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Authors: Rebecca Heflin
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of years.
Sarah’s excitement grew as Tom Tower, the Christopher Wren-designed entrance to Christ Church, came into view.
As the taxi pulled up outside Tom’s Gate, a friendly, bowler-hat-wearing porter stepped to the curb to open Sarah’s door, offering her a warm greeting and a pleasant smile. “Good day, miss. Welcome to Christ Church. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
With her first glimpse of Tom’s Quad, she had an almost spiritual experience. Smiling broadly at the porter she replied, “I have no doubt I will.”
The week was off to a good start. Interesting and diverse people filled Sarah’s class, including a few men.
Her Victorian Era dorm was on the fifth floor of a five-story walk-up, so there would no lack of exercise, and the weather was unusually mild and sunny.
After sumptuous dinners in Tudor Hall, the evenings were filled with activities ranging from poetry readings to croquet and sparkling wine in the Master’s Garden, or in less high-brow pursuits like sampling Guinness at one of the local pubs.
Class discussions were lively and stimulating, and the added male viewpoint was enlightening. The two Austen books under consideration during the course were Sense & Sensibility and Mansfield Park .
Sarah sat among her classmates, pen and paper in hand taking notes as their tutor, Mr. Byrne, raised the question whether Austen’s male characters lack depth; whether they are worthy of the women who win them in the end.
Sean spoke in his lyrical Irish burr, “Austen’s men are not flat, depthless characters.”
Sean Daly looked like the last person you’d expect to see in a class on Jane Austen’s heroines. The twenty-something pub-owner looked as if he would be more comfortable behind his bar building pints of Guinness than in a class at Christ Church discussing Regency novels.
But underneath his tattooed and pierced exterior, he harbored a great love for literature. His pub, Brophy’s, was on the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl.
His brows puckered in concentration, drawing his eyebrow ring down, as he continued. “Austen’s men have the maturity to recognize the profundity of the women they come to love. Edward and Edmund couldn’t appreciate Elinor and Fanny, respectively, if they lacked the same discerning character themselves.”
Everyone’s brows shot up in response to his use of the word ‘profundity.’ It was a little like watching a biker discussing Wharton.
“That’s right. It takes a good man to recognize a good woman.” Mitch, wearing a silly grin on his face, put his arm around Darla and tugged her closer to him.
Darla and Mitch, an American couple, who when asked what brought them to Christ Church, explained that about four years ago they promised each other to take an active interest in the favored passions of the other.
Last year, Darla spent a week with Mitch at an NFL football camp. According to her, she’d ended the week bruised, battered, and sore, but having loved every minute of it.
This year, Mitch joined her for a week at Oxford. He had never read much of anything, much less Jane Austen. It was going to be interesting to see if he ended the week with the same enthusiasm with which Darla ended the NFL camp.
“Or, another good man,” Guy interjected with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Openly gay, Guy was the kind of guy that could be a girl’s best friend. He’d never had any interest in Jane Austen, or literature for that matter, until he saw Colin Firth in Pride & Prejudice and, in his words, “fell arse over tip in love.” This confession had broken the first-day ice, and had everyone laughing.
“I don’t think it’s fair to lump Edward and Edmund in with the likes of Willoughby and Henry Crawford,” Guy continued. “Those two are as shallow and feckless as they come. I wouldn’t give either of them the time of day, and I can’t understand why Marianne and Maria did either.”
“Sarah, you’re awfully quiet. What are your thoughts
Sarah’s excitement grew as Tom Tower, the Christopher Wren-designed entrance to Christ Church, came into view.
As the taxi pulled up outside Tom’s Gate, a friendly, bowler-hat-wearing porter stepped to the curb to open Sarah’s door, offering her a warm greeting and a pleasant smile. “Good day, miss. Welcome to Christ Church. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
With her first glimpse of Tom’s Quad, she had an almost spiritual experience. Smiling broadly at the porter she replied, “I have no doubt I will.”
The week was off to a good start. Interesting and diverse people filled Sarah’s class, including a few men.
Her Victorian Era dorm was on the fifth floor of a five-story walk-up, so there would no lack of exercise, and the weather was unusually mild and sunny.
After sumptuous dinners in Tudor Hall, the evenings were filled with activities ranging from poetry readings to croquet and sparkling wine in the Master’s Garden, or in less high-brow pursuits like sampling Guinness at one of the local pubs.
Class discussions were lively and stimulating, and the added male viewpoint was enlightening. The two Austen books under consideration during the course were Sense & Sensibility and Mansfield Park .
Sarah sat among her classmates, pen and paper in hand taking notes as their tutor, Mr. Byrne, raised the question whether Austen’s male characters lack depth; whether they are worthy of the women who win them in the end.
Sean spoke in his lyrical Irish burr, “Austen’s men are not flat, depthless characters.”
Sean Daly looked like the last person you’d expect to see in a class on Jane Austen’s heroines. The twenty-something pub-owner looked as if he would be more comfortable behind his bar building pints of Guinness than in a class at Christ Church discussing Regency novels.
But underneath his tattooed and pierced exterior, he harbored a great love for literature. His pub, Brophy’s, was on the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl.
His brows puckered in concentration, drawing his eyebrow ring down, as he continued. “Austen’s men have the maturity to recognize the profundity of the women they come to love. Edward and Edmund couldn’t appreciate Elinor and Fanny, respectively, if they lacked the same discerning character themselves.”
Everyone’s brows shot up in response to his use of the word ‘profundity.’ It was a little like watching a biker discussing Wharton.
“That’s right. It takes a good man to recognize a good woman.” Mitch, wearing a silly grin on his face, put his arm around Darla and tugged her closer to him.
Darla and Mitch, an American couple, who when asked what brought them to Christ Church, explained that about four years ago they promised each other to take an active interest in the favored passions of the other.
Last year, Darla spent a week with Mitch at an NFL football camp. According to her, she’d ended the week bruised, battered, and sore, but having loved every minute of it.
This year, Mitch joined her for a week at Oxford. He had never read much of anything, much less Jane Austen. It was going to be interesting to see if he ended the week with the same enthusiasm with which Darla ended the NFL camp.
“Or, another good man,” Guy interjected with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Openly gay, Guy was the kind of guy that could be a girl’s best friend. He’d never had any interest in Jane Austen, or literature for that matter, until he saw Colin Firth in Pride & Prejudice and, in his words, “fell arse over tip in love.” This confession had broken the first-day ice, and had everyone laughing.
“I don’t think it’s fair to lump Edward and Edmund in with the likes of Willoughby and Henry Crawford,” Guy continued. “Those two are as shallow and feckless as they come. I wouldn’t give either of them the time of day, and I can’t understand why Marianne and Maria did either.”
“Sarah, you’re awfully quiet. What are your thoughts
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