to be threaded through with political stigmas: the heroines almost always have liberal agendas while the bad guys (or unreformed heroes) vote Republican! Oh, no!!! It's so childish, it makes my head ache.

Camus: The Stranger. Naturally! It was probably good. I read it many, many years ago and still remember parts.

Card, Orson Scott: As with Garrison Keiller, I was a fan of Card's before he became really well-known. I read Ender's Game when I was a teen and then a host of Card's other books. I think many of his books, including Seventh Son are true classics. And I've enjoyed his non-fiction essays.

I don't read his books anymore, mostly because I'm more interested in other authors but also because Card seems to have bought into his own mystique. Like Lucas, he seems to have pounced on the mantle of guru and run with it. I'm not sure this is always good for writers (or directors); their art usually seems to suffer.

Carroll, Lewis: My father read me Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass when I was young. Also, for a church talent show, we performed one of Carroll's poems together; I think it was "Father William."  In the past couple decades, I have probably read more about Alice and Dodgson than Carroll's actual works. Check out "The Jabberwocky"!


Gorey was the perfect
illustrator for these books.

Cather, Willa: Recently, my bookclub read My Antonia. I was impressed. I've read Death Comes to the Archbishop several times, and I've always liked how Cather evokes the aura of the Southwest; I hadn't realized how good she was at auras in general. My Antonia effortlessly conveys the feel of the prairies.

Caudwell, Sarah: Sarah Caudwell's mysteries, with their gender-ambiguous and incredibly dry narrator, Professor Tamar, are utterly delightful. I don't like the last, Sibyl in the Grave, as well as the earlier novels (it's rather depressing), but I highly recommend them all!

Chase, Loretta: Loretta Chase is a romance writer with a quirky sense of humor. Her books are very clever and funny. She tends towards the action/adventure side of the genre; in fact, other than the erotica, her books are more in line with Heyer's romance books than many other current romance writers'.

Chekhov, Anton: I quite like Chekhov although I haven't read him in a while. He reminds me of Faulkner--really! Not his style but the high energy yet objective voice that runs his narratives.

Cherryh, C.J.: C.J. Cherryh is my favorite sci-fi author, no exception. She is fantastically talented; she has the rare ability to combine people-oriented stories with elaborately developed worlds. She does this by making the world matter to the individual. For example, in her Foreigner series (the series I'm working my way through now and the ONLY fiction series I've ever invested in beyond book 4), she explores highly complicated diplomatic, political, international, inter-space problems from the point of view of her main character, Bren with whom the reader is personally invested. She is truly an extraodinary writer (despite her rather awful website--though it may be kitchy on purpose).

Christie, Agatha: I can't say enough wonderful things about Agatha Christie, so I won't try. She is one of my labels if you want to read my individuals posts about her.


Clancy, Tom: I love the movie The Hunt for Red October, so I read the book. The book is well-written. But it's not my type of thing (see Clarke below).

Clarke, Arthur C.: Over a decade ago, I read one of Clarke's books. I remember that it engaged me, but he doesn't write the kind of sci-fi that interests me. I prefer people-sci-fi to things-moving-through-space sci-fi (see C.J. Cherryh above).

Clemens, Samuel: I will address Samuel Clemens under Mark Twain; it's the authorial name he chose, so that's how I'm going to talk about him.

Jeff Goldblum as Dr. Malcolm

Conrad, Joseph: Joseph Conrad is one of the few depressing great authors I read in high school that I liked, probably because I see his characters as heroic falling stars rather than depressed angsty whiners. I'll take Lord Jim any day of the week over Ethan Frome.

Crane, Stephen: I had to read his serious stuff. I read it. Eh. The humorous "The Bride Came to Yellow Sky," however, is a darn good piece (with a serious undertone).

Crichton, Michael: Not a favorite author of mine, but I did enjoy Jurassic Park. The math professor has a lot more to say in the book than in the movie and what he has to say is pretty interesting.

Cussler, Clive: Cussler was the author I attempted for "C"s in the first A-Z Reviews--which didn't go well.

Flattering the Uppercrust in Persuadable: Chapter 9

Another Gainsborough: Viscountess Tracy

Sir Walter's relations, the Dalrymples, appear in Chapter 9 of Persuadable sending the good baron into a tizzy.

As a viscountess, Lady Dalrymple is a step up the heirarchy from Sir Walter. Sir Walter's sycophantic desire to curry favor reflects the real--but dying--power of the peerage in England and also leads to several rows in the Elliot household.

Anne, frankly, finds the Dalrymples completely tedious. And although she's more or less right, her reaction to the Dalyrmples is not automatically kind or fair, and Austen does not defend Anne's remarks; she simply shows them to us.

Austen as narrator can be quite caustic. In Northanger Abbey, when describing Mrs. Allen, she dismantles the woman without remorse:

Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them. She had neither beauty, genius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentlewoman, a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a trifling turn of mind were all that could account for her being the choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen.

Nearly 14 years later, Austen is far less critical of the Mrs. Allens of the world. After all, one learns as one ages that pointless conversations about supposedly tedious subjects do far more to keep the social exchanges of everyday life oiled and functioning than PROFOUND, INSIGHTFUL, ANGST-CAUSING speeches.

Or, perhaps, as one gets older, one just has less energy for so much soul-searching.

In Persuasion, regarding the Dalrymples, Anne delivers the kind of opinion that Austen would have made when she was younger:

[F]or the Dalrymples (in Anne's opinion, most unfortunately) were cousins of the Elliots; and the agony was how to introduce themselves properly . . . Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Dalrymple and her daughter even been very agreeable, she would still have been ashamed of the agitation they created, but they were nothing. There was no superiority of manner, accomplishment, or understanding. Lady Dalrymple had acquired the name of "a charming woman," because she had a smile and a civil answer for everybody. Miss Carteret, with still less to say, was so plain and so awkward, that she would never have been tolerated in Camden Place but for her birth.

This is Anne's voice, not Austen's. Austen's castigation of Mrs. Allen in Northanger Abbey presents Mrs. Allen's personality as an absolute. But in Persuasion, Austen is far more willing to step back and let her characters judge others fairly or unfairly. As the above passage indicates, Anne hasn't fallen that far from her father's tree when it comes to casting judgment.

My perspective is that Anne is unnecessarily harsh, and Austen knows it. Consider what Austen actually shows us about the Dalrymples: they come to Bath; they receive Sir Walter despite a letter that even Mr. Elliot considers a bit over the top; they request the Elliots' company when Lady Dalrymple gets a cold; they agree to take the Elliot sisters home in their carriage; Lady Dalrymple praises Captain Wentworth's looks; they attend Elizabeth's card party.

With that in mind, Mr. Elliot's advice to Anne is entirely reasonable: Why not just get along? These people can't hurt you. They have the right background, and that sort of thing matters. Besides, how can you object to them and Mrs. Clay?

In other words, these are perfectly amiable people who are made to appear far worse by (1) Sir Walter's fawning; (2) Anne's own caustic remarks. Speaking of the concert, she tells Mrs. Smith, "But happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off." Ouch!

To me, Austen's treatment of Anne re: the Dalrymples reinforces her skill as a true craftswoman. She is NOT Anne, writing in journalistic fashion about her own feelings. She stands outside Anne. She likes her; she created her to express ideas and feelings that Austen herself considers important; but she sees Anne objectively. She allows Anne to echo criticisms and opinions that Austen once likely held herself but that age has mellowed.

The Dalrymples of the world no longer fret Austen, but she knows that they would continue to fret her character, Anne.

In this excerpt from Persuadable, the Elliots and Mrs. Clay have just visited the Dalrymples:

Mother and daughter were far less ogreish than Penelope had anticipated. Lady Dalrymple was a plump, placid creature. Miss Carteret was rather odd though not on purpose; she simply lacked basic social instincts. She laughed when others were serious, carried on monologues that others, including her own mother, ignored.

Penelope had no trouble impressing the pair; all she had to do was look deferential and listen to their vague comments on Bath, the weather, and—Miss Carteret’s preference—domesticated felines.

Sir Walter was so encouraged by the visit that he remained in a good humor for nearly three days, making only four or five disparaging remarks about Penelope’s complexion. He even escorted Penelope around the Pump Room himself one morning when Elizabeth was otherwise engaged. Penelope began to wonder if she should start dropping stronger hints about the comforts of the marriage state. In this mood, Sir Walter was easy to manage.

Anne was to blame for destroying Sir Walter’s bonhomie.

“I received a note from charming Lady Dalrymple,” Sir Walter exclaimed one morning. “She is feeling poorly. We must call on Laura Place and raise her spirits.”

But Anne didn’t want to join the Dalrymple Entertainment Committee. “I have already made plans to visit my friend, Mrs. Smith," she explained.

Sir Walter sulked, stamping about the drawing room, and waving his arms. “Who was Mrs. Smith’s husband? One of five thousand Mr. Smiths? What is her attraction? That she is old and sickly? She must be near forty.”

“Thirty-one,” Anne said patiently. “I cannot put off my engagement with her, sir.”

“Lady Russell surely doesn’t support this association,” Elizabeth said.

“She does. She thinks it is most proper that I maintain it.”

Sir Walter waved off Lady Russell’s thoughts on propriety. “People will know that Anne Elliot visits a mere Mrs. Smith, who has only thirty to forty pounds per annum.”

Penelope left the room. She stood in the hall, perfunctorily brushing down her dress. She knew that Sir Walter compartmentalized his attitudes. He would see no connection between Anne’s widowed friend of no name and no income with Mrs. Clay, his daughter’s companion who resided under his roof and within his good opinion. But Mrs. Clay saw it. If Anne Elliot had a crueler streak, she would have reminded him.

Penelope realized that she was trembling. Every day, her anger at this family became harder to fight, took longer to abate.

Once I am married, things will change. Once I am married, life will be so much better.

Titanic Movies Galore!

April 14, 1912, 11:40 p.m., the Titanic hit an iceberg.

April 15, 1912, 2:20 a.m., the Titanic sank.

Every decade since . . . someone produces a movie about the Titanic.

Actually, that's putting it mildly. Movies about the Titanic are like chick-flick movies: so many and yet . . . how can they ever really end differently?

Here are a few from okay to good to bad to horrendous:

James Cameron's Titanic

David Warner as Billy Zane's Go-To-Guy

This is the movie that got me interested in the Titanic. I knew the Titanic sank, but I knew nothing else until I watched the movie when it came out in the theaters.

And I was hooked!

I didn't care for the love story, especially since most of the time, I was rooting for Billy Zane and David Warner, but I was enthralled by the sinking: was it accurate? not accurate? what really happened?

Answer: the ship is nearly 100% accurate.

Everything else is about -10% accurate (my problem isn't with the inaccuracies per se; very few "historical" films are entirely accurate; my problem is with glaring and boring inaccuracies that are also stupid and vaguely dishonest--see below).

So much so that Twentieth Century Fox ended up apologizing to the Town of Dalbeattie for slandering Commander Murdoch's good name: he did NOT shoot any 3rd class passengers (the few 3rd class passengers who found their way to the upper decks were not kept off the lifeboats); he certainly did NOT shoot himself (no guns were fired at all, only flares). Like a good British officer, he went down with the ship.

Still, the movie got me hooked on Titanic, so I suppose it did its job.

National Geographic Video: Secrets of the Titanic

This documentary tells the story of Bob Ballard et al. finding the Titanic. It is interesting but not quite as much fun as some of Ballard's other ocean treks, such as his exploration of the Lusitania. He is just so darn reverent about the Titanic! I don't know if I'm a realist, a pragmatist or just cold-blooded, but I have trouble thinking of a disintegrating hunk of metal on the bottom of the ocean floor as anything more or less than a disintegrating hunk of metal. Very cool. But not endowed with any more properties or meaning than its material self. (If I were to show reverence to the drowned passengers, I'd much rather go to Halifax than down in a submersible--but then I get terribly seasick on the open ocean.)

A Night to Remember (based on the book, which is currently listed on my Examiner.com post "Iceberg Ahead! Read All About the Titanic")

This movie is quite good but rather impersonal. There's about fifteen minutes of intro and then the ship starts sinking. It is the most accurate movie out there and does a great job showcasing the brave, efficient, and reliable Commander Lightoller.

Unfortunately, the movie's impersonal accuracy makes it more like a documentary than a story, yet a documentary without the benefit of Ballard's discovery: the ship broke in two as it sank. Interestingly enough, there were passengers who thought the ship might have broken in two as it went down; however, the bulk of the survivors thought it went down in one piece, so that's what the movie shows. See this very cool CGI rendering to see how the Titanic did go down.

S.O.S. Titanic

This TV movie provides the pleasant surprise of Helen Mirren. David Warner shows up (again or, rather, first since this movie came out several years before Cameron's) as Lawrence Beesley, a passenger. In fact, the movie is mostly told from the passengers' points of view which is good because the crews' points of view contain far more inaccuracies.

Unfortunately, the stories don't hold together. Eventually, well, the ship sinks, so the movie ends.

One neat thing this TV movie does do is remember the 2nd class passengers--which is a first. Ha Ha.

Titanic with Barbara Stanwyck

Stanwyck plays an American woman who marries a pompous English man, then decides (18 years later) that her children are growing up to be prigs; she has to take them back to Michigan or Minnesota (someplace cold) to restore them to wholesome goodness. Her husband, played by the marvelously urbane Clifton Webb, follows her on board.

Eventually, the ship sinks and the husband proves that he is a pukka sahib when he goes down with the ship belting "Nearer My God to Thee" with all the other male passengers.

I recently re-watched this movie. The first half is actually pretty good; the characters are inaccurate (a bunch of American college students in first class?!) but engaging. And the information about the missing binoculars and the iceberg telegrams is reasonably correct. Clifton Webb has great dialog and delivery; Barbara Stanwyck gives a stunning performance, and the marvelous Thelma Ritter (from Rear Window) shows up.

However, the second half of the movie is completely spoiled by the most annoying air raid siren noise in the world. Imagine listening to nails on blackboards for nearly 30 minutes. It makes the movie almost unbearable. And it's pointless. There was no air raid noise on the boat. Since the movie attempted verisimilitude with the telegrams, why give up the pretense for an unnecessary sound that makes the movie almost unwatchable? It's very odd. 

Titanic starring George C. Scott and Tim Curry

This TV movie is completely awful. It is better written than the other TV movie on this list: the passenger stories have continuity and the scenery is well-done. The accurate bits are REALLY accurate, indicating that there may have been an "expert" on the set who insisted on inserting accurate information at various places.

Still, it's horrible. The passengers are thoroughly unpleasant from two ex-lovers who take the opportunity to commit adultery to a villain/rapist played with excellent but unnecessary sleaziness by Tim Curry. I kept hoping Billy Zane would show up and start shooting people.

Feel free to share other Titanic movies and/or movies where Titanic makes an appearance--even if only for a scene! 

Gainsborough and Hoare in Persuadable: Chapter 8

Gainsborough:
Possible Anne!

In Persuadable, Chapter 8, Mr. Elliot meets Anne Elliot (officially). He compares her to a lady in a Gainsborough portrait while he describes Penelope Clay "as pure William Hoare—those knowledgeable gleaming eyes."


Sargent

Both Gainsborough (1727-1788) and Hoare (1707-1792) were British portrait painters during the eighteenth century. Gainsborough had the more illustrious career and is slightly better known today by non-art majors for portraits like The Blue Boy. He painted many, many portraits of upper middle-class individuals and families.

He was rather like John Singer Sargent nearly a hundred years later except Gainsborough's portraits are very English and John Singer Sargent's portraits are very . . . not English.

Gainsborough promoted the ordinary, everyday life aspect of his gentry folk. Sargent did too, to an extent, but everything with Sargent is overlaid with this fantastical gloss. When I look at Gainsborough, I feel like I'm looking at Austen's neighbors. When I look at a Sargent, I am peering into a lush, ostentatious, slick world of massive privilege. Gainsborough's subjects are somewhat easier to relate to (especially since they are often accompanied by dogs). 

Portrait by Hoare

William Hoare also painted portraits of gentry. He actually settled in Bath as did Gainsborough (although Hoare was more closely linked to Bath's government). This portrait is likely the one Mr. Elliot has in mind regarding Penelope Clay.

As a homage to Austen's time period, Eugene skillfully and cleverly designed the cover for Persuadable using a Gainsborough portrait: Mr. and Mrs. William Hazlett. Now there's a couple that knows where they are going in life!

From Persuadable, Chapter 8:

[Will Elliot] entered Camden Place’s drawing room to discover an extra occupant: Cousin Anne had arrived that afternoon.

Will let his surprise show. He’d seen Anne Elliot in Lyme and admired her looks. He’d just never imagined that the woman he’d seen there could be his cousin. Her family spoke of Miss Anne so slightingly, he’d pictured an unimpressive, sparrow-like, featureless creature.

Anne Elliot was a truly beautiful woman with elegant bones, straight brows, and clear eyes. Elizabeth paled beside her.

She was also truly shy—none of Mrs. Clay’s coy pretense—and reserved in a way Elizabeth could never master. Such shyness was bred into the bones; Anne had the classic repose of a Gainsborough portrait.

Will recognized Mrs. Clay as pure William Hoare—those knowledgeable gleaming eyes.

Miss Anne saw Will’s surprise; since he wouldn’t gain anything by dissembling, he exclaimed, “But we saw each other at Lyme! We both stayed at the Three Cups Inn.”

“Yes,” she said and blushed faintly.

“Did you enjoy your time there? You were part of a large party—”

“Yes.” The blush increased, and Will rummaged through his memory for which male member of the party might have caused that blush. “I was with my sister Mary and her husband and her husband’s sisters.”

“The Musgroves. Of course!”

“Yes. And Captain Wentworth—” a quick glance towards her father—“whose sister and brother-in-law are staying at Kellynch Hall.”

“Admiral Croft is my tenant,” Sir Walter said sonorously.

“Plus some of the captain’s friends. We were a merry group.”

“And I spent my evenings alone! If only I had introduced myself! I am too careful when traveling. I learned as a youth not to be too curious or too forward, even with my own relations.” An apologetic glance at Sir Walter. “The follies of youth!”

Miss Anne looked doubtful at Will’s metaphorical breast-beating but said, “I will happily give you my opinion of the area.”

“Were you there long?”

“Our visit was ending when one of the Musgroves—Louisa Musgrove—had a bad fall.”

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said quickly, inserting herself into the conversation. “How is dear Louisa?”

“Much recovered.”

“Is she still at Lyme?” Will asked.

“She’ll return soon to the Musgrove’s home in Uppercross. She may be weak for several more months.”

“How dispiriting,” Sir Walter said in a tone that suggested Louisa’s condition (and momentary celebrity) was as inconvenient as it was depressing.

“Perhaps she should try the Bath waters,” Penelope Clay said, and Will shot her a look. Her tone was nearly acerbic, but Sir Walter only nodded sagely.

Turning back to Miss Anne, Will saw she had noticed her father’s acquiescence to Mrs. Clay’s participation. Miss Anne did not look pleased. No wonder the widow was so careful around this particular Elliot daughter.

He caught Penelope Clay in the hall as he prepared to leave. “Now that Elizabeth has her sister’s companionship, I suppose you’ll be leaving the family and returning home.”

“I will naturally suggest it,” she said demurely, and Will had to chuckle. Sir Walter and Elizabeth would beg her to stay. Miss Anne was clearly not deprecating enough to fulfill Elizabeth and Sir Walter’s needs. Everyone preferred a sympathetic and friendly dog on the hearth to an aloof and disinterested cat.

Until they discovered the dog was actually a hungry wolf.

Hollywood's Obsession with Psychics

Anthony Andrews as the devious "psychic" in Columbo.

I love mystery shows. Unfortunately, this means that I have had to endure a number of "detective meets psychic" episodes. Nearly every mystery show has one or more of these episodes (I used the word "nearly" to cover myself, but really they all do).

Even Numb3rs--Numb3rs!--caved and had a couple. 

It is very annoying, Red John annoying; inevitably, the episode will be about how the tough detective/math instructor/profiler should accept that there is something else out there (cue religious or scary music).

My problem is not with the belief in a supernatural/outside-our-ken mover & shaker. I've seen a number of detective-meets-Catholic-priest episodes that have this same theme or lesson. Shoot, the entire show X-Files is based on this theme and it doesn't bother me.

The difference is this: usually, in a detective show (and X-Files) when the tough detective meets the priest/guru, the point is, "Okay, we solved the case, but maybe, we don't fully understand the workings of the human mind or of the universe, etc."

That's a very intelligent point whether one is talking religion or science: there may be stuff we don't know. In Numb3rs, this is almost always Larry's role--to remind Charles that his equations may not be able to capture the ineffable.

But in episodes where the tough detective meets the psychic, the point is (almost always) that the detective should be open-minded enough to let the psychic help.

Are you kidding me?

I am not debating the possibility of stuff like ESP. I am doubting the use of the equivalent of interpretive dance to guide an investigation.

Again and again and again, psychics in real life and on television/film inform us that psychics can't just produce information willy-nilly. They have to be in the mood: their visions come and go; they can't promise definite answers; they can only interpret what they see or feel.

I read a book awhile back in which the author whined that the military gave up on ESP research because those awful rigid bureaucrats didn't understand all this stuff about moods and the haphazard nature of visions and interpretation.

Whatever: if I were the military, I'd have dropped them too. I can just see some general standing on a field somewhere, missiles incoming, the enemy on the horizon, the H-Bomb minutes away from exploding, going, "Sorry, soldiers, we gotta give the psychic time to center himself."

As for interepretation, as the waitress says in the non-psychic CSI episode "Rashomama,"

"Weddings are Roscharch tests."

Likewise, psychic interpretations can be interpretated just about any way people want.

There are a few decent mystery episodes that deal with psychics:

• CSI's "Stalker"--the psychic is used to tell the story, not solve the case. Although he helps Nick in the end, he also complicates matters and even, possibly, pushed the victim to return home when she should have stayed in the hotel. He is a decent, well-meaning character. Confused and burdened by his "gift", he relates information not to change people's minds but because he feels compelled.
• Monk's "Monk and the Psychic"--the psychic is a fraud! She is also hilariously played by Linda Kash.
• Columbo's "Columbo Goes to the Guillotine"--the psychic is not only a fraud but a clever murderer played by the ever-clever-and-urbane Anthony Andrews.
• Psych naturally cause it's just fun:

Burton 'Gus' Guster:You named your fake detective agency "Psych"? Why not just call it "Hey, We're Fooling You and the Police Department, Hope We Don't Make a Mistake and Someone Dies Because of It"?
Shawn Spencer: First of all, Gus, that name is entirely too long. It would never fit on the window. And secondly, the best way to convince people you're not lying to them is to tell them you are.

That's just about it. The psychic episodes on Numb3rs--in which the psychic is played by the disturbing John Glover--are completely annoying and take the show out of reputable-if-occasionally-misapplied-logic territory to total silliness.

The psychic episodes on The Mentalist would have been far more interesting if they hadn't been used to undermine Jane's credibility.

The psychic episode on Criminal Minds was hilariously stupid (though it did star Cybill Shepherd), being of the "I sense water; the body must be near . . . a rain gutter!" variety.

And there's more--there have been psychics on Murder, She Wrote; Diagnosis Murder . . . you name a mystery show, I can (almost) guarantee that a psychic has shown up at some point.

I know Hollywood runs out of story ideas, but really people, give it a rest!

Vanity, Thy Name is Elliot--Persuadable: Chapter 7

1995 Sir Walter

Penelope Clay has managed to maneuver herself into the Elliot household. But she is finding the price rather high. Not only is she now exposed to Sir Walter's pompous vapidity on a daily basis, she is also exposed to  Elizabeth and Sir Walter's soul-numbing commentary on others' looks.

Much has been written about Elizabeth and Sir Walter's vanity, but these two Elliots are not simply vain; vanity by itself can be innocent, even endearing. Rather, Elizabeth and Sir Walter are the type of people who are constantly pointing out that so-and-so isn't as good looking as he or she used to be; and so-and-so's fading looks are an embarrassment to good society. Almost the first thing out of Sir Walter's mouth when he meets someone--like Colonel Wallis--is his opinion of that person's looks (or the looks of that person's spouse as when Sir Walter comments on Mrs. Wallis as "an excessively pretty woman" as if Mrs. Wallis's looks justify her husband's opinion of Mr. Elliot).

Penelope Clay not only has to tolerate this drivel, she has to endure it being applied to her.

Austen does not describe Penelope Clay's looks other than to tell us that Anne knows that her father wasn't attracted to Mrs. Clay on first meeting because she has "freckles, a projecting tooth, and a clumsy wrist."

These criticisms are not Anne's but Sir Walter's. In her own voice, Anne considers that Mrs. Clay is "young, and certainly altogether well-looking, and possesse[s], in an acute mind and assiduously pleasing manners, infinitely more dangerous attractions than any merely personal might have been."

In other words, Sir Walter has missed the forest for a tiny little bush.

But of course, he is exactly that type of man. Like many people who make comparisons based on physical appearance, he misses the zeitgeist and pinpoints the flaw (an overbite, baldness, etc.). An overbite, of course, can be quite attractive--hence my choice of Billie Piper and her magnificent mouth for Mrs. Clay.

One of the nicer attributes of Austen's Mr. Elliot is how rapidly he identifies Anne--who by Elizabeth and Sir Walter's calculations is faded, etc. etc. etc.--as a true beauty and how indifferent he is to arguments based on appearance. It is Mr. Elliot's notice of Anne in Lyme that forces Captain Wentworth to see her again (and to realize that he can't waste time pursuing her). In Bath, Mr. Elliot tries to outmanuever Penelope Clay through  arguments about class rather than arguments about appearance (that is, he fights fair, using the Elliots' weakness against them rather than tearing down Mrs. Clay directly).

Sir Walter (of course) criticizes Mr. Elliot for being "underhung"-- meaning Mr. Elliot has a somewhat pugnacious jaw--and for looking older than he did 10 years earlier! Mr. Elliot, on the other hand, while saying everything he should to soothe Sir Walter and Elizabeth's vanity, gravitates towards wit and intelligence and an ability to talk about interesting things.

From Persuadable, Chapter 7:

“William Elliot isn’t as handsome as I’d like,” Elizabeth said complacently. “But he is respectable.”

She and Penelope sat in Elizabeth’s bedroom while Elizabeth tested different brooches against her skin.

William Elliot was much less than respectable and much more than handsome. He had an abundance of fine straight hair that only just managed to look combed, light-colored eyes under slightly slanting brows, a straight nose, and an excessively sardonic mouth in a pugnacious jaw.

But Sir Walter and Elizabeth obviously only saw in him what they had decided to see, so Penelope didn’t correct Elizabeth’s muted praise. She would be condemned for impertinence (to the heir!) and then ignored.

[Mr. Elliot arrived, and they went downstairs.] Penelope and Elizabeth entered the drawing room. Mr. Elliot stood by the mantel with Sir Walter. He came forward, bowed and accepted Elizabeth’s elegantly extended hand. Penelope didn’t try to mimic her. She was not particularly graceful when it came to curtsies and such. She suspected that her discomfort with forms of deference bled through. Better to hover obsequiously and smile encouragement at Elizabeth.

“Mr. Elliot has been taking the Bath waters,” Sir Walter told them. “Look how it has refreshed his appearance.”

Mr. Elliot looked refreshed and slightly amused.

“The water has also benefited Mrs. Clay,” Sir Walter continued. “Along with Gowland’s Lotion, it has eliminated most of her freckles.”

A shock of sudden fury tensed Penelope’s shoulders. She scolded herself an instant later: Sir Walter always commented on her looks.

I ought to be used to it by now.

She was succumbing to the constant exposure. Back home, Penelope had prepared herself mentally for visits to Kellynch Hall. Here, petty comments about her skin, teeth, and posture were unending; she never knew when a casual conversation would be interrupted with a critical remark.

Penelope had never understood why people like Sir Walter felt it necessary to point out the obvious about others’ appearance. She knew how she looked. It wasn’t as if his comments surprised her. And it wasn’t as if his opinion mattered: Penelope had poured Gowland’s Lotion into the rain gutter the afternoon Sir Walter gave it to her.

Mr. Elliot was watching her. He knew she’d tensed. She took a deep breath and cocked her head. Smiling, she said, “The water has also eased Sir Walter’s aches and pains.”

Take that, old man.

Mr. Elliot’s eyes crinkled; there were many laugh lines at their corners. Penelope lowered her own gaze.

“It’s a bright, sunny day,” Mr. Elliot suddenly cried, “despite the chill. We should walk along the Royal Crescent. Ladies, fetch your wraps.”

Penelope took her time collecting her wrap and herself, but she still returned to the drawing room before Elizabeth. Mr. Elliot was alone, flicking through a magazine. Sir Walter had rushed off to check his appearance before venturing into public.

Mr. Elliot said, his voice full of mischief, “The walk will freshen your cheeks, Mrs. Clay.”

“It won’t shrink your jaw,” she said sweetly.

He laughed. “Is that Sir Walter’s main criticism of my appearance? The man is shallower than standing water.”

“Suppose I tell him you said so?”

“Suppose I tell him you are trying to maneuver him into marriage?”

He appreciates how well I know my place.”

“He doesn’t notice your place’s shifting nature. I’ll have to stay close if I want to bring your place to his attention.”

“The family will encourage as much closeness as you can bear.”

Mr. Elliot followed Penelope’s gaze towards the ceiling and Elizabeth’s location. He grimaced, then, “There’s the unmarried sister, Anne.”

“She dislikes sycophants.”

“Really?” He lifted a brow at Penelope over his shoulder, and she couldn’t help but respond with a moue. He grinned.

“Sir Walter will be surprised if you pursue Anne,” Penelope continued. “He considers her looks to be much faded.”

“Some things matter more than looks,” Mr. Elliot said, lowering his voice: outside the drawing room, Elizabeth and Sir Walter were descending the stairs. Mr. Elliot headed towards them. As he passed Penelope, his shoulder brushed hers; he bent his head—

"Personally, I wouldn’t mind licking your freckles,” he said softly.

Well. If he planned to battle her that way she’d need a greater store of aplomb.

British Character Actor: Selina Cadell

Selina Cadell is one of those actresses who pops up over and over again in BBC material from Poirot to Miss Marple to Jonathan Creek to you-name-it. She is probably best known, at least in the United States, for her performance as the neck-brace-wearing Mrs. Tishell in Doc Martin.

She is one of those actors that can do just about anything, although she usually does comedy, and do it well and unpretentiously and consistently. I adore actors and actresses like this. In truth, if I was an actor, I'd want this type of career--consistent, decent work rather than all the hoopla of stardom

Cadell does do comedy most often, and she does quiet sardonic humor better than most people. I encountered her first in Miss Marple's Pocket Full of Rye as Mary Dove. She has a great voice--very crisp--and in this Agatha Christie drama, she manages to effortlessly convey her utter contempt for her employees.

As Mrs. Tishell, she is unbelievably hilarious. Her performance is understated, almost off-the-cuff, making her comments even more hilarious. Like Martin Clunes, she has spot-on comedic timing.

Apparently, she recently appeared in a new Father Brown, which I am quite anxious to get my hands on. I am sure she will be in many, many shows to come! In the meantime, I do recommend her as Caroline Sheppard in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. The part calls for comedy and pathos, and she does both excellently. 

The Fall of Lyme in Persuadable: Chapter 6

Steep stairs on the Cobb at Lyme.

Persuadable naturally does not show the cruicial, life-altering event in Persuasion: Louisa's fall at Lyme.

In Persuasion, this event changes the entire momentum of the story. The 1995 film does a good job portraying this event. In some of the movies, it is far too quick and Wentworth's culpability is passed over. But the 1995 film demonstrates how Louisa's waywardness--that Wentworth has encouraged--leads to profoundly negative repercussions.

I think that too many script writers feel, secretly, that Louisa is right--that Louisa's impetuous nature is the way to go about things, that Anne must learn to be like Louisa, not the other way around. (The 2007 movie heavily implies this.)

But as the 1995 film illustrates, impulse (what Dorothy Sayers in Gaudy Night calls, "The Doctrine of Snatch") is not a terribly good approach to major life events. I have made impulsive decisions that turned out okay. I have also made impulsive decisions that haunted me for years (like when I bought my Saturn). Louisa impulsive leap in Lyme is not an anomaly; rather, it is symptomatic of her philosophy--that the babyish ME GET THIS NOW id-approach to life is the best way to address life's vagaries.

In Persuadable, Mrs. Clay criticizes Anne for not being direct enough with Captain Wentworth (see Chapter 11), but she also recognizes in Anne, as in herself, the need to tread carefully and consider all angles. A woman's lot is not easy, and poverty ain't fun, and being a poor dead naval officer's wife is even less fun. 

Both Anne and Mrs. Clay would be more than capable of supporting themselves in the modern world--I see Mrs. Clay as a real estate broker and Anne as a high class nanny or advice columnist (seriously: I see her as one of those soft-spoken experts who writes books and gets asked to be on panels).

However, as members of the early nineteenth century, their options are limited. They have to maintain a position which will enable them to snag a man while remaining unsullied and respectable. And this position has its own risks (property becomes the husband's; respectability doesn't automatically entail wealth or security).

From this perspective, Anne's wariness at marrying Captain Wentworth seven years earlier and Mrs. Clay's careful assessment of Mr. Elliot's potential become mirrors to each other.

The following excerpt takes place when Mr. Elliot comes to Camden Place to dine. The incident at Lyme is discussed. 

“I never put down the Elliot name!” Mr. Elliot exclaimed in answer to a querulous remark from Sir Walter. “I have ever boasted of being an Elliot.” (What he had said was, “Thank God I’m an Elliot with sense.” And he’d only mocked Sir Walter to his wife’s friends when his Kellynch cousins were mentioned—which was hardly at all.)

Mrs. Clay’s mouth twitched. Will put down his utensils and gazed at her, bringing the others’ attention to her side of the table.

She said, the twitch utterly wiped out, “Of course you did, Mr. Elliot, for who would not be proud of such a connection?!”

He nearly glared at her except Sir Walter had refocused on him, uttering harrumphs of approval.

Returning to the drawing room, Will said pointedly to Elizabeth, “Your sisters will keep you company this winter?”

“Anne is coming soon with Lady Russell. I don’t know if Mary will visit.” Mary was the youngest sister. “There’s been an accident with one of our in-laws.”

“Mary’s husband’s sister, Louisa, had a bad fall,” Mrs. Clay said softly. “She struck her head, and they are still unsure if she will regain her wits.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Anne wrote something about it. She was there when it happened.”

Will barely managed to restrain his surprise. His wife Sally had been aggravating in the extreme but when her best friend was killed by a racing carriage, Will had held her while she cried. He hadn’t been so awful a husband that he couldn’t sympathize with unexpected terror and pain.

Elizabeth behaved as though Anne had witnessed a minor brawl at a local fair.

For a moment, Will’s eyes met Mrs. Clay’s. A faint wryness touched the corners of her mouth, then she leaned forward solicitously to ask Sir Walter if he was comfortable.

Will broke in: “Where did this accident occur?”

“In Lyme.”

Will had passed through Lyme on his way from Sidmouth. A collection of pretty women and soldierly-looking men had stayed at Will’s inn. No doubt, the unmarried Elliot daughter had been among them.

I should have introduced myself. I might have met the other unmarried daughter—

Will shrugged mentally. Reintroducing himself to anyone in the family but Sir Walter would have gravely offended the man. He must tread carefully, for Mrs. Clay—patting a pillow for Sir Walter, assuring him that a man of his well-maintained posture deserved a bolster—was a more subtle threat than Will had initially anticipated.

The Bath of Persuasion and Persuadable: Chapter 5

Bath's Pump Room (the Abbey is in the background):
The place to go to see and be seen.

Bath in Austen's day: consider any popular resort right after it has been so thoroughly commercialized and force-fed on people that everyone starts going somewhere new (which will then be commercialized and force-fed on people in turn) . . .

Bath was still popular; it just didn't have the cache it used to.

Austen was well-aware of Bath's reputation and uses it to effect in her writing. The Bath of Persuasion is a playground for elderly gentry, including gentlemen like Sir Walter who can't quite afford London (Mr. Shepherd is correctly appalled at the idea of sending Sir Walter off to live in London, where the baronet would put himself into more and more debt just to keep up with the "Joneses").

From a literary standpoint, Bath is an excellent setting to show-case Elizabeth and Sir Walter's personalities. First, in Bath, father and daughter are big fish or, at least, bigger fish than they would be in London. Also, in Bath, father and daughter are able to exercise their pointless snobbery to the nth degree.

Prior to Austen's time period, private parties were considered a big no-no in Bath. People like Beau Nash went out of their way to create a society that was surprisingly egalitarian (for the time period) while also surprisingly rigid in terms of social expectations. Going to Bath was rather like going to a really assertive summer camp where you would be expected to attend dances and concerts while  getting along just swimmingly with your neighbors.

But during Austen's time period, this rigid  community spirit was waning (for one thing, Beau Nash was dead). Consequently, visitors like Elizabeth and Sir Walter are able to do whatever they please.

And what they please is exactly what you would expect from people like them:

Cocktail parties.

What Elizabeth and Sir Walter enjoy is walking around the equivalent of a ritzy hotel lobby (the Pump Room), then holding private parties where conversation is the kind of stuff you find on Twitter.

It is no surprise that Anne (and Austen) prefer the theater to this type of "entertainment." But for egoists like Elizabeth and Sir Walter nothing could be better than seeing, being seen, and showing off.

Mrs. Clay and Mr. Elliot demonstrate no particular preference, entertainment-wise, in Austen's text. This is entirely in keeping with their goals; in both cases, they are trying to satisfy their marks--Elizabeth and Sir Walter--by telling their marks what they want to hear . . . as Mrs. Clay surmises when she witnesses Mr. Elliot's initial contact with Sir Walter and Elizabeth (which initial contact Austen doesn't show us yet refers to since it makes Anne suspicious):

One particular morning, Elizabeth went off to meet friends at the Pump Room; Sir Walter strolled into Bath’s center with Sir Basil Morley. Penelope could have wheedled inclusion in the first instance, not in the second. She opted for coy withdrawal and gave herself an hour of pleasurable freedom. She walked to Walcot Church and then to Portland Place to study the architecture.

She returned to Camden Place before Elizabeth and Sir Walter.

“A man called,” the butler told her. “He left a card and note.”


Penelope Clay's view of Bath's hills from Camden Crescent.
Penelope is far more impressed by Camden Place than
Anne (or Austen) will be. Like Bath itself, Camden
Place is not quite as chic as Sir Walter imagines.

Penelope knew better than to ask for either. The butler had no loyalty to Sir Walter, but he had no loyalty to Penelope either. Sir Walter would be very testy if he thought Penelope had seen his messages before him.

“Sir Walter should return soon,” she said briskly and went into the elegant drawing room with its long view over the road’s iron-rails towards Bath’s eastern hills.

Daughter and father returned full of self-satisfaction. Their meetings had bolstered their conceit—if such bolstering was needed.

As Sir Walter entered, the butler handed over the caller’s note and card. Sir Walter read them, gaped fish-like, then handed both to Elizabeth. He seemed uncertain what emotion to put on display.

Elizabeth said slowly, “William Elliot called.”

The heir—who had run away from marrying Elizabeth twelve years before, though Elizabeth naturally didn’t describe the incident that way. She’d told Penelope that Mr. Elliot “was not quite a gentleman.”

The not-quite-a-gentleman had called on his baronet cousin.

Elizabeth read the note aloud: “Dear cousin, if I may so name you: I pray you will not censure my presumption in approaching you. Learning of your visit to Bath from my good friend Colonel Wallis, I hoped to end our too long separation. I dare presume that I have not lost your good opinion though your silence in recent years indicates I may have inadvertently fallen from favor. When I return to Bath, I venture to trust I will be accepted into your company.”

Clever, Penelope thought, her mouth quirking at such effusiveness mingled with no real apology or explanation for the “long separation.”

But why should Mr. William Elliot, Esq. renew the relationship at all?

Money, Penelope guessed.

“He has learned the deference due our name,” said Sir Walter. “Should we receive him?”

“He might not call,” Elizabeth said, dropping the note and card. Later to Penelope, she added, “He was a fickle young man.”

Mr. Elliot’s note impressed father more than daughter. Sir Walter “accidentally” encountered Mr. Elliot’s great friend Colonel Wallis on Milsom Street. “He was picking up a hat for his wife, a very pretty woman, I hear, and Colonel Wallis is a well-looking man.”

Colonel Wallis knew Mr. Elliot well; he even knew about Mr. Elliot’s disastrous first marriage.

“She didn’t come from a family of status,” Sir Walter said. “But she was quite accomplished. A handsome woman.”

Elizabeth’s lips thinned. Penelope could read her thoughts: Elizabeth at nineteen had been handsome, accomplished, and suitable.

Sir Walter continued, “She pursued him. With her riches.”

Elizabeth was handsome, accomplished, and suitable, but she would never pursue anyone. Her lips relaxed and she said graciously, “Young men are easily swayed.”

Penelope forced herself not to roll her eyes. At this rate, father and daughter would talk the last twelve years into oblivion. And how could they not suspect Colonel Wallis’s account? He would hardly pass on negative information about a close friend.

Still, Penelope wasn’t opposed to Mr. Elliot calling. He might even prove a respite from his relatives.