The Healing Power of Jane Austen

I had a couple of possibilities to post here today. Live has offered a bounty of interesting events this week that included my car needing serious repairs, having a struggle with the repair person that nearly ended in fisticuffs and hormonal insanity. But I don't really want to rehash any of that. I want to talk about something book related.

Something a little bit Jane.

Bless Jane Austen. There is nothing nearly so soothing or numbing as a good Jane Austen novel. It's romance without the tawedry, poorly written sex scenes and classical literature in that varitey that makes you wonder what about it is so classical.

Mr. Darcy (sense or pride, doesn't really matter) stands as the perfect wooing gentleman. Reserved, refined and just a tinge of irony so that Jane can tip a wink at all of us. No matter how twee the scene, how happily ever after the moment, she's always letting you know that she knows it's all a little ridiculous.

I know many (especially those with a Y chromsone) may not glean the same joy from her, but I love me some Austen.