Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

It was only during this book, the fourth Jane Austen I’ve read this year, that steakums happened to mention that she liked Austen as well. Honestly, couples never talk anymore.

Mansfield Park is odd in that the reservedness of the time period grates a bit. I mean, going on and on of the evils of putting on a play in one’s house, with our protagonists, Edward and Fanny (of all names), as the main detractors of amateur theatricals? Really, how am I to relate to that?

It’s not like the idle rich have anything else to do.

Really, you side with the protagonists merely because everyone else is so much less worthwhile.

Emma and Clueless are next up on our Netflix cue. If time allowed, we’d do a double feature night.