Why I have three copies of ‘Pride & Prejudice’

It is a truth universally acknowledged, a single woman in possession of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ must read it at least 208 times a year before being in want of a husband

If I had read and watched the various adaptations 208 times a year since I discovered it somewhere between 10 and 12, I would have roughly done so 2,496 times by now. I am convinced that the actual number cannot be that far off.

I was scrolling through Twitter this morning when I stumbled on a tweet that marked 208 years since Jane Austen wrote her “darling child” as it was described. I hope then that fans of Austen can appreciate that all my morning plans to exercise and do any kind of work at all was thrown out the window until I, too, could commemorate this important occasion.

‘Pride and Prejudice’ was my first experience of Austen. I have been obsessed with regency romance long before I binged Bridgerton in one sitting. You’re all amateurs compared to my obsession.

I now have three copies of it alone- one from my parents as a Christmas gift in 2013, another from a kind friend on my 16th birthday and another from my sister when I left for university. I had it read it before, I remember the raised eyebrows that were arched towards me every time I checked it out of the library. I could and still can quote the films by heart and it has never mattered to me for one moment that I now have three copies of the same book. It makes perfect sense to me.

I have read and watched adaptations of Austen’s other work. I have even loved them. Emma comes a close second- except for that infuriating new film which you shouldn't even get me started on. That being said, nothing has ever and I doubt ever will, come close to my love affair with ‘Pride and Prejudice’.

There isn’t a character that I have connected more with than Elizabeth Bennet in the worlds of film or literature. Her passion for reading, love for dancing and loyalty to her family were all things I understood. I remember thinking when she refused Mr Collins and then Mr Darcy, that that was exactly how I would want to react and imagine reacting if I was faced with a similar situation. It took me a while to realise just how extraordinary Elizabeth was, as a character, that she could think like that centuries before I existed. Not to mention how remarkable it was that I, a young ambitious woman in the 21st century who has never had their vote or voice suppressed and would never imagine marrying someone for the sake of money, could see herself in a character who only ever knew that world.

I wouldn’t fault you for thinking that my love for this one book would have something to do with Darcy and the romance of it all. It would certainly explain the Bridgerton Binge of Boxing Day 2020 but I must disappoint you. I do have one thing in common with Darcy, however, in how much I ardently love and admire Elizabeth Bennet.

It is not just that she had the strength to reject a man so high above her in rank and wealth as Mr Darcy or the fact she denied being controlled and manipulated into an unhappy marriage for the sake of financial security. Of course, it’s a lot to do with that. Her determination and defiance to live her own life by her choices and her own design was the gateway of my early feminism.

Book 1

As a teenager, I saw myself in her and without even realising it, I found myself wanting to be more and more like her. I wanted to be fearless and stand up for who or what I believed in, just like she did. I tried to be vocal about them, joining clubs and standing on committees. But when you are vocal, you are vulnerable. You open yourself up to the opinions of those who would criticise you, preferring to tear you down because they are too scared to be vocal and vulnerable for themselves.

Elizabeth was there for me every time I felt the pang of loneliness that comes with being opinionated and different. This book was from my parents after I proclaimed some months earlier that I was going to start collecting classic books that would lend themselves to a charming collection on my bookshelf. I wanted all my books inscribed with a message from the person that bought me that copy. In this book, my mum wrote:

“I hope in the years to come you meet your own Mr Darcy, write your book, have a fulfilling career and a very happy life.”

It is with me, always.

Book 2

Book 2 was the proof I needed. It was a thoughtful gift from a friend that had taken the time to know me. Sometimes small gestures mean a lot to people, at least that it is what I learned from this book.

I’ve had people joke in the past that ‘I am too opinionated to marry rich’ and I took insult to that for far too long. I remember feeling embarrassed and awkward when someone challenged my views on Feminism or party politics. I always felt that feminism and relationships were in conflict. I could not be one if I wanted the other. With hindsight and a tad more life experience, I know that’s just the darn patriarchy at it again. They are why we tell girls to watch what they are wearing instead of teaching boys to respect boundaries. And they are why I felt the need to suppress my opinions because some boys might not find my feminism ‘attractive’.

Book 2 taught me to like what I like unapologetically, even if it’s lonely because there is someone out there that likes it, and by the same logic, might even like me too.

Book 3

I found this book on the shelf in Room 1, Flat 44 of my university halls. Before you panic, it wasn’t just a random room. It was my new room and my new life. I’ve written so many times about how my first few months at university were difficult for me for countless reasons, reasons that have exhausted explanation. However, this book appeared on my shelf the day I moved in really did feel like a sign that everything was going to be okay. I had left my other copies of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ at home with my parents. I have a lot of books and was warned in no uncertain terms that they would not be making the trip with me to Dundee. I had just waved goodbye to my parents, promptly crying my eyes out ( I was jacked up on contraceptive hormones- lay off) and there it was on the shelf. At first, I thought the university had put the book there like a Bible in some dusty hotel room or a plane. When I looked closer, I realised that Jane and Elizabeth had come with me after all. With a sigh of relief, I opened to the inscription, written by my sister:

“For your new chapter. Enjoy university x”

And I cried again.

This book has been with me through thick and thin, through tear-stained pages and frayed bookmarks. It has brought me strength, comfort and purpose when I struggled to find any. As I am sure it will continue to do for the rest of my life and to the lives of many for at least 208 years to come.