Deconstructing a Dreadful Sentence: Jane Austen Edition
Monday, October 4th, 2010The American Book Review just put out a very interesting and thought-provoking list of the 100 best first sentences from novels. Glad to see so many of my favorites there, like “Happy families are all alike…” and “You don’t know me, without you have read a book…” and “Stately plump Buck Mulligan” and “Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself” and “Ships at sea have every man’s wish on board” and “The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”
So far so good. But right up at the top they’ve got that one they always trot out, from Pride and Prejudice, which I think is such a bad sentence on so many levels, to the point where I’ve never read that book because it turns me off.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice(1813)
I’ll call out just a few of its offenses.
1. Who starts a sentence with “It”? It’s annoying. Maybe in a blog post it’s okay, but in a book? It makes me say: what the f*ck is IT? From Writing.com: “It causes your readers to pause momentarily while they figure out what it is. It makes your sentences clumsy.”
2. “Universally acknowledged.” Really, Jane? Universally? So… peasant laborers in China and American oil magnates and trans sex workers have all somehow come to consensus on this issue? Jane Austen mistakes her rich European world for the universe, and it’s part of why I find her insufferable.
3. Tautology. “A single man… must be in want of a wife.” What if I said “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a young man in upstate New York must someday grow old” ? Meaningless. The thing that makes “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way” so brilliant is that it says something banal in a provocative, fresh way that compels me to read further. “Unhappy in its own way? what does that mean? hmmm…”
4. I hope that this statement is actually tongue in cheek, that it’s critiquing the universality of this assumption, that the rest of the novel is somehow a rebuttal of this sentence. And this tongue-in-cheek-ness is the last thing I want to critique here; it’s winking at me a little too hard, it’s a little too in love with its own drollness.












