Eddie Still Loves Elinor

As I went back and re-read my previous post (and I do re-read them--sometimes several times over. is that weird?), it occurred to me that although I have professed a love of 19th century British novels, what came across was a love for period movies like Sense and Sensibility. I spent almost no time talking about novels. So let me set the record straight, although I know I mentioned it in the post: I love the novels of the period much more than I love the movies made from those novels. I do. So that should tell you something.

Jane Austen is so smart, so witty, so clever. I scarcely need mention this, as most people who have read her know this. But it truly is indescribable. You cannot appreciate her until you have read her. So many times I will read from her novels and remark to myself, I know what she is doing here and yet I can't describe it.

And much of the same goes for so many others. Have you read Thackeray's Vanity Fair? Please. Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and Agnes Grey by Emily, Charlotte, and Anne, the wonderful sisters Bronte? Collins's The Woman in White or The Moonstone? Mary Shelley's Frankenstein? Bram Stoker's Dracula? The Mayor of Casterbridge  ANY THING AT ALL by Thomas Hardy??? Come on, people. Please recognize before it was a movie that brought you to reluctant but honest tears it was a book that one of these stupid geniuses wrote down. BY HAND. on crappy pieces of PAPER with a lousy dip-it-in-ink-a-million-times pen!!!  That is insane! So, yeah, these movies I now love could not have been made without the book first.

So as much as I love Sense and Sensibility (have I covered how I feel about this movie?), or any others I have enjoyed, I bow in awe to the book and its author.

I really felt like I needed to get that down. And so in my next post I will attempt to defend my gushing professions of love (ok, not defend but explain and explore) of this stuff. And Sense and Sensibility (as you have seen) plays a considerable role in it. Make a note of it.