growled angrily in protest, so loud she was certain everyone could hear. The stress of finals (not to mention blackmail) really must be getting to her, because eating was normally high on her list of priorities, right up there with certain other things that had lately, come to think of it, fallen by the wayside, like showering, getting good grades, and happiness.
She willed herself to stare at the TF—instead of obsessively reviewing the long list of things she had to do after her shift at Lamont—and ignore the feeling of dizziness that seemed to be radiating from her stomach. It was no use. Her mind drifted like the snowflakes falling gently on the brick paths outside the classroom window, gathering in banks and frosting the dark brown tree branches. The furnace rumbled—or was it her stomach? She could no longer tell—and she began to feel hot and sleepy. She yawned, overcome by a strange longing to lie in the new fallen snow, fluffy as a white down comforter, and let the fresh flakes quietly bury her.
“Ms. Andrews?” the TF was asking.
Crap. Callie shook herself. Had she fallen asleep without realizing? Had she drooled?
“Is there a Ms. Andrews present? A Ms. Callie Andrews?” Mary Anne repeated.
“Yes?” said Callie cautiously, hands checking the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” said Mary Anne. “I was hoping you could highlight some of the themes touched on in your essay?”
“Um . . . sorry, which essay?” asked Callie.
Mary Anne smiled patiently. “The one reprinted on the last page of our handout.”
Confused, Callie thumbed through the packet. She blinked twice.
Callie Andrews
The Nineteenth-Century Novel
Response Paper
Reputation, Reputation, Reputation:
Comparing Pride and Prejudice to The House of Mirth
Her paper—as an example ? She flushed and skimmed the page, collecting her thoughts. Then she took a deep breath. “In my essay I compared Austen’s treatment of reputation in Pride and Prejudice to Wharton’s in The House of Mirth . I, uh, concluded that even though Pride and Prejudice was published nearly a century earlier, Austen’s take on reputation is more modern and nuanced than Wharton’s, and could even be considered relevant to today’s world, in which reputation sometimes seems like an antiquated, nineteenth-century concept.”
Callie finished, locking eyes with Mary Anne. She gave Callie a sly, you’re-not-done-yet sort of a smile.
Callie took another deep breath. “In The House of Mirth Wharton depicts reputation as something inextricably linked to status and material wealth: in essence, your good name can be bought. As her material wealth declines throughout the novel, Lily gambles in a series of bets, staking her money and her reputation. Eventually she loses, and subsequently, she dies. Without belonging to the elite upper-class sect of turn-of-the-century Manhattan and without the money it takes to fund said membership, Lily simply cannot go on.”
Mary Anne was nodding thoughtfully, and several students, including Grace Lee, had turned in their chairs to face her. Speaking faster, Callie barreled on.
“Austen, in contrast, satirizes reputation with her negative portrayal of characters like Miss Bingley, who look down on people like Elizabeth for her muddy skirts and middle-class roots.” Callie paused. “They’re snobs—according to Austen. Yet at the same time that she mocks the importance certain characters place on reputation, Austen also captures the gravity of the topic by rendering a situation where the loss of reputation can lead to a woman’s downfall—in other words, when Wickham seduces Lydia. So, while Austen implicitly criticizes the snobs who behave condescendingly to a girl simply because she is poor or without the right clothing, family background, or connections, at the same time she also suggests that all a girl like Elizabeth has as a marker of personal value—in addition to her wits— is her reputation. So
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