Wives and Prattlers

I've been reading some Elizabeth Gaskell lately.  Mostly Wives and Daughters, although I've glanced at North and South and tried to remember Mary Barton (which I only allegedly read for my undergrad Brit Lit class).

Wives and Daughters is very good, but two things have struck me over and over again as I read it.

First, Molly Gibson is Fanny Price.  I've never heard anyone complain about Molly Gibson they way they complain about Fanny Price.  And in the BBC adaptation of Wives and Daughters, Molly Gibson is an entirely winning, sympathetic creature, played just as Gaskell wrote her.

But poor Fanny never gets such a cinematic treatment.  That's a shame.  If someone could be bothered to try, that would be nice.

Second, between Jane Austen and Dorothy Sayers lies a vast wasteland . . . well, maybe not wasteland . . . okay.  I'll admit that Gaskell is a strong writer and an insightful reader of people.

But I have the same problem with Gaskell that I have with Louisa May Alcott.  She leaves almost nothing unsaid.  Every point is belabored, every thought detailed, every nuance shouted from the rooftops.  Jane would have written the same book with half the words, and probably still come out ahead in the incisive critique department.

The book is filled with worthy observations, the characters are finely drawn, and it has, really, some lovely one-liners.  ("I'm not saying she was very silly, but one of us was very silly and it wasn't me." "I'm capable of a great jerk, an effort, and then a relaxation–but steady, every-day goodness is beyond me. I must be a moral kangaroo!")

And so I persevere.  And I try not to compare her to Jane so very often.