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I have read her, also read several fan fiction versions, seen movies based on her novels, and participated in book discussions. Why have I done all these things? Because allegedly she was a great novelist and good portion of society seems to believe her works have value. Therefore I concluded there must be something wrong with me because I just do not share the love. I thought perhaps if I study her better, I’ll start to understand what people see in her. Except for my love of period costumes and a proper hat, that effort has been completely futile.

This is one area where my husband comes in handy. He loathes her even worse. Should the smallest hint of Jane Austin appear on the TV he turns into a melodramatic 13 year old boy lamenting about how it would be far preferable to just poke toothpicks through his eyelids then suffer the indignity of this boredom. You can hear his groans from five miles away.

Interesting, because “boredom” is something I also experience with her, or rather I feel as if I am reading something devoid of any nutrients and lacking all human connection. It is shallow, empty, and without soul. I do not want what her characters have, in fact, I consider it all very hellish. I do NOT believe God is the least bit interested in tormenting us, but if He ever desired such a thing, I have no doubt He would just deposit me in a drawing room right out of Pride and Prejudice.

I’m quite fond of Charlotte Brontë, of Jane Eyre, so it is not the genre itself that sends me reaching for my husband’s eyeball toothpicks, but rather the writer’s voice, her style, and her inability or unwillingness to embrace emotion and the depth of human character.

Susan Ferrier, a Scottish novelist at the time wrote one of the most accurate reviews I ever read. She said, “I have been reading Emma, which is excellent; there is no story whatever, and the heroine is not better than other people; but the characters are all true to life and the style so piquant, that it does not require the adventitious aids of mystery and adventure.”

Right. Precisely! So why in the world would anyone in their right mind chose to read a story in which there is no story whatsoever, the heroine is just average, the characters are boring, and there is no mystery or adventure? That’s not a “novel,” that’s just a fashion cult. It is downright pretentious.

Now, what I plan to write next is perhaps unfair. It is totally built upon a platform of prejudice, bias, and emotional reactions. I don’t care how illogical it is, it has served me well. I simply mark and avoid all Christians who belong to the “cult of Jane Austin.” I did not just make that up, there really is this thing called the, “cult of Jane Austin.” It creeps me out six ways past Sunday. You may laugh if you like because I once drove home from a church muttering and cackling hysterically to myself with a worn copy of “Pride and Prejudice” on the seat of my car.

It was my first and last visit to that church.

I recently trolled a fellow on Twitter who was complaining about the “feminized church” and “boyfriend music.” I simply asked, have you ever read “Pride and Prejudice?” Oh yes, yes he had, in fact it was the greatest piece of literature ever written. Exactly what I thought. See, I rest my case, mark and avoid.