Something else that has been mulling in my mind from reading Mansfield Park: the people who are meant to be in your life, the ones you’re really kindred spirits with, will be there when you need them most. And the ones who are self-serving will eventually be gone.

I think of how, before she finds out that her brother loves Fanny, Mary Crawford really doesn’t think much of Fanny Price. But once her brother expresses his interest, she starts to refer to her by her first name, she singles her out and expresses little feelings of affection. And while this seems natural, a sister wanting to get to know the young woman her brother is courting, it’s also incredibly self-serving because she also knows that Fanny is the particular favorite of Edmund, the man Mary (kind of) wants to marry. She wants Edmund to think her loving and devoted, so paying any attention to Fanny is the first way to Edmund’s heart.

As the novel progresses, Fanny, too polite to be outright rude to anyone, spends time with Mary and comes to feel affectionately for her, but never once loses critical thought over Mary’s character and behavior. These are things I wish I could say of myself. But I am far too trusting. It’s not in my nature to assume the worst of anyone, even when there’s evidence for the worst in front of me, even when people are assuming the worst of me as I refuse to assume the worst of them. I wish I were more like Fanny Price, an Austen character who, in my opinion, doesn’t get anywhere near enough respect or attention.

The “friendship” between Mary and Fanny reminds me a little of the “friendship” between Elinor and Lucy in Sense and Sensibility. Although, I will say I’m more inclined to take pity on Lucy than I am Mary. But both of these “friendships” show what it’s like to be used for personal gain by someone who, at least on the outside, portrays nothing but affection for you. It’s something I’ve experienced throughout my life and it’s lead to a lot of hurt and disappointment. But the disappointment has always been of short duration. The older I get, the less interested I am in regretting losses that aren’t really losses. It’s not that the pain wasn’t or isn’t real, just that I won’t be wasting time regretting the absences of people who not only desired my absence but contrived to make it happen.

I’m also reading a couple of books about Jane Austen. I’m excited to dig into these books and see how they shape how I see the characters. I really want to study Jane Austen closely. I don’t think I’ll be getting a PhD like I was hoping, although who knows, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still study the writers and the books that I love most. So, thus begins my personal study of Jane Austen, her life, her letters, and her novels.

I’ll be posting a lot about what I read, I’m sure.