I have confessed my Jane Austen addiction before. I sit wrapped in a bouclé throw and under a purring Sophie watching the A&E series. As time passes, I wonder that I know every line of this five-hour film. What keeps me coming back to a story that I know so well? Is it personal joy, or is it the joy that remember in sharing it with someone? A worthy question, and one that I am unable to answer.
I have just now reached the conclusion of the first DVD, the moment when audible breaths catch, and Mr. Darcy confesses his love for Elizabeth. "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." No wonder I spent a decent portion of my adolescence in love with Collin Firth, huh? But instead of losing myself in the conflict and the rawness tonight, I lose myself in memories. Mom bought the six-part VHS copy when it came out in the 90's. That tidbit probably tells you little knowing that the two-part DVD is $20…but that VHS set was nearly $150.
We would take a week every year, watching one tape a night until we were through. Days four and five were the best, when the original conflicts lessen and Mr. Darcy puts Caroline Bingley in her place. FINALLY. Hate that woman!—in every medium I've seen/read her presented! Yet, I find my emotional involvement with tonight's viewing detached.
Boredom does not seem to be a factor. Is it melancholy? Stronger emotions trumping silly fantasies? Is it a jaded outlook that makes this story unbelievable? Is it a calm contentedness in my own life that makes romanticizing this story unnecessary? I think it's likely fatigue, knowing we are faced with choices regularly—hard choices—and they may or may not lead to happy ends. I do not care to think of them.
This all seems very inane, doesn't it? Welcome to the Blogosphere. It's just that I find it curious that I no longer lose myself in stories. My energy, heart, and time is better invested in my own life anyway…but I feel as though I have lost part of my identity.