In Jane Austen’s first published novel, two sisters with very different temperaments experience similar situations: powerful romances followed by devastating heartbreak. The reserved Elinor, whose sense bars her from outwardly expressing her desires, and the passionate Marianne, whose sensibility drives her to wear her heart on the sleeve of her gown, respond to challenges and navigate the nuances of relationships quite dissimilarly, prompting a fascinating exploration of the ways in which a person’s personality shapes their success and social outcomes.
In my previous review of Austen’s novel Mansfield Park, I took note of Austen’s ability to capture the rich interiority of a person’s inner life as they are engaged in an externally-facing activity, such as a dialogue. Austen demonstrates this same expertise in Sense and Sensibility, particularly where the thoughts and emotions of Elinor’s character are concerned. Many times, Elinor stifles her true feelings and instead displays the modesty and humility which she believes are required of her. There is perhaps no better example of this habit of Elinor’s than when she finds out about the engagement of Edward, the man she is in love with, to the vain and ill-mannered Lucy Steele:
“Her astonishment at what she heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself to speak, and to speak cautiously, she…well concealed her surprise and solicitude.”
p. 124
While her heart is broken, Elinor clings to the idea that it is more judicious to outwardly support Lucy and Edward’s engagement than to make her feelings known. Marianne, by contrast, feels emotions deeply and focuses more on the aesthetics of life than its practical aspects. She falls wildly in love with the dashing Willoughby, sharing her love of nature, music, and literature with him in every waking moment; when he abandons her, she throws herself into the experience of sorrow and is unable to build an identity beyond it. She cries to Elinor,
“misery such as mine has no pride. I care not who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be open to all the world…they who suffer little may be proud and independent as they like—may resist insult, or return mortification—but I cannot.”
p. 179
As the scholar Ros Ballaster so aptly points out in his introduction to the Penguin Classics version of the novel, the experience that readers so often have of feeling deep, profound sentiment toward a character is “co-opted” by the protagonist in this instance. Marianne’s responses to the various stimuli of the world spill into the society around her and outside the pages she occupies.
Like many readers, I saw parts of myself in both Marianne and Elinor — Marianne’s fiercely expressive reactions to events and Elinor’s pained efforts to remain stoic in times of emotional upheaval both strike a chord with those of us who have employed different coping mechanisms (with varying degrees of success) at different points in our lives.
Though the contrast between these two sisters’ personalities forms the core of the novel, many other characters swirl around them who display varied, colorful human behavior within the rigid confines of high society. The good-natured, yet meddlesome Miss Jennings represents an older woman seeking to maintain her place in high society through involvement in the affairs of young people; the senseless Anne Steele and cruel, manipulative Lucy Steele demonstrate the art of endearing themselves through false compliments to their acquaintances.
Would I want to reside in this world of secrets, shock, and scandal? Not particularly, but I took great pleasure in watching the character arcs of Elinor and Marianne unfold over the course of the novel. Despite living in an unkind world, they evolve into wiser decision-makers by the novel’s conclusion and model the grace and hindsight that so many of the other characters lack. Jane Austen truly understood the intricacies and nuances that existed within her society, and she perfected the art of unearthing these nuances on the page.
