Jane Air

she speaks each word carefully, each one stepping out of her mouth one at a time, “that interpretation is supported by the text?”
“Do you want me to find quotes?” She has asked me three times already to find a quote, to ‘support my argument.’ The woman loves a good quote.
“Well,” she puts up a hand and smiles, “let’s take a minute.” That pause again. It’s strategic, I realize. It does not denote her thought process so much as encourage my own.
Good teacher.
Very subtle.
We’ve been meeting weekly for the last month, and I’m beginning to understand her facial expressions better.
Basically, her pause says, Beep! Wrong answer. Try again.
“Do you think…” Another pause. Dammit. “That Pride and Prejudice, Austin’s most revered and studied work, can be best summarized as a book about ‘playing hard to get?’”
Clearly, I’m way off base.
But her face is patient.
“No,” I shake my head, “clearly not. Only an idiot would think that.”
Another smile. I love it.
Well, hell, my literary analysis skills may not be great, but at least I can make her laugh.
“You know what,” she shakes her head. “Let’s back up. What’s the plot?”
“Family of five daughters. Everyone trying to get married. Hijinx ensue. By the end, some are married.”
“Ok,” she nods slowly, looking at me. “That is a pretty simple plot, would you agree?”
Before I can answer, she continues.
“In your last film, your character divided his cellular structure to be able to travel simultaneously backwards and forwards in time, to both save the universe, your girlfriend, and your beloved pet rabbit. Right?”
“Yes…but it was a three-hour film. We had to fit a lot in.” It’s hard not to grin at her. I love hearing the summaries of my movies coming from that prim and proper mouth. I love even more that, since we’ve been meeting, it sounds like she’s watched a few.
“Ok. So, your movie had an amazing plot, non-stop action, and fantastic CGI and made crazy money. Jane Austin’s novel has none of those things, but has remained in print and on reading lists for hundreds of years. It is possible,” she pauses, weighing her words again, “that, in another hundred years, your movie will be forgotten, but this book will remain.”
“Well,” I glance down at the copy in my hand, feeling slightly miffed. “What are you saying?”
“When we’re dealing with something that, on its surface, seems very simple and straightforward, but has stood the test of time, has remained not only public and published, but revered and adored, we must ask ourselves, ‘Why?’”
And there it is.
The hint of pink to her cheeks. The slight flush running along her neck. Her eyes grow bigger and her breath catches slightly and if we weren’t both fully dressed, seated three feet apart from each other on the floor of my giant, weird room with goddamn books in our hands, I would swear she was aroused.
She is, I bet.
By literature.
By this book.
This book about…five daughters trying to find husbands.
“You’re gonna have to help me out here, Jane.” I scratch my head with one hand, noticing how her eyes watch the movements of my arm. Shamelessly, I include a small flex of my bicep and can’t help but think her nostrils flare slightly. “I’m having trouble understanding why this book is so popular. It’s funny. It’s sweet. There’s a happy ending, but that’s not unusual, right?”
“Are all the characters happy?”
Damn. That look again. I’ve got it wrong.
“Well…”
“The mother?”
I shrug. “She complains a lot.”
“The father?”
I frown. “He puts up with the mother.”
“The young daughter?”
“She marries a dick, but doesn’t know it yet.”
“The other young daughter?”
“Jealous of the one who married a dick.”
“Middle daughter?”
“Goth chick. Actually, seems perpetually miserable.”
“Crazy old aunt?”
“No. Total bitch.”
“Hmm,” she’s looking at me again. Eyebrows raised.
“But the older daughters. They’re happy by the end.”
She nods and is about to open her mouth, but I continue. “The eldest, Jane, is described as perfect. And her husband, Bingley, is described as basically perfect too. So that seems pretty much guaranteed, even though Darcy and the bitch cousin try to screw everything up.”
“Well, but-”
“And Elizabeth is clearly the hero. And Mr. Darcy is clearly her match. But Elizabeth is pretty judgmental. And rude. And condescending towards everyone in her family. And Darcy is a dick. I mean, his first impression? Shit. So it’s odd that they end up together, because Jane and Bingley deserve happiness, but I’m not sure Elizabeth and Darcy do.”
“Why is that?” Those professor eyes, watching, waiting.
“It’s not a book about getting married. It’s a book about becoming a better person. Jane and Bingley are perfect, so they don’t need to improve. But no one else in the book is, so they are all miserable. But Elizabeth and Darcy, who start off very flawed, end up growing as individuals. They both become less prejudiced, more forgiving, and more generous. That’s why they get happiness in the end, because they earned it. No one else did, because they didn’t do the work to improve themselves.”
“What-”
I cut her off. “AND, the reason they grow is because of each other. Elizabeth needs Darcy, and Darcy needs Elizabeth, because they are the only characters who can show each other their respective flaws. Everyone else is too intimidated by them. So, if they had never met, they would never have improved as people. So, really, it’s not a story about love at all. It’s a story about meeting your match, meeting someone who can help you see yourself as you truly are, so you can improve yourself.”
She nods, her eyes closing slightly. I feel her studying me, lips pressed slightly together as if she is trying to solve a riddle she only just stumbled upon.
“It sounds to me,” again with those careful words, each one stepping from her lips with precision and care, “that you have just described the ultimate love story.”
“What do you mean?” I lean back in my chair.
“You said it’s not a story about love.”
“Right. It’s a story about growth. Personal growth.”
She nods. The pause.
Damn. Wrong again.
“What is a