jane austen's script of sisterhood each of jane
TRANSCRIPT
ABSTRACT
THE PROBLEM OF FEMALE RESERVE: JANE AUSTEN’S SCRIPT OF SISTERHOOD
Each of Jane Austen’s novels looks at sisterhood from a different angle,
exploring varying versions of sisterhood that all point to its indisputable necessity
in the lives of women. At the same time, however, Austen illustrates that female
reserve frequently prevents sister relationships from reaching their full potential.
Sisterly reserve is often tied to romantic interests, as women succumb to cultural
pressure to hide their feelings at all costs. This thesis analyzes the complexities of
the sister relationships in Austen’s six novels, tracing the struggles with silence
that often result in a temporary or even permanent breakdown of female
community. Through her portrayals of sisters, Austen also raises questions about
moral development and female isolation, indicating that strong sisterhoods
cultivate greater moral awareness, and that women without sisters still benefit
from the female communities they create. The complete script that surfaces from
an examination of all her novels argues that sisters and women consistently
experience stronger female communities and greater participation in the world of
rationality and meaning when they are able to overcome these instances of silence
and jointly negotiate their experiences.
Kristen Akina May 2011
THE PROBLEM OF FEMALE RESERVE: JANE AUSTEN’S
SCRIPT OF SISTERHOOD
by
Kristen Akina
A thesis
submitted in partial
fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Master of Arts in English
in the College of Arts and Humanities
California State University, Fresno
May 2011
APPROVED
For the Department of English:
We, the undersigned, certify that the thesis of the following student meets the required standards of scholarship, format, and style of the university and the student's graduate degree program for the awarding of the master's degree. Kristen Akina
Thesis Author
Ruth Jenkins (Chair) English
Laurel Hendrix English
Lisa Weston English
For the University Graduate Committee:
Dean, Division of Graduate Studies
AUTHORIZATION FOR REPRODUCTION
OF MASTER’S THESIS X I grant permission for the reproduction of this thesis in part or in
its entirety without further authorization from me, on the condition that the person or agency requesting reproduction absorbs the cost and provides proper acknowledgment of authorship.
Permission to reproduce this thesis in part or in its entirety must
be obtained from me. Signature of thesis author:
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There is a mysterious, frightening world between the moment of saying, “I
think I’d like to do my thesis on Jane Austen,” and staring incredulously at the
completed project. I owe thanks to those who have walked me through this
strange world by helping me develop this project as well as those who have
contributed to who I am as a student of literature. I am grateful to all the members
of my committee, whose teaching about scholarship has been invaluable to me for
this project but has also extended beyond its scope. My chair, Ruth Jenkins, has
guided me through this entire process of research and writing, reading multiple
drafts and showing me at each step how to broaden and deepen my scholarship.
Laurel Hendrix taught me so much about academic writing in my first year of
graduate school, and these lessons came full circle as she read and responded to
my thesis. Lisa Weston has given me feedback on samples of my work
throughout my time here, from my first seminar paper to this project, and she
helped me to finish strongly when I felt I had nothing left to say. And my family
has also played an important role in my work through their influence and support.
My parents helped to create and then nourish my desire for reading, and
introduced me to some of my favorite authors, including Jane Austen. My
grandma taught me about storytelling and how to view the world through story.
My in-laws have encouraged and supported me through each phase of school.
And finally, I am grateful to my husband Ben, for our continual conversations
about Austen, and for all his personal sacrifices while I worked on this project.
This thesis is dedicated to my sister Amy, who is for me the heroine in all
our stories.
TABLE OF CONTENTS Page
CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION ............................................................................ 1
CHAPTER 2: THE SILENCES OF “SISTERLY CONSOLATION” IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE .......................................................................... 14
CHAPTER 3: “WE HAVE NEITHER OF US ANYTHING TO TELL”: SILENCES AND FEMALE COMMUNITY IN SENSE AND SENSIBILITY ............................................................................................... 39
CHAPTER 4: “ALL TO HERSELF”: EMOTIONAL ISOLATION AND SISTER RIVALRY IN MANSFIELD PARK AND PERSUASION ........... 64
CHAPTER 5: “SCHEMES OF SISTERLY HAPPINESS”: FEMALE COMMUNITY AND MORAL AWARENESS IN EMMA AND NORTHANGER ABBEY .............................................................................. 93
CHAPTER 6: CONCLUSION ............................................................................. 117
WORKS CITED ................................................................................................... 121
CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION
I once thought that to have what is in general called a Freind (sic)(I
mean one of my own Sex to whom I might speak with less reserve
than to any other person) independant (sic) of my Sister would never
be an object of my wishes, but how much was I mistaken! Charlotte
is too much engrossed by two confidential Correspondents of that
sort, to supply the place of one to me, and I hope you will not think
me girlishly romantic, when I say that to have some kind and
compassionate Freind who might listen to my Sorrows without
endeavouring to console me was what I had for some time wished
for…
– Jane Austen, “Lesley Castle”
Jane Austen wrote the above passage in the 1790s when she was in her
teens, as part of an epistolary short story she dedicated to her brother. Although
her six novels do not boast the satire, dramatic swoons, and murders of her very
early work, they do retain and develop the above concern with sisterhood and
female friendship. Each of her completed novels portrays her protagonists’ need
for a sister or friend to confide in, to share experiences with, and to negotiate the
world with through the exercise of reason. In her novels Austen offers different
versions of sister relationships, drawing attention to the importance of sisters in
the lives of her female protagonists and illustrating the moral benefits of
sisterhood along with the consequences of its absence.
Austen’s focus on sisters and women has prompted a wide range of critical
response. From her time throughout the first half of the twentieth century, many
critics judged that she wrote about women because her narrow domestic circle
admitted no other knowledge or experience. In the 1970s, when feminist criticism
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began to emerge, critics read her cutting indictments of society as repressed anger,
and reasoned that her focus on women instead reflected an overt attempt to resist
the patriarchal bent of her culture. While every possible middle ground between
both extremes has also been covered, the debate has retained a certain sharpness
and urgency as critics make varying claims about Austen’s actual opinions.
The question of Austen’s feminism in particular has continued to cling
tenaciously to the minds of critics. Devoney Looser in 1995 identified five
primary viewpoints in the ongoing debate. The first viewpoint belongs to those
who answer a resounding, unqualified yes to the question of Austen’s feminism,
declaring that to be a female writer during a time when publication exposed a
woman to much censure, was by default to be a feminist. The second view holds
that Austen’s conservative beliefs and privileging of the traditional marriage plot
prevent her from joining the ranks of proponents of true feminism. Sandra Gilbert
and Susan Gubar, representative of the third view, see subtle feminism and
controlled rage in Austen’s measured prose, and the fourth argues that the entire
question is moot because the term “feminism” had not yet come into use during
Austen’s time (Looser 5). The fifth perspective notes Austen’s focus on female
characters and the plight of women in her society, and reasons that her ability to
create strong, intelligent women indicates a sense of feminism (Looser 6). More
recently, Vivien Jones termed Austen a “postfeminist,” arguing that Austen
includes ideas from the women’s movement of the 1790s, but incorporates them
into a more conservative, individual agenda (291). Jones’s focus on Austen’s
conservatism places her in Looser’s second category of critics who protest over
the marriage plot, despite her term “postfeminist.”
Looser ends her review of feminist criticism with a call to move away from
attempts at labeling Austen and to analyze instead her portrayals of gender,
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arguing that, “A focus on gender politics is the strength all feminist work on
Austen exemplifies – and it’s a strength that one also finds in Austen’s own
writings” (8). Jones has claimed that this strength is small in stature and focused
on the individual: “Austen’s awareness of gender politics operates at the level of
individual choice (or lack of it) rather than fueling any demand for structural
social change” (285). Although this is accurate, concerns of gender permeate all
of Austen’s texts, and are perhaps made more poignant by their emphasis on
characters rather than causes. Women are constantly called upon to negotiate
their places in the world in relation to men and other women, and I will be
focusing on this within the context of sister relationships. In her emphasis on
sisters, Austen automatically shows the importance of relationships between
women, and through both dialogue and silences between the sisters, illustrates
how their relationships with men can be mediated and understood through their
closeness to one another. Therefore, my argument will center on feminist aspects
of Austen’s writings and her focus on the stories of sisterhood, while avoiding any
attempt to categorize or affix a label on her frequently subtle philosophies. My
analysis will consider how her novels fit into or challenge her historical context,
and use this as a basis to draw conclusions about her opinions on gender.
An excellent examination of Austen’s social, gendered context is found in
Ilona Dobosiewicz’s work, Female Relationships in Jane Austen’s Novels: A
Critique of the Female Ideal Propagated in 18th Century Conduct Literature.
Through her thorough analysis of Austen’s novels and comparison with the
conduct books that Austen was familiar with, she argues that Austen was aware of
her culture’s expectations for women and consistently sought to portray characters
and events that challenged those expectations subtly yet firmly. She sums up the
overarching message of the conduct literature by saying, “The assumption
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underpinning the argument put forward in conduct books for women is that female
identity is totally male-oriented, since woman is represented only as an object of
male desire” (13-14). She argues that Austen places a strong emphasis on female
friendships in her novels and that this reality of female relationship is completely
ignored or eschewed by conduct book writers. Yet when society does admit the
possibility of female relationships, they assume that women will operate as rivals,
compete for male affection. This furthers the idea that female identity is bound up
in the male world. Thus the argument of this book seems to fall into Looser’s fifth
category as Dobosiewicz addresses Austen’s concern with women and yet argues
for a feminist bent because of her resistance to established cultural scripts.
Dobosiewicz’s work figures in each of the following chapters – her argument of
Austen’s portrayal of women as an alternative to accepted cultural norms is
particularly applicable to my analysis.
Many critics have written about Austen’s focus on sisters, and some have
noted that this focus argues for the value of these relationships and their ability to
shape character and encourage moral growth, yet they have not addressed the fact
that the sisters she creates are frequently caught in strange silences and moments
of reserve. Even when sisters have been established as hitherto open with each
other about their viewpoints and struggles, various threads of unexplained and
sometimes unprecedented silence still appear. This is found most readily in the
fact that Austen’s sisters consistently avoid discussing their feelings for men. In
all her novels, this reserve about matters of the heart is a constant.
Austen’s historical context can reveal whether or not the reserve she
portrayed was typical of her time. Could sisters confide in one another during a
time when marriage was the highest goal for females, and competition in the
marriage market between women, even sisters, was a definite possibility? Yet
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historical accounts of sisters in England during the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth centuries are difficult to find. Although there are plenty of historical
and anthropological accounts of siblings, there is nothing focusing on the specifics
of sister-to-sister relationships. For example, Lawrence Stone in the 1970s did an
extensive study on family relationships in Europe spanning several centuries, but
in his 700 pages of work, there was no mention of the sister/sister bond. This in
part reflects the lack of availability of source material, but also is a result of the
apparent lack of concern of the author. These findings were typical of all similar
research. Many writers and critics lamented this lack of information, and therefore
confirmed it.
Feminist criticism offers an explanation for this lack of historical and
cultural resources by pointing out that it is essential in a patriarchal system that
men hold positions of power and influence in every level of society. As Nina
Auerbach (5) and Toni McNaron (5) have argued, communities of women without
any male present are seen as a threat to the established system. Because a
woman’s great object in life is to find a husband, and then please the husband once
she has him, then there is no point in cultivating or even acknowledging other
relationships. Thus even a community of sisters is regarded as unimportant in the
light of this one grand object, hence the absence of historical records of sisters,
and the lack of material on this issue even in the conduct literature of the time.
There is, however, a seemingly contradictory strand in the lack of evidence
which is soon resolved. Leila May argues that nineteenth-century Britain was
obsessed with the notion of sisterhood (13), and strongly valued the role of a sister
within the Victorian family. And even though Austen’s work preceded the
Victorian period, her world held similar concerns about the role of women as the
domestic sphere became increasingly narrow. In light of this cultural emphasis,
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the lack of records and evidence may seem strange. Yet it is perfectly consistent
with my earlier argument, because the sisterhood that May examines turns out to
be an ideal or myth, what she calls “pure artifice” (21). Thus it follows that scripts
of the period would not contain much representation of the actual lives of sisters
with sisters, but instead present a rendering of the official, prescripted version.
Helena Michie echoes a similar understanding when she says: “Historical
reconstructions of Victorian sisterhood run into predictable problems of
methodology: the sources that are available to contemporary scholars – letters,
journals, biographies, and conduct books, for example – each follow conventions
of their own and produce, in effect, their own fictions of sisterhood” (22). Thus
the official, sanctioned version of sisterhood, when it is even acknowledged, is
that it is inferior to relationships with men.
Virginia Woolf notes Austen’s original portrayal of female relationships
when she writes in A Room of One’s Own: “It was strange to think that all the
great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen’s day, not only seen by the other
sex, but seen in relation to the other sex” (82). This assertion of Austen’s
innovation is disputed by Janet Todd in her work Women’s Friendship in
Literature when she says, “Woolf’s impression is a common one, but it is a
mistake nonetheless. Eighteenth-century fiction is rich in presentations of female
friendship, by both men and women” (1). Although this is definitely true about
the fiction, and eighteenth-century novels illustrate the point that women did
confide in one another, Woolf’s observation is correct when it is applied to the
official script of the patriarchal society, the script that declares a woman’s life has
no meaning when removed from a male context. Woolf goes on to say, “And
how small a part of a woman’s life is that; and how little can a man know even of
that when he observes it through the black or rosy spectacles which sex puts upon
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his nose” (82-83). Thus in order to learn of the other parts of a woman’s life, we
must turn from the official script to see what women had to say for themselves
regarding sister relationships.
Despite the lack of research in this area, or even documents that could be
used in such study, there is still evidence to be found in novels and letters from the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that present a window into certain practices of
women and sisters. And although novels are not always reliable as historical
artifacts, they can provide some insight into current cultural norms as well as
trends in fiction. Private letters, from female authors who had no idea of their
letters ever becoming public, also can serve as evidence of the amount of
confidence subsisting among sisters and women in the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth centuries. Through my readings of novels and letters by female authors
that Jane Austen read and admired, I have come to the conclusion that a precedent
for openness and intimacy between close sisters and women did exist, and that
Austen deviated from the norm in creating such significant moments of reserve
between her characters.
Certain novels did not portray sisters at all because protagonists tended to
be alone and separated from their family, but these women did form close
friendships with other women and confide secrets to them that they did not tell to
men. Frances Burney’s Evelina (1778) is an example of this. As an epistolary
novel, Evelina cannot convey any interiority of its characters that is not also
shared by letter. Thus every thought of Evelina’s that is exposed to the reader
must also be read by someone else in the text. While she writes most of her letters
to her male guardian Rev. Villars, there is a brief period where she is staying with
him and the story is told through her letters to her friend Maria Mirvan. In these
letters she confides to Maria what she has not had the courage to tell Mr. Villars –
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that the man she is interested in has (ostensibly) given her a written declaration of
his love. Although this is a narrative device that allows the reader to know what is
passing when Evelina is with her primary correspondent, it is still significant that
here she chooses to tell Maria but does not tell Mr. Villars until much later.
In Belinda, by Maria Edgeworth (1801), openness and shared secrets
between women figure largely in the text. Early on in Belinda’s stay with the
fashionable Lady Delacour, her ladyship makes Belinda her confidante, revealing
her tragic life’s story and telling her secrets that only her maidservant and one
other female friend are privy to. Lady Delacour is also aware of Belinda’s love
for Clarence Hervey. Unlike Jane Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, Belinda will
openly refer to the man she loves, and openly refer to her efforts to forget him.
Belinda also shares this information with her friend Lady Anne Percival, giving
her a “full account of her acquaintance with Clarence Hervey” and becoming
“more concise when she touched upon the state of her own heart” (236). Thus
moments of confidence between females are clear and detailed in the text. Also,
the secrets that both Belinda and Lady Delacour know of each other spur them to
act for the other’s good, successfully removing impediments to the other’s
happiness. Therefore the openness the women share turns out to be very important
to the resolution of the various plots, as each is a primary mover in the other’s
story.
This presence of confidence, this need to confide, is better borne out by
Frances Burney’s Journals and Letters. At the age of fifteen, she wrote in her
journal that she “must confess my every thought, must open my whole Heart!” (1).
She was very close to her younger sister Susanna, and as Burney grew older and
travelled more she wrote her many long letters, detailing her thoughts about her
novels and plays, and opinions of the men she met. Burney shared with Susanna,
9
and occasionally other sisters, her disappointment in men, her struggles working in
the court of George III, and wrote lively and detailed portraits of the literary
circles she moved in. She makes it clear how important Susanna is to her as
confidante when writing of her frustration over the mixed messages sent by
potential suitor George Cambridge, saying in 1785, “You see, my sweetest Susan,
– repository of all my most secret feelings! – You see that however unhappy I
have been made, – I have not been blinded” (209). Their closeness had been such
that Burney cannot regard it as anything other than loss when Susanna marries in
1782, writing, “So much has passed since I lost you – for I cannot use any other
word! – that I hardly know what first to record” (180). Yet their confidence does
not seem to be much marred by this event, for Burney continues her habit of long
letters about her world. Thus it is clear that Burney had a true and complete
confidante in her sister Susanna throughout all their lives, and there is no
indication that their relationship was marred by any coldness or reserve. All of
this helps to establish historical precedent for such open and sisterly
communications.
Austen’s own letters do not reveal any tendency to open her heart and find
solace in the sympathy of a female confidante, although many of her surviving
letters are addressed to her only sister Cassandra. Yet there is a very particular
reason for this omission, because after Austen’s death, Cassandra Austen burned
many of her sister’s letters, perhaps fearing what posterity might read (Le Faye
34). The remaining letters are full of details of their daily lives and interests, and
contain many inside jokes between the sisters, but reveal nothing personal and
cannot be used to measure the closeness of the sisters and their level of mutual
confidence.
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The strongest indicator that Jane Austen herself did experience the sisterly
openness of her contemporaries is found in a letter Cassandra wrote shortly after
Austen’s death to their niece Fanny. She writes: “I have lost such a treasure, such
a Sister, such a friend, as never can have been surpassed – she was the sun of my
life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow, I had not a thought
concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a part of myself” (qtd. in Lanser 64).
This is, (ironically, as Lanser has pointed out) much more revealing of their
relationship than any of Austen’s letters that Cassandra permitted to survive. Yet
it plainly points out the confidence subsisting between the sisters, and shows that
Austen was accustomed to a more complete openness with her own sister than she
portrayed between fictional sisters in her novels. This assertion is backed up by
the known facts of Austen’s life. She and Cassandra were both unmarried, and
lived together until Austen’s death. As the only children to remain at home, they
shared the same suffering in the loss of their father and the care of their ailing
mother. Emily Auerbach noted that their mother described them as “wedded to
each other,” and that Austen herself wrote that she experienced with Cassandra
“the pleasure of Friendship, of unreserved Conversation, of similarity of Taste and
Opinions” (Auerbach 144). Thus it is reasonable to conclude that the two sisters
were exceptionally close and knew each other’s secrets, even if written records of
those secrets have not been preserved.
Yet Austen’s characters withhold many secrets from close sisters and
friends, and this silence becomes more conspicuous in light of the emphasis
Austen places on close sister relationships and thriving female communities.
Elizabeth Bennet does not tell her sister Jane that her feelings toward Darcy have
changed. Fanny Price tells no one about her affection for Edmund. Anne Elliot
remains silent about the fact that she still loves Captain Wentworth eight years
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after their engagement was broken off. In every novel, a romantic interest is
shrouded by silence, and yet the pages are filled with examples of women and
sisters who are otherwise very close.
In contrast to other eighteenth-century novels and letters that portray the
openness of women, Frances Burney’s novel Camilla (1796) addresses the issue of
female silence, and unlike Austen’s work, offers a direct explanation for why
women were expected to be silent about their personal feelings. Burney points to
cultural pressures behind these expectations, whatever the reality of female
behavior might have been. Women were not supposed to confide in one another
(or in anyone else) about their feelings for a man until after the man speaks.
Camilla’s father tells her frankly that it is inappropriate for a female to admit to
unrequited love – she must keep it as a secret (Burney 360). He tells this to
Camilla in the context of a reprimand, explaining that her behavior and
expressions are revealing her feelings for Edgar Mandlebert, and she must put a
check on this because it is indecorous for a young lady to be so transparent. This
is a clear example of patriarchal pressure on female communication. Women are
constrained to submit to a code that is rarely articulated, and told to remain silent
for the sake of their reputations. Whatever inclination they might have had to
disclose their feelings to someone they trust is stifled because of the possibility the
information might spread. The fact that in Camilla’s situation this mandate comes
from her father, a (kindly) representative of the dominant culture, emphasizes how
important it is for women to follow this script. Ironically, Camilla’s father does
not bring this up from any desire to control her, but out of concern because of how
society will interpret her behavior (Burney 361). This cultural expectation,
accompanied by the consequences of a loose reputation, can prevent women from
confiding in one another and building up a female community.
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This sheds a gleam of light on these sisterly silences, but does not explain
why they are so ubiquitous in Austen’s work. It is clear that this societal mandate
was not always heeded – women did confide their romantic secrets to other
women, especially sisters. Why then does it appear so frequently in Austen’s
novels? Austen’s concern with women shows that she was not interested in
propagating conduct book portraits – the very complexity and reality of the sister
relationships she created contradict that idea. She also consistently illustrates the
importance of sisters in the lives of her characters, pointing out that moral
awareness often stems from a strong sense of sisterhood. Thus what happens is
that through a variety of relationships, Austen is able to reveal the consequences of
silences and lack of communication between sisters, showing the faltering steps of
female communities that struggle to hold together in the face of a dominant
ideology that devalues their bonds. Whether or not Austen intended to reveal the
pressures of patriarchal society in her sisterly silences, they definitely emerge.
Through this the cultural mandate of secrecy is exposed as a kind of false
morality, one that fails to see the necessity of valuable sister relationships and
instead constrains women to silence for the sake of appearance.
Yet the sisterhoods that Austen portrays are much more than moments of
struggle with cultural pressure, more than the spaces of silences they inhabit – they
are rich, intricate portraits of the possibilities between sisters, and argue for the
significance of this bond. The various versions of sisterhood that Austen creates
work together to form a complete, cohesive statement that argues for the
importance and necessity of sisterhood as well as its complexities, and it is this
statement I will investigate. The following chapters examine the sister
relationships in each of Austen’s novels, tracing the development and trajectories
of these relationships, and analyzing communication between sisters in light of
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contemporary patriarchal pressures. The novels are not discussed chronologically,
but are grouped thematically, according to the facets of sisterhood Austen focuses
on. Chapter 1 looks at the close sisterhood of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet in Pride
and Prejudice, noting their intimacy early in the novel and investigating reasons
for their unexpected shift into secrecy. Chapter 2 discusses Sense and Sensibility
and its emphasis on Elinor and Marianne Dashwood and the interplay of their
opposing personalities. It analyzes the silences and weaknesses of their female
community and the mutual strength they arrive at by the end of the novel through
the use of communication and openness. Chapter 3 looks at the sister relationships
of minor characters in Mansfield Park and Persuasion, examining Austen’s
portrayal of sisters as rivals for the affections of the same man. These two novels
also have a common theme in the isolation of their protagonists, and their search
for strong female friendships to replace the sisters they are lacking. And chapter 4
focuses on the personal growth of Emma Woodhouse and Catherine Morland in
the novels Emma and Northanger Abbey, and argues that their ability to negotiate
the world and achieve a moral understanding is advanced by their relationships
with other women. And each chapter follows the thread of female silence, looking
at its cultural underpinnings and tracing its appearance and effects in the lives of
every Austen protagonist.
CHAPTER 2: THE SILENCES OF “SISTERLY CONSOLATION” IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Austen’s presentation of an alternative perspective of sisterhood and its
accompanying complexities is plainly seen in Pride and Prejudice, as she depicts
a strong, mutually confiding relationship between sisters in Jane and Elizabeth
Bennet. The Bennets care deeply about and display concern for one another as
they traverse the difficult path of love and marriage in a society that leaves few
options for women. The early part of the novel records their frequent
conversations as together they try to make sense of the world around them. As
their hearts become attached to men, however, and they entertain few hopes of
these relationships ever materializing, they raise barriers in their communication
and their sharing of thought and experience becomes stilted. Although they are
still extremely close, their previously open and confiding conversations become
marked by reserve and deliberate silences and omissions. While the text provides
reasons for these silences, they are not adequate explanations given the level of
intimacy the sisters experienced in the first part of the novel. This indicates that
although the female community these sisters create is strong, it cannot entirely
withstand the weight of patriarchal expectations and male relationships. The
silences of Elizabeth and Jane, for whatever reason they are employed, result in a
temporary breakdown of their female community, and give priority to societal
norms. Ironically, however, their community comes full circle, and is restored and
cultivated through the success of their relationships with men.
The relationship of Jane and Elizabeth, while of definite importance in the
novel, is emphasized by its placement within a large framework of sibling
relationships. The novel repeatedly and consistently introduces us to a variety of
sibling and sister bonds, impressing on the reader the importance of these types of
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relationships. Ruth Perry, in her extensive work on families in nineteenth-century
novels, has noted, “The entire social fabric of Pride and Prejudice is constructed
out of sister relationships, from the five Bennet sisters and Mr. Bingley’s two
sisters…to Mrs. Bennet’s sister Mrs. Phillips and her sister-in-law Mrs.
Gardiner…The social world of this novel could not exist if it were not for the
sister tie” (Novel Relations 118-19). She also mentions the role Elizabeth’s sister
Lydia plays in her eventual reunion with Darcy, and how the story of Darcy’s
sister is instrumental in persuading Elizabeth of Wickham’s villainy. Another
critic mentioned not only the emphasis on siblings, but the connections among the
various sets of siblings in relation to Jane and Elizabeth: “What makes the sibling
analysis of Pride and Prejudice interesting is the way the novel explores the
sisters’ interactions with other sibling groups, in particular, the Darcys, including
Wickham as a sort of cuckoo in the nest, the Bingleys, and the Lucases” (Souter
183-84). All of this pointed focus on siblings, especially sisters, serves to
highlight a tie that did not receive much attention in society’s official version of
sibling relationships. Yet this emphasis is also used to offset and explore the
central relationship of Elizabeth and Jane, who seek to make sense of the world
through their discussions of these other groups they encounter.
Constantly paired not only against other sibling groups but also against
their three other sisters, Jane and Elizabeth are often portrayed as a unit, the sole
representations of social propriety and grace in a family that is constantly giving
offense in society. As the strongest female community in the text, both women
possess reason and intelligence, and also share with one another their thoughts and
opinions about their world. The closeness of the sisters has been frequently noted
by other critics. Emily Auerbach states, “Too often labeled just a ‘courtship
novel,’ Pride and Prejudice contains many passages demonstrating that Jane and
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Elizabeth care deeply about each other…Rather than competing, they love each
other wholeheartedly” (145). This is a direct divergence from the patriarchal
expectation that sisters will be competitors for eligible men in social settings, and
will ignore sisterly considerations in order to advance their own goal of a secure
marriage. The relationship of Jane and Elizabeth presents a challenge to this
official view, illustrating that the unity and affection of the sisters is stronger than
the desire to succeed in the marriage market.
Early in the novel, Austen creates a picture of Elizabeth experiencing the
hopes and happiness of her sister, revealing the caring side of her character while
setting up the significance of a relationship that will direct the course of the entire
novel. While it is clear that Elizabeth also has a close friend in Charlotte Lucas,
Austen deliberately establishes her intimacy with her sister Jane. In the first few
scenes of the novel, Elizabeth is continually setting aside her own concerns within
the socially important context of balls or assemblies to watch and reflect on Jane’s
experience. For example, when Mr. Bingley is especially attentive to Jane at their
first meeting, Elizabeth notices and, rather than being jealous, “felt Jane’s
pleasure” (Austen 8). At the Netherfield ball, when she watches Jane and Bingley
interacting, “the train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth
to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane” (75). Earlier that same evening,
“Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy
expression…Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude
for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and every thing else gave way
before the hope of Jane’s being in the fairest way for happiness” (72-73). These
and other similar references are consistently sprinkled throughout the text, setting
up a framework for Elizabeth’s values that become more evident as the story
17
progresses. Yet through this it is also evident that Elizabeth never considers
herself to be Jane’s rival and wishes only for her happiness.
Elizabeth’s deep concern for her sister is not only limited to her endeavors
in love, but extends to her physical well-being, along with a habitual consideration
of the way other characters behave toward her. When Jane is ill at Netherfield,
Elizabeth insists on walking to visit her, a feat that gives conversational fodder to
the Netherfield party as they discuss what this walk says about her character. And
Elizabeth’s sisterly concern impresses Darcy, again giving an indication of her
values and priorities (291). Elizabeth also changes her opinion of other characters
in the novel based on how they treat Jane. She is initially rather disgusted with
Mr. Bingley’s sisters, and disagrees with Jane about their level of sincerity and
kindness. Yet during Jane’s illness, Elizabeth “began to like them herself, when
she saw how much affection and solicitude they shewed for Jane” (24). Later in
the same day, when Elizabeth and Bingley’s sisters have left Jane in her room and
are eating dinner, “their indifference toward Jane when not immediately before
them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike” (25). And
Elizabeth is more satisfied with Mr. Bingley on this occasion because “his anxiety
for Jane was evident” (25). As Ilona Dobosiewicz notes, “It is a clear sign of
sisterly devotion that, in terms of Elizabeth’s values, a good person is the one who
is good to Jane. Thus, Jane constitutes the center of Elizabeth’s moral system”
(104). This point of view seems unconscious on Elizabeth’s part, yet is evidently
ingrained by long habit and concern.
Elizabeth’s fierce love for her sister also informs part of her bitter refusal of
Darcy’s proposal of marriage, again illustrating that sisterly considerations can
trump the societal and financial pressure that she marry. Elizabeth works herself
up to an angry pitch before Darcy’s visit; having just heard from Colonel
18
Fitzwilliam of Darcy’s involvement in Bingley’s desertion, she closely rereads all
of Jane’s letters and through her shrewd detection of sadness gains “a keener sense
of her sister’s sufferings” (144). She is then able to directly blame Darcy for
Jane’s unhappiness. And when he proposes a few minutes later, the first objection
she makes is on Jane’s behalf: “Do you think any consideration would tempt me to
accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the
happiness of a most beloved sister?” (146). Although Elizabeth already disliked
him and would not have accepted him anyway, her concern for Jane gives her the
extra sharpness and anger that is so surprising to Darcy. In a sense, Elizabeth is
perhaps betraying Jane’s love for Bingley to Darcy, who had been convinced of
Jane’s indifference. But it is this angry outburst that in part prompts Darcy to later
encourage Bingley to try again. Susan Lanser sees Elizabeth as instrumental in the
reunion of Jane and Bingley: “Elizabeth saves the older and (she believes) nobler
Jane from despair by intervening, through Darcy, in Jane’s love affair with
Bingley” (57). Although this might be a stretch, in a way it is Elizabeth’s
outspoken resentment for what her sister suffered that helps to bring about
Bingley’s eventual return.
The mutual affection of Jane and Elizabeth not only affects their
interactions with other people, but frequently finds expression in long
conversations between the two sisters. And the reasoning and discussion they
engage in does not mean that they function as one female, mindlessly agreeing on
everything. In fact, much of their conversation throughout the novel consists of
their differing opinions and their attempts to work them out and employ their joint
perspectives to come to a greater understanding. These discussions are a way for
Austen to illustrate their differences in character and disposition as well as
investigate different points of view on the circumstances in the novel. And the
19
conclusions they are able to arrive at are also frequently sanctioned by the
narrator, even when there are multiple errors to be worked out through the
unfolding of events: “The moral center of Pride and Prejudice, that point at which
the narrator and the reader agree is where what is right and what is wrong, who are
Mr. Right and Mr. Wrong, is sorted out, is located within the friendship of Jane
and Elizabeth” (Dabundo). Jane and Elizabeth frequently disagree about Mr.
Bingley’s sisters, Mr. Darcy’s culpability in Wickham’s misfortunes, and
Charlotte Lucas’ marriage to Mr. Collins. In these situations Jane typically
defends while Elizabeth criticizes, yet the surmises of both are proved right and
wrong by later events: “For the contrary temperaments of Elizabeth and Jane have
a beneficial effect as they correct each other's excesses. Jane is too flexible, too
gullible, far too trusting for her own good, Elizabeth too suspicious and stubborn”
(Bonaparte 153). Although these conversations often take the form of debates,
with each sister stating her point of view and providing reasons to support it, they
are mediated by their mutual affection and respect, and the loving tone of their
discourse often belies the difficult subject matter. For their talks often center on
men and/or marriage, a matter of great importance to any young woman in their
time. As another critic pointed out, in establishing Austen’s deviation from the
one-dimensional female characters of her contemporaries: “Not only does Austen
show young ladies talking freely with their young gentlemen, she shows them
passing judgment on them as well, and not only on their breeding or income, but
also on their character, intelligence, and education” (Deresiewicz 517). Together,
within their rational female community, they work towards making sense of their
world rather than merely accepting it at face value, struggling with its
inconsistencies and pains. Margaret Kirkham remarks, “in the age in which
[Austen] lived, a young woman’s ability to think rationally, to test general moral
20
principles in the light of personal experience, and to apply them impartially to
conduct and character within her own domestic circle, was likely to be the most
private – because least acceptable – aspect of her mental life” (173). Kirkham
uses this discussion to explain some of the necessity for and purposes of Austen’s
‘indirect free style’ of narration. Yet it is also important that some of the
development and exercise of this rationality happens within the spoken
conversations of Jane and Elizabeth, taking the emphasis on this kind of thinking a
step further.
While their private conversations provide a space for disagreement and
argument, Jane and Elizabeth are united against the rest of their family in both
behavior and philosophy. Frequently referenced as the “two eldest,” they provide
a sharp contrast to the silly behavior of their younger sisters. They often join
forces to attempt to restrict the impropriety of Kitty and Lydia, although they
ultimately can do little without parental authority (Austen 163). The strength
behind Elizabeth’s plea to her father to prevent Lydia from going to Brighton is
informed by concern for how the behavior of the two youngest affects the
reputation of the two oldest. Jane and Elizabeth also must often unite to combat
the irrationality of their mother, or work to distract her from making embarrassing
comments. The disparity between the two oldest sisters and the rest of the family
is also seen in the Bennets’ general compliance with the dominant viewpoint that
marriage is the most desired end for all young ladies. Indeed, their financial
situation and entailed estate seem to demand this compliance. Mrs. Bennet is
constantly on the lookout for eligible young men for her daughters, considering
income before she considers character, and Kitty and Lydia embrace her
perspective by flirting with any man they can. Jane and Elizabeth, with their
shared resolution to marry for love instead of money, resist the values and the
21
desperate approach of their mother and other sisters. Yet through this contrast,
Austen presents a subtle challenge to the official script of the unqualified pursuit
of prosperous marriages. It is the intelligent, rational women who represent the
alternative perspective, and the silly, simpleminded women who operate under
patriarchal values. Thus the sisters are further defined in opposition to their
family, even as they ironically fulfill their mother’s wishes at the end and marry
beyond her expectations.
The first recorded conversation between the two sisters is about a man,
which illustrates their tendency to discuss the men in their lives and their various
reactions to them. Although it is an example of their mutual openness, it also
represents the first intrusion of patriarchal values into their relationship, values
which will carry greater weight with the sisters as the novel progresses. Their
conversation is about Mr. Bingley, and opens with a statement that in a few short
words expresses several important tenets of their relationship: “When Jane and
Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr.
Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him” (9). Jane
is willing to tell Elizabeth that she is becoming attached, and this sets the tone for
later communications between the two sisters, conversations that continue to
canvass the men they meet and their impressions of them. This also conveys the
idea that they are one another’s closest confidante, and that Jane will share this
information with no one but Elizabeth.
Jane is very open with Elizabeth about her thoughts and reactions when
Bingley first becomes enamored with her and is actively pursuing her, and she
continues this openness for a short time even after Bingley seems to lose interest.
At the Netherfield ball, “Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though
modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley’s regard (73). Because it seems
22
clear that Bingley cares for Jane, she acknowledges to Elizabeth her preference of
him. Even when the first moment of doubt occurs, after Miss Bingley’s first letter
announcing they will all stay in London, Jane expresses her desire to be
completely open with Elizabeth. After she has read aloud parts of Miss Bingley’s
letter, and they have discussed their varying viewpoints on Bingley’s departure,
she seeks to further persuade Elizabeth that this is a serious matter: “But you do
not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have
no reserves from you” (90). The passage in question describes Miss Bingley’s
hopes that her brother will fall for Miss Darcy. Jane openly acknowledges that
this sentiment is painful to her because it implies that Bingley will not marry her.
Just as she has told Elizabeth her feelings about Bingley from the beginning, so
she continues even when the situation becomes more complicated. She is even
able to admit she would marry Bingley if given the chance, which is in itself a
statement of some of her dearest hopes and dreams. When Elizabeth introduces
the idea that it is Bingley’s sisters, not Bingley himself who is against the match,
and ironically suggests that Jane will have to choose between experiencing
happiness with Bingley or risking his sisters’ disapproval, the answer is easy for
Jane. She responds, “How can you talk so?...You must know that though I should
be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate” (92). While
she never admits this to her mother who is constantly talking of and promoting
their attachment, she does own it to Elizabeth. Although the conduct literature of
the period tended to ignore female to female relationships in general, it did give
some consideration to the mother-daughter bond (Moir 301). But all of Jane’s
openness is directed to Elizabeth only, which portrays the possibilities within the
frequently discounted sister relationship.
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Elizabeth’s response to Jane reflects her willingness as a sister to fully
inhabit the world of Jane’s concerns, as well as to seek to actively comfort her
through her own different point of view. She completely enters into Jane’s
surprise, but refuses to take the letter or its writer very seriously. This passage in
the novel is an important example of their differing personalities and the effects
they have on the sister relationship – for where Jane thinks Miss Bingley’s letter is
a kind warning that Mr. Bingley does not care for her, Elizabeth sees it as wishful
thinking on the part of Miss Bingley. And here, Elizabeth’s viewpoint is able to
triumph in what she sees as Jane’s best interest: “She represented to her sister as
forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of
seeing its happy effect. Jane...was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of
affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to Netherfield
and answer every wish of her heart” (92). While their opposing perspectives are at
work here as in many of their other conversations, Elizabeth is able to use all her
gifts of reason and intelligence to persuade Jane to her way of thinking, at least for
a short period of time. This illustrates the confidence and respect Jane has for
Elizabeth’s opinion, even when her own is different. In this phase of the novel,
these differences of opinion lead to longer and more comprehensive conversations
as one or the other sister is able to argue for the correctness of her perspective.
And in this space of conversation and exchange, Jane is able to temporarily change
her opinion and be comforted, even though her comfort does not last.
Critics have remarked not only on the closeness of Jane and Elizabeth, but
also on their mutual openness and shared experience. Their lack of reserve is
usually seen as an indicator of their attachment: “Loyalty and mutual exchange
between Elizabeth and Jane constitute a major motif of the novel, and they are
reflected both by the fact that the sisters keep very few secrets from each other,
24
and by how – notwithstanding their openness – they strive to protect each other’s
feelings” (Dobosiewicz 103). Yet there has not been much discussion about the
secrets they do keep from each other, and what kind of an effect this has on their
relationship. From now on I will look specifically at their moments of reticence,
at the silences that characterize their relationship after they become attached to
men. A consideration for the feelings of the other is not always an adequate
explanation for these secrets and silences. The feelings themselves, however, the
pain and disappointment, seem to rise up and prevent their communication.
This complete lack of reserve that marks the early part of the novel does not
last beyond the first volume, and the subsequent shift in the discourse of Jane and
Elizabeth follows the introduction of pain and uncertainty in matters of the heart.
When Meryton begins to gossip that Bingley will never return, Jane and Elizabeth
are both concerned, but they for once do not share this with each other. As the
situation becomes more serious, “whatever [Jane] felt she was desirous of
concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never
alluded to” (Austen 99). This is the first instance in the text where the sisters
suddenly stop sharing their thoughts and feelings with each other, and it is
significant that this instance centers on a man, signaling the intrusion of the
concerns of patriarchy into the sister relationship. The subject is obviously
extremely painful to Jane, and Elizabeth’s desire to avoid it can partly be
attributed to the pain Mrs. Bennet gives Jane by openly and incessantly dwelling
on Bingley’s departure (100). Another reason for Jane’s reticence could be that
discussing Bingley only creates fresh pain, and she clearly wants to try to forget
him. Yet she does not fully communicate this pain to Elizabeth, although
Elizabeth is aware of it, thus marking a shift in the openness of their relationship.
25
While Jane was willing enough to tell Elizabeth of her hopes, and of her first
doubts, she cannot express her actual pain and loss when they become reality.
The first chapter in Volume II offers a curious mix of open yet careful
communication between the sisters. Jane again receives a letter from Miss
Bingley, and again shares its subject matter with her sister, yet this is all. While
Elizabeth thinks of it constantly and with concern, “a day or two passed before
Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth” (104). And she only
speaks because provoked by the constant grating of Mrs. Bennet’s thoughtless
comments. Jane admits her pain to Elizabeth, but declares that she means to get
the better of it. Elizabeth, expressing her doubts and disillusions about the
inconsistency of other people, turns the subject to Mr. Collins’ marriage to
Charlotte, implying that it is safer to talk about Mr. Collins than about Mr.
Bingley. Yet Jane eventually brings it back to Bingley, not to dwell on him, but to
defend him against Elizabeth’s implicit criticism: “I cannot misunderstand you,
but I intreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and
saying your opinion of him is sunk” (105). Her unwillingness to even mention
Bingley’s name here indicates her move toward reserve. Although this move is
prompted by pain, it is a pain she still chooses to carry alone.
The sisters’ differing perspectives about Bingley during this same
conversation also result in increased reticence, whereas previously their
differences led to longer and more complex conversations, and possibly even
shifts of opinion. Jane reasons that Bingley never cared for her in the first place,
while Elizabeth insists that he did, and that he was merely swayed by his sister and
friend. But Jane cannot endure this perspective, and still has the courage to tell
Elizabeth: “By supposing such an affection, you make every body acting
unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I
26
am not ashamed of having been mistaken – or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in
comparison of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters” (106).
Although she is briefly open about her own loss, she is effectively closing the door
on any further discussion or interpretation of the situation, shifting a tenet that has
been present in her relationship with Elizabeth from the beginning of the novel.
And in keeping with their mutual respect, “Elizabeth could not oppose such a
wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley’s name was scarcely ever mentioned
between them” (106). This change, at the very beginning of Volume II, lasts for
the remainder of the novel, and is marked by an increasing recourse to secrecy,
especially from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth’s friendship with Charlotte Lucas provides a different version
within the text of the move from female openness to reserve. Charlotte is
described early on as Elizabeth’s “intimate friend” (12), and they also openly
discuss men and marriage at the beginning of the novel. And, like Jane and
Elizabeth’s relationship, their discussions are frequently distinguished by various
differences of opinion, often sharper than those experienced by the sisters. The
most significant divergence is of course Charlotte’s notion that marrying for
security is better than marrying for love. It is Charlotte’s acting out of this
opinion, contrary to Elizabeth’s expectations, that creates the rift between them.
When she first tells Elizabeth of her engagement to Mr. Collins, Elizabeth blurts
out her genuine shock. But delicacy requires her to dissemble, and after further
reflection, “making a strong effort for it, [she] was able to assure her with tolerable
firmness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that
she wished her all imaginable happiness” (96). Because she is unable to give her
real opinion, and is forced to politely lie, this sets the tone for their friendship
throughout the rest of the novel. While the movement toward reserve with Jane is
27
more gradual, with Charlotte it is instantaneous. The reserve is also described
more explicitly in the text as a barrier that has dropped between them: “Between
Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on
the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist
between them again” (98). This repeated yet more dramatic instance of female
reserve regarding a male highlights the thematic importance of this phenomenon.
It conveys the idea that the possibility of strong female community is slim within
the current societal structure, and that the demands on women often push them to
act in favor of their own security at the expense of female community and
sometimes personal happiness. Thus as Charlotte succumbs to what she considers
her only option for future provision, Elizabeth recognizes the dilemma but cannot
agree with Charlotte’s actions. This different twist on the breakdown of female
communication hints at its prevalence, as Elizabeth faces enforced silences from
Charlotte, and to a lesser extent, Jane.
The shift into spaces of silence for Jane and Elizabeth at the beginning of
Volume II means that Elizabeth must use methods other than direct
communication to discover how Jane is responding, which reflects contemporary
realities of female silence. Whereas in the early part of the novel, Jane herself told
Elizabeth her thoughts and feelings, now Elizabeth must find this out through
observation and discussions with others. For example, when Elizabeth stops over
in London with the Lucases on their way to Kent, she has to ask her aunt how Jane
is holding up after Bingley’s desertion: “Their first subject was her sister; and she
was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to her minute enquiries, that
though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of
dejection” (118). Elizabeth takes the initiative to ask a third party about her sister,
since she knows she cannot discuss these painful subjects with her directly. When
28
they have all returned home to Longbourn, Elizabeth then uses the opportunity to
watch her sister and make her deductions from what she observes: “She was now,
on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real state of her sister’s spirits.
Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley” (173).
It is important to note here that Elizabeth’s actual knowledge does not change
much. She is able to discern that Jane is still in love with Bingley, without Jane
actually telling her this as she would have before. It is the communication and the
shared confidence that is cut off. Both sisters in this situation have access to the
same information, but they cannot muse over it and make meaning together as
they once did. This has the effect of isolating the sisters from one another at the
very time when they are both struggling with their feelings about men. It also
means that their struggles become mostly internal, and as the narrator only follows
Elizabeth’s thoughts, the reader is left to wonder what Jane is thinking, just as
Elizabeth does. This internal quality mirrors the general shift in tone in the second
half of the novel – from dialogue to reflection. Yet this silencing and resulting
dependence on inference can also reflect the silences of women of the period when
patriarchal concerns gained the upper hand. As portrayed in Burney’s Camilla,
women were not supposed to express much information about their relationships
and inner worlds, and their friends and sisters were left to conjecture and deduce.
Jane first initiated this strange reserve, yet Elizabeth must follow suit and
begin deciding what is appropriate to tell and ask Jane. Whereas before this
happened the sisters would have shared everything with each other, now Elizabeth
must relay an edited version of Mr. Darcy’s proposal when she tells Jane about it.
Their relationship is still strong and still exclusive – Jane is the only person
Elizabeth tells about the proposal. Yet she has to make a very deliberate decision
about what information to leave out. The following passage illustrates the conflict
29
Elizabeth now experiences – the desire to keep to old habits and tell Jane
everything, and the wish to respect her pain and keep away from the subject of
Bingley:
To know that she had the power of revealing what would so
exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the same time, so highly
gratify whatever of her vanity she had not been able to reason away,
was such a temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered,
but the state of indecision in which she remained, as to the extent of
what she should communicate; and her fear, if she once entered on
the subject, of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley,
which might only grieve her sister farther. (166)
Here she is governed by sisterly anticipation of the shock value of her story, which
is tempered by a very real concern for Jane’s feelings. This illustrates that
Elizabeth’s careful and deliberate limitation of communication, although
inconvenient, is motivated by love.
Yet Elizabeth does tell Jane everything about her recent interaction with
Darcy except what pertains to Bingley – even the information about Miss Darcy’s
intended elopement with Wickham. Darcy had made it clear that this story was
extremely private and confidential, yet Elizabeth makes no scruple in letting Jane
know. It is not even included in the knowledge she considers keeping back. My
point in bringing this up is not to argue that Elizabeth cannot be trusted, but to say
that she considers telling Jane to be equivalent with keeping the secret only to
herself. Jane is in some ways part of her, part of her consciousness. It is this that
makes the editing of other parts of the proposal and letter seem an aberration in the
usual openness of their relationship. The incident emphasizes the original
closeness of the sisters and their natural tendency to divulge to one another. The
30
fact that this is Elizabeth’s instinctual response also provides an additional contrast
to the deliberation she engages in when considering what information to relay to
Jane. It reminds the reader that these patches of carefulness and silence are not
typical.
This strange reserve is extended when Elizabeth begins to fall for Darcy,
and she uncharacteristically withholds this information from Jane. There would be
no need to mention Bingley, so her reason of respect for Jane’s feelings does not
apply here. We are given the impression that the family is so caught up in Lydia’s
business that Elizabeth did not have time to fully relate to Jane her time in
Derbyshire, and that Elizabeth herself had not quite worked out her feelings for
Darcy, so there was no point in bringing them up. When Elizabeth finally does
tell Jane everything, she explains her reason for her previous secrecy as, “the
unsettled state of her own feelings” (286). Yet previously Elizabeth and Jane had
together figured out and analyzed the men they encountered and their opinions of
them. This habit marks many of their earlier conversations in the novel – the
practice of meeting together and making sense of the world and their reactions to
it. Thus unsettled feelings would provide a compelling reason to discuss the
situation with Jane and work out possible answers. Not only that, but Elizabeth’s
feelings were not unsettled for long. Shortly after Elizabeth and the Gardiners
return to Longbourn after Lydia’s flight, we are told that Elizabeth “was by this
time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings” (227). And after the news
that Wickham and Lydia had been found, Elizabeth reflects that “the proposals
which she had so proudly spurned only four months ago, would now have been
gladly and gratefully received!” (237). It is evident that her feelings during this
stage were by no means as unsettled as she remembered them to be. Simply put,
Elizabeth does not tell Jane about the change in her feelings toward Darcy because
31
she chooses not to. Thus these arguments the text produces in favor of Elizabeth’s
reticence collapse on closer examination.
The gap between the sisters becomes more pronounced when Bingley and
Darcy suddenly return to Longbourn, for the silences of the sisters have resulted in
limited knowledge of each other’s hearts, especially in Jane’s knowledge of
Elizabeth. Elizabeth knows that Jane feels a flutter at seeing Bingley again, but
she herself “had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to
whom she had never yet had courage to shew Mrs. Gardiner’s letter, or to relate
her own change of sentiment towards [Darcy]” (254). Here we are told that
Elizabeth does not have the “courage” to tell her closest confidante that she loves
Mr. Darcy. Although the sisters have long since stopped discussing Bingley,
Elizabeth is still able to ascertain what Jane is thinking and feeling through her
knowledge of her sister and their previous conversations. But Jane has no idea of
what is passing in Elizabeth’s head and heart. As discussed earlier, Elizabeth did
tell Jane of Darcy’s letter and her subsequent reassessment of his interaction with
Wickham. But she did not mention anything beyond that. While it is clear that
Elizabeth thinks that nothing will come of Mr. Darcy’s attachment to her, it is not
in keeping with her earlier behavior that she would omit to tell Jane of her own
significant change of heart. We are never told why she would need courage to
share with her closest sister her new wishes and pains, when she knows that her
sister can commiserate so well. The pain of loving without any definite hope of
marriage is one that Jane knows thoroughly, and Elizabeth is of course very aware
of this.
The text makes it clear that even at the height of their mutual reserve,
however, the sisters are still each other’s closest friend. There is no coolness or
resentment between them, only strange gaps in their communications. For
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example, Elizabeth first hears of Lydia’s elopement, and all the attending fears and
disgrace, in a letter from Jane, who wholeheartedly admits her desire to have
Elizabeth back at Longbourn. And Elizabeth in turn resolves to return
immediately, for “She was wild to be at home…to share with Jane in the cares that
must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so deranged” (212). They still hold
within the family their shared role of representatives of reason and propriety, and
confide in each other their sorrow over Lydia, and continue their discussion of
men in their conversations about Wickham. Yet they are assiduously silent about
Bingley and Darcy.
While shared pain is often a factor in the interaction of a female
community, this is not the case with Jane and Elizabeth. Their pain over their
sister Lydia is shared; their pain for the men they think they have lost is not. The
shortcomings of their female community can be traced in part to the demands that
a patriarchal system places on women. Although the closeness, intelligence, and
moral awareness of their relationship contradict the official myth, they cannot
overcome the financial necessity that they marry or the wishes of their hearts that
have fixed on particular men. The combined weight of patriarchy and love seems
to be enough to silence the sisters, to prevent them from walking this path
together. It appears subversive of Austen at first, to present young women
traveling toward traditional marriage by way of reason and intelligence, rather
than merely charm and ornamentation. Thus the sisters begin this journey toward
what might be called a proto-feminism, yet when their hearts become entangled,
they fall silent. Is Austen showing the final end of every path within a system that
will admit no other alternative? Thus she could be illustrating that even
independent, witty women must wind up relying on men in the end. So the female
confidence between the sisters breaks down.
33
All of this demonstrates that the female community of Jane and Elizabeth is
much more complicated than a simple portrayal of close sisters or a one-
dimensional challenge to current ideologies. Ilona Dobosiewicz argues:
Through her detailed representation of the two sisters’ closeness,
Austen questions here the patriarchal canard of female rivalry over
eligible men. She demonstrates that the sororal bond between
Elizabeth and Jane is the central force in their lives, and other, male-
oriented relationships have to adapt to the framework constituted by
their sisterhood. (102)
Although this is accurate through part of the novel (consider that Elizabeth cannot
accept Darcy’s proposal because he has been instrumental in hurting Jane), later in
the novel their sisterhood has to adapt to the tension created by the male-oriented
relationships. When relationships with men are not going well, their sisterhood,
their female community, does not absorb and make meaning from it, but instead
shuts down.
When Bingley returns, the same reserve still exists between the sisters,
although it is more a result of Jane’s unwillingness to admit her true feelings to
herself, rather than from any disinclination to share them with Elizabeth. She tries
to convince Elizabeth that Bingley’s return does not affect her, and Elizabeth
refuses to believe her, saying, “if you persist in indifference, do not make me your
confidante” (Austen 262). Yet, even though Jane’s situation looks so much more
positive than it has for many months, and it would seem to make sense for the
sisters to return to the same openness they had at the beginning of Bingley’s
attentions, it does not happen. We are told that after Jane’s assertion of
indifference “not a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley” (263).
This selective reserve they have both been practicing has become a habit, and it is
34
still less painful and less complicated to return to open discussion and
acknowledgement of hopes and fears.
With Bingley and Jane’s engagement and the firm establishment of Jane’s
happiness, all her silences toward Elizabeth are ended. Elizabeth is the first to
hear the happy news, for “Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where
confidence would give pleasure” (264). This not only signals the renewal of
unlimited openness from Jane, but implies that pain, the opposite of pleasure, had
been a definite factor in the silences of both sisters. It is not until the uncertainty
is over for Jane that she returns to openness. And she does not speak of Bingley to
Elizabeth until Bingley speaks first. The convention that the male must initiate
and speak first in a romantic relationship is thereby repeated in this female
relationship. Before Bingley “speaks” to Jane, Jane does not “speak” of him to
anyone. This is an instance of the collapse of a female community, of patriarchy
subtly inserting itself through the power of habit and tradition. Even the strong,
caring relationship that Jane and Elizabeth have had cannot combat the position
they find themselves in within society and the necessity that they marry rich men.
When this societal pressure is combined with the pain of inclination (they find rich
men they actually want to marry, but think they cannot), it effectively silences
them. This seems to be a slight parallel to the situation described in Camilla,
where a woman must not reveal her interest before a man reveals his. Although
the mandate is unspoken in this novel, it still operates as a hidden script that
women must follow.
Elizabeth’s own happy ending and engagement to Mr. Darcy in turn seem
to end her silence toward Jane, yet the breach that her reserve resulted in takes
some work to close up. Jane is justly surprised and incredulous when Elizabeth
first mentions her engagement. She has been given nothing to prepare her for this
35
– Elizabeth did not even confide in her about Lady Catherine’s visit. When Jane is
finally convinced, she lightly reproaches her sister for her lack of confidence in
her: “But Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did
you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton!” (286). This implies what
we have already learned from observation – that Elizabeth’s silence here was
uncharacteristic, and even went beyond Jane’s original silence about Bingley. It
appears that even though Elizabeth resists facets of dominant culture and refuses
to place her own security over her personal happiness, she here gives in to the
hidden script governing women’s disclosures and speech.
Ironically, the breach in the female community of Jane and Elizabeth is
repaired after both sisters are secure in their future marriages. After Jane’s
engagement, as earlier stated, we are told she “could have no reserves from
Elizabeth.” And when Elizabeth is telling Jane of her own engagement, it is clear
that the time of secrecy is ended, and they must revisit those spaces of silence and
reveal what had been hidden. With all doubt removed, now Elizabeth “would no
longer conceal from her, [Darcy’s] share in Lydia’s marriage. All was
acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation” (286). Their relationship
has in a sense been rescued and restored by their marriages, which will of course
necessitate their physical separation. The happy outcomes of their relationships
with men seem to renew the closeness of their relationship, even while they signal
an upcoming time when the sisters will not be able to live together and share as
much of their worlds as they once did. Yet Austen does not give up on the
centrality of this sister relationship. Instead, she “strengthens the interrelationship
of sister-plot and marriage-plot by making Darcy and Bingley close friends whose
complementarity is not unlike that of Jane and Elizabeth, and who would naturally
want to settle in neighboring shires” (Lanser 57). Bingley and Jane later move
36
close to Derbyshire, and “Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of
happiness, were within thirty miles of each other” (Austen 295). Although their
friendship is now advanced by the actions of their husbands, their female
community is able to maintain a strong presence even by the very end of the story.
The making and cultivating of strong sister ties does not end with Jane and
Elizabeth, however, for the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy paves the way for the
creation of a new sister pair – Elizabeth and Georgiana. Although this relationship
is of course encouraged by Darcy, it is still a female community: “They were able
to love each other, even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest
opinion in the world of Elizabeth” (297). William Deresiewicz argues for the
advancement of different kinds of community beyond marriage in Austen’s
novels, as he says, “love in Austen is a form of friendship, and that friendship is an
essentially communal relation” (531). Thus Austen makes it clear that this
marriage does not result in exclusion, but in greater and more expansive
community and mutually beneficial female relationships, particularly sister
relationships. As another critic has said, “Austen continues to create structures
that intertwine marriage quests with the search for sisterhood as sisterly bonds are
forged, through marriage itself, between sisters-in-law” (Lanser 61). This serves
as yet another reminder (in a departure from the conduct literature) that, even after
a woman is married, her husband is not her sole focus.
In spite of her lapses into silence, Elizabeth herself supports this value for
sisterhood when disagreeing with Charlotte Lucas’ philosophy of marriage.
Dobosiewicz states, “For Elizabeth, happiness is a much broader notion than just
marital security: one touchstone for happiness in Jane Austen’s novels is close
affiliation with other women” (129). It is Charlotte’s bid for marital security alone
that actually hinders her relationship with other women, especially Elizabeth. And
37
although Elizabeth does finally achieve that security, she is still able to retain and
even gain other female/sister relationships. Her focus all along has been different
from Charlotte’s, and her resulting happiness and satisfaction seem to support her
unwillingness to sacrifice everything for the sake of marriage.
The primacy of sister relationships in the novel does at times seem to be
counteracted by their later dependence on the patriarchal system of wealthy and
successful marriages. Yet the fact remains that these relationships are not
subsumed or even supplanted by the marriages, but valued and thriving. I believe
this is Austen arguing that, although society demands that women marry, the
relationship of a woman to her husband is not by any means the only significant
relationship she can or will experience. The closeness of the sister relationship
can last beyond marriage and each can enrich the other. Laura Vorachek, in her
article that reads the novel against Fordyce’s sermons, argues that Austen invokes
“a critical distance from the dominant ideology” as she upholds and yet challenges
aspects of conduct literature (136). This distance, accompanied by a fair amount
of rewriting of cultural scripts, is certainly present in her portrayal of married
sisters.
Through its consistent emphasis on the variations in the relationship of Jane
and Elizabeth, Pride and Prejudice reveals that the closeness and affection of the
sister relationship is of definite significance to the lives and inner worlds of
women. Such a bond, rather than inviting rivalry, can help women navigate the
world and even resist its values. Yet Austen complicates this portrayal and
implies that there is a barrier to complete sisterly accord, and that barrier can be
found in contemporary ideologies that insist that marriage is the ultimate goal and
fulfillment of a woman’s life. This societal expectation hinders sisterly
communication as the sisters succumb to pressure and keep the parts of their lives
38
connected with men hidden from each other. Yet even as these silences
overshadow the relationship of Elizabeth and Jane, they are overcome and undone
by the success of their marriages and the resulting triumph of their sisterhood.
Although the reality of the limitations of a woman’s lot is always present, the
sisters are able to regain and restore their intimacy and continue to build their
shared view of the world. Thus the cultural expectations are simultaneously
fulfilled and subverted.
CHAPTER 3: “WE HAVE NEITHER OF US ANYTHING TO TELL”: SILENCES AND FEMALE COMMUNITY IN
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
Austen’s Sense and Sensibility approaches the topic of sisterhood from a
slightly different direction, emphasizing more overtly the intellectual and
emotional advantages of strong female community. The novel makes its subject
the relationships and the lives of two sisters, even more so than Pride and
Prejudice. The focus on the opposing personalities and dispositions of the sisters
is so sharp that it almost overshadows their relationships with men. At first
glance, Elinor and Marianne Dashwood embody the novel’s paired extremes of
sense and sensibility, yet they, like Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, are also very close
to one another. The Dashwoods, however, while frequently portrayed as a single
unit of intelligence and elegance within a society characterized by the ridiculous,
also experience lapses in communication and deliberate omissions and silences
when they become attached to men. While these omissions are simply silences to
be passed over for the Bennets, for the Dashwoods they are direct sources of
conflict. Despite their strong mutual affection, the female community of Elinor
and Marianne begins in a position of weakness, misunderstanding, and increasing
reserve about their romantic attachments. Through comparisons with minor
characters and exploration of the purpose of communication, the novel portrays
the Dashwoods’ movement from a fractured to a healed sisterhood. The moments
when Elinor and Marianne tell their secrets to one another, and share their sorrows
through words and openness signal a strengthening and restoration of their
community, along with a pointed independence from the world of men.
The sisterhood of Elinor and Marianne is portrayed as a complex female
community that eventually brings about growth and change, and accomplishes this
40
through a variety of interactions and friction. Each sister is an intricate character
who must learn to see the world a little bit differently than before, although this
intricacy is only hinted at in the beginning. In the first few pages of the novel,
Elinor and Marianne seem to be described as simple opposites – Elinor is cool and
rational almost to a fault, while Marianne embodies the role of the emotional
female abandoned to every whim of circumstance and feeling. Initially it appears
that there is no common ground between these two widely divergent personalities.
Yet it is important to note that the sisters are very similar in terms of intelligence
and education, and even in the first paragraphs that describe them, each sister
already retains aspects of the other. Austen describes Elinor’s wisdom and reason,
then says, “She had an excellent heart; – her disposition was affectionate, and her
feelings were strong” – a description that could very well apply to Marianne (4).
And in the following paragraph we are told, “Marianne’s abilities were, in many
respects, quite equal to Elinor’s. She was sensible and clever; but eager in every
thing” (4). Thus, even from the beginning, there is more to each sister than their
contrasting roles of sense and sensibility. Emily Auerbach highlights that
complication when she says that “Austen carefully crafts her fiction so that readers
cannot, in all fairness, reduce these two sisters to mind and emotion” (101). They
are presented instead as complex characters who gradually influence the
perceptions of each other. Each sister retains faint aspects of the other’s
personality at the beginning of the novel, but as the story progresses they must
learn to meet in the middle and understand each other’s worlds, although this is
only accomplished after much confusion and conflict. This focus on the gradual
growth of the sisters provides an interpretation of female relationships that is very
different from the weak or absent definition advanced by Austen’s culture. The
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Dashwoods illustrate that members of a female community can help one another to
triumph over sorrow and arrive at a clearer understanding of the world.
The relationship of Elinor and Marianne is the novel’s primary concern,
even eclipsing extremely important questions of suitors and marriage. This is a
striking difference from Pride and Prejudice, for although the relationship
between Jane and Elizabeth is important, it is clear that the novel’s central focus is
Elizabeth and Darcy. Sense and Sensibility shifts that focus to the sister pair,
which is further emphasized by the novel’s original title, Elinor and Marianne.
The novel privileges conversations and interactions between Elinor and Marianne
much more than interactions between either sister and her lover(s). And although
the narrator provides us with more insight into Elinor’s psyche than Marianne’s,
often blending free indirect discourse with Elinor’s thoughts, the fortunes and
miseries of both sisters are of equal concern within the world of the novel. Thus
not only their respective situations, but their relationship with each other is an
important emphasis of the novel. One critic said, in acknowledging the common
reader complaint that Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrars are bland characters,
“the pleasures of the narrative are all invested in the connection between Elinor
and Marianne, a connection that is tried and threatened, but eventually restored
and strengthened across the narrative” (Thompson). This central connection is
initially portrayed in a curious way, as both sisters have great affection for one
another despite their inability to share similar perspectives.
It is clear from the beginning that Elinor and Marianne love each other
deeply and constantly support each other in their own unique ways. Even the
striking differences between them are viewed by the other not from a position of
superiority and ridicule, but of compassion. Elinor is able to see “with concern,
the excess of her sister’s sensibility” (Austen 5). This establishes Elinor’s sisterly
42
care for Marianne, illustrating that she does not view Marianne’s behavior with
scorn, but with a quality of concern distinctive to the elder sister. A similar
approach is adopted by Marianne as she has to admit to herself that Elinor cannot
enjoy such glorious heights and depths of feeling as she does. As Marianne
observes Elinor’s calm reaction when her lover leaves after a short, awkward visit
to Barton, she is shocked and confused. Yet her love for her sister does not
change: “That her sister’s affections were calm, she dared not deny, though she
blushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave a very striking
proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in spite of this mortifying
conviction” (90). Marianne misunderstands the intensity of Elinor’s feelings and
sadly concludes that her sister is not living up to Marianne’s ideals, yet she loves
her anyway. The strong affection between the sisters helps to give a sense of
solidity to their sisterhood that is later shaken by outside forces and events, and
brings them eventually to a place of triumph.
The mutual affection of the Dashwoods motivates them to act out of deep
concern for one another, even if their opinions of those actions are often very
different. As they mix with their new society at Barton, Elinor and Marianne
involuntarily look out for each other. Mrs. Jennings loudly and mercilessly teases
the girls about any lovers they left behind at Norland, and Marianne is upset “for
her sister’s sake, and turned her eyes toward Elinor to see how she bore these
attacks, with an earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain than could
arise…from Mrs. Jennings” (29). Marianne’s sisterly concern is informed by her
impulsive personality – she is worried that Mrs. Jennings is embarrassing Elinor,
and is unaware that her overt looks of concern expose Elinor to such comments
even more. Elinor responds to her sister with equal care, although greater
discretion, as she is constantly watching out for Marianne in their new
43
environment. She pays especial attention when Willoughby comes on the scene,
and suddenly two men are interested in her sister: “Colonel Brandon’s partiality
for Marianne, which had so early been discovered by his friends, now first became
perceptible to Elinor, when it ceased to be noticed by them” (42). Elinor’s
perspective, so often coinciding with the narrator’s, is heightened by a concern for
anything relating to Marianne. Thus both sisters, without intending to, present a
unified front to their new and strange surroundings. Despite their differences, they
attempt to protect what they know of the other’s heart, emphasizing that the sister
bond can exist without any desire to compete for the same suitor or to undermine
the other’s position in society.
Although the sisters are equally concerned for each other, Elinor often sees
circumstances more clearly than Marianne, and her view seems to receive more of
the narrator’s sanction. One reason for the primacy given to Elinor is Marianne’s
determination to feel everything and imagine what she does not actually know,
which results in a variety of misconceptions. George Haggerty points out that,
“Elinor considers private experience in relation to the public context, while
Marianne can only understand private experience in relation to itself. Elinor thinks
about her relation to the world, while Marianne primarily feels it” (224). This
difference between the two sisters is explored in their interactions and suggests
that women can negotiate their “public context” by learning from each other, as
Marianne later learns from Elinor and behaves better to everyone as a result. In a
novel that raises questions about how intelligent women should interact among a
less intelligent society, it is Marianne who must come to Elinor’s way of thinking.
Yet throughout the novel this inequity of their perspectives is often presented in
tandem with the affection they feel for each other, and therefore complicated. In
other words, it is difficult to completely discount Marianne. For example, Edward
44
comes to visit the Dashwoods at Barton, and Marianne sees him from a distance
and hopes it is Willoughby. When she discovers it is Edward, “in her sister’s
happiness [she] forgot for a time her own disappointment” (Austen 75), showing
that it is only consideration of Elinor that can rouse her from her intense grief.
This selfless consideration helps the reader sympathize with Marianne, yet her
assumption that Elinor is happy is incorrect, as later events show that Elinor is
more confused and hurt by Edward’s coldness than pleased in the visit. Marianne,
however, has no idea of this. In contrast to the gaps in Marianne’s knowledge,
Elinor’s loving concern for Marianne’s grief over Willoughby’s departure is
accompanied by a very solid understanding of Marianne’s character: “her sister’s
affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest compassion of that
violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability not giving way to as a relief,
but feeding and encouraging as a duty” (66). Again, Elinor does not indulge in
feelings of superiority about her greater self-control and wiser perspective, but
instead sees her sister with compassion.
Elinor and Marianne, despite their high opinion of each other, often work at
odds when they are interacting with others, and this reveals the gaps in their
relationship and the resulting shakiness of their female community. Marianne is
constantly embarrassing her sister by her impassioned defense of Elinor in the face
of any comment that appears to be negative, while Elinor is always watching
Marianne and trying to hide her impropriety from the notice of others. In London,
when Mrs. Ferrars ignores Elinor’s work expressly to praise the absent Miss
Morton, who she hopes Edward will marry, Marianne is incensed. She cries,
“‘This is admiration of a very particular kind! – what is Miss Morton to us? – who
knows, or who cares for her? – it is Elinor of whom we think and speak’” (206).
Elinor’s embarrassment at this remark shows her greater societal awareness, and
45
she must use this awareness to protect Marianne. For example, shortly after
Marianne and Elinor arrive in town, Marianne tries to account for Willoughby’s
continued absence by reasoning that the weather must have kept him in the
country. Elinor changes the subject, “wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from
seeing her sister’s thoughts as clearly as she did” (144). Edward Neill, referring
both to Elinor’s hobby of painting screens as well as her tendency to shield
Marianne, has mentioned that “Elinor ‘screens’ but Marianne (virtually)
‘screams’, the word deployed in a disturbing scene in chapter 29, after Marianne’s
rejection by…John Willoughby” (115). Elinor’s tendency to shield or screen
Marianne’s “screaming” impropriety holds steady until the end of the novel, when
Marianne becomes more like Elinor and their roles become much more similar.
Elinor’s clearer vision is shown in her ability to relate to Marianne in her
grief, and to show her sympathy in a way that Marianne can understand, a
reciprocation Marianne has yet to learn. This occurs when Marianne learns of
Willoughby’s engagement to Miss Grey. Elinor sees Marianne lying on the bed,
holding a letter and sobbing. Before Elinor even reads the letter, or knows the
details of Marianne’s sorrow, she “drew near, but without saying a word; and
seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed her affectionately several times,
and then gave way to a burst of tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than
Marianne’s” (Austen 158). Elinor does not often react with tears in the novel; she
tends to think and observe. Yet it is significant that, although she has lost just as
much as her sister, she is willing to share her sorrow in the way that is most
meaningful to Marianne. This act speaks to the bonds of both circumstance and
sympathy that join the sisters, and illustrates that deep understanding and empathy,
not rivalry, can be present in the role of the sister. By focusing on this sister
relationship and demonstrating its nuances, Austen is able to reveal that sisterhood
46
is a complicated affair. Sisters do not have to be rivals in the marriage market, but
they are not always completely unified, either. The Dashwoods’ relationship is
strongly informed by mutual love but still marked by strong internal differences.
The female community of Elinor and Marianne, despite the wide
differences within, is still frequently presented in contrast to a rather silly and
thoughtless society. The Dashwood sisters are described as elegant, intelligent,
and well-educated, which is quite opposite from the vulgarity of Sir John, Mrs.
Jennings, and the Steeles. Lady Middleton’s opinion reflects the disparity they
bring to the Barton circle: “Though nothing could be more polite than Lady
Middleton’s behavior to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all.
Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them
good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical”
(215). Although Elinor and Marianne are women, they are frequently presented as
more rational and intelligent than many of the people they mix with, including the
men. (An exception to this would be the men who fall in love with them –
Colonel Brandon, Edward, and Willoughby, who are all very intelligent and at
least capable of rationality). This presentation privileges both of the female
protagonists, illustrating that even the female who gives way to traditional
eighteenth-century sensibility has an informed and rational mind. The background
and bond the sisters share, although shaky, is still stronger than the other relations
of family that they see and interact with. Although their tie develops further
cracks by the time they go to London, they still share their potential for ability and
insight that everyone else around them seems to lack. Elinor and Marianne show
this intelligence from within the inferior positions they are given in the novel. Not
only as women, but as sisters – and therefore participants in a frequently
47
discounted connection – they show more clarity of perspective than many of the
novel’s more socially privileged characters.
The slippage in the Dashwoods’ relationship occurs in their invocation of
silences and secrets, in their increasing inability to completely convey their
experiences and perspectives with the other. Elinor and Marianne do not confide
in each other and seek to jointly understand their shared world as consistently as
Jane and Elizabeth Bennet do, yet there is a sense that they are aware of what is
taking place in the other’s heart (at least at the beginning). Marianne, through her
mother’s influence, is able to perceive that Elinor favors Edward, even if she does
imagine much more commitment than is actually present, and Elinor (along with
everyone else) witnesses Marianne’s very public attachment to Willoughby. Their
lack of long, deep conversations is probably a result of their widely different
personalities. For example, Marianne confronts Elinor about her feelings for
Edward early in the novel, and their discussion is an example of how their
opposing dispositions raise barriers to communication. Marianne assumes Elinor
must be engaged while Elinor downplays her own affection (17). Marianne’s
outburst at such mild feelings elicits more honesty from Elinor, yet the differences
in their characters, which are much more drastic than the differences between Jane
and Elizabeth, make it useless to pursue the subject further. Through the detailed
interactions and conflicts of these characters, Austen is able to demonstrate that
the sister relationship should not be reduced to the simple formula advanced by the
dominant culture. By complicating a seemingly close bond and showing the rough
spots in their communication, she presents the notion that the connection between
sisters deserves a closer look.
Despite this absence of intimate communication (the first dialogue between
them does not take place until ten pages after they are introduced to the reader),
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the Dashwoods’ first three recorded conversations in the novel are about men,
illustrating that they did at least talk about the men they met. This also reveals
that initially for the Dashwoods, men are the sites of contention while increasing
the differences already present between them. Whereas Jane and Elizabeth Bennet
use their differences of opinion to arrive at some kind of mutual understanding,
Elinor and Marianne’s communication is fraught with sharper disagreement rooted
in their widely different approaches to life. Their first conversations about men
are all arguments about their level of admiration for these particular men and
whether or not the men deserve it. Marianne’s first words to her sister about
Edward comprise a criticism at his lack of taste, as she introduces the subject by
saying, “What a pity it is, Elinor, that Edward should have no taste for drawing”
(15). While Marianne tempers her criticism out of respect for Elinor when she
learns that Elinor does indeed care for him, her opinion of Edward does not really
change. After Colonel Brandon comes on the scene, Marianne attacks his age,
implying that he is old and frail. Elinor defends him, despite Marianne’s horrified
association of Brandon’s mention of flannel waistcoats with “aches, cramps,
rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and feeble” (33).
And again, after Willoughby first visits the Dashwoods, Elinor implies that
Marianne has been too transparent and too open on such a short acquaintance.
Marianne responds with, “is this fair? is this just?...But I see what you mean…I
have erred against every common-place notion of decorum” (40). Although this
last conversation is technically more about Marianne than it is about Willoughby,
it is still a reference to Willoughby’s appeal and his effect on Marianne.
Throughout all of these conversations, however, as petty as they may seem, each
sister is not as interested in learning from the other as she is in defending her own
opinion. Thus from the very beginning, the female community of Elinor and
49
Marianne is not particularly strong or self-sufficient, although it is firmly informed
by mutual love.
The communication of the sisters, however faulty, is increasingly hindered
when its subject is love of a man – and oddly enough, it is Marianne who enacts
the most obvious and noticeable reserve. Although Elinor has been relatively
silent about her affection for Edward, especially her disappointment in his
coldness during his visit to Barton, her family still is aware of her feelings (to an
extent) because Elinor does not actively keep any explicit secrets from them until
she hears of Lucy’s engagement. Marianne’s behavior, in contrast, has been
marked by her impassioned honesty and distaste for polite dissembling, along with
her very open adoration of Willoughby. Yet because she acts as if she is engaged
to Willoughby, her lack of discussion on the actual subject of engagement is
surprising to Elinor, who considers the couple to be “maintaining an
“extraordinary silence” and a “strange kind of secrecy” (61). Mrs. Dashwood,
however, has a very different interpretation of the event. Despite the absence of
words, she believes that “all has been uniformly open and unreserved” (69).
Although Mrs. Dashwood loves to assume, and is proven wrong by later events,
her different viewpoint calls into question the entire role of communication in the
family. Instead of communication being either present or not, it inhabits a slippery
space where it is subject to various readings by different characters. Thus even the
question of whether or not a character is reserved is open to interpretation, a
nebulous idea that Marianne later plays on when she and Elinor attempt to accuse
each other of reserve while keeping their own secrets.
As the pain and doubts of each sister increase, their relationship suffers
from voluntary and involuntary silences as they drift farther apart when they
should together find solace and courage in their shared sorrows. While
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Marianne’s strange silence does not create any open conflict between the sisters, it
does have the effect of estranging them in certain respects. Elinor watches
Marianne in confusion and doubt, left to her own conjectures, just as Elizabeth
watches Jane’s despondency with concern. Marianne isolates herself from her
sister, and although Elinor can clearly observe the joy of Marianne’s initial
expectations from the trip to London, and then her increasing emotional
disturbance when she hears nothing from Willoughby, she cannot console her or
fully enter into her feelings since she is unaware of the true nature of Marianne’s
relationship with Willoughby. Marianne’s isolation is partially a result of her act
of placing greater value on Willoughby than her sister, a direct reflection of the
values of the dominant culture which dictate that pursuing marriage is more
important than relationships with other women. The cost that this paradigm brings
to Marianne is painful, and Austen reminds us that it is only through a reworking
of these priorities, of according her sister a more important place in her heart and
mind, that she can find peace. This direct challenge to the prevailing ideology
shows the consequences of ignoring the sister tie, and suggests that this
misunderstanding and isolation can be avoided.
To compound the breach between the sisters, Elinor’s own reserve becomes
more pronounced when she is forced into a reluctant secrecy by Lucy Steele’s
deliberate confession of her engagement to Edward. Here, as in Marianne’s
situation, the reserve is about a man, yet it is enjoined by another woman, a
woman who places little value on the sister tie. Lucy is a representative of
patriarchal beliefs who places marriage above all other societal and familial bonds,
who is even willing to maim other relationships in order to get what she wants.
The effects of her actions create a wedge between the Dashwood sisters, and they
must for a time capitulate to the values of the dominant culture. Communication
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between them is forbidden due to Elinor’s sense of honor, and she must pretend
that her feelings for Edward are less than they are in order to prevent her mother
and sister from talking about him so warmly. This false portrayal and increased
reticence creates a growing rift between the sisters, as Marianne constantly
misunderstands Elinor’s reserve about Edward, and attributes it to weak feelings
or even a lack of honesty. Elinor is forced to present a cold front to Marianne,
which confirms her already existing opinion of the shallowness of Elinor’s
affections and desires. This distance between the real and perceived Elinor cause
pain to Elinor and confusion to Marianne, and also results in Marianne giving
Elinor direct censure as well as privileging her own sorrows when Willoughby
deserts her. This shows that sister relationships are not invulnerable to the
pressure of outside influences, and that society’s demands can exert a force that
stifles sisterly interaction and support.
Marianne’s secrecy, in contrast to Elinor’s, is never fully explained by the
text, but provides an example of her misuses of speech and silence. Shortly after
the Dashwoods arrive in London, Elinor is curious when she sees Marianne
writing to Willoughby, but Marianne behaves as if she is “wishing to avoid any
farther inquiry” (138). Thus the text makes it clear that Marianne overtly avoids
communication, but never gives a reason why. While Elinor had been constrained
from trying to reopen communication from delicacy (she does not want to suggest
that they are not engaged and that Marianne is behaving inappropriately), and her
mother’s injunction, Marianne’s growing agitation at the lack of an answer from
Willoughby prompts her to point out to her sister her lack of confidence.
Marianne responds by bringing up Elinor’s reserve, answering, “We have neither
of us any thing to tell; you, because you communicate nothing, and I, because I
conceal nothing” (147). This again moves the question of communication into
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that nebulous space where words are not considered necessary. Yet they are
necessary – for the result of their absence is that neither sister understands the
other. Marianne’s response contains an accusation, which effectively prevents
Elinor from asking any further questions. Thus the disagreement implicit in this
scene is present because of the reserve between the sisters. Patricia Meyer Spacks
describes Sense and Sensibility as a “novel of secrets” (12), and the secrets that the
sisters withhold from each other certainly reveal their characters even as they
produce conflict.
The sisterhood of the Dashwoods becomes stronger and more self-
sufficient when the secrets are removed and they begin to communicate rather than
conceal. Their relationship starts to mend when Willoughby’s letter arrives and
Marianne shows it to Elinor, and one major secret is cleared up and their bond
becomes important again. In this packet from Willoughby all the recent history
that Marianne kept secret is now laid open before Elinor – Marianne’s loving,
generous notes and Willoughby’s cold response. Words have now entered their
relationship again, inscribed words of print that tell the story to Elinor better than
Marianne could in her wild sorrow. Yet Elinor seeks to bring spoken
communication back into the equation, for after sharing in Marianne’s grief, she
“encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and before breakfast
was ready, they had gone through the subject again and again” (Austen 174). Here
they are at last negotiating the world and what is strange to them, together trying
to make sense of Willoughby’s behavior. And for a while, it even helps Marianne.
But more external communication, more answers about Willoughby, serve to stifle
that for a time. After Colonel Brandon tells Marianne the story of Willoughby and
Eliza Williams, and Elinor relays it to her sister, Marianne “could not bring herself
to speak of what she felt even to Elinor; and brooding over her sorrows in silence,
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gave more pain to her sister than could have been communicated by the most open
and most frequent confession of them” (185). As the novel progresses, it takes
time for Marianne to learn to openly talk with her sister and engage in shared
meaning making.
Full communication between the sisters is finally renewed (or begun) after
Edward’s engagement to Lucy is made public. All that Marianne had found to
perplex her in Elinor’s behavior is explained away, and their relationship moves
along toward restoration. James Thompson refers to this passage as the
“emotional center of the novel,” and this telling of secrets does mark a drastic shift
in the relationship of Elinor and Marianne. After detailing to Marianne a long
explanation of just how much she has suffered, Elinor says, “if I had not been
bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely…from openly
shewing that I was very unhappy” (230). Although Elinor acknowledges her own
natural reticence, she here places all the blame for her reserve on Lucy’s
confidence in her. It is interesting that Elinor’s enforced silence and its removal
were both the result of external forces, not Elinor’s own choice. This outward
entity has the power to affect and shape the female community of the Dashwood
sisters, indicating the permeability and weakness of that community. Through the
process of this invasive event, however, the sisters become closer and Marianne
gains an appreciation for Elinor that she did not have before. Austen considers the
openness they can now enjoy, this removal of secrets, to be the appropriate
situation between the sisters, saying, “But though confidence between them was,
by the public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which
either of them were fond of dwelling when alone” (235, emphasis mine). The
topic is uncomfortable for each of them – for Elinor, because she is trying to forget
how much Edward cares for her, and for Marianne, because she winds up
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comparing Elinor’s behavior to her own. Yet even though they are not actively
engaging in conversation, reserve and secrecy are finally gone.
This state of openness is temporary, almost a tease for what they are to
enjoy by the end of the novel, and again hints at the ongoing tenuous quality of
female communication. Elinor again keeps a secret from Marianne, choosing not
to tell her of Willoughby’s visit during her illness because she is afraid of its effect
on her health (294). Yet this secret does not result in any renewal of tension or
misunderstanding between the sisters, and it is very clear that Elinor plans to
reveal it, but is merely waiting for the appropriate time. The situation seems to
create more internal conflict for Elinor than it ever does between the sisters.
Debating within herself matters of “propriety or impropriety,” she finally decides
to tell her, and the last secret of the novel is removed (305).
Even as the Dashwoods are able to gain closeness and comfort in a
strengthened female community, the Steele sisters, as foils to the Dashwoods,
undermine each other even while they operate under their own shared system of
values. While this is especially evident in Austen’s description of the Steeles’
vulgarity and flattering tendencies, it is also delineated in the ways the sister pairs
use words and employ secrecy. And although Lucy and Elinor are foils in the
sense that they desire the same man for very different reasons, the foil relationship
also holds true when the younger and the older sister sets are compared with each
other. The roles that Anne and Lucy Steele play in each other’s lives serve as a
negative comparison to the triumph that Elinor and Marianne are able to achieve.
This comments on the sister role and the potential sisters have for influence in
each other’s lives, while illustrating the underlying similarities and values that
sisters tend to share despite their personality differences.
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The older sisters Elinor Dashwood and Anne Steele employ words very
differently as they interact with their younger sisters, and Anne illustrates that the
wrong kind of openness can be detrimental to the sister relationship. Elinor, as
earlier mentioned, is constantly trying to shield her sister’s impropriety from the
notice of others. Her role is to hide and protect, and she often does so with words:
by changing the subject, by averting a character’s attention. Anne, who is
solemnly charged with keeping the secret of her sister’s engagement, has to be
constantly reminded and goaded by Lucy into being discreet, because her impulse
is to divulge. She eventually does blurt out Lucy’s secret to Fanny Dashwood,
which accelerates the events in the novel (and ironically helps bring about
improved interaction between Elinor and Marianne), thoughtlessly announcing the
most serious secret she was entrusted with. Yet her essential betrayal of her
sister, through her words, forms a sharp distinction with Elinor’s behavior toward
Marianne. It also contrasts Elinor’s behavior toward Lucy, for Elinor is able to
keep Lucy’s secret better than Lucy’s own sister. While Anne’s indiscretion is a
useful plot device, it offsets Elinor’s behavior by drawing attention to the
possibilities in the roles of older sisters and their use of language and
communication as measures of sisterly consideration.
The younger sisters also reveal opposing uses of speech and silence. While
the younger sister Marianne, hitherto open and unreserved, clams up about her
(non) engagement to Willoughby, in contrast, the younger Steele, Lucy, confides
in Elinor about her engagement that is supposed to remain a complete secret.
Ilona Dobosiewicz brings attention to the inappropriateness of Lucy’s disclosure
when she says, “Sharing secrets is frequently a sign of true friendship; Lucy’s
confidences, however, are unwarranted by the level of intimacy between herself
and Elinor” (124). Lucy is motivated by the desire to simultaneously warn and
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triumph over her rival, and she initiates this process through her “unwarranted”
confidence. Lucy and Marianne both err against propriety, but do so in very
different ways. Marianne errs through her thoughtless and passionate actions,
while Lucy errs through her words and conversations. Thus the difference
between these two younger sisters hinges on communication and the uses they
make of it. Marianne later learns to effectively and properly balance expression
and secrecy, but Lucy never does. Even by the end of the novel, she sends a
message to the Dashwoods as “Mrs. Ferrars,” knowing they will misunderstand
and assume her to be married to Edward instead of Robert (Austen 310). This
further emphasizes the importance of communication to the novel as a whole and
its significance within the central relationship of Elinor and Marianne. The
position of communication among society in general is heightened and amplified
in the closeness of the sister relationship, as the consequences of its absence shake
them deeply, even while instances of its lack are mirrored in the outside world.
Marianne achieves what Lucy does not, as she experiences growth and
change in order to become a better sister to Elinor, and her improvement in
sisterhood is a signal of the overall progress of her character. By the end of the
novel, she not only learns the value of communication with her sister, but, in
contrast to Lucy, must also learn the proper places and times for both speech and
silence. Although her unusual silence in the matter of her engagement involves
everyone, including Elinor, her habitual openness of affection and opinion is
consistently misplaced, as she essentially trusts people with information they
should not have. Her constant criticism of Elinor’s calm and reserved manner,
along with her quick disgust and resulting rudeness toward the inferior intelligence
and manners of the society she mixes in at Barton, lead Karen Stohr to conclude
that Marianne has a misdirected moral imagination (388). Although her
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imagination is keen, she cannot conceive of anyone having strong feelings and not
displaying them as she does. This is the reason that, “[a]lthough she loves Elinor
dearly and wants nothing more than her happiness, she cannot believe Elinor to be
unhappy when she doesn’t show it…Her attitude toward emotional reserve
produces not only inaccurate perceptions of what is happening in the world around
her, but also outright selfishness” (Stohr 390). Thus overt, explicit words must
enter the picture and clear away Marianne’s misunderstandings and restore her
relationship with Elinor. It is through this gradual process of openness and
communication with only Elinor (as opposed to airing her feelings for the world at
large), which is helped along by her deathly illness and consequent contemplation,
that Marianne arrives at her epiphany and begins her transformation of character
by the end of the novel.
Marianne’s extreme sensibility must also adapt to rightly understand the
purpose of words and speech in societal interactions. Inger Sidrun Brodey
maintains that the inability to express oneself was often thought to be an indicator
of deep emotion and elite understanding during the cult of sensibility. She argues
that even as early as her story “Love and Freindship” (sic), however, Austen was
opposing this notion, as she “reveals that a luxurious distrust of words,
convention, and authority is irresponsible as well as impractical and eventually
leads to hypocrisy – as the expression of disdain for these facets of society become
themselves fixed conventions” (Brodey 113). It has been critically recognized that
Marianne’s behavior in general, her “own flouting of social conventions is
exposed as precedented, customary, and highly conventional indeed” (Blackwell
117). Yet her specific behavior in regards to language is also called into question
by her comparison with Elinor. Austen further develops this idea from “Love and
Freindship” in Sense and Sensibility, where “the primary locus of heroism in the
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novel is actually speech” (Brodey 120). Brodey cites the many instances when
Elinor is forced to speak to cover up Marianne’s foibles, or exerts herself to speak
to conceal her own feelings. Thus Marianne’s misunderstanding of the purpose of
speech, along with the emotional excess that she is constantly pursuing, cut her off
from the one person who can fully understand her grief: “In other words, it is
Marianne's histrionic misery…that alienates and isolates Elinor. For the sake of an
unattainable ideal of universal sincerity, Marianne hampers intimacy where it
naturally exists, between the two sisters” (Brodey 120). When communication is
resumed – not just on Marianne’s side, but Elinor’s as well – the sisters are finally
able to enjoy mutual empathy and grow stronger as a result. Austen again draws
attention to the importance of sisterhood in one’s character and how it does indeed
affect other areas of life.
The relationship of the Dashwood sisters is restored and improved beyond
what it was at the beginning of the novel after these revelations and epiphanies.
Their increasingly open use of language has brought them a long way. As they
walk together past the place where Marianne fell in the rain and met Willoughby,
they engage in a type of meta-communication as Marianne asks, “‘…shall we ever
talk on that subject, Elinor?...Or will it be wrong? I can talk of it now, I hope, as I
ought to do.’ Elinor tenderly invited her to be open” (Austen 302). Whether
Marianne means that she ought to talk of Willoughby or that there is a specific
way to talk of him is open to interpretation, but it is clear that in this instance,
communication benefits both sisters. Their gradual return to words, to talking, has
brought only good to both of them. Referring to Austen’s resistance to the
“inarticulate emotional world that the Age of Sensibility had created,” George
Haggerty claims that in Sense and Sensibility it is clear that, “Words are no longer
to be distrusted in the English novel; rather they will come more and more to offer
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the only context for self-realization in heroines throughout the century” (234). For
Elinor and Marianne, however, words offer even more than self-realization, as
important as that is; they offer a more complete realization of the other, a path to
understanding the minds and hearts of the other. Just as the absence of actual
words led to confusion and distrust, so the presence of words and language creates
new bonds of knowledge, and therefore new bonds of sisterhood. As they finally
share their knowledge and their views of the world with one another, they are able
to appreciate the sufferings and experiences of the other, and so approach even the
world itself with a little more sympathy.
It is also significant here to note the differences between the Dashwoods
and the Bennets: Elizabeth and Jane only renewed their communication after the
happy endings of their love stories; while Elinor and Marianne returned to and
even exceeded their previous openness after the utter failure (from their
perspective) of their love relationships. When Elinor and Marianne take their
confidential walk outside of Barton, Willoughby is married to someone else, and
Edward is publicly engaged to Lucy. There is no possibility in either sister’s mind
that she will be reunited with her lover. Thus, for these sisters, it is their sorrows
that draw them together, and build up their female community from the inside.
Jane and Elizabeth did not wish to dwell on their pain and possibly increase it, but
the Dashwoods are able to find solace in each other for their abandonments by
men (which are much more dramatic than they are for the Bennets). Thus the
distance the Dashwoods travel in their relationship with one another is much
farther than it is for the Bennets. While the Bennets start out closely, then pull
back, and grow close again, the Dashwoods begin farther apart, and in many ways,
end up even closer than the Bennets do.
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One of the reasons that Marianne and Elinor can experience this solace is
that they are for the first time sharing perspectives – Marianne has come around to
Elinor’s way of thinking and behaving. Her openness with Elinor also extends to
self-reproach. She says, referring to the time after she found out about Edward’s
engagement and before her illness, “I, and only I, knew your heart and its sorrows;
yet, to what did it influence me?” She chides herself for “regretting only that heart
which had deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for whom I professed an
unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake” (304). Here she acknowledges
that openness and knowledge are not enough, but that they must be accompanied
by understanding and empathy. She has learned this from the example of her
sister, and ends up employing these same qualities as she interacts with Elinor,
thus proving the positive and far-reaching effects of sisterhood.
The female community that Elinor and Marianne (re)form in this passage is
striking because no men are present, even peripherally. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet
come to their mutual good understanding from within the secure positions of their
engagements, so in many ways their female community is mediated and informed
by their men. Yet Elinor and Marianne, as already discussed, have arrived at this
point in their relationship completely outside of the realm or security of the male
world. Although Colonel Brandon has by this time declared his interest in
Marianne to Mrs. Dashwood, it is not clear if Marianne knows about it yet, and
she certainly does not include him in the plans she draws up for her future, beyond
intending to borrow books from him. Instead she avows to Elinor, “I shall now
live solely for my family. You, my mother, and Margaret, must henceforth be all
the world to me; you will share my affections entirely between you” (304). This
“dear family party” (300) is made up entirely of females, and although it is
possible to conclude that Marianne has been deeply hurt by Willoughby and that it
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is natural she would want to retreat among women for a time, the text still points
to a group of women as providing the healing and rationality that Marianne needs.
And although Elinor and Marianne do both marry at the end of the novel, the fact
remains that their own, primary sister relationship has been restored and
strengthened independently of the male world. Even after they marry, the novel
ends by focusing not on either couple, but on the two sisters. The very last
sentence says, “among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it
not be ranked as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost
within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between
themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands” (335). This slightly
ironic tone (“though sisters”) plays off cultural expectations that sisters will be
rivals, reminding us that over three hundred pages have just been directed at
proving that this is not always the case. As James Thompson said, “I think that the
final sly joke of Sense and Sensibility is that the husbands come in only as an
afterthought: husbands are but a secondary consideration when calculating the
merits and happiness of the two sisters.” The sisters, although they are now
married, are still the novel’s primary concern.
As if to further illustrate the primacy of this sister relationship, the novel
records very few conversations between the pairs of eventual spouses, Elinor and
Edward, and Marianne and Colonel Brandon. In fact, Marianne is given more
dialogic time with Edward, (they even refer to each other by their first names),
while Elinor talks more with Colonel Brandon. Although Elinor’s conversations
with Brandon tend to revolve around either Marianne or Edward, the fact remains
that she is the one interacting with him, and not Marianne. This again suggests
that the two sisters and their relationship with one another are more important to
the novel than their relationships with men, which is in direct opposition to
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cultural expectations and the conduct literature of the period. It has been argued
that by the end of the novel, Elinor and Marianne are nearly interchangeable
characters, and might as well have married the other’s spouses (Neill 118), but I
believe that it is actually the men who are almost interchangeable, at least at first
glance, and indeed the personalities and characters of Edward and Colonel
Brandon are very similar throughout the novel. Additionally, the closeness of the
sisters is further emphasized by the fact that they maintain these friendships with
the husbands of the other, and are friends with their brothers-in-law in their own
right.
Austen’s portrayal of female identity that is not male-oriented – as
Dobosiewicz suggests – is again in opposition to her cultural norms that insisted
that female worth is bound up in male presence or approval. Through her self-
sufficient community of Elinor and Marianne (and by extension Mrs. Dashwood
and Margaret), Austen presents a picture of happy, contented female relationships
that are outside the realm of those envisioned by the conduct literature. The
community does not remain male-free, and Austen does not imply that it should;
rather she illustrates through the ending of her novel that the female community
can remain whole and intact even with the presence of males. This perspective
brings balance to eighteenth and nineteenth-century cultural standards that were
threatened by the absence of males in female circles. By shifting so much of the
novel’s focus solely to Elinor and Marianne, Austen can present their female
community with rationality and validity.
Although there has been critical debate about which sister is the heroine of
the novel, a common consensus is that both Dashwoods are equally heroines.
Emily Auerbach notes that, “In a novel with two heroines rather than one, it is
interesting that the only time the term “heroism” appears is when both sisters are
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present – and both progressing” (112). Auerbach cites the passage where
Marianne is valiantly attempting to conceal her disapproval of Edward’s
engagement to Lucy from Mrs. Jennings: “Such advances toward heroism in her
sister, made Elinor feel equal to any thing herself” (Austen 230). By confining
speculation about heroism to Austen’s own use of the word, we can see that the
sisters, equally important to the story, are even able to see and define the heroism
of one another. Marianne later admits the “merit,” “example,” and “forbearance”
of Elinor (230, 304), and Elinor finds encouragement for herself in Marianne’s
efforts. Thus the sisters do not develop their characters in isolation, but through
interactions with one another and the examples they present to each other. They
directly benefit from the growth of their shared community.
The presence or absence of words and speech in Sense and Sensibility
directly determines the strength and viability of the female community of Elinor
and Marianne. Through their growing ability to move from reserve to openness,
to share their lives more completely with one another, the sisters simultaneously
find comfort as well as independence from a male-oriented world. By portraying
the hurts of women and the healing they find through words, Austen displays the
complete access women have to rationality and emotional self-sufficiency. Elinor
and Marianne are more than mere “sense” and “sensibility”; both character traits
are blended in both sisters, even as Elinor leads the way for Marianne to
experience a more balanced sensibility. This complexity and blend, along with the
closeness of the sisters, argues for a different view of women that gives them
proficiency in a field generally confined to men – words.
CHAPTER 4: “ALL TO HERSELF”: EMOTIONAL ISOLATION AND SISTER RIVALRY IN MANSFIELD PARK AND
PERSUASION
In later novels, Austen continues to explore the intricacies of the sister
relationship and the consequences of its absence by looking at sisters from
differing angles that also include minor characters. In Mansfield Park and
Persuasion, she creates various webs of sibling relationships that through different
presentations emphasize the value of what she refers to in Mansfield Park as the
“fraternal tie.” She also provides a contrast to the mutually loving relationships of
Jane and Elizabeth Bennet and Elinor and Marianne Dashwood by playing with
the traditional idea of sisters as rivals. Sister pairs Maria and Julia Bertram in
Mansfield Park, and Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion, compete for
the attentions of the same man, in the first case with disastrous results. While the
relationship between sisters does not constitute the main drama as in Sense and
Sensibility, sister bonds do form much of the backdrop to the novels and
perpetuate several of their primary tensions. By creating a new interpretation of
the sister role through portrayals of competitive or indifferent sisters, Austen
illustrates that the patriarchal view of young women only as potential wives can
harm their relationships as sisters, and in turn damage the people they become.
She also presents the costs inherent in the protagonists’ lack of close sisters and
the agency necessary to overcome their disadvantages and replace what is missing
in their lives. Her depiction of regular and open communication as an indicator of
the strength of the sister bond finds a powerful argument through negative
examples, as she illustrates the consequences of absolute silences between sisters.
Mansfield Park begins as a tale of three sisters, laying the groundwork for
the family of Fanny Price and its concerns with the strong (and often negative)
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effects of fraternal and sororal bonds. It is not a happy tale. The three Ward
sisters all marry, but marry into very different worlds. Frances Ward runs off and
marries a poor man and becomes Mrs. Price, which results in “an absolute breach
between the sisters” (Austen 6). Communication remains cut off for eleven years,
when it is renewed by Mrs. Price who is desperate for some assistance from her
richer relatives. This brief story of the Wards not only explains why Fanny Price
comes to live at Mansfield Park, but functions as a preview of the world of sisters
Austen creates in this novel. Austen presents various versions of sister
relationships through the Prices, the Bertrams, and the Grants/Crawfords. The
complicated sibling network also provides the context for some of Austen’s
frequently quoted expressions of the importance of the sibling bond. In the middle
of the novel, when describing the brother and sister relationship of William and
Fanny Price, she remarks: “An advantage this, a strengthener of love, in which
even the conjugal tie is below the fraternal. Children of the same family, the same
blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment
in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply” (217). This
illustrates that Mansfield Park is centrally concerned with sibling and fraternal
relationships, even though it posits its most striking examples in largely negative
terms. Austen qualifies her rosy statement by explaining, “it must be by a long or
unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connection can justify,
if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived. Too
often, alas! it is so. – Fraternal love, sometimes almost every thing, is at others
worse than nothing” (217). While William and Fanny are an instance of the
advantages of the fraternal tie, Austen illustrates the negative aspects through her
emphasis on the Ward sisters and the Bertram sisters, providing an optimistic
illustration only toward the end with the relationship of Fanny and Susan Price.
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The early antagonism between Mrs. Price and her sisters finds an analogue in the
conflicts of Maria and Julia Bertram in the next generation (Folsom), and later
events prove that both the Bertrams and the Wards have no affection for each
other.
The Bertram sisters, although minor characters, are distinctly developed as
an example of an unhealthy sister bond, an example of a knife turned inward. This
development, however, takes time, and its causes are not revealed until the end of
the novel. When Fanny Price arrives at Mansfield Park, Maria and Julia Bertram,
her two female cousins, view her with all the disdain of superior wealth and class.
Fanny is timid and isolated, yet they do nothing to rescue her from loneliness and
make her welcome to their family. Although their response to Fanny is a window
into their characters, the way the narrative portrays and describes them is even
more telling. They are not differentiated – they are always introduced as a single
unit, and seem practically interchangeable during their childhood (Folsom). One
Bertram sister is never mentioned without the other, and when they speak, there is
no attribution to indicate who specifically is speaking, because it is not particularly
important. For example, when Maria and Julia complain to Mrs. Norris about
Fanny’s ignorance and lack of education, we are never told which sister is talking
(Austen 18-19). Often contrasted with Fanny, they are referred to as “the Miss
Bertrams” (20). They think and behave as one and are equally fashionable and
mundane. This indicates their lack of awareness of self and awareness of the
other, and foreshadows their later failings as sisters. In fact, there is little
differentiation between Maria and Julia until they fall in love with the same man.
The sisters become rivals as their desire for Henry Crawford becomes
something that they cannot share, and reveals their lack of moral awareness. The
extreme similarity of the two sisters perhaps predisposes them to both be
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mesmerized by Mr. Crawford, and their reactions are indeed lumped together at
first: “He was, in fact, the most agreeable young man the sisters had ever known,
and they were equally delighted with him” (42). By this time Maria is engaged to
Mr. Rushworth, yet it is clear that it is a marriage of convenience, and we can
assume that Mr. Rushworth fixed on Maria because she is simply the older sister.
The first direct contrast between the sisters is drawn as their rivalry begins to
separate them, when the Mansfield party is leaving for an outing to Sotherton, and
there is a question of who will sit with Henry Crawford in the front of the
barouche. The sisters are again portrayed as one, but in silent competition for a
single seat: “each of the Miss Bertrams were meditating on how best, and with an
appearance of obliging the others, to secure it…” (75). When Mrs. Grant suddenly
decides that Julia should sit in the front, the narrator makes the first explicit
distinction between the sisters by exclaiming, “Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria!
The former was on the barouche box in a moment, the latter took her seat within,
in gloom and mortification” (75-76). The sisters can no longer occupy the same
space as they have thus far in the novel – yet their differentiation is imposed by
outside forces, rather than their own decision. Instead of developing as two
distinct individuals who genuinely care for each other, they begin to vie for the
same physical and emotional space. This implies (as Austen has already hinted)
the morality that is missing from their education and development, and that their
male-centered focus excludes any sisterly consideration. The space they compete
for is Mr. Crawford’s heart, and the fact that a man is the cause of their rupture
reveals the frailty of the ties that bound them together. They are not accustomed
to considering one another, only the wishes of their own hearts and their desire for
future security. Their wishes center on the same man, and subsequently their
moral framework falls to pieces over him.
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Maria and Julia never attempt any direct communication with each other
and therefore allow their rivalry to continue unchecked and undefined, aptly
illustrating through their failure the importance of conversation in any sister
relationship. Even as the Sotherton scene progresses, the happiness of each sister
directly depends on Mr. Crawford’s attention, and they become silent rivals for his
notice and preference. Yet they never openly discuss him with each other; their
behavior consists only of passive reactions to his treatment of each of them. For
example, when everyone is gathered to admire the chapel at Sotherton, Julia reacts
to Mr. Crawford’s flirtations with Maria by mentioning Maria’s upcoming
marriage, talking “with so little caution as to catch the comprehension of Mr.
Rushworth and his mother, and expose her sister to the whispered gallantries of
her lover” (83). Maria later punishes her by climbing the fence of the park with
Mr. Crawford and going off alone with him while Mr. Rushworth fetches the key.
Julia is furious, but is placated when Mr. Crawford invites her to sit with him
again on the return journey to Mansfield. The following description of Maria’s
reaction to Julia’s invitation is an indicator of the very internal nature of the
sisters’ hostility: “Miss Bertram had made up her mind to something different, and
was a little disappointed – but her conviction of being really the one preferred,
comforted her under it, and enabled her to receive Mr. Rushworth’s parting
attentions as she ought” (98). If the sisters had moved the rivalry into the realm of
direct speech, if they had been able to talk about it or even openly argue, such
rivalry could never have continued, for the engaged Maria would not have been
able to admit that she was competing with her sister for another man. But the
sisters are not able to bring themselves to discuss their hearts, to discuss the man
they have fallen for. This inability in the Bertrams reflects the same limitations of
closer sister pairs in Austen, and by this time is almost a predictable result of
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societal pressure to gain a male companion at the expense of any other tie. Thus
the Bertrams’ competition is sustained through their mutual silence, and therefore
becomes sharper and more dangerous.
Each sister’s perspective of her relationship with Mr. Crawford is compared
with the very different reality offered by the narrator, and serves as an example of
the paradox of interchangeability, illustrating that it is impossible for two people
to occupy the same space. Henry Crawford ignores this paradox for a while and
reinforces their rivalry as he disregards their sisterhood and dismisses the fact that
he is playing with their hearts. Yet he views the Bertram sisters as
interchangeable, at least at first. When he is obliged to leave Mansfield briefly at
the height of his flirtation, he is anxious to return, for “the sisters, handsome,
clever, and encouraging, were an amusement to his sated mind” (108). As he is
only planning to entertain himself, he has no stated preference of either sister,
although “[e]ach sister believed herself the favourite” (108). Thus the sisters
believe they occupy this fictional space even though they obviously cannot. Mr.
Crawford’s encouragement of this false position through his mixed messages and
initial lack of differentiation also indicates his lack of moral awareness.
The sisters continue to react to one another visually, as the text records
many looks and glances between them, but no dialogue. Their competition is
carried on by observation and insinuation, and is never made explicit or brought
into the open. They are actively wishing for the unhappiness of the other, and they
use visual cues to determine the success of their schemes. One of the most
striking examples occurs when the young people are casting roles for a play in
their private theatre, and Mr. Crawford suggests that Maria play the role opposite
him. He reasons that Julia is too funny, and should play another role where she
comes to visit him in prison. Although he is trying to flatter her, Julia is for once
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not convinced, and looks to Maria’s expression to understand the true state of the
situation: “She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria’s countenance was to
decide it; if she were vexed and alarmed – but Maria looked all serenity and
satisfaction, and Julia well knew that on this ground Maria could not be happy but
at her expense” (127). Although not a word passes between the sisters, they both
understand the position of the other, and deliberately work to make each other
unhappy. Laura Dabundo notes that “Maria and Julia are like Lydia and Kitty
Bennet but with money and pitted against each other as they seek to satisfy their
selfish urges. Thus, we have an instance of a negative sorority, a breached
sisterhood. They are sisters, but they are not sisterly.” This competitive breach
between the sisters illustrates that there is more to sisterhood than sharing an
upbringing and a last name, and that Maria and Julia do not possess this quality.
Their visual exchanges allow them to use the knowledge they have of one another
as sisters who have grown up together, but their lack of words and language
reinforces their fierce opposition as well as the absence of any true affection.
The increasing rift between the sisters continues to argue for their lack of
morality and inability to think beyond their own desires. Through his expressed
wish to share the stage with Maria, Mr. Crawford finally differentiates between the
sisters and declares his favorite. While the rivalry is essentially ended, its effects
are not, and the sisters continue to despise each other. By presenting Julia as the
suffering sister, the text also continues to separate the characters of the two sisters,
and explain the differences in their personalities and situations. The involvement
of Mr. Crawford in their lives has not only drawn distinctions between them, but
hindered their relationship with each other:
The sister with whom [Julia] was used to be on easy terms, was now
become her greatest enemy; they were alienated from each
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other…With no material fault of temper, or difference of opinion, to
prevent their being very good friends while their interests were the
same, the sisters, under such a trial as this, had not affection or
principle enough to make them merciful or just, to give them honour
or compassion. (Austen 150)
While Mr. Crawford’s flirtation with the Bertrams functions within the text to
reveal the moral failings of the man who is eventually to address Fanny, it also
serves as commentary on the sister relationship. Maria and Julia are not close and
do not particularly care for each other, and their alienation and absence of
affection is here reflective of a moral lack, a lack of principle. By making their
behavior to each other a question of morality, Austen can show that the cultural
belief that sisters will be rivals and the expectation that young women should be
moral beings are diametrically opposed. The selfishness of the Bertrams and their
lack of awareness of the other are contrasted with the loving concern of the
Bennets or the Dashwoods (even Marianne). Austen is able throughout the course
of the novel to trace their bitter rivalry to failings in their moral education received
from both Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris. Thus these features of broken sisterhood
can be attributed not to an inherent quality in women, but to upbringing and
context.
Before Mr. Crawford appeared in their lives, the Bertram sisters were
simply convenient companions without much real affection for each other, and
they revert back to this bland state of sisterhood after he leaves. His departure and
Maria’s marriage contribute much toward closing the rift between the sisters,
showing that when there is no external hindrance, nothing to overcome in their
relationship, they can return to a surface friendship. Although dialogue between
them is still conspicuously absent from the text, Julia accompanies the newly
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married Maria on her honeymoon: “Since rivalry between the sisters had ceased,
they had been gradually recovering much of their former good understanding; and
were at least sufficiently friends to make each of them exceedingly glad to be with
the other at such a time (189). It is clear from this passage that, unlike Elinor and
Marianne Dashwood, the suspension of communication and its renewal does not
result in a closer friendship. There is also a hint, however, that sisterhood is
needed, and that the Bertrams can find comfort even in a fragile female
community “at such at time” as Maria’s sacrifice to cultural expectations. Yet
even when restored to their pre-hostility stage they still do not display the sisterly
characteristics that Austen valued.
Maria’s affair with Henry Crawford near the end of the novel completes the
separation between the two sisters, as Maria is now ruined and Julia merely foolish
for eloping with Mr. Yates. The narrator brings this differentiation full circle by
looking back and finally describing the differences in the Bertrams’ dispositions
even in childhood, and revealing Mrs. Norris’ preferential treatment of Maria over
Julia (432-33). It is clear that even before the affair takes place, the rivalry
between the sisters is truly over, because Julia’s eyes are opened to Mr.
Crawford’s character. When he re-enters the scene, she has the sense to remove
herself and visit other friends – but she and Maria are not in such a position of
mutual confidence that Julia can warn her to be careful of Mr. Crawford. Again,
the sisters cannot talk of men. Yet even without overt communication, one sister
manages to affect the other, and Maria’s affair encourages Julia’s elopement.
Concerned that Maria’s indiscretion will make her father more strict at home, Julia
seeks to leave that home forever: “…had not her sister’s conduct burst forth as it
did…it is probable that Mr. Yates would never have succeeded…Maria’s guilt had
induced Julia’s folly” (433). The sisters are never actually redeemed even though
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Julia is repentant, and Maria’s status as a fallen woman cements their final
separation.
By making the notion of sisters as rivals true only of minor characters
Austen seems to argue that this is not the most common or the most desirable
version of sisterhood. Competing sisters represent the traditional patriarchal
interpretation of sisterhood, but this portrayal is merely in the background of
Mansfield Park, and is compared with many positive presentations of sisters in
Austen’s other novels. It is even addressed in Austen’s unfinished novel The
Watsons. Emma Watson hears a tale of sisterly competition and responds by
saying, “Could a sister do such a thing? – Rivalry, treachery between sisters! – I
shall be afraid of being acquainted with her” (Austen, The Watsons 109). Again,
the Bertram style of interaction between sisters is not the norm. This indicates a
challenge to the dominant tradition, a retelling of the stories of sisterhood. Austen
also couches the Bertram rivalry firmly in the failure of their moral education,
indicating that such hostility is not the default outcome of sisterhood. At the end
of Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas Bertram must confront the idea that educating his
daughters simply to be accomplished and ornamental did not prepare them to
handle the reality of the world around them (430). By pointing out the gaps in
nineteenth-century female education, Austen illustrates that women who by
contrast have a moral understanding of the world can inhabit it as rational beings
and create their own female communities of support and encouragement.
In contrast to Maria and Julia is Fanny Price, who is isolated from all close
female ties at Mansfield Park, despite her many sisters left behind in Portsmouth.
Laura Dabundo notes that, “The protagonists of Northanger Abbey, Mansfield
Park, and Persuasion all have sisters, but most of the central action of their novels
takes place away from them. The isolation, in fact, is crucial to the plots.” As a
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dependent cousin, Fanny also does not have access to the same genteel education
given to Maria and Julia. She only has her cousin Edmund to teach her and
become her confidante, and this becomes a rather complicated situation when she
falls in love with him, and he in turn falls for Mary Crawford. Thus Fanny
becomes cut off from almost every other character in the novel, male or female,
and this is an important feature in the development of her character. Fanny may
not always appear isolated because of her emotional closeness with her brother
William, yet he is often far away and their relationship does not meet all of
Fanny’s needs. William visits his sister at Mansfield Park whenever he can, yet he
is a brother, and although their relationship is close, it dwells on fond memories of
the past instead of negotiating the problems of the present. Thus Fanny’s lack of
strong female companionship contributes to her excessive timidity and social
awkwardness (Dobosiewicz 107). She is not able to discuss her perceptions of the
world with another rational woman.
Even within her isolation (or perhaps because of it, since she was not
educated like the Bertram sisters), Fanny has developed a strong moral awareness,
and it is this that allows her to evaluate the actions of the Bertram sisters and the
Crawfords. It also causes her to repudiate sisterhood when it does not meet her
standards. Mary Crawford, however flawed her character is in other respects,
manages to detect Fanny’s worth when others (like Maria and Julia) have
thoughtlessly dismissed her, and she actively seeks a closer friendship with Fanny.
Mary eagerly takes Fanny to her heart as a sister after Henry Crawford proposes,
declaring, “Who says we shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel we are born
to be connected” (Austen 333). But this is not enough for Fanny, who is not
desperate in her isolation. Deidre Coleman, citing the above quote, mentions that,
“But for all Mary’s protestations to Fanny…she is, as far as Fanny is concerned,
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entirely deficient in proper feelings of sisterly solidarity” (302). Fanny sees
Mary’s shortcomings more clearly than anyone else in the novel does and cannot
be persuaded to find a confidante in her. In this way, Fanny echoes Austen’s
concerns about trust and confidence (or their lack) between sister figures. Thus
Fanny continues in her emotional isolation until she renews her relationship with
her sister Susan.
Occurring late in the story, Fanny’s discovery of a friend in her younger
sister marks an ending to her isolation that is furthered by Sir Thomas’ acceptance
of Fanny as daughter and her marriage to Edmund. It also signals the importance
of the sister tie and brings to light what Fanny has been missing at Mansfield Park.
While the relationship between Fanny and Susan never approaches the intimacy of
the Bennets or the Dashwoods, it promises further development outside the scope
of the novel. Fanny is rewarded for her willingness to look beyond first
impressions, because when she first meets Susan after an absence of ten years, she
is shocked at “the determined character of her general manners” (Austen 367).
But when Fanny realizes that Susan is merely trying to create peace and order in
the chaotic home environment, she is instead impressed that Susan was able to
arrive at such conclusions about her family completely on her own. It is
significant that “The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils at
home…was in a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her”
(367). Fanny’s first comfort in the strange world of Portsmouth is the acquisition
of a sister, something she has been lacking at Mansfield all along.
Fanny’s new foray into sisterhood helps her move from her mindset of
passive dependency to a position of agency, a change she is able to note and
appreciate in herself. She approaches her relationship to Susan from a position of
superiority rather than equality, reasoning that she can teach her proper manners
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and expose her to basic education, yet the friendship is still mutually beneficial:
“The intimacy thus begun between them, was a material advantage to each. By
sitting together up stairs, they avoided a great deal of the disturbance of the house”
(369). Fanny certainly does assist Susan by giving her education and friendship,
yet Susan is also able to inadvertently influence Fanny in a positive way. For the
first time in the novel, Fanny becomes an agent and has the ability to direct her
own decisions. She is surprised at herself as she subscribes to the library and
selects her own books, “amazed at being anything in propria persona” (370). Yet
she recognizes this new agency and enjoys it. This change happens in Fanny
directly because of her relationship with Susan and her desire to do something for
her benefit.
Sisterly communication is important in the relationship of Fanny and
Susan, yet it bears the same accompanying limitations that are linked to other pairs
of sisters in Austen’s novels. Fanny and Susan communicate often, in contrast to
Maria and Julia. Part of their time upstairs is spent “working and talking” (370),
and “their conversations” frequently veer from Fanny’s program of morals and
history to a discussion of life at Mansfield Park (388). There is no suggestion that
Fanny confides in Susan about Henry Crawford’s attentions or her love for
Edmund. This is reasonable as Susan is after all only fourteen, and the sisters are
still recent friends, yet it echoes other patterns in Austen’s novels of the inability
of women to tell their sisters of their lovers. Fanny is in this instance like the
Bertram sisters as she keeps her heart all to herself and refuses to discuss it. Her
situation is actually somewhat similar to Julia’s, for she must watch the man she
loves fall in love with someone else, yet she does not even attempt to speak of her
absence of hope. Fanny is able to see this parallel between her loss and Julia’s
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(150), yet this does not induce her to break her silence and bring any other female,
even her sister, into her confidence.
Despite Fanny’s particular silence, her friendship with Susan grows, and
Austen offsets this by renewing her discussion of the original three Ward sisters,
again drawing attention to her focus on the complexity of sibling, especially sister
relationships. When Fanny first arrives at her parents’ home, the narrator provides
a comparison of Mrs. Price to her sisters Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris, who by
now the reader is much more acquainted with (361-62). This serves as a reminder
that the novel began with these sisters and has continued to trace the fortunes of
their children, yet this particular sister tie is later revealed to be empty and
meaningless. During Fanny’s visit to Portsmouth, Tom Bertram falls dangerously
ill, and Mrs. Price is only mildly and occasionally concerned for the distress that
her sister Lady Bertram must be feeling. The narrator here states: “So long
divided, and so differently situated, the ties of blood were little more than nothing.
An attachment, originally as tranquil as their tempers, was now become a mere
name” (397). The earlier statement that the fraternal tie can become “worse than
nothing” is now echoed in this description of what time and estrangement, along
with a lack of concern, have done to the Ward sisters. The Bertrams illustrated
that the lack of morality in upbringing can harm the sister relationship and have
negative consequences later on, yet the converse is also true. As the Wards
demonstrate, a tainted or frayed sister relationship can also indicate a lack of
morality. The sisters are estranged and cease to care for one another, yet their
moral frailty is seen in their adult lives, as they all become self-absorbed in their
own ways.
Ilona Dobosiewicz remarks that, “For Austen, a good woman is invariably
a good sister, and a woman’s moral and emotional shortcomings are frequently
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signaled by her lack of sisterly concern” (93). This is true of the sisters in
Mansfield Park – women who portray questionable morality, or mere selfishness,
are cast as hostile or indifferent sisters. The presence or absence of
communication between sisters also marks their closeness and concern. The “bad”
sisters rarely speak to each other and are cut off from one another, emotionally or
physically, or both, and the consequences of their estrangement can be sad or dire.
Because they are not connected through the most basic method of communicating
and sharing their lives, something goes wrong. As Dobosiewicz observes of Maria
and Julia Bertram, “Indeed, had they been better sisters to each other, their
downfall would not have happened” (107). This lack of sisterly care indicates a
moral failing, whether it is Maria’s affair, Lady Bertram’s indolence, or Mrs.
Norris’s self-seeking manipulations of the Bertram family. Deidre Coleman notes,
“despite the many sets of sisters, both literal and figurative, in Mansfield Park
there is very little sisterly solidarity” (295). Yet this broken or fragmented
communication is also a result of the tensions that arise from a patriarchal system
that ignores the necessity for female community and openness. These sisters do
not communicate their thoughts or hopes that are related to any male, for it is only
on the male that the fulfillment of those hopes can rest. In contrast to the other
sets of sisters, Fanny, the moral center of the novel, displays deep sisterly concern
when she is reunited with Susan. Yet even she does not surmount the inevitable
silences that accompany an engaged heart, and she keeps her secret from all other
women in the novel. Even with these limitations, however, the extensive
portrayals of faulty sisterhoods, briefly contrasted with a healthy example,
continue to illustrate Austen’s focus on the vital importance of the sister
relationship to the early nineteenth-century female living in a culture that demands
that she identify with the male world. Even though the novel ends with Fanny’s
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happy marriage, it still suggests through these various examples of sisters that
female communities are an essential element in the lives of women, and that
female moral development is incomplete without such a community.
The themes of isolation, communication, and sisterly rivalry present in
Mansfield Park are resumed in Persuasion. Anne Elliot, although she has two
sisters, is essentially alone. Neither of her sisters respects or loves her, and she
cannot confide in them. Ilona Dobosiewicz argues that “Anne Elliot remains the
only Austen heroine completely alienated from her two sisters” (110). She goes
on to say that, “Whereas the differences between sisters in the earlier novels have
been largely temperamental, the differences between the Elliot sisters are
fundamental: social rank constitutes the center of Elizabeth’s and Mary’s system
of values, whereas Anne appreciates others for their intellect and morals” (111).
The first few chapters of the novel describe Anne’s unimportance in her own
home, and portray these differences in values as her father and older sister
Elizabeth constantly ignore or affront her. Her younger sister, Mary, who is
married, at least appreciates Anne’s presence, but only in the context of her
usefulness – she is constantly demanding that Anne take care of her or assist with
her children. When the Elliots decide to rent out their estate and move to Bath, the
conversation that ensues between Anne’s sisters indicates their personalities as
well as their relation to Anne: “ ‘I cannot possibly do without Anne,’ is Mary’s
reasoning; and Elizabeth replies, ‘Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for nobody
will want her in Bath’” (Austen 24). Yet although Mary is selfish and thinks only
of her own needs, Anne prefers Mary’s company as the lesser of two evils: “Mary
was not so repulsive and unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all
influence of hers” (30). Even with this caveat, however, the novel takes pains to
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draw these sharp contrasts between Anne and her sisters, and to reiterate that Anne
cannot enjoy the intimacy of the Bennet sisters or the Dashwood sisters. For
example, Anne cannot talk with her sisters about her engagement to Captain
Wentworth that took place eight years earlier. Elizabeth treats the subject with
disdain and refuses to mention it, and Mary does not even know. Thus Anne is
pointedly isolated from both her sisters. And unlike other novels such as Sense and
Sensibility and Mansfield Park, there is no joyful sisterly reunion by the end; the
sisters remain emotionally estranged.
The Musgrove sisters provide a direct contrast to the chilliness of the
Elliots. Even as minor characters, they offer an alternate view of sisters as warm
and friendly companions. Anne, very aware of her lack of strong sister ties, looks
with envy on the camaraderie of Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove, Mary’s in-laws,
and is only saved from being completely jealous of them by an awareness of her
own stronger intellect. She views them as “some of the happiest creatures of her
acquaintance,” and notices “that seemingly perfect good understanding and
agreement together, that good-humoured mutual affection, of which she had
known so little herself with either of her sisters” (29). This disparity between the
Musgrove and the Elliot sisters further highlights Austen’s focus on the
importance of close sisters. The frequent interaction of the Musgroves and Anne
emphasizes the point that strong sister ties exist in close proximity to Anne, yet
still remain outside her reach.
Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove are a sister pair that, despite their mutual
good will, for a short time compete for the attentions of the same man. Austen
here gives a different twist on the trope of sisters as rivals, suggesting that even the
expected state of competition does not need to make sisters into enemies. The
story of Captain Wentworth and the Musgrove sisters is in many ways a retelling
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of the story in Mansfield Park – two sisters compete for a man who later proposes
to the novel’s heroine. Yet Austen chose to reimagine this situation with several
significant differences, as if to explore the possibilities within sister relationships.
Like the Bertrams and Henry Crawford, the Musgroves are captivated by Captain
Wentworth. But unlike the Bertrams, their shared interest is short, mild, and
without bitterness. For one thing, the Musgrove sisters begin in a place of more
mutual friendliness and congeniality than the Bertram sisters do. Although they
are minor characters and thus not provided with much dialogue or interiority (or
intelligence), they are in many ways the makeshift model of sisterhood for the
novel, especially when contrasted with Anne and her sisters. They are never
described as alienated from each other or as enemies, as the Bertrams are. The
Musgroves’ first reaction to Captain Wentworth is exactly the same, and it is very
much an infatuation with his person and his manners: “And, in short, he had
looked and said everything with such exquisite grace that they could assure them
all, their heads were both turned by him!” (39). Yet as Anne watches them
interact, and watches the Musgroves’ opinion of Captain Wentworth become more
favorable, she concludes that their enthusiasm for him has not damaged their
relationship: “…as for Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely
occupied by him that nothing but the appearance of the most perfect goodwill
between themselves could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals”
(51). This is different from the situation with the Bertrams, because although
there is no verbal hostility between them, there certainly is not even the
appearance of goodwill. But the Musgroves are also not particularly in love with
Captain Wentworth, whereas both Maria and Julia Bertram do indeed fall for
Henry Crawford. Anne reasons that Captain Wentworth is likely not in love with
either sister yet, and then concludes (in a voice that is also the narrator’s), “They
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were more in love with him; yet there it was not love. It was a little fever of
admiration, but it might, probably must, end in love with some” (58). Thus the
mildness of their infatuation, coupled with the relatively strong relationship they
start out with, determine their marked lack of hostility even at the height of their
admiration of Captain Wentworth.
Yet, even with these differences between the Musgroves and the Bertrams,
the text seems to lump the Musgroves together just as Mansfield Park does with
the Bertrams, subtly remarking on their surface similarities and lack of depth. The
text makes few differentiations between their characters, just as Captain
Wentworth seems to view them both equally. He, like Henry Crawford, at first
seems to treat the sisters almost interchangeably: “Which of the two sisters was
preferred by Captain Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne’s
observation reached” (53). Although they are not fiercely competing for the same
space as the Bertrams are, the text seems to assume that shared space for them.
Even Anne, who knows them fairly well, categorizes them as interchangeable,
thinking to herself that, “Either of them would, in all probability, make him an
affectionate, good-humoured wife” (55). This serves as a commentary on the
relative similarities among early nineteenth-century females who were brought up
“to be fashionable, happy, and merry” (29), illustrating the emptiness of such an
education and its resulting expectations for women. There seems to be little
difference between the sisters because they were essentially brought up to be the
same person. The intellectual individuality that is so important to Anne is simply
not valued. Therefore when sisters are so alike and superficial, there is no
opportunity for depth of sisterhood and true female community.
The differentiation between the sisters finally occurs not in a strong
disagreement as it does for the Bertrams but in a description of personality and
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inclination, which interestingly is not revealed until observed by a male. The
sisters continue to be described in similar terms until Anne overhears the
conversation between Captain Wentworth and Louisa about firmness of will.
Captain Wentworth, remembering Anne’s pliability eight years before, expresses
great enthusiasm for Louisa’s ability to decide quickly and to always adhere to a
resolution once she has made it, and contrasts this with Henrietta’s indecision.
This conversation, and Captain Wentworth’s favoring of Louisa, coincides with
Henrietta’s reunion with Charles Hayter and clear withdrawal from Captain
Wentworth, and Anne concludes that, “Everything now marked out Louisa for
Captain Wentworth” (63). In this passage, the sisters are finally differentiated,
just as Captain Wentworth seems to choose a favorite.
While, as earlier stated, the Musgroves appear in many ways to be a model
of sisterhood for the novel, they do not seem to share the same intimacy as the
Bennets or the Dashwoods. There is no description or indicator of any particularly
strong mutual affection – it is all merely goodwill and cheeriness. While they both
talk enthusiastically to their family and friends of Captain Wentworth’s charms,
there is no suggestion that they discuss their own personal feelings with each
other. They are never avowed rivals, just sharers of the same enthusiasm. The
goodwill and friendliness they enjoy wins the day, in direct contrast to the Bertram
sisters. Even with the positive outcome, however, the sisterhood is shown to be
not entirely ideal. The women themselves seem somewhat superficial, certainly
not capable of the depth and complexity that accompany Anne’s silent reflections.
As another sister pair to add to Austen’s already extensive gallery, the Musgroves
illustrate the limitations that accompany mere gaiety and lightheartedness when
sober and reflective tendencies are lacking (although Louisa does become more
serious after her fall).
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Anne’s isolation spurs her to search for strong female relationships
elsewhere, to create her own female community. Her sisters (especially Elizabeth)
play only minor roles in the novel, yet it is clear that it is partly because of their
treatment of Anne that she finds so much solace in the company of Lady Russell
and Mrs. Smith. Anne’s quest for female friendship emphasizes Austen’s focus on
the importance, even the necessity of female relationships for women. Although it
seems through her novels that she favors the sister relationship, she illustrates
what happens when those first and closest relationships turn sour, just as she does
with the Ward sisters in Mansfield Park. Persuasion seems to argue that women
do not have to be limited to the families they are born into or even marry into, but
can turn outward, for “friendship’s increased social significance makes it a
stronger tie than that of blood and allows it to stand in for deficient family
relations” (Sodeman 794). Even though much of Anne’s inner world is taken up
by Captain Wentworth, she is able to observe the happier Musgrove sisters and
actively take advantage of opportunities to spend time with other women she
values.
The relationships that Anne pursues are significantly different from her
relationships with her own sisters as well as what she sees with the Musgroves,
and they inhabit various levels of authorial approval in the novel. Her closest
friend is Lady Russell, a friend of her deceased mother, who appreciates Anne’s
intelligence and disapproves of the Elliots’ continual rejection of Anne’s abilities.
Yet this friendship is by no means a relationship of equality or complete openness.
Because Lady Russell played an integral role in persuading Anne to break off her
engagement with Captain Wentworth at the age of nineteen, she is by default at
least partially culpable for Anne’s suffering and loneliness over the ensuing eight
years. Although Anne does not blame Lady Russell, she later believes that it
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would have been better to keep the engagement and to marry at that time. But of
course she cannot tell Lady Russell about this: “They knew not each other’s
opinion, either its constancy or its change, on the one leading point of Anne’s
conduct, for the subject was never alluded to” (Austen 21). Thus there is a
decided and deliberate gap in the communication of these women, and just like in
the other novels, it centers on a man.
This lapse in the communication of this particular female community,
however, rather than appearing as an aberration (as it is for Jane and Elizabeth
Bennet), is instead indicative of other inequalities in their relationship. Lady
Russell, as fond as she is of Anne, is in many ways more like a surrogate mother
than a friend or a sister, and appreciates Anne because of her similarity to her dead
mother (5). She is more of an ally to Anne’s interests in a family that exposes her
to “injustice and all the discredit of the selfish arrangements which shut her out”
(12), yet her support of Anne is often mistaken and misguided. From her
persuasion of Anne to end her engagement with Captain Wentworth, to her
encouragement of Anne to marry Mr. Elliot, Lady Russell is much less clear-
sighted than Anne despite her experience and good intentions. And unlike other
female communities of blood sisters, of close sisters, they do not talk things over
and negotiate their differences through conversation. Thus Anne remains isolated
from female understanding and sympathy.
This restraint between Anne and Lady Russell is a clear weakness in their
relationship and widens the gap between them. The huge emotional upheaval that
Anne undergoes when Captain Wentworth returns and becomes friends with the
Musgrove family cannot be shared with Lady Russell. Anne ends her visit with
the Musgroves at Uppercross to go and stay with Lady Russell, and there is an
immediate tension between them that is never addressed: “There was some anxiety
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mixed with Lady Russell’s joy in meeting her. She knew who had been
frequenting Uppercross” (87). And Anne must submerge all her concern for
Louisa Musgrove’s head injury, and her thoughts of all that family (and Captain
Wentworth), and pretend to be interested in everything Lady Russell has to relate
of the Elliots. This passage is sprinkled with indicators of the restraint behind
their conversation in phrases such as: “[Anne] was actually forced to exert herself”
and, “There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse” (87), which show
the desperate attempts of both women to maintain appearances and say nothing
about what they are really thinking. Thus Anne’s interiority, which the reader is
privy to through the novel’s free indirect discourse, must not be disclosed.
Austen focuses on Lady Russell’s studied avoidance of Anne’s heart and
mind, illustrating that these silences between women are not ideal and are often
painful. Lady Russell completely passes over any occasion to inquire after or even
acknowledge Anne’s inner world, and this creates discomfort in their outer world.
As Lady Russell, in company with Anne, sees Captain Wentworth walk by on the
streets of Bath, she turns the subject, signaling that the topic is still forbidden,
whatever it might mean to Anne. Anne sees Captain Wentworth long before Lady
Russell does, and the passage builds up tension as Anne wonders what Lady
Russell will think and whether or not she will mention him. Lady Russell does
eventually notice him, and looks at him for a long time in silence, but when she
turns away she explains to Anne that she has merely been looking for a particular
set of curtains in the windows across the street. This deliberate evasion of open
communication is more overt and controlling than what occurs in Pride and
Prejudice, for example, as Elizabeth merely omits certain information from her
conversations with Jane. Anne’s reaction to this illustrates the complications and
contradictions within her own heart, as she “sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity
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and disdain, either at her friend or herself” (127). She knows that Lady Russell’s
silent disapproval has not influenced her own opinion of Captain Wentworth, yet
she cannot combat it. Her thoughts and reactions must remain as internal as
possible, even though external circumstances are practically begging for comment.
Anne’s inner world reflects not only the anxiety she encounters but the
clear recognition that it cannot be shared, that sympathy and conversation are not
options for her. After Anne learns the truth about Mr. Elliot from Mrs. Smith, she
is troubled and distressed. She fully intends to tell Lady Russell, to undeceive her
(although she is prevented from doing so by meeting the Musgroves), yet she has
to admit to herself that “her greatest want of composure would be in that quarter of
the mind which could not be opened to Lady Russell, in that flow of anxieties and
fears which must be all to herself” (151). Anne’s anxieties are rooted in concerns
that Mr. Elliot’s officious attentions toward her have discouraged Captain
Wentworth and essentially driven him away just when he was intending to renew
their relationship, but she can tell this to no one, least of all her friend. This
significant failing in the female community of Anne and Lady Russell, along with
Anne’s continuing isolation, indicate that Anne has not yet been successful in
finding the female companionship she is lacking. This isolation, however, does
not mean that Anne is not capable of such relationships, but rather reveals the
failure in her family and limited social circle.
Anne makes another attempt at female companionship in her friendship
with Mrs. Smith in Bath, which proves to be a satisfying relationship that benefits
both women. Although Anne goes to visit her almost out of a sense of obligation,
for the sake of what had been many years ago, Mrs. Smith is shown to be well
worthy of Anne’s friendship: “Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and
agreeable manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition
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to converse and be cheerful beyond her expectation” (108). Anne continues the
friendship despite the snobbish deprecations of her father and sister. At home she
finds neither good sense nor agreeable manners, so her choice to renew this
friendship after many years can be seen as a natural tendency to look for a sister
tie. She is asserting her own agency, recognizing and exercising her right to create
a female community independent from her family, since it is their fault she is
deprived in the first place.
Anne shares more equality with Mrs. Smith than she does with Lady
Russell, despite Mrs. Smith’s desperate financial and social situation. They are
much closer in age, and converse on fairly equal terms. While the text describes
some awkwardness in the first few minutes of their meeting each other for the first
time in twelve years, it is also clear that it does not take long for this awkwardness
and discomfort to pass and be replaced by genuine friendship (108). This is
indicated not only by descriptions and statements in the text but also by its
recording of long conversations between the two. While the conversations are
frequently about Mrs. Smith’s situation, they are laced with the rationality and
keenness of observation that both women possess. This display of friendship and
closeness through conversation contrasts with Anne’s relationship with both her
sisters, as well as that of the Musgrove sisters. The Musgroves, while congenial
and good-humored, never seem to get to this point, or to have quite so much to
talk about.
It is a conversation between Anne and Mrs. Smith that reveals the villain of
the novel, which points to the significance of the friendship as well their level of
confidence in each other. Mrs. Smith is able to confide in Anne about Mr. Elliot’s
history and his role in the ruin of her husband (137). This is the longest recorded
conversation between the two friends, and like various conversations between
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sisters/friends in other novels, it is about a man. Mrs. Smith’s confidence in Anne
leads to the opening of Anne’s eyes, and plays an important function in the plot of
the novel by exposing Mr. Elliot to Anne and the reader. Yet Mrs. Smith is not
able to instantly make this communication; instead, she falsely congratulates Anne
for her rumored engagement to Mr. Elliot and declares she will be very happy.
Melissa Sodeman points out that “Mrs. Smith’s ability to speak freely has been
compromised by an unwillingness to breach the outward appearance of familial
solidarity” (795). Here social conventions intrude and impose their weight on the
friendship, which is ironic because Anne is not bound to her family either
emotionally or ideologically, and must disclaim the strength of her family ties.
Thus Mrs. Smith’s confidence takes place only after Anne’s solemn assurances
that she does not intend to marry Mr. Elliot, a reversal from Elizabeth Bennet’s
attempts to convince Jane that she will marry Mr. Darcy. Yet this proves to be an
effective way of removing this social barrier and returning to the importance of
their conversation. Anne’s claim allows Mrs. Smith “the comfort of telling the
whole story her own way” (Austen 149), rather than with the kind of omissions
and silences that have characterized other conversations in Austen’s novels, and
Mrs. Smith does so with an increasing lack of restraint. This comfort and lack of
reserve appear to stem from the strength of their friendship and the openness and
honesty they have established in their female community. Additionally, it is a
relief for Mrs. Smith to tell her pent-up tale (149), and she is able to find this safe
and welcoming space for communication in the presence of a female friend.
The conversations between Anne and Mrs. Smith directly benefit both
women, pointing to the positive effects of a trusting female community. Mrs.
Smith’s advantage from her confidence in Anne comes in Captain Wentworth’s
intervention on her behalf to restore her husband’s property in the West Indies,
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which results in a better style of living and better health for her (179). Anne’s
valuable knowledge gained from the conversation is described as a “reward” for
her kindness to her old friend (151), and Mrs. Smith’s contribution as “her recent
good offices by Anne” (179). Thus their friendship and actual dialogue in the
novel bring them material and emotional gains, indicating that such relationships
not only have value in themselves, but can actually work for good in the lives of
the characters. This defies traditional eighteenth and nineteenth-century
representations of women as either rivals or simply unimportant to each other, by
presenting an alternative, plausible situation where women have positive and
lasting effects on each other’s lives.
Anne’s marriage to Captain Wentworth is in some ways an extension of the
community she begins with Mrs. Smith, for it not only ends her isolation but also
brings her new family. For Anne, “family has come to signify a community drawn
together by ties of the heart rather than by those of blood” (Sodeman 788), and her
marriage solidifies this new community. Even though the end of the novel does
not explicitly discuss her relationship with Captain Wentworth’s sister Mrs. Croft,
there has been constant mention throughout the text of Anne’s appreciation of both
Admiral and Mrs. Croft, and of her stronger identification with them than with her
own family. For example, after observing them at Kellynch and becoming
familiar with their tendency to do everything together, she watches them at Bath,
and, “Knowing their feelings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of
happiness to her. She always watched them as long as she could; delighted to
fancy she understood what they might be talking of” (Austen 119). Thus Anne is
pleased to gain the Crofts as family and experiences nothing but the “worth and
prompt welcome which met her in his brothers and sisters” (179). Ruth Perry, in
her article arguing that Austen tends to favor matrilineal kin, points out that
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because Mrs. Croft moves into the neighborhood and invites her brother to visit,
this particular sister becomes partially responsible for Anne’s entrance into the
family: “And, in the end, [Anne] decamps altogether with Captain Wentworth and
leaves her father and his values behind. It is worth noting that her connection to
Captain Wentworth this time around is through his sister, Mrs. Croft, wife of her
father’s tenant” (“Family Matters” 327). Anne essentially leaves her actual sisters
and forms new sister ties. She retains the friendships of Lady Russell and Mrs.
Smith, and gains sisters-in-law who we assume appreciate and value her much
more than her blood sisters do.
The necessity of the sister bond in Persuasion, and to a lesser extent in
other novels, is emphasized by its utter absence in the world of the female
protagonist. Yet in this novel Anne is keenly aware of this deficiency and
possesses enough inner strength and agency to attempt to cultivate female friends
and forge her own bond of sisterhood. The examination of sisters does not stop
with the Elliots, however, as the Musgroves offer an example of sisterhood that is
characterized by nothing more than good nature and friendliness. Austen does not
hesitate to demonstrate the particular intellectual limitations of this kind of
sisterhood, all the while indicating through Anne’s search and eventual friendship
with Mrs. Smith that women are often capable of thoughts and impressions
beyond cultural expectations. Additionally, the portrayal of the Musgrove sisters
as temporary rivals provides a new version of the story told in Mansfield Park –
and again shows there is more to sister relationships than the mere patriarchal
assumptions that they must compete in the marriage market. Thus the varying
threads of sisterhood in the novel come together to present ideal possibilities
blended with the more limiting realities of nineteenth-century society.
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The connection between sisterly inclination and behavior to moral
awareness is apparent in both Mansfield Park and Persuasion. Austen challenges
the notion that concern for a sister must be secondary to the appeal of a male
suitor. By exploring a range of consequences that result from the behavior of
selfish or indifferent sisters among minor characters and protagonists, Austen
argues that a close sister relationship is not only an indicator of the moral fabric of
the character, but helps to create it. But even with this necessity, women are not
always dependent on their families or environments for sisterhood. In these
novels, emotional isolation and the desire for a sisterly connection drive the
protagonists toward a greater sense of agency, giving them the power to act for
themselves and replace the tie that is missing.
CHAPTER 5: “SCHEMES OF SISTERLY HAPPINESS”: FEMALE COMMUNITY AND MORAL AWARENESS
IN EMMA AND NORTHANGER ABBEY
Throughout her variations on the theme of the complexities and importance
of sisterhood, Austen further demonstrates her protagonists’ struggles with
isolation from a female community through their attempts to create their own
sisterhoods. Additionally, the protagonists’ relationships with other women serve
as indicators of moral growth and awareness, again highlighting the importance of
female relationships and defining women as moral agents. In Emma, Austen
portrays her eponymous protagonist’s search for a female companion to replace
first the sister and then the governess she lost to marriage, tracing her inadvertent
mistakes against women, her accidental insults and injuries. In Northanger Abbey,
Catherine Morland leaves the protection of her family and enters Bath society and
learns to evaluate people through the widely different friendships of Eleanor
Tilney and Isabella Thorpe. In both novels, Austen portrays the consequences of
the lack of sisterhood and female companionship, along with the moral growth of
her protagonists in relation to other women. Yet even growing sisterhoods are
limited by the female tendency to maintain reticence about their affections for
men. As they mediate the space between complete openness and utter reserve,
both heroines must significantly revise their understandings of the world around
them and their places in it through interactions with these other women.
The first few pages of Emma are very concerned with the idea of female
companionship. Emma has been spoiled by her governess and her father, but the
loss of her governess to marriage and the resulting possibility of “intellectual
solitude” (Austen 2) is indeed a serious problem for a young single female who is
intelligent and well-informed. Thus even in the life of an independent, wealthy
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heiress, who is much better off financially than most of Austen’s heroines, Austen
can show a significant lack in the realm of female friendship. Austen takes pains
to establish the importance of Miss Taylor to Emma’s world, and to describe their
relationship in the most favorable terms. Miss Taylor was more of a friend to
Emma than a governess, and in the beginning of this description Austen invokes
the language of sisterhood: “Between them it was more the intimacy of sisters”
(1). Emma’s own sister Isabella is much older, married, and living in London, and
is “too preoccupied with her family life to maintain a strong bond with Emma”
(Dobosiewicz 109). Miss Taylor, however, seems to fill the void left by Isabella.
Because of their difference in age and intellect, Isabella and Emma were never
very close, but Miss Taylor was “a friend and companion such as few possessed:
intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family,
interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in herself” (Austen 2).
Their friendship is also described in terms of “equal footing and perfect unreserve”
(2), calling to mind sister pairs in earlier novels such as Pride and Prejudice and
Sense and Sensibility. Thus this relationship, of utmost importance to Emma, is to
change drastically when Miss Taylor moves a mere half mile away and becomes
Mrs. Weston. Although the two women will still be close friends, Emma is now
left with the very real need for a female companion. This new lack in Emma’s
world and her search for a sisterhood, for a female community, drives the rest of
the plot, for “the absolute necessity of sisterhood to the development of the
heroine’s identity is underscored…by the sisterhood’s very absence since the
novel derives its momentum from faults in Emma’s character that result from the
want of a sororal bond” (Dobosiewicz 110). By focusing so early and so
insistently on this need and Emma’s subsequent search, Austen again highlights
the importance of female community that proves to be paramount in all her novels.
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Emma continues to visit her friend after she has moved to her new home at
Randalls, and even though Mrs. Weston can no longer be her constant companion,
their friendship is still strong and characterized by openness. At Mr. Weston’s
Christmas party, for example, Emma is genuinely pleased to be there because
“there was not a creature in the world to whom she spoke with such unreserve as
to his wife; not any one, to whom she related with such conviction of being
listened to, and understood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the
little affairs, arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father and herself”
(Austen 83). As the novel progresses, Emma is also able to tell Mrs. Weston her
honest opinion of Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax, thoughts that she cannot fully share
with her friend Harriet Smith because Harriet cannot understand them. Thus it
seems that through Mrs. Weston’s marriage Emma does not necessarily lose a
friend, but she does lose a constant female companion.
Even Emma’s friendship with Miss Taylor, however, despite its glowing
description in the novel, is not ideal. The novel later criticizes the vocation of a
governess through Jane Fairfax’s situation, describing it as “the sale of human
intellect” (215), and it is clear that Miss Taylor has been more fortunate in
achieving a real friendship as a governess than Jane ever expects to be. Yet even
so, Miss Taylor’s status as governess means that she and Emma can never fully
experience “equal footing.” In the quote earlier mentioned, Emma valued Miss
Taylor’s companionship so much partly because she was “peculiarly interested in
herself” (2). Emma’s world, even with her friend, revolves around her own set of
issues and concerns as the more privileged of the two. The novel later signals
problematic areas in this ideal friendship, such as Miss Taylor’s inability to
persuade Emma to do anything she did not want to do, and her permissiveness in
general about Emma’s whims: “Whereas true friends educate and improve each
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other, Emma does not change in any significant way” through her interactions
with Miss Taylor (Dobosiewicz 135). Yet even with these indicators of inequality,
the friendship is still important to both women and greatly valued by them. Mrs.
Weston herself, in a surprising defense of female friendship, says as much to Mr.
Knightley when he is questioning Emma’s friendship with Harriet. She tells him
bluntly, “perhaps, no man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the
society of one of her own sex, after being wed to it all her life” (Austen 24). This
is a direct address to patriarchal fears of female community, citing the significance
of comfort and familiarity. Thus the friendship of Mrs. Weston and Emma is,
despite its hiccups, worthwhile, and certainly much better for Emma than what she
is able to achieve with Harriet Smith.
Emma’s intelligence and wit heighten her sense of isolation, and increase
her danger of “intellectual solitude.” Margaret Tate remarks that “Emma’s talents,
not only her wealth and consequence, put her in danger of having no worthy
companions” (325). Emily Auerbach broadens the scope of this idea by noting,
“Emma is a portrait of an intelligent, strong, artistic woman in a society offering
women no encouragement to use gifts of this kind” (214). While it is true that
Emma does not have much of an outlet for her talents, the problem is compounded
by the fact that she cannot find a friend, an equal to share them with. This has, in
a sense, been a difficulty for her all her life. Her sister Isabella, we find, is “not a
woman of strong understanding, or any quickness” (Austen 66), and that Emma
“at ten years old…had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which
puzzled her sister at seventeen” (24). Thus Emma, separated from her sister in
their youth by her superior intelligence, is also alienated from her new friend
Harriet Smith, who “certainly was not clever” (16).
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Emma’s friendship with Harriet is in many ways a disaster, proving to be
harmful and damaging to both women, and it is not the institution of female
friendship itself that is to blame but the huge disparities between the two women
of upbringing and intellect. Emma begins the friendship aware of this inequality
and bases everything on it. The disproportion between them of “sense and
situation” (42) is much greater than with Emma and Mrs. Weston (while Mrs.
Weston’s situation is only slightly lower, she is equal to Emma in sense), as
Harriet is illegitimate, and hopelessly stupid. Emma seeks to cultivate a friendship
with Harriet, reasoning that she can act as a patroness and introduce her into the
circles Emma herself moves in. And while all of Emma’s intentions toward
Harriet are philanthropic (she graciously believes that Harriet is a gentleman’s
daughter), they are not rooted in any sense of an “equal footing” or a mutually
beneficial relationship. She reasons to herself, “Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was
out of the question. Two such could never be granted. Two such she did not
want. It was quite a different sort of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent.
Mrs. Weston was the object of a regard which has its basis in gratitude and
esteem. Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful” (16). Thus
Harriet is not to be valued for herself, but as someone who Emma can merely help;
she becomes “a project as opposed to an equal friend” (Tate 326). Emma believes
that since Mrs. Weston did so much for her, the logical thing to do is to turn
around and altruistically act in another’s interest. Yet her attempts are misguided
and she misunderstands the roles of friendship.
Instead of engaging in a friendship of mutual exchange and shared meaning
making, as Elizabeth and Jane Bennet do, Emma assumes a dictatorial role in her
friendship with Harriet. Motivated by her attempt to improve Harriet, she denies
Harriet’s obvious preference for Robert Martin and creates feelings for Mr. Elton.
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Janet Todd points out that, “Emma offers Harriet a vertical relationship across
class which no intellectual similarity justifies, and the impropriety colors all her
pedagogy” (282). Yet throughout Emma’s overt manipulation of Harriet, we
never really doubt her good intentions. Her many blunders here are partly the
result of her lack of a female companion she can call her equal. She tries to
manufacture one for herself, but her relationship with Harriet is too contrived, too
forced to actually fill this need for her. While Emma is certainly culpable for
playing thoughtlessly with Harriet’s heart, in a way her own isolated context is
also to blame. The relationship between Emma and Harriet is neither a cautionary
tale nor a conduct book example of the pitfalls of female friendship, but a
presentation of the necessity of rational female companionship among equals. In
other words, Austen is highlighting Emma’s need for a sister.
Jane Fairfax is introduced as a more logical companion for Emma than
Harriet. Although brought up to be a governess for financial reasons, Jane is well
suited to Emma because she is intelligent and well-educated. They are exactly the
same age (whereas Harriet is several years younger than Emma) and from the
same community where their origins and backgrounds are equally known. Early
in the novel, however, it is clear that Emma feels threatened by Jane’s feminine
accomplishments because they expose her own lack of discipline (Austen 117,
119). She prefers to inhabit the superior position of a mentor to Harriet rather than
be a friend to Jane. The pathos of Jane’s story and her future destiny as governess
also seem to irritate Emma. But to do Emma justice, she responds humbly when
Mr. Knightley reproaches her for her lack of attention to Jane (208). And she
eventually tries to establish some kind of friendship with Jane, but is repudiated by
Jane’s reserve and obvious refusal to enter any meaningful conversation. Jane’s
reason for this is of course her secret engagement to Frank Churchill. So it seems
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that events transpire to prevent Jane and Emma from forming the friendship that
their “sense and situation” have prepared them for, thus keeping Emma
emotionally and intellectually isolated.
Communication and reserve play conflicting roles in Emma’s interactions
with both Harriet and Jane, yet these different positions serve to emphasize the
importance of communication as the true exchange of ideas and meaning. The
friendship of Emma and Harriet is at first characterized by an unhealthy openness
that obsesses over men and yet lacks honesty. Emma and Harriet have no secrets
from one another in the early part of the novel. Harriet tells Emma all of her
feelings that she understands, and Emma seeks to create additional feelings for
her. Because their relationship is dysfunctional, the level of openness they engage
in is harmful. Emma constantly talks about the man she thinks Harriet is/should
be interested in, insinuating and reshaping what has happened to fit the view she
prefers. This indulgence is harmful for Harriet because it causes her to form
affections that cannot be returned. By continually talking of Mr. Elton and openly
imagining what he must be thinking or feeling about Harriet, Emma fails to see
that he is in fact in love with her.
Mr. Elton’s proposal to Emma and her sudden realization that she has been
misleading Harriet prompt her to resolve to curb their conversations about men,
yet this noble decision backfires through an avoidable miscommunication later in
the novel. Emma, who has been secretly scheming that Harriet and Frank
Churchill would make a lovely couple, is surprised when Harriet declares she will
never marry because the one she loves is so far above her socially, and assumes
Harriet must be hopelessly in love with Frank. In keeping with her resolution,
Emma deliberately asks Harriet as little as possible: “against anything like such an
unreserve as had been, such an open and frequent discussion of hopes and
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chances, she was perfectly resolved…Plain dealing was always best” (245). After
a vague conversation that does not even mention the name of Harriet’s beloved,
Emma says, “I give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again
on the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I know
nothing of the matter” (245). Yet this opposite extreme, this deliberate avoidance
of conversation results in Emma’s complete ignorance of the fact that Harriet has
actually fallen in love with Mr. Knightley, and her inadvertent encouragement
leads Harriet to mistakenly believe that Mr. Knightley also loves her. Emma is
still missing the point and failing to engage in any sort of meaningful
communication.
Yet Emma and Harriet dutifully practice their program of restricted
conversation. After Mrs. Churchill’s death, which leaves Frank free to marry
whom he pleases, Emma still thinks that Harriet is in love with Frank: “Harriet
behaved extremely well on the occasion – with great self-
command…Emma…refrained from any allusion that might endanger its
maintenance. They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill’s death with mutual
forbearance” (279). The joke is that the forbearance is actually all Emma’s,
because Frank’s freedom is of course a matter of indifference to Harriet. Thus
Emma is unable to achieve an ideal state of communication with Harriet, probably
because they are so mismatched to begin with. Swinging from telling everything
to telling almost nothing, they continually misunderstand and misinterpret their
shared world, until they end up in completely different positions.
The one-sided nature of the communication between Harriet and Emma is
another indicator of their flawed friendship, again emphasizing the importance of
balanced and sincere openness. Never in love herself, Emma has nothing to
confide, so they constantly discuss only Harriet’s heart. And at the end of the
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novel, when Harriet confesses to Emma her feelings for Mr. Knightley, Emma
does not reciprocate Harriet’s confidence (for obvious reasons) and mention that
she has just discovered her own long-standing affection for Mr. Knightley.
Without thinking, without conscious decision, she keeps it secret from everyone.
She does not even tell Mrs. Weston, whose recent courtship and marriage might
put her in a position of understanding (and thus the “perfect unreserve” between
them does not last). Like a true Austen heroine, Emma keeps the state of her heart
to herself until her lover speaks. Here again the patriarchal conventions intrude,
and the female protagonist considers that it is not worthwhile to tell any other
woman about her feelings, that they must not be shared with anyone. Whether
Emma’s motivation is the concern for propriety expressed in Frances Burney’s
Camilla, or an unwillingness to share her hopes and fears, the result is the same
and she remains silent. Again, as in Austen’s other novels, female friendship
cannot overcome this implicit barrier of reserve.
Emma’s uncomfortable interactions with Jane Fairfax, while they raise
questions about the possibility of a friendship between equals that is not yet
realized, also illustrate the frustrations that arise from extensive reserve between
women. This, along with Emma’s friendship with Harriet, indicates that balance
should be sought in communication, and that women cannot have a friendship
without sharing their worlds at least minimally. Emma becomes disgusted with
Jane’s extreme reserve and her smooth, veneered responses to people around her.
Even Mr. Knightley explains to Emma and Mrs. Weston, as they accuse him of
partiality for Jane, that he could never love a woman who is not open (206). Yet
Emma, again misguided, falsely attributes Jane’s reserve to an illicit affection for
the married Mr. Dixon. She shares this theory with Frank Churchill, and later
feels pangs for this: “She doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of
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woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank
Churchill (165). Although Jane has at this point cut Emma off, the text still hints
at an underlying, implicit female community, with its own codes and
responsibilities.
Part of Emma’s growth throughout the novel consists in her attempts to
define for herself the qualities she values in a female friend. She compares Harriet
to Jane, and temporarily decides to prefer Harriet’s sweet nature to Jane’s more
educated and discerning mind. She exclaims to herself, “There is no charm equal
to tenderness of heart…Harriet is my superior in all the charm and felicity it gives.
Dear Harriet! I would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted,
best-judging female breathing. Oh, the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!” (192). In this
passage, Emma is harshly critical of Harriet’s ability to think things through and
judge rightly. Yet, flattered by Harriet’s sincere professions of friendship, she
decides that intellectual qualities do not matter. Emma later changes her opinion
when she is forcefully confronted with their inequality and realizes the harm she
has brought to Harriet’s more simple mind, and this is her most significant step
toward maturity in the whole novel (298). She finally understands that her
seemingly benevolent attempts to raise Harriet from her station had little to do
with actual friendship.
Emma also must revise her opinion of Jane Fairfax when she learns of the
engagement between Frank and Jane. Yet this change is materially assisted by
Jane’s sudden abandonment of her previous reserve. Mrs. Weston later relates to
Emma her first conversation with her future daughter-in-law about the
engagement, explaining that she had let Jane talk as long as she wished,
“convinced that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her companion,
pent up within her own mind as everything had so long been, and was very much
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pleased with all that she had said on the subject” (301). Again the novel is
emphasizing the importance of communication, especially between women, and
illustrating the proper kind of openness (in contrast to the extreme openness Emma
and Harriet engaged in). The subsequent good understanding between Emma and
Jane is helped along by Jane’s apology to Emma, which is again an instance of
openness, of confession: “You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to
you. So cold and artificial! I had always a part to act” (332). A little later Emma
responds, “Oh! if you knew how much I love everything that is decided and open!
(332). Thus Emma and Jane “can only begin to become friends when both admit
to jealousy, vulnerability, and error” (E. Auerbach 219). The error on Jane’s side,
which she openly acknowledges, is that she has been too reserved. Through this
process Emma is able to further define what is important to her in a friend,
returning to the openness and intelligence she had valued in Mrs. Weston all
along.
The notion of sisterhood and relationships with women is also used in the
novel to measure moral awareness and growth, again indicating that women play a
part in each other’s moral lives. Ilona Dobosiewicz argues that much of Emma’s
moral growth happens as she faces up to wrongs she has done to other women,
such as Miss Bates, Jane Fairfax, and Harriet (138). Although Mr. Knightley
helps to confront her with some of these mistakes, it is still true that other females
provide her this chance for growth: “Emma’s moral life is realized chiefly through
her interactions with other women, which fact attests to the significance of female
relationships in the development of her identity” (Dobosiewicz 138). These
women in the novel not only provide this litmus test of moral growth, but they also
signal Emma’s readiness to essentially be a sister. As Laura Dabundo put it,
“Emma is not ready for true sisterhood, in which there are sharing and empathy
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and even criticism, at times. Her experiences through the novel will bring her to
the point of acknowledging her love for Mr. Knightley as well as to realizing her
ability to be a sister. In other words, in the novel(s), to be able to be a sister is also
to be able to have a mate.” It is important to note that the critics are not arguing
that relationships with other women, with sisters, simply prepare Emma for
wifehood. Rather, these female relationships are equally as important to Emma as
her relationship with Mr. Knightley in contributing to the kind of person she
becomes by the end of the novel.
Emma learns to value intellectual equality and relatively open
communication throughout the course of the novel. The women from Highbury
who cross her path help her to understand the responsibility women bear to one
another, in addition to preparing her for sisterhood. Yet even sisterhood has its
limitations in Austen’s world as Emma chooses to tell no one about her feelings
for Mr. Knightley until she can announce an actual engagement. Thus this
portrayal of female community, while strongly in favor of close friendships
between women, is still shaped by the reality of nineteenth-century dominant
culture. Even as the novel argues for the viability of female relationships, it also
works within the limitations of its current context. Participation in a healthy,
vibrant female community can result in keener moral sensibility, yet women must
remain within the sphere of proper femininity as dictated by contemporary society
even as they push its boundaries with the presence of such a community.
Northanger Abbey focuses on important themes that come up later in
Emma, as it emphasizes the significance of female community in a character’s
moral and social growth, but takes a different approach by presenting the story as
a bildungsroman. Catherine Morland’s story about coming of age and entering the
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world is strongly informed by her relationships with two women, Isabella Thorpe
and Eleanor Tilney. Through her interactions with these women Catherine learns
to read people and to judge character. In what has been described as a highly self-
conscious novel (E. Auerbach 73), Austen consistently questions established
expectations about friendships between women, gradually teasing out what it
means to be a sister and a friend. Although this is the earliest of Austen’s six
completed novels, she quickly establishes what becomes an ongoing concern with
female community and the important effects of speech and silence. She pokes fun
at literary conventions through her description of Catherine and the people she
meets, yet develops an approved definition of reading, judging, and establishing
intimacy by the end of the novel. This definition, however, reflects the limitations
existing within a patriarchal system, as some portions of the lives of the women
must remain unspoken.
The novel opens with a protagonist who is emotionally isolated from other
characters, although not to the degree that Anne Elliot is in Persuasion. As she
leaves the small, familiar world of her family at Fullerton, Catherine is naïve and
unassuming when she is introduced to Bath society. Although her home is happy,
she is slightly neglected due to the large size of her family, and there is never any
indication that she is especially close to her sisters, or has much in common with
any of them. Austen toys with the assumption that, by default, Catherine should
be best friends with her next youngest sister, and give her sister a chance to
experience Bath vicariously through her letters, since she is too young to go
herself: “Sally…must from situation be at this time the intimate friend and
confidante of her sister. It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on
Catherine’s writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of transmitting the
character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting conversation
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that Bath might produce” (Austen 17-18). As Austen remarks, Sally is not the
intimate friend and confidante of Catherine. She is no Maria Mirvan to Evelina,
and thus Catherine cannot be expected to write her detailed, juicy letters of her
time in Bath. Mrs. Allen, who accompanies Catherine to Bath, is also not the kind
of person that Catherine can confide in, since she is rather dimwitted and obsessed
with her clothes. Yet Catherine’s emotional isolation proves important to the
development of the plot, for she must fend for herself in Bath, and independently
evaluate the people she interacts with and judge the differences between good and
unworthy friends.
Catherine’s friendship with Isabella Thorpe serves as an early example of
an artificial type of intimacy and closeness between women. When Catherine
meets Isabella, she is immediately drawn to her by Isabella’s superior knowledge
of Bath society, as well as her personal confidence and professions of undying
friendship. Austen points out how quickly they become close without knowing
much about each other, how quickly they tell each other secrets (30). Catherine
and Isabella, like so many other pairs of sisters and friends in Austen’s novels,
demonstrate their closeness by constant and open communication, and frequently
talk about men. Shortly after they first meet, they escape from the crowded Pump
Room to the Royal Crescent, and “Here Catherine and Isabella, arm in arm, again
tasted the sweets of friendship in an unreserved conversation; – they talked much,
and with much enjoyment” (32). Catherine soon tells her new friend of her
interest in Henry Tilney, and they talk of him frequently and enthusiastically: “It
was a subject…in which she often indulged with her fair friend; from whom she
received every possible encouragement to continue to think of him” (32). Thus
the friends appear to be an example of classic openness and intimacy.
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There is a darker side, however, to Isabella’s friendship. This is conveyed
through the complete disconnect between Isabella’s dialogue and actions. Much
of what Isabella says is a misrepresentation of herself, and of Catherine, too;
therefore her communication cannot be trusted. She talks constantly, but nearly
everything she says turns out to be a fiction. For example, she declares she will
avoid the two men in the Pump Room who may have looked at her, but then
assiduously follows them down the street when they leave (40). She also vows
that she and her new fiancé James Morland can be very contented with a small
income, but when his father gives them much less than she expects, she complains
and accuses Mr. Morland of stinginess (121). Isabella’s misrepresentation of
Catherine involves describing Catherine as she wishes her to be, not as she
actually is. As she tries to tell Catherine of her engagement to James, she says,
“Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not deceived you. –
Oh! that arch eye of yours! – It sees through every thing” (105). Since Catherine
had never suspected their attachment, this is no accurate description of her ability
to read people or even to see what is in front of her.
It is also clear that true communication does not take place between the two
women, and this reveals the reality behind their friendship, its lack of strength.
There is a gap between the narrator’s glowing comments about the friendship of
Catherine and Isabella, and the actual manner in which the friendship is
conducted, which reveals the narrator’s ironic tone. When Catherine confides in
Isabella about her initial preference for Henry Tilney, the self-centered Isabella
quickly loses interest. Isabella, in her own way, tries to confide in Catherine about
her interest in Catherine’s brother, but, as already mentioned, Catherine misses the
significance of all her hints and allusions. For example, when Isabella mentions
she is partial to clergymen, Catherine does not think to follow up on the
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insinuation, for “she was not experienced enough in the finesse of love, or the
duties of friendship, to know when delicate raillery was properly called for, or
when a confidence should be forced” (33). In other words, Catherine does not
know the conventions of insincere conversation, nor does she know how to
navigate the grounds of a shallow friendship. The “duties of friendship” are in this
case shown to be meaningless, a far cry from the true exchange of self that
happens between the Bennet sisters, or even Emma and Mrs. Weston.
Austen’s irony about the popular conventions of female friendship is not
limited to her comments on Catherine and Isabella. Her portrayal of the
acquaintance of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Allen also exposes the vapid emptiness the
women bring to their interactions. They spend most of the day “in what they
called conversation, but in which there was scarcely ever any exchange of opinion,
and not often any resemblance of subject, for Mrs. Thorpe talked chiefly of her
children, and Mrs. Allen of her gowns” (33). Even by portraying female
friendships that are less than ideal, Austen is not falling into the patriarchal
tendency to view female communities as a threat. In the case of Mrs. Thorpe and
Mrs. Allen, she reveals the bland harmlessness and nothingness of their
conversation, yet she also reveals what is expected of women and what women are
encouraged to become. And although the friendship of Catherine and Isabella is
shown to be a matter of concern, it is not because of the friendship itself but
because of Isabella’s desire to use Catherine to gain a husband. Isabella is not
interested in female community for its own sake, but rather as a means to a
mercenary end.
Isabella’s brand of friendship is self-conscious, yet reveals its insincerity
and failure to participate in a meaningful female community. In her spoken
version of her character, she claims that she never loves by halves. She tells
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Catherine, “The men think us incapable of real friendship you know, and I am
determined to shew them the difference” (37). Ironically, the first part of
Isabella’s statement is true, echoed in the conduct literature and the patriarchal
assumption that female communities are meaningless or even dangerous.
Austen’s novels do show a different interpretation, and indicate that female
friendships can be constructive, and just as important in a woman’s life as her
marriage. Yet Isabella herself does not show this. She proves herself to be,
contrary to her own definition, incapable of real friendship because she is much
more interested in landing an advantageous marriage. Her use of Catherine
toward this end shows her misunderstanding of what it means to be both a friend
and a sister. Isabella directs the terms of the friendship, and insists on having her
way. Thus she “does not establish female comradeship but dominance”
(Benedict). Even the parallels between Isabella’s and Catherine’s situations
reinforce the idea that Catherine is in pursuit of actual friendship, whereas Isabella
is not. Isabella seeks Catherine’s friendship only because she is the sister of the
man she means to marry. Catherine’s later attempts to make friends with Eleanor
Tilney are rooted in different motives. Henry Tilney might be a factor in
Catherine’s desire to have Eleanor as a friend, but she also appreciates Eleanor for
her own sake, and considers her worth knowing.
Isabella’s perspective on sisterhood also reflects her self-interest and desire
to secure a husband, illustrating that she places the greater value on a community
where men figure prominently. She openly slights her own sisters, and claims to
love Catherine more, declaring: “You will be so infinitely dearer to me, my
Catherine, than either Anne or Maria: I feel that I shall be so much more attached
to my dear Morland’s family than to my own” (Austen 105). Yet Catherine, in
contrast, values female community, and is genuinely excited at the prospect of
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gaining Isabella as a sister: “The happiness of having such a sister was [her
feelings’] first effusion, and the fair ladies mingled in embraces and tears of joy”
(105). Yet Isabella’s tears of joy are shown to be false, as Austen’s ironic tone
continues: “The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever, were
inseparable for the day; and in schemes of sisterly happiness the hours flew along”
(108). Since it is fairly clear (if only to the reader) that their hearts have never
been united, true sisterly happiness does not follow, and Catherine’s eventual
discovery of Isabella’s duplicity leads to the rupture of the friendship. Isabella is
not successful in achieving sisterhood with Catherine because she fails to value
her own sisters, and “her shallowness and lack of moral principles are exemplified
by her declaration that she is eager to transfer her love from her sisters to
Catherine. She is a bad sister, and she turns out to be a bad woman” (Dobosiewicz
95). In fact, Isabella’s sisters are not even mentioned by name in the novel in the
first hundred pages, signaling their unimportance and Isabella’s indifference. This
dismissive attitude further illustrates her underlying contempt for female
community, which, as Dobosiewicz points out, also calls into question her moral
fiber. Thus it is clear that Isabella and Catherine are mismatched – not like Emma
and Harriet in terms of class or even intelligence, but in intention, perspective, and
morality.
The Thorpe family as a whole devalues the bonds of sisterhood, placing
emphasis instead on seeking marriage as a security and a commodity. Thus
Isabella is not the only Thorpe to slight the younger sisters. John Thorpe, who is
trying to woo Catherine, is upset when she cannot go on an outing with the
Thorpes because of a prior engagement with the Tilneys. He resists the idea of
driving with one of his younger sisters, saying, “I did not come to Bath to drive
my sisters about, and look like a fool” (Austen 89). Since Catherine’s insistence
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on keeping her appointment with the Tilneys does force John to invite a sister, he
picks Maria instead of Anne, because Anne has “such thick ancles” (104). Thus
the younger Thorpes are viewed by the older as embarrassing and superfluous.
Although they fulfill their role as petty younger sisters, that role has been assigned
to them by others. The older Thorpes also prevent the younger from having
complete access to the joys and concerns of the family – they restrict
communication with them and openly triumph about their more privileged status.
Isabella’s engagement is at first only known to her mother and John, because they
are waiting for Mr. Morland’s consent. After telling Catherine they indulge in
“significant looks and mysterious expressions to fill up the measure of curiosity to
be raised in the unprivileged younger sisters. To Catherine’s simple feelings, this
odd sort of reserve seemed neither kindly meant, nor consistently supported”
(108). The younger sisters, however, fight back by claiming to know what all the
fuss is about (and it certainly would not be difficult to guess), and the result is a
war over the privileged secret, what Austen calls a “display of family ingenuity”
(108). Everything the Thorpe women do is calculated to get a man, and when it
works for Isabella, she triumphs over her sisters instead of with them, fighting
over knowledge instead of sharing it. There is no sense that as sisters they need to
band together and support one another in a harsh world, for “[they] are so
thoroughly indoctrinated into believing in the centrality of male-oriented
relationships that they neglect one another’s needs and emotions” (Dobosiewicz
95). Rather, they exploit each other’s needs and emotions for their own gain as
they seek to advance in the marriage market. Thus the Thorpes, certainly not the
model family of the novel, further illustrate their questionable morality through
their treatment of each other, and especially through the assigned roles of the
younger sisters within the family.
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Catherine’s observations of Isabella’s inconsistencies and sisterly failings,
along with her growing affection for Henry Tilney, combine and result in an
emotional withdrawal from Isabella. Catherine gradually reveals less of her
feelings for Henry to Isabella, and confides in no one else around her. Granted,
Isabella has plainly lost interest, but Catherine seems to eventually understand that
Isabella is not to be trusted, even though she does not express it to herself until
Isabella’s letter. Thus she, like other Austen heroines, stops talking as she
develops feelings for a man. Janet Todd argues that Catherine “learns to withhold
herself from Isabella,” stating that “involvement with a man requires the change”
(298). She takes this observation a step further by arguing that “complete female
candor seems the first sacrifice to adult heterosexual union” (Todd 298). While
this is true across Austen’s work, it is not exactly the case here, for complete
female candor never did exist between Catherine and Isabella, although it seemed
to. Yet it is correct that in the process of falling in love with Henry, Catherine
clams up. She never tells Eleanor Tilney, or her own mother or sisters. In fact,
Catherine’s mother is left to wonder about the cause for Catherine’s moping after
she returns home. Even when Henry comes to Fullerton, Catherine’s sister Sally
fails to see that Henry is asking the way to Mr. Allen’s only because he wants to
be alone with Catherine (Austen 211). Catherine has kept this part of her heart
carefully tucked away from her family, and they have no idea of what she is
feeling. This is an example of the limitation in Austen’s positive presentation of
female relationships, of the patriarchal hurdle they simply cannot overcome.
Moral growth and the ability to read character happen in female communities, but
full disclosure of the heart cannot always take place. The women do not risk
sharing their hopes about what they might never gain.
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Along with her new propensity for silence, Catherine’s movement from the
Thorpes to the Tilneys signals her growing maturity and her increasing ability to
read character, and much of that is mediated by her relationships with the women.
Catherine is wooed by Isabella’s friendliness and words of loyalty, but she is
drawn to Eleanor Tilney because of her character. As she is beginning her
acquaintance with Eleanor, she starts to realize some of the indiscretions of the
Thorpes, and although she is initially too naïve to understand their characters (she
assumes their indiscretions are the result of unawareness), she compares the
Thorpes and the Tilneys and begins to note their differences. Critics have pointed
out that Catherine’s growth as a reader of novels is paralleled by her growth as a
friend and a reader of character. Joseph Wiesenfarth argues that “After Catherine
learns how to read Mrs. Radcliffe, for instance, she learns how to read Isabella. To
put it in other terms, after she learns how to read fiction, she learns how to read
life.” Although Catherine’s readings of gothic novels are influenced by her
increasingly rational reflections on her own reactions, as well as Henry Tilney’s
embarrassing intervention in her imaginative fancies, her readings of character are
influenced by her comparisons of the Tilneys and the Thorpes, and the friendships
she experiences with Eleanor and Isabella. In other words, it is simple experience
with different sets of people that enables a previously isolated Catherine to make
these judgments, and her maturity is reflected in the set of people she chooses, in
the friends she keeps, particularly the women. Catherine’s ability to “read”
Isabella is also helped along by the fact that she is physically reading a letter from
her when she makes her final judgment. The letter gives her a chance to sit back
and interpret what she sees, for “the written letter creates a space in which the
recipient may supply what the lines avoid saying” (Hinnant 302). Hinnant
contrasts this with face to face communication, where response must be
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immediate. Catherine can take the time to read all the implications of Isabella’s
letter and internally respond to her claims. Thus Catherine’s act of reading on
multiple levels and her growing ability to reflect, helped along by her friends,
leads her to an improved discernment of character.
Catherine’s growing appreciation of Eleanor hints at an increasing
understanding of friendship, which she is then able to enact. Eleanor herself is
isolated – living in the abbey with only her tyrannical father, she is much more
alone than Catherine is. Eleanor herself never asks for pity for her isolated state,
but her brother notices it, and thanks Catherine for her friendship to Eleanor on the
drive to Northanger. Catherine hears her visit “ranked as real friendship, and
described as creating real gratitude.” Henry goes on to tell her that his sister “was
uncomfortably circumstanced – she had no female companion – and, in the
frequent absence of her father, was sometimes without any companion at all”
(Austen 137). Even though Catherine and Eleanor are not intellectual equals,
since Eleanor is a little older and has received a better education, they find
common ground in their mutual goodwill and general common sense. Catherine is
smart enough not to reveal her flights into gothic fantasy to Eleanor, and she
continues to grow in maturity and in her ability to read people. Catherine herself
finds in Eleanor the female companion that Isabella never was – a rational friend
to share her life with. And Eleanor gains a friend in Catherine, who later becomes
her sister when she marries Henry, creating the type of sisterhood that Isabella
claimed to want. Thus both Catherine and Eleanor benefit one another, for “in
Austen’s novels, a true friendship is reciprocal” (Dobosiewicz 122).
Catherine and Eleanor also engage in a more balanced communication as a
marker of real friendship, and although they are able in some respects to move
beyond simply talking, even their conversations reflect the limitations of their
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dominant culture. Their communication, however, comes closer to the exchange
of ideas and meaning, especially when compared to the incessant talking and self-
defining that characterized the friendship of Catherine and Isabella. It is evident,
especially near the end of the novel, that Catherine and Eleanor talk a great deal,
even though many of their conversations without Henry are not actually recorded.
Yet they discuss their views of the world around them, and it is through
conversation with both Henry and Eleanor that Catherine is able to adjust her
opinion of Isabella. However, there are limits to their openness. For example, as
she keeps the reticence she learned from her interactions with Isabella, Catherine
never openly confides in Eleanor about her affection for Henry, who is after all
Eleanor’s brother. Yet Eleanor is able to figure out Catherine’s feelings early in
their acquaintance because of Catherine’s simplicity and transparence, and
Catherine has no idea that any communication has taken place (Austen 66-67).
This illustrates that communication in this novel is about more than the words
exchanged, but is about conveying meaning and reading others. Although they
never discuss it, Eleanor seems to want Catherine for a sister, and makes excuses
for her brother in Catherine’s hearing (101). One of the causes of the restrictions
in communication between the two women, though, is bad news. Eleanor and
Catherine barely speak when confronted with General Tilney’s shameful behavior
in kicking Catherine out of Northanger Abbey. They are too shocked, and as
Eleanor helps Catherine prepare to leave, they take refuge in wordlessness: “Very
little passed between them on meeting; each found her greatest safety in silence,
and few and trivial were the sentences exchanged while they remained up stairs”
(198). Here communication is limited, because they cannot say what they think
about Eleanor’s father, yet their friendship is strong enough at this point to move
past these restrictions, as “a long and affectionate embrace supplied the place of
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language in bidding each other adieu” (200). The friends do not meet again until
they have learned they will be sisters, and the novel does not offer any of these
scenes, but it is fairly evident that subsequent events create more openness
between the two.
Catherine’s ability to read people comes as her isolation is ended and her
interactions with others increase. Yet her foray into friendship, even her
successful friendship with Eleanor, is affected by an unspoken code of female
reserve that does not allow for complete confidence. Like Emma, Catherine must
learn the qualities of real friendship and female community, but lapses into silence
when her heart becomes attached. The pressures and imposed silences of
traditional culture emerge in the lives of both women, and they must negotiate
their development within the bounds of patriarchal expectations. Thus facets of
their lives and hearts remain hidden from the view of other females, and complete
openness is not possible. Even with this caveat, however, Austen is able to
portray the paramount importance of female community in the lives of women,
and its significant role in developing women as moral agents.
CHAPTER 6: CONCLUSION
Each of Austen’s novels looks at the underlying cultural question of
sisterhood from a different angle, exploring varying versions of sisterhood that all
point to its indisputable necessity in the lives of women, yet showing how silences
frequently prevent those relationships from reaching their full potential. The
complete script that surfaces from an examination of all her novels argues for the
urgent importance of sisterhood, and repeatedly illustrates that a male-centered
society is not sufficient for the moral, emotional, or intellectual well-being of
women. This argument does not mesh well with the official cultural script of
Austen’s time, indicating that although her presentation is certainly subtle, she was
at least aware of the conflicts caused by society’s strictures on women. In fact, her
very subtlety argues for a keen awareness of societal limitations and consequences
that accompany any stepping over of those boundaries.
Thus Austen shows the reality of the cultural shadows that fall across
women, and their complicated attempts to build meaningful relationships within
those shadows. In this way she is different from many of the novelists who
preceded her. She does not write one-dimensional portraits of women who simply
ignore societal mandates and enjoy happy, confiding friendships with other
women. Instead, she presents the costs of female community as her characters
struggle with the development of their sisterhoods, often having to figure out on
their own how to cultivate sister relationships in a society that devalues them. It is
likely (as evidenced by the lives of Frances Burney, and Austen herself) that
nineteenth-century women could and did experience meaningful friendships with
sisters. But Austen investigates the complications, the cultural pressures that
could shape the enacting of those friendships. In her work, sisters constantly seek
to balance the growth of their female communities with their forays into
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patriarchal silence. In each of her novels different emphases emerge on this same
theme, and she offers a range of possible responses for women working within that
dominant system. Thus it is clear that Austen is addressing an issue of importance
and relevance within her society, a concern that was often unspoken but still
carried weight in the actual lives of women.
Common threads in Austen’s varied portrayal of sisters point to the way she
explores the contemporary complications in the sister relationship. Taken
together, these threads also argue for not only the general importance of sisterhood
but also its influence on women as rational members of society. Austen
consistently indicates that communication and openness are important elements in
any sister relationship, and their absence can lead to estrangement and
misunderstanding. She furthers this notion by showing that conversations between
sisters also help to create a sense of equality and substance – as they reason
through their shared worlds, they are often able to achieve greater understanding
and meaning. This dimension goes beyond mere friendly feelings and common
interests, and points to (and possibly helps create) depth of character. And this
leads to the moral aspect of these relationships, which is a significant concern in
Austen’s work. Sisters that combine all the above elements often experience an
increased moral awareness, which is in turn frequently indicated in the way sisters
view and treat each other. Thus through this interplay of conversation, rationality,
and moral growth, Austen is able to show how these elements reside in sisterhood
and build the characters of her protagonists.
Elizabeth and Jane Bennet in Pride and Prejudice serve almost as a
template for close, mutually confiding sisters whose relationship is shadowed by
inexplicable silences. Their conversations contribute to their intellectual growth
but become stifled by secrets. A similar model appears with the Dashwood sisters
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in Sense and Sensibility, but this novel instead traces the sister relationship as they
move from estrangement toward confidence and female community. These are
largely positive portrayals that focus on the negative effects of female silence. But
Austen in turn shows the necessity for sisterhood through its absence in the lives
of Fanny Price in Mansfield Park and Anne Elliot in Persuasion, at the same time
exploring the moral fallout that occurs when women disregard their sisters, as in
the case of the Bertrams and the Wards. And through all this Austen does not
neglect the question of silence, but keeps tracing it through her different versions
of sisterhood, illustrating that sisters are stronger when they are able to at least
partially overcome their silences. She further develops the argument of the
importance of sisterhood as Emma Woodhouse in Emma and Catherine Morland
in Northanger Abbey search for sister figures and through the process grow in
moral awareness and in their understanding of the world. Thus from the whole an
argument is presented for the clear necessity of strong sisterhoods, and the
inherent conflicts with patriarchal society that occur when these sisterhoods begin
to develop. And through this varied tapestry of sisters emerges a concept of the
complexity of the cultural reality of sisterhood, a perception that is certainly more
developed in Austen than in the work of eighteenth-century novelists.
As earlier mentioned, Austen’s deviation from her literary predecessors and
her unique treatment of female silence is often unremarked by critics. Simply
debating whether or not the label of feminist should be attached to her work in
many ways sidesteps the complexity of both the cultural issue of female
community and her own interaction with it. It is important to recognize instead
that her prevailing concern with sisterhood stresses its historical currency and
works to fill a gap in her culture’s narrative. As many critics have noted, she does
seem to uphold contemporary values of morality, marriage, and social
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conservatism, but her novels do not sanction the male-centered focus of her
culture’s interpretation of these beliefs. Instead, they uphold the above list but
insist on female community or sisterhood as a necessary element. Thus the basic
question of Austen’s feminism becomes too narrow. The intricacy of her
portrayals moves the question into the intersection of gender concerns (as
Devoney Looser argued) and historical/cultural studies. Feminist studies of
Austen could benefit from further examination into how her novels both endorse
and challenge her historical context, continuing to investigate the complexity in
her interactions with her own cultural framework.
As a whole, Austen’s work reveals the definite advantages found in female
community, along with multiple possibilities for its embodiment within the
restrictions of nineteenth-century society. Furthermore, her portrait challenges the
dominant view by showing that women can function as rational beings in
meaningful female communities that they contribute to and gain from, offering an
alternative perspective that shows the valuable strength to be found in such
communities. And when women do happen to fit the patriarchal formula (as the
Bertrams do), their position is the result of listening too uncritically to a society
that diminishes the sister tie. Thus Austen consistently creates sisters who move
toward female community and a stronger morality, yet must face the restraints of
cultural silence. And while she writes candidly of the difficulties of the paths they
must negotiate, she still calls attention to their triumphs.
WORKS CITED
Auerbach, Emily. Searching for Jane Austen. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 2004. Print.
Auerbach, Nina. Communities of Women: An Idea in Fiction. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1978. Print.
Austen, Jane. Emma. 1815. Ware: Wordsworth, 2000. Print.
---. Lady Susan, The Watsons and Sanditon. Ed. Margaret Drabble. New York: Penguin, 2003. Print.
---. “Lesley Castle.” Catharine and Other Writings. Ed. Margaret Anne Doody and Douglas Murray. New York: Oxford UP, 1993. Print.
---. Mansfield Park. 1814. New York: Penguin. 2003. Print.
---. Northanger Abbey. 1818. New York: Penguin, 1995. Print.
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