Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Little Women or Pride and Prejudice, two of my hands-down favorite novels. :)
(For reference: Meg = Pickwick, Jo = Snodgrass, Laurie = Weller, Beth = Tupman, and Amy = Winkle.)
It came to be published in the weekly edition of The Pickwick Portfolio by a Msr. A. Snodgrass an article calling for an attendance upon the finer viewing and dissecting of certain well-known pieces of literature by all those contributors to the newspaper. This article demanded a choice selection of literature to be voted for unanimously by all the members of their fine club before being completely read, thought upon, and so thoroughly engrained into the minds of their fine members as to enable them to carry on a satisfactory discussion of it in meeting.
"I have shall Mr. Snodgrass know that Mr. Weller is in the last days of his home education and might not find the time for recreational literature," Weller said hugely, swelling the importance of this tease with great melodrama and a twinkle in his eye.
"Methinks that perhaps Mr. Weller could use a bit of a break from such unrelenting studies; such overtaxing learning can earn a reprieve of some sprightly wit and charm of a novel," Snodgrass said snidely, looking especially back at Weller with that same twinkle in his eye that made them seem brothers rather than neighbors.
"What sort of novel is Mr. Snodgrass proposing? I am myself have the King children to care for each day and don't have time to waste on trashy romance novels," said the unaffecting Samuel Pickwick.
"Trashy? Romantic? Abominable, unfair language! This shan't be recorded in our minutes!" pronounced the much offended Snodgrass.
"We don't take minutes in our club," pert-nosed Winkle said, seeing it his duty to take down this raised temper of Mr. Snodgrass.
Snodgrass scoffed in Winkle's direction, leading the timid Mr. Tupman to speak up. "What sort of literature would you have us read, Mr. Snodgrass?"
Snodgrass beamed at this peace-keeping Tupman, and her eye resumed that especial twinkle. "Of course, only the best reviewed and lauded literature shall be passed into discussion. Moral-ridden, too," with an especial look at Pickwick. "The choice of book must be chosen unanimously by all members of this new society. Now, is the proposal of this society to be carried out?" Snodgrass led all to stare at Mr. President.
Pickwick sighed, saw the eager want on the faces all about her, and decided in favor. "Yes, let's do it." He raised a hand to silence the aroused cheers and said, "Mr. Snodgrass, perhaps you suggest the first selection."
Before Snodgrass could utter a single word, Winkle said with exaggerated importance, "Oh, how about Mary Shelley's Frankenstein?"
"Trashy and romantic," admonished the astonished Pickwick.
Weller liked this joke of Winkle and continuing along the same vein, said wickedly, "Jane Eyre, Mr. President."
Pickwick sighed instead of taking offense, denying Weller his enjoyment at the joke. Tupman raised a hand. "Perhaps Pilgrim's Progress?"
This was met with assent by the President, but old Snodgrass scoffed. "We've already dissected that poor story within an inch of its life. There's nothing more to be drawn from it. We've taken all of it and left nothing but an old skeleton. No, let's do something else."
"Suggestions, Snodgrass?" Pickwick sighed, again.
Snodgrass beamed. "Gentleman, Pride and Prejudice by the critically acclaimed Jane Austen."
Weller resounded this suggestion by bounding to his feet and throwing up a hand. "I agree with Mr. Snodgrass! An astute, erudite choice of astonishing literature!"
"You're only picking that one since you've read it five times," Winkle tutted.
"Of course. I enjoyed it thoroughly. You will be pleased to find someone who knows the novel so thoroughly as able to conduct an engrossing, inclusive, in-depth examination of its contents. Mr. President?" Snodgrass appealed to this higher power instead of engaging in an argument with Winkle and his wrinkled-up nose.
Pickwick couldn't find a flaw in this plan. "What are the votes of this new society, which I presume to include all the members of this fine club?" Pickwick raised an eyebrow as he looked in Snodgrass's direction. Receiving an affirming nod, Pickwick met the eyes all staring at him from the floor. "Let us hold such a vote. Those for Pride and Prejudice, raise your hand. Those opposed shall keep their hands down."
Those for were Weller, Snodgrass, and Tupman. Even Pickwick raised a hand. This left singularly Winkle as the only opposed party, and one could suppose that he did not vote against the novel for its own sake but because Snodgrass was the one to propose it.
"It's settled then," Jo triumphed. "Everyone's to read Pride and Prejudice by the end of the month."
"My grandfather has a copy around somewhere. After I'm done, one of you can read it so there'll be two books in the March household circulation instead of just one," Laurie suggested generously. He leaned against Jo's arm and said, "Though, I might get through it faster if I was read to. I can barely concentrate on long passages of prose before I tend towards drowsiness."
Jo pushed him off her arm good-naturedly. "You're a big boy, Laurie. It'll do you good to settle down and lose yourself in someone else's well-written world for once. Don't come to me for chapter summaries, either."
"She guesses all of my moves beforehand like a prophetess. It's good that you don't play chess or I fear my pride would be mortally wounded in every battle against you on that field as in every other," Laurie joked.
"I expect if not at least some very in-depth introspections into the style and prose of Jane Austen, at least for all members of this society to finish the book." Jo's eyes met everyone's in the circle and fell at least on Amy, who immediately avoided her gaze with a proud tilt of her chin.
"Shall you end this meeting, Mr. President?" Snodgrass resumed his stiff and stuffy persona.
"Indeed. The newly proposed society shall convene on the last of the month. All must read the book. This Pickwick Portfolio meeting is hereby adjured." Meg slammed down a cricket mallet borrowed from Laurie to convey a heavy levity to their meetings, and sighed. Jo and Laurie exchanged mysterious mischievous grins. Amy sighed and Beth looked relieved that some kind of compromise was reached.
The five young members of the Society for Betterment by Literature each fell to reading the book by the month's end deadline in their own way, as follows:
Meg eagerly desired the contents' of her beloved John's letters as opposed to the satirical and wry observations of a young English miss of sixty years ago. Still, as she found time wanting some entertainment as she fell to sewing and needlework for her future newlywed home, she found herself listening as Jo indulged her boy and read aloud often hysterical portrayals of Pride and Prejudice's characters. Jo with her knack of acting and Teddy with his jovial interest in her skits brought the characters to life. Once they skipped off together, leaving the book with a crack down its spine and a bookmark marking its place, Meg would lay away her sewing and snatch up the book and hastily dig through the next chapter or two, just to end the suspense. Whatever happened to the Bingleys? Why their hasty departure? How could Elizabeth refuse the very eligible and available Mr. Collins!? Silly, headstrong girl! Households and marriages didn't fling themselves onto your lap everyday! At least Charlotte Lucas had some sense. And then to refuse still a second, though undoubtedly insulting, offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy, a man of some social standing and a rich fortune, with a huge estate? Meg couldn't make sense of all the ridiculous events following one after another like so many dominos. She found herself, despite herself, lost in it.
Beth found the book and curled up in a little nook with several cats and read it softly aloud to herself. Her fingertip trailed under each word as she read it aloud, barely more than a murmur in the always crowded, loud family home. She admired Mary and her piano-playing, of course, thought Mr. Bennet just the right sort of father to have, and found herself wishing that more little paragraphs could've shown off more of Ms. de Bourgh and Georgiana Darcy—both young, quiet souls she related to much more than the beautiful Jane or quick-witted Lizzie.
Amy could only be prevailed upon to read the book by being dragged by an unsettling Jo to it from her industry of artwork. Certainly spending ten minutes sharpening her precious charcoal pencils was far more productive than reading stupid descriptions of a countryside she'd never been to! "She's made Europe sound so boring and commonplace. It's really quite a shame," mused the small madam of twelve. She grudgingly read the book as if it were a bowl of steamed spinach Marmee made her eat.
Jo and Laurie, of course, ate up the book readily, and discussed it freely, pretending themselves still the characters on their daily walks. Laurie would patronize Jo with his deep-voiced, melancholy Darcy while she bewitched him with feminine beguiles and a warm sense of humor.
By the end of the month the two precious copies of Pride and Prejudice were thoroughly dog-eared and worn as if they'd been someone's own for sixty years. They sat displayed on a small table in the attic as rain pattered down against the roof. A leak was promptly taken care of by Beth sticking a pail under it and Jo pining a rag right where it was so it could be mended after the storm past.
These small housekeeping duties done, the Society for Betterment by Literature took their appropriate seats (scattered cushions and an old mattress on an antique bedframe and a couple of hard-backed chairs) and straightened their backs and listened attentively. Mr. Pickwick solemnly pounded his long-handled gavel, cleared his throat, and said, "Let the first meeting of the Society for Betterment by Literature commence." Nodding to Snodgrass, the President said, "Today's particular piece of literature was voted for unanimously by the Society and chosen specifically by our own Mr. Snodgrass." Polite applause echoed by a young man's hearty clapping corroborated this remark. "I think it an established society rule that the proposer of the particular meeting's reading should lead the floor. All for?" Hands were raised. "All opposed?" None dared do so. "Mr. Snodgrass, take the floor."
Mr. Snodgrass popped up from his seat by Sam Weller with a mischievous smile up to the front. He bowed dramatically and said, "Welcome, gentlemen, to our first meeting. I'm pleased by the turnout, and I've no doubt how pleased we all must be to have entertained so many fine hours under the spell of Ms. Austen's words." Here Winkle wrinkled his nose and feigned a cough. Snodgrass looked terribly concerned. "Is there a chill in the air here, Winkle? Or is it just an allergy to refinement and bettering oneself via vie literature?"
Winkle stood up, not one to take a seat after having such fighting words aimed at his proud heart. "It cannot be said that all were entertained by all those words. Some such descriptions of such humdrum everyday things could've put one to sleep. I was amazed I could drag myself through such muddy prose."
"I suppose you need all literature to be wickedly rousing, passionate things, full of high adventure and scandal and things that quite oft don't happen in our humdrum, everyday lives," Snodgrass perceived dryly.
"I'm just saying that it's all rather talked up into something of the highest level of literature by some blind members of this society, which in actuality you have to crawl your way through it just to make it to the final page," Winkle declared.
"The only reason anyone would have to 'crawl through' Pride and Prejudice," said Snodgrass hotly, "would be because they see it as a chore rather than a delight."
"It would make you wonder why it's seen as a chore," Winkle said off-hand.
Snodgrass glared, Winkle shrugged, and Pickwick leapt to his feet, ready to be the intermediary if the peace couldn't be kept. "Let us clear the air with character discussions. What does everyone think of Elizabeth Bennet as our main character?"
"She is everything fine and witty, caring and suspicious, wise and young, careful and forgiving," Snodgrass declared at the drop of a hat.
"I think she's amusing to read, but when it comes down to it, she can be strong in times of trouble and able to forgive all those slights and misunderstood grievances against her and her family." Weller, at least, liked Elizabeth. Snodgrass knew she could rely on him.
"I believe she's a lovely older sister. She does things with her own sisters that remind me of us," Tupman said softly. "All those walks about town, marketing, sewing. Though, I am glad we have Marmee and not Mrs. Bennet." This innocent admittance generated a hearty, amused laugh from the entire society.
Not all could like Lizzie Bennet, though.
"Lizzie Bennet, I believe, had much too high ideals. She had all she could want in Mr. Collins, and yet she turned him down. All she could want in Mr. Darcy, and yet she turned him down. She had some poor decision-making that caused her family grief. All her mother wanted was for her to be married and have a fine home, and she was selfish enough to turn down both opportunities," said Mr. Pickwick.
Snodgrass almost rolled her eyes as he drew up to the stand to defend his particularly favorite heroine. "Well of course she didn't marry Collins or Darcy at first. They were neither all she wanted for she didn't love either of them. There's no point in a marriage without love—"
"Charlotte Lucas proved that you can have a husband and home and still be happy, even if love isn't much there," Pickwick pointed out.
Snodgrass could hardly hear such words. "Do you know what you say, Mr. Pickwick? I think Charlotte made a rash decision. It's better to be poor in money and rich in love forever than to marry an insufferable man who was going to inherit all their home when your father died!"
"You're being illogical and aren't looking to the facts, Mr. Snodgrass." Pickwick rose to his feet. "In those days, to be poor and unmarried was to be yoked for the rest of your days to poverty and pity. You condemn poor Charlotte just because she wanted to rise above that."
"She gave in to temptation to a man who shrugged off his refused proposal and turned to the next available member of the opposite sex! Really, an unfeeling man!" Snodgrass pulsated with some anger and annoyance. Pickwick looked at him like a little child who didn't know the feelings of a young woman worrying about her future. Tupman shrank away, scared by the harsh tones taking place. Winkle jumped to his little feet and took by his man Pickwick's side. "Meg's got a point, Jo; you just don't want to admit that your precious Elizabeth Bennet isn't the best character ever created!"
Snodgrass's cheeks were suffused in pink. "I think no such thing! She has pride and unrightful prejudices just like many other characters. I just like her personality, her tenacity and self-dignity, better than most!"
Weller also jumped next to his Snodgrass. "Mr. Snodgrass has a right to his opinions, as do we all," he said evenly.
"Yes, he does, but he roars at the slightest critic of his precious book. He won't let it be flayed open like a fish and dissected by other minds other than his own," Pickwick said quietly.
Those fighting words caused a great lump of anger to blow up Snodgrass's throat; he made a leap toward Pickwick; Winkle jumped in front of the President and staved off the wounded Snodgrass, who was relentless 'til he got his revenge for their merciless killing. Weller pulled Snodgrass off Pickwick and dragged him off to the other side of the room. Pickwick regained his breath, Winkle bristled with indignation, and Tupman peeked through his fingers with some horror.
Weller put his hands on Snodgrass's shoulders and, looking into his eyes, said, "Jo, you've got to control yourself."
"They just don't like it because my book got voted as the first book," Jo growled.
"They have their own opinions. Besides, your mother would have our heads if we're caught fighting up here. Temper, Jo," Laurie warned.
Jo calmed down enough to sigh and put a hand to her forehead. "Laurie, I'm not sure if we can carry on these book club meetings without fighting. There will always be some kind of resentment and bitterness. And perhaps I don't like them flaying open my precious Pride and Prejudice like a fish. I love it as much as any of my own novels. It feels like a personal attack on myself and my own, which is no way to govern a society meeting."
"Perhaps this is a society we are not yet ready for. Perhaps everyone should read what they themselves take delight in," Laurie suggested. "This is supposed to be for betterment by literature. I fear that all that the literature has done is provoke infighting, which is not agreeable, as you well know."
Jo nodded, then scoffed gently and shoved his shoulder. "Look at you, my Teddy, finally being a little wise beyond your years."
"Didn't think I had that in me, did you?" Laurie grinned.
Jo smiled, then sighed and hugged herself. "Let's go call off this meeting and any other future meetings of the Society for Betterment by Literature."
"I think the good men of the Pickwick Portfolio would take readily to that. I think newspaper articles easier to discuss than novels anyway, for much of newspaper articles is just as much opinion as they are news," Laurie pointed out.
Jo considered this. "They have a tolerably thicker skin than novels," she agreed.
Though she meant it as truth, Laurie laughed. It was a funny truth, which made her smile. It sounded perhaps like something Ms. Austen might've written in one of her beloved books.
The constant changing from he to she and Snodgrass to Jo, etc, was intentional, to show how the sisters were slipping in and out of their character's personality and into their own. :)
Thanks for reading! Review?