7/13/01
Men are jerks.
Ok, you and I know that I don't really mean it. It is a sweeping
generalization and I'm sure there are more exceptions out there
than there are 100% certifiable jerks, but at the moment, I am
in no mood to ponder the exceptions. Nor am I in the mood to
ponder how I got myself into this abysmal state of mind that
I am (pretty justifiably) blaming on the Mr. X in question. Hell,
it's Friday the fucking Thirteenth, what else should I have expected?
No, now I'm in this mood, I'm bloody well going to indulge it
in the proper manner - lots of food (especially chocolate), perhaps
some alcohol, and to top it all off, Pride and Prejudice.
Because there's nothing better when you're feeling depressed
because of that sodding bastard, Mr. X, than watching 6 hours
of the most ideal man ever created by a literary genius. I'm
talking, of course, about Mr. Darcy. People have asked me on
several occasions if I wanted the sort of romantic hero you find
in romance novels, and I said no. I meant it, too. No Marcus,
Diego, or Spence Kincaid for me, but one mention of Mr. Darcy
will bring a dreamy smile to my face every time.
For
any of you who don't know, Mr. Darcy is the hero of Jane Austen's
Pride and Prejudice, played on the A&E miniseries
by Colin Firth (also to be found in Shakespeare in Love and
Bridget Jones's Diary, where he plays yet another Mr.
Darcy). Mr. Darcy is tall, dark, handsome, rich, and brooding.
He scorns the heroine, Lizzie Bennet, the first time they meet,
and leaves her - like me today - thinking him "the most
disagreeable man in the world." Her disdain and mockery
of him soon provoke him into trying to win her admiration, and
although he fights it, he is soon in love with her and proposes.
Her response?
"From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."
Damn! It is a grand speech, beginning with their earliest meetings, enumerating each of his nasty habits, and building to a climax designed, not merely to reject his proposal, but to blow it clear out of the water. Her righteous indignation is magnificent to see, and Darcy goes home mad as a hornet, not in the least because he suspects that about some things she is right. Luckily for them, part of her disgust with his conduct is based on a misunderstanding that he soon clears up, and it only remains for the two of them to cool off and each ponder the other's better points before they see reason and become engaged.
Where
is the magic in this story? This man? You might, perhaps, compare
it to any plot of a romance novel. In essentials, I suppose,
they have similar points, but really, trying to compare them
is (to use the standard candy metaphor) like trying to compare
Hershey's Kisses to a chocolate desert concocted by the finest
chef in the world - you can't even begin to do it. As for what
makes Mr. Darcy so perfect, it is that he begins in reality.
He is the jerk who ignored you all night at the bar, or the one
who disdained you because you were dressed for comfort, not style.
He begins as every man who you wanted to have come crawling to
you and admit that he was an asshole, that he was wrong, and
that - captivated by your charm and sincerity - he can't live
without you. In real life, of course, the way this actually plays
out is that he goes cluelessly on his merry way and you swear
and kick the furniture for a bit and then get over it. But that's
not what happens in the book. You see, Mr. Darcy is a hero, and
so he does what heroes do, and becomes the man that Lizzie has
spent her life dreaming of. How does he do this? Not by some
ridiculous escapade, or by talking at her and arguing with her
until, in the middle of a fight, some magic lightbulb comes on
and they are instantaneously in love (the thing about romance
novels that annoys me the most). No, he writes her a letter to
clear up the misunderstanding, then he leaves her alone until
fate brings them together again. Then does he woo her passionately?
No, he is friendly, courteous, and sincere, with an awkwardness
that can only be charming. He shows not only her, but her entire
family, a degree of respect, quietly helps her sister out of
some trouble, and generally, though his kindness and capability,
shows Lizzie that he cares. His character does not change dramatically;
"In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever
was." Instead, his character deepens to the point where
Lizzie understands that his merits outweigh his flaws (and he
does have flaws), and this brings her to admit that she was shortchanging
her own character when she made that snap judgement about him.
Men
are not like this. Actually, people are not like this, myself
included, I'm sure. We overlook moments in which misunderstandings
could be cleared up, or we pass them by because we are wary of
choosing the "wrong time" (and there are so many more
wrong times than right). We think that it is better to circle
and dodge and suggest and evade than to put something out in
the space between us where it is a pawn to be taken with no return.
We all have a sense of self-preservation.
I turned to Mr. Darcy's flawed perfection tonight because in the end he does everything right. He reacts the right way; he says the right things. Quite a few fictional heroes do (Westley from The Princess Bride springs to mind). To me, this means that someone, somewhere, knows the script. You can call it escapism if you like, but it is comforting to me. I may go on for the rest of my life with flawed dialogue and mistimed lines, but every time I encounter Mr. Darcy, I realize that we are at least capable of imagining, if not executing in our lives, the perfect script. Next to Mr. Darcy, Mr. X appears impermanent, at least for now, and I can sleep.
~chloe
