Pride and Prejudice

Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen. 1813. 386 pages.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Pride and Prejudice is the first Austen novel I remember reading. And it's such a lovely, lovely read. There is something wonderfully satisfying about it. The characters, the dialogue, the letters.

I reread it this month hoping to recapture some of the joy of that first experience. I don't know if that's even possible. To reread something with new eyes, to seek to feel exactly the same way about it as you did before, but I tried my best.

Did I love it? Yes. Of course. It's Pride and Prejudice. But while other Austen novels have improved upon rereads--me liking them more than I did before, there is no improving Pride and Prejudice.
That's not a bad thing.

Is Pride and Prejudice your favorite Austen? It probably isn't mine. Mine would probably be Persuasion. I love and adore Persuasion. I do. There's just something oh-so-magical about it for me. But Pride and Prejudice though it isn't my favorite it is definitely special. Would I have gone on to read other Austen novels if I hadn't loved Pride and Prejudice? Would I have sought out every Austen movie adaptation if I hadn't loved it so much? Probably not.

© 2011 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews