Some of my happiest, and most looked-forward-to days of the year are the ones that I reserve for the re-reading of Pride and Prejudice. To quote Austen herself from Sense and Sensibility: ‘if a book is well written, I always find it too short,’ explains perfectly how I feel about this book; no wonder she called this ‘my darling child,’ for, for me, P&P is perfect in every conceivable way. It’s the kind of book, that the moment you finished reading, you are tempted to start over again immediately. However, reviewing this is another matter… I’m excited, enraptured, but at the same time agitated, knowing that it’s impossible to do justice to the author of the book.
Overall, the writing could not have been better. It was descriptive, lush, and brilliant. The story could not have been more engaging or intelligent and the characters could not have been the more magnificent attic. Elizabeth and Fitz are both smart, witty, self-confident, and good. Austen could not have written them better. Oh, and I am sorry if this is a bit of a minor spoiler but I need to add that George Wickham is a cock-blocking braggadocio of startling proportions. I needed to say that and now I feel better.
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