In search of Darcy
The mercury has dipped in Western Mass. Dipped below a respectable level for my Australian-born body. My Ugg boots now permanent fixtures on my feet. It’s times like these that I often try to justify moving to New England from Australia, but that’s for another story.
Aside from my Ugg boots and my stack of logs to keep me warm through the winter, I have my favorite book – not just my favorite novel – my literal favorite paperback, broken-spined, faded, curled-edged, bibliosmia-smelling copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.
I have always loved the story because of the requited love. Happily ever after through strong characters and a little humor. I’m a Rom-Com girl at heart. I love to watch romance unfold on the paper or the screen. I love to see two people fall in love. I’m a believer in the timeless saying “You are what you read”. I’ve read drama – I’m not above a good Danielle Steele binge, I’ve read comedy (coming in a close second in genre favorites), but ultimately I want to feel the joy, elation, happiness, and love of
two characters finding theirs.
Every year, around Christmas I always pull out my favorite copy of the book. A copy I bought as a teenager. In 1995 The BBC Miniseries of Pride and Prejudice was airing on Australian TV. 30-minute episodes over six weeks. Melissa, my best friend, and I would tune in every Sunday night and could not wait to talk about the drama, as teenage girls do, the next day at school. I was in love with Darcy from the very first scene.
I had an instant connection with Lizzy and I was from that day forth in search of my Darcy. I saw so many things about myself in Lizzy. Elizabeth Bennett, Pride and Prejudice’s protagonist – often referred to as one of the most well-known female characters in English literature. Described as witty, smart, intelligent, independent, and a myriad of other terms not typical of women in 1800s England. I’d always been described as intelligent, witty and extremely independent. My mother, not nearly as jolly as Lizzy’s, is clinically insane. She was in and out of mental institutions during my youth, and it was a running joke about my family during my young life. My siblings, who I love, don’t get me wrong, are all so very different to me. While I have brothers, and Lizzy did not, the large family dynamics I read in Pride and Prejudice are painfully accurate to my own. I even have my own Lydia – a brother – headstrong, ignorant, and a constant embarrassment to the family. Another of my brothers actually got married in Gretna Green, more than likely at the behest of his bride, but Gretna Green nonetheless.
In my twenties, when I left Sydney and moved to London, one of the few things I brought with me across the globe was this copy of Pride and Prejudice. I will never admit my moving to England has anything to do with Austen, but deep down we know it’s true. Not surprisingly, my first mini-break outside was of London was to Bath. Bath was not only the inspiration and setting for a couple of Austen’s works, it was also her home for a while, and yes, that was my sole purpose for visiting. I took myself on one of those Austen tours and visited many sites and scenes from her work. It strengthened my love for my favorite author and sparked my pursuit of my Darcy.
I had been living in London for about seven or eight months when I met a man who swept me off my feet. He was charming, thoughtful, and well-liked by all his colleagues. He always smiled and offered me a glimpse of Austen-like love. After a few months of courting, he was to return to his home country of America. I decided to visit him, and we fell in love. Now, this wouldn’t be much of an Austen-esque love story if it ended there, and it doesn’t. I was young and very naive, and as fate would have it, it
turns out actually I’d met my Mr. Wickham – the scoundrel, the villain, the corruptor. He convinced me to move to the US and, over the years, expertly separated me from my family and friends. I wasn’t as lucky as Lizzy – she escaped before marrying Mr. Wickham, but sadly, I’d married mine. It would be nine long years later when I would finally manage to escape him.
Almost thirty, free and more determined than ever to invoke my inner Lizzy, I sought back my independence and continued to live my life with the determination that I was destined for more. I wouldn’t let my Wickham ruin me. I pulled up my Ugg boots and moved on. In much the way it is in romance novels, and Austen’s in particular, after thirty years on this earth, I met the man of my dreams, and this time I wasn’t so naive. I wasn’t searching for someone to ‘rescue me’. I was never going to settle again, and I met a true, honest, loving, and perfect man. Had I finally met my Darcy?
And so it’s that time of year when I settle in with my cherished book and get swept away. It’s bitterly cold today, the freezing rain hits the skylights with a rhythmic melody, but I’m no longer on my couch in the New England winter – It’s summer, and I’m in Derbyshire in the Midlands of England.
Lizzy is visiting her friend, Charlotte, and they’re at Rosings Park along with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy. Lizzy has recently turned down Mr. Darcy. Professing his love in the most tactless way possible, it was hard to love him still, but I managed it, and then he said, “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their
tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”
I stop. My breath halts. I’m instantly dragged back to reality.
I sit straight upright.
Wait! I think to myself. I read it again.
I’ve read this book more times than I can remember.
Cardio Kickboxing was my outlet when I first moved to the US. I was a member of a women’s gym, and I’d just heard that Kerri, the class instructor, also offered personal training.
“Kerri?” I approached her after the class finished. It was one of the hardest things I can remember doing. To actually strike up a conversation with a stranger? It was heart-pounding. Half the sweat covering my body was from the workout, the rest was fear betraying my body.
“Oh my god,” she exclaimed. “You’re actually talking! Two years in this class, and you’re actually talking!”
Kerri and I became fast friends, and she still loves to bring up this moment and laugh. She still thinks it’s hilarious. I think back and my palms begin to sweat.
It was as though I’d turned on a light, opened the stage curtains, or revealed a plot twist in my life. Day was night. Up was down. I’ve watched every Pride and Prejudice adaptation brought to life. I’ve read books, watched TV series’ and movie versions of this story more than any sane person should, and I’ve just now realized that I’m not Lizzy in this story at all. Talking to Kerri and many more troubling memories flashed through my mind. I’m socially uncomfortable. I’m introverted. I cannot speak my mind. I have crippling difficulty talking to people that I do not know. I am so much more comfortable at home and in familiar places. I often get mistaken for rude, when I’m just afraid to speak.
While I’ve been looking for connections to Lizzy my whole life.
I’m not Lizzy. Holy shit – I’m Darcy.
