I know most of the purpose of this blog is to reveal what God is doing in my life, but it also depicts me as a person. I'm a student, a daughter, a friend, a servant, but I'm also a romantic. That side of me doesn't always show its face. I think it sometimes comes off as cliche, but being here in England where so many literary giants began their work brings the cliche into perspective. The cliche is taken from the fantastical to the historical; from imaginary to reality. Sure the literary writing and characters live in the minds of these great writers, but these great writers lived in the land I now inhabit. I can't help but wonder sometimes if the things I'm experiencing here were inspiration for these great authors.
Take for example, the English countryside: green with rolling hills, spotted white from flocks of sheep. Hedges separate the wide fields. Cows graze. Horses run free. Most of the time, my view of the sun's setting horizon looks more like a painting than reality. And this is where my imagination is encouraged to drink deeply of what could be. This morning I allowed my imagination to run free in the presence of Miss Jane Austen. I know this post has proven to be much different than the rest, but I beg that you readers stay with me as I allow a peak into another part of what makes me, Me.
Journal Excerpt: The passing countryside allows my period drama day-dreaming take full advantage of my consciousness on my way home. It isn't hard to see Elizabeth Bennett walking through the muddy hillside on her way to Netherfield Park. She knows her appearance isn't up to the standards of the Bingley sisters, but her free spirit allows her to have a complacent attitude. She can't wait to see Jane. But she also knows she will have to endure the company of Mr. Darcy, who hasn't proven to be an advantageous friend. Still, she has caught his gaze and felt his eyes on her since their last gathering. It is unnerving, but her curiosity forces her to find out more about him. As she walks along, her thoughts might be broken by the sight of Marianne Dashwood on the crest of a hill staring down on Willaby's estate. Her cheeks are aglow from her climb, which makes her face even more radiant as she stands there imagining her life as the mistress of the fine home only a few feet below. If only she could foresee the tragedy looming ahead. But perhaps it would only kindle her passion as love cannot be warranted without heartbreak. Emma Woodhouse wouldn't be seen outdoors on a day like this. She wouldn't think to tempt her father's anxiety over the chilly weather outside. He would be so unapproving it would break her heart. But I can just see her settled inside the house, next to her father and a nice warm fire, trying to interest herself in the newest novel of her unfinished library of books. I imagine she will soon pick up the puppy drawing she started last week. That is, if Mr. Knightly doesn't grace her with a visitation, which would prove a worthy distraction.
Unfortunately, I don't know the stories of Persuasion and Mansfield Park as much as I'd like to include them in my imaginary montage. But seeing that all of Miss Austen's heroines had their own sense of frivolity and independence I can only conclude that Fanny Price and Anne Elliote would make some sort of appearance on my train ride home. Northhanger Abbey doesn't even claim a remembrance of character so I'm afraid the heroine of that novel will have to remain concealed in the world of Miss Austen's imaginings. Lucky her.
