Book #40: "Mansfield Park"

When I was growing up (and still today, though I am not around to witness it as much) my parents watched a lot of sports on TV-my father in his comfy chair in the family room, my mother on her bed upstairs with some sort of project (cross-stitch, sewing, knitting, etc.) They are people of strong but conflicting loyalties (my mother is a Lakers and Rams fan; my father likes the Suns and the Cowboys), hence the separate rooms. They are also people who like to shout at the television as though it would affect the outcome of whatever event they are watching, which made hanging out on the middle floor of our house quite the experience, particularly if you were unfortunate enough to be there when their teams played each other.

I can only give my parents a hard time about this because it's a trait I inherited. I talk to EVERYTHING, which is why my car and my electronic devices all have names. (Important to be able to scold things properly, and also to encourage them when necessary. Positive reinforcement is especially important to the continuing maintenance of motor vehicles.) And though I don't watch a lot of sports, I do read a lot of books, and I tend to get very involved. Which is why, no matter how many times I have read something, I frequently find myself being baffled and/or frustrated by the characters' actions.

This brings us to "Mansfield Park", which I mentioned before as the only Austen novel I enjoyed the first time. And I still like it, even though it features one of the most oblivious love-interests in all of modern literature (and only misses out on the top spot because of Emma. And Scarlett O'Hara. More on both of those later.) I spent this time through thinking, repeatedly, "Seriously, Edmund. Get it together, man!"

But I find his perpetual obtuseness annoying, at least in part, because of the many, many times in my life when I have been focused on something I was sure I needed to make me happy, only to discover eventually that I was wrong, wrong, wrong. So I suppose I can cut Edmund Bertram some slack.

Author: Jane Austen

Potentially objectionable content: None,