Bad Austen (27 page)
Authors: Peter Archer
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wo-
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wilight
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EATHER
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PIVA
It is a truth, that a legend, a mere trifle of the imagination, must be only that which we assume it to be. However, this business, one of vampires and people, mixing in a way not fashionable or agreeable in the least, is a story recognized for its oddity and charm, one well revealed through the fashion of folklore and fantasy and one duly noted in the simple life of a simple girl.
Bella, a girl of seven and ten, amiable and honest as most girls of her class and status, in want of a future not yet revealed, decides upon Forks as a town of consequence, through circumstances and results of familial decisions both unwanted and dissatisfactory: divorced parents.
Being of a youthful mind, Bella transits with ease, interspersed among individuals her own age and description; an honorable and due position for a girl in need of an esteem-able new life. Bella, once at the first day of her latest endeavors, having made the acquaintance of students, many of whom thought her new and pleasant, had yet to meet one more boy, one not quite so ordinary, by which she could measure her level of acceptance and even, perchance, one of mutual interest.
He sat next to her, this person of similar age and status, who called himself Edward. But this simple glance, a chance meeting of the eyes, was fleeting and much to her dismay, distant. Though he seemed pleasant and easy, seemingly unaffected was he to her greeting. Away he turned as if she reeked of something intolerable to those around her. But his lack of charm wasn’t without reason.
This Edward Cullen, hiding amidst the realms of average stature and regular attendance, owned an overwhelmed status. One far superior than Bella assessed! He, smitten not only with her looks and gesture, but by her mere admittance had found his future through her.
“Pray, sir, I am new here,” Bella implied with the heartfelt gaze amidst the books and beakers. But with an outreach of her delicate hand, and the scent of her perfected nature, the folly within Edward found an outlet. Had Bella understood the predicament he owned—one horrendous and offensive to her delicate being—she would have agreed with his display of unkempt obscurity and laughed at the rebuff by the imperious youth.
Yet, she understood this not and with a swagger to his look, and the wave of a hand over his coiffed hair, he displaced himself to alleviate himself if not physically, then mentally, away. He could not avail himself to receive her scent!
Bella, perplexed at the man’s refusal to speak and being so reasonable a girl, innocent and amiable to be sure, remains in her place now without any cordial feelings toward the uncouth gentleman. If he not be a man of amiable kindness, if he prefers a false dignity, one so uncordial and presumptuous to think she below his level of intelligence, then she need not waste her time accruing that which is merely acquired in vain. She let him be.
But the days progress and a kindness—one not formerly understood or seen by Bella—comes forth through the very Edward who once thought her presence intolerable. Her collective behavior charms the man and beast, and affection she thought not present, emitted itself as a sun on a bright day.
It also, unsatisfactorily, charms the affections of another unusual being; one just as legendary of a creature, a wolf of extraordinary abilities. Bella, much to her dismay at the affections, fancy, and willingness of both men to seek her admiration, begins a journey to choose betwixt them; overwhelmed that she’d received the affections from two unusual beings who seek her fancy!
Both beasts, entirely ignorant of her precarious situation (youthful infatuation and immaturity), seek for what they find; someone for each his own setting and scene; one fit to take as their bride. Bella, being of mind to find both men handsome, brilliant, and indifferent to the conflicting nature of their beings—beings that claim to call themselves boys yet filled with the aura of fantasy—begins a journey; one so mountainous and thrilling that her choice and admiration for both sides begins to stake at her heart, piece by piece.
Most earnestly does Bella sense the urgency for which Edward and Jacob long for her. To where Bella, an esteemed and winsome girl, one so delightful and fair in nature, having found herself the selected choice of both men, is forced to make a decision, one so large in nature, so encompassing in emotional intensity, that the only words available to describe the predicament she duly finds herself availed to are: “Camp Edward or Camp Jacob?”
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Jane Austen is usually called a nineteenth-century writer, and with good reason: Her novels were either written or revised—and they were all first published—in that century. But most of her life (twenty-five of forty-one years) was lived in the prior century, and the events and literature of that time are so influential in her work that we might be justified in calling her an eighteenth-century writer as well. So what was the last quarter of that century in England like? The world of Austen’s youth witnessed two of the most significant events in history: the American and French revolutions The names of these events should be capitalized, beginning in, of course, 1775 and 1789. England, we might note, managed to avoid a revolution of its own, but it felt the effects of the revolutionary tide: There were riots and other expressions of discontent with the status quo and of sympathy with the radical sentiments.
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ANDBROOK
No one who had ever seen Luke in his infancy would have supposed him born to be a Jedi. His situation in life, the character of his guardians—his aunt and uncle—his own person and disposition, were all equally against him. His uncle was a moisture farmer on Tatooine, without being neglected or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Owen Lars—and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable future planned for his enterprise—and fully intended to leave the farm in his nephew’s capable hands. Luke’s Aunt Beru was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. She worked the farm alongside her husband—adopted baby or no; and instead of hating her desert homeland, as anybody might expect, she thrived there and hoped never to leave, watching her nephew grow to excellent health.
A farm family with a boy to help will be always called a fine family, so long as the boy has the arms and legs; but Luke had little else to offer, for he was in general very bored, and for many years of his life, as desperate to leave home as any. He had a thin figure, a sallow skin without colour, sandy, tousled hair, and strong features—so much for his person; and not less unpropitious for Jediism seemed his mind. He was fond of all boys’ plays and greatly preferred piloting anything fast not merely to farm work, but to the more heroic enjoyments of childhood like repairing a droid or tending to the household chores. Indeed he had no taste for moisture farming; and if he gathered moisture at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of adventure—at least so it was conjectured from his always preferring not to do his uncle’s bidding. Such were his propensities—his abilities, however, were quite more extraordinary.
At the tender age of six, Luke discovered the location of a lost tool by using the Force. His uncle scolded him thoroughly—not realizing the child knew of the screwdriver thanks to his mental and genetic propensities, only assuming the boy must have hid the tool himself. It did not take another mistake for young Luke to understand that the Force—though he did not know it by name—was not to be trifled with. Four years later, his skill was tested again. After getting lost in a sandstorm with a friend whose actual existence is questionable to this day, Luke slayed a krayt dragon by instinctively throwing a gaffi stick at his throat.
What a strange, unaccountable character!—for with all these symptoms of Jedi at ten years old, he had not a bad heart but a bad temper, was often stubborn and quarrelsome with his uncle, with many interruptions of tyranny. He was moreover wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the world as speeding through Beggar’s Canyon in his landspeeder.
Such was Luke Skywalker at ten. At eighteen, his adventurous spirit was blossoming; he dreamed more often of the stars; his desire to leave Tatooine burgeoned. His love of his family gave way to an inclination for quests, and he grew cunning as he grew older; he had now the pleasure of sometimes believing he could escape the desert for grander worlds. “You’ll get your chance to get off this rock” were words that caught his ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To be almost old enough to attend the Flight Academy was an acquisition of higher delight to a boy, whose future had been looking plain as dust the first eighteen years of his life, than a Jedi Padawan trained from birth can ever receive.
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Jane Austen was buried in Winchester Cathedral on July 24, 1817. The inscription on her tomb speaks of “the benevolence of her heart, the sweetness of her temper, and the extraordinary endowments of her mind” and of her “charity, devotion, faith and purity,” but makes no mention of her being an author. In 1872, an additional plaque was placed in the cathedral, and that one does mention her writing. In the 1850s people would come to Winchester Cathedral on pilgrimages to Austen’s grave. She was still so little known at that time, her nephew tells us, that the verger (the sacristan and caretaker) didn’t know why they were interested and asked if “there was anything particular about that lady.” Knowledge of “that lady” and the brilliant, unforgettable ladies and gentlemen she created has certainly spread since then. Jane Austen is surely, and deservedly, the world’s favorite novelist.
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Absi, tami, 106–10, 178–84
“Absinthea Pillock’s Charm School for girls Whose Fathers Can Afford tuition” (Fiske), 17–20
Amateur theater, 30
American Revolution, 195