The Equuschick is in the middle of rereading “Emma”, after reviewing the movie last week. She is almost ashamed to admit it, but the movie is sometimes more fun. The main character herself has more sympathetic traits during the first three quarters, while in the first three quarters of the book, there is little else but the snob about her. A well-intentioned snob, and an intelligent one, but a snob. She supposes it is just the medium that makes the difference, but she seems more human in the movie.
Besides, there is Jeremy Northam.
(The Equuschick really didn’t say that. You only imagined it.)
Speaking of snobs, there seems to be an intellectual sort of snobbery many hold in regards to Jane Austen, herself. What is the point of reading Jane Austen, they say. Her stories are all the same, you read one you’ve read them all, how unoriginal. The Equuschick say, poor fools, can you not see that her genius didn’t lay in her stories themselves, but in the telling? It is as if these sort of snobs do not understand how much intelligence it takes to be funny. A well-developed sense of humour, and an ability to laugh at oneself and one’s neighbors in equal measure, is genius all by its little self.
The Equuschick is very fond of this line of thought, because her sense of humour is very often all she has to recommend her. This doesn’t bother her as much as it should. Oh, well.