Good Monday, ladies and Brian. Today I will continue our own retelling of Sense and Sensibility with Chapters 36-40, but the truth is, here's the part of the book that I get bogged down in. Marianne's heart is all beaten and battered, Elinor is one big bag of sad, and everyone else SUDDENLY ANNOYS ME VERY MUCH!!!!! Doesn't Mrs. Dashwood see what's going on with her daughters? Isn't it time for Mrs. Jennings to notice SOMETHING IMPORTANT, the nosey beotch? And don't even get me STARTED on that twat Lucy Steele. Imagining her smug little face just makes want to do acts of violence to her person. Ahem.
And then, and THEN!!!! This is the part of the story where Marianne accuses Elinor of having a cold, cold heart because she kept her head and her wits about her, all while keeping that fanny fart Lucy Steele's secret engagement to Edward Farris a secret. EVEN THOUGH Elinor loves Edward herself.
Journey with me, if you dare, into the depths of Elinor's psyche.
Sense and Sensibility, Ch 36-40
I am the stays in Elinor's corset. I am the buckles on her shoes. I am her hatpin, her underthings, and her sense of propriety. I am the rage that seethes just below the surface as I try not to will malicious intent toward Edward. As I smile and endure the auricular torture that is spending time with Mother. And Mrs. Jennings. And Fanny. And that cunty Lucy Steele.
I am the bile that rises in my own throat each time I attempt to reconcile the Edward I thought I knew with the one who could have been secretly engaged all these years to an all-fur-coat-and-no-knickers-girl such as Lucy.
It really is a wonder it's taken this long for all of that squashed emotion to splinter off, creating a new Elinor. A different one. Sometimes I wonder if we two will ever merge again, or if she'll just take over completely.
* * * * *
The first time I told Marianne to hit me -- as we were brushing our hair one night in my bedroom -- she thought it was a lark. And then she was frightened. But Marianne always did have pluck, and after I beat her resoundingly one day on a hill in the rain, something in her sparked back to life. Once she tasted her own blood, once she'd split her own knuckles in a surprisingly good hit to my jaw there was no turning back.
After that, it didn't take much encouraging at all before she'd be hanging out with me in town, calling out insults to passers by: "Come on, you scrubber, get a taste of real society life!"
We've got rather a large group now, though our first rule is never to talk about it, so I can't brag to Mrs. Jennings. Still, I'm quite content having secrets of my own, and as I search for that one perfect moment, I've never felt so alive.
If you want more, visit here.
Next installment: Chapters 41-45
About the Author: Jenny grew up on a steady diet of Piers Anthony, Isaac Asimov and Star Wars novels. She has now expanded her tastes to include television, movies, and YA fiction.
