rj_anderson | Fictional Crush Meme Redux

- Mr. Knightley, from Jane Austen's Emma

Duh, how could I have forgotten him?

Uh, yeah Rebecca. Duh. :) He is, after all, only one of the most lucious heros in. . .ahem., well, anyway, he's a keeper alright. :)

While I have a very high opinion of Mr. Knightley, I've always been left a little cold by his statement about how "he would like to see Emma in love, and have her not be too certain of a return" because he thinks it would do her good. I can understand his frustrations with her character and yes, she is more than a little spoiled by being "clever, handsome, and rich" with "very little to distress or vex her." But unrequited love is a painful thing and anyone who would wish that on someone else for that person's "good" is not going to rank quite as high in my books as they would otherwise. Of course, the delicious part is that Mr. Knightley's wishes rebound upon him and *he* is the one who loves and is not so certain of a return . . . did it do you good, Mr. Knightley? ;-) I much prefer him as he is during the Box Hill incident, when he openly rebukes Emma for her bad behaviour. That, at least, is straightforward disapproval backed up with some very good reasons for why he dislikes it and considers it "badly done."

Mary Anne

If he wanted to see her experience unrequited love because he was annoyed with her and wanted to see her suffer a bit, I would have a hard time sympathizing with him, because that would just be petty. But he doesn't want to hurt Emma gratuitously. Rather, because he loves her, he would rather see her unhappy in the short term but ultimately a wiser and better person for it, than allow her to persist in her current path and ultimately make herself (and everyone around her) miserable.

Emma is dangerously indifferent to the feelings of those around her; she has a great deal of goodwill and good intentions but almost no empathy. Yes, it does seem high-handed of Knightley to think that he knows what's best for Emma, but then he is older and has observed her personality and behaviour since she was very young. (Plus, he's right.)

Of course, those who are prepared to see their loved ones hurt temporarily in the pursuit of their ultimate happiness must also be prepared to suffer that way themselves -- and Knightley does, perhaps even more than Emma, so fair's fair.

On a more personal note, I went through the pangs of unrequited love on more than one occasion (and for years, not mere weeks or months, each time) and it was indeed very painful, but I do feel that I learned a great deal by it and that ultimately it did do me good in terms of my understanding of other people and also in preparing me for my relationship with my husband. So I still have to side with Knightley on this one, even when looking at it from an Emma point of view...

But unrequited love is a painful thing and anyone who would wish that on someone else for that person's "good" is not going to rank quite as high in my books as they would otherwise.

Totally agree. Which is why I have, ultimately, far more sympathy for someone like Henry Crawford (despite his obvious faults), who aims to make Fanny Price fall in love with him just for fun, and ends up falling for her instead (even if he didn't have the patience or strength of character to see it through). Mr. Knightley is just irredeemably smug, IMO. I really dislike characters who "know what's best" for other people, but I hate it particularly when it's men (especially older men) doing it to women. (Not that I like Emma much either, actually.)

Erica

I should add that I would find it somewhat more difficult to like Knightley if he actually went and tried to arrange a situation in which Emma might suffer the pangs of unrequited love -- but he doesn't. He merely thinks that it might be a good thing for her if it happened. Aren't we being a bit hard on him for just having an opinion on what might be good for Emma? Surely we all have opinions of that sort when we see other people behaving in ways that seem to us foolish or immature?

When I meet a person who is too quick to dismiss other people's illnesses as malingering, for instance, my first thought is, "He'd feel differently if he'd ever been really sick." And if they're really bad about it, I do find myself thinking it would be good for them to experience illness -- nothing too serious, but enough to teach them not to be so dismissive. This was in fact the case with someone whom I love dearly, and he did eventually suffer from a persistent (though not by any means life-threatening) illness and it did make him a much more sympathetic person in the end, so though I feel sorry he had to go through that experience I am glad for the positive result that came out of it. Is that high-handed and smug of me?

Is that high-handed and smug of me?

My apologies if that remark, or anything I said above, sounded in any way snotty or adversarial -- I meant it as an honest question, but in retrospect realized it may not have come across that way.

Plus, it's not really fair to argue based on personal experience, I suppose -- since it's not easily disputed, much less contradicted, without making oneself sound unreasonable.

"My apologies if that remark, or anything I said above, sounded in any way snotty or adversarial . . ."

No, dear, of course it didn't! 8-) But since you bring up the point of personal experience, let me take it from there. And if I sound unreasonable, well, that won't be anything new; I frequently AM unreasonable.

Back to Mr. Knightley. When I said I think highly of him, I meant it; he has many sterling qualities and I should be so lucky as to have such a man care for me. It's just that one moment I have an iggle with--I have a visceral reaction to it, as if a cold hand had closed around my heart. And I'm afraid it *is* based on personal experience. For all of what people say about the beneficial aspects of suffering, I've seldom found it to be so in my experience. Without going into boring details, let's say I understand the sort of chronic resentment of suffering in which C.S. Lewis began his book A Grief Observed, and I could take the line from Shadowlands: "It won't do. This is a bloody awful mess and that's all there is to it." Most of the worst experiences of my life haven't been learning experiences, or things I can look back on and say, "Well, it was bad but I see that I've derived good from it in this way." No. I regard them as I regarded algebra: a dreary business that I had to go through for some reason undisclosed to me and from which I derived no good whatosever.

Anyway, I'm afraid it's because of things like that that my hackles go up when someone ventures to pronounce that a painful experience might do someone good. It certainly is true at times, no question. And as you point out, the motive for saying it may be profound love for the other individual. But as you also point out, be prepared and willing to suffer yourself if you think it might do someone else good. I'm in the Thoreau camp on this one: "If I knew that someone were coming to my house with the conscious intention of *doing me good* I would run for my life." For me, Mr. Knightley still shows better during the Box Hill incident; I prefer that honest indignation that at least has some warmth in it--warmth, indeed, it's blazing hot!--to that cool pronouncement about Emma in love.

Also, Rebecca, you already know that when it comes to Austen men, I'm a Colonel Brandon woman from the word go! ;-) Already was before the film, and seeing Alan Rickman play Brandon pretty well cemented it for me, I'm afraid. But now that I think about it, I believe it's because I feel very safe and comforted by the patience and tolerance of Brandon. I'll take a line from Jo March here: "Sometimes a kind word can govern me when all the king's horses and all the king's men can't."

Hmmm, now I'm off on another thought: I was just musing that Brandon's tolerance might be a real disaster in dealing with Emma, and that Mr. Knightley wouldn't get along at all with Marianne Dashwood, probably because he's too much like her sister Elinor! Now I'm ringing all sorts of changes on switching Austens pairs of lovers around and seeing how they would suit each other . . .

Sorry to ramble on like this. I got carried away. 8-)
Mary Anne

algebra: a dreary business that I had to go through for some reason undisclosed to me and from which I derived no good whatosever.

The perfect definition! (*awaits the well-mannered reproach of

dr_c*) The other week I said to my brother that I never did well at math because I resent numbers for not being letters. Only algebra is worse, because the numbers have the nerve to pretend they're letters just to throw you off...

I like your idea of playing the Austen switcheroo. Allow me to further suggest that Emma would have driven Darcy absolutely insane, and that the combination of Knightley and Fanny (much as I like them both as individuals) would have been intolerable...

Actually, I don't at all dispute that algebra is often studied "for reasons undisclosed," thus quite naturally resulting in "no good whatsoever" for the student. But I perceive that as a problem more with how it is taught-- and, perhaps, when and to whom-- than with the subject itself. My preference would be to see Algebra taught in conjunction with Business/Economics, Trigonometry with Electricity, and Calculus with Physics; then the students would have a chance to see what the equations are good for. Math only becomes useful when it's applied, after all.

Oh, I like that idea. Yes, I think it would help a good deal.

I got a really terrific Math teacher in Grade Eleven, and even learned to enjoy bits of algebra (particularly geometry) but by then it was too late for me, alas...

"I never did well at math because I resent numbers for not being letters. Only algebra is worse, because the numbers have the nerve to pretend they're letters just to throw you off..."

It's strange. I've always disliked math, even when I could *do* it. In first grade we had a paperback math book called Mathematics We Need. I distinctly remember crossing out "Need" on the cover and writing in "Hate" so this feeling of mine has been around for a while.

The thing is, I could do math as long as only numbers were involved--I didn't like it but I could do it. But I remember a day in seventh grade when the teacher was introducing us to pre-algebra. It was the first time I'd ever seen equations with numbers and letters . . . and to this day I can remember a cold feeling of panic and the sensation that a door had just closed in my mind. SLAM. It was as if I knew instantly that I'd never, ever be able to do this. The memory is so vivid that I can even remember how the classroom smelled at that moment.

Ninth grade algebra was an exercise in futility. Some parts were better than others, but it was mostly a waste of time for me and for the teacher; I simply couldn't do it and didn't know why I couldn't do it. And the thing I hated most: the teacher would explain a concept and demonstrate with some problems, and it would be clear in the classroom--but when I got home and tried to do my homework, POOF. All understanding had vanished. I'm not convinced that any attempts at "context" for those equations would have helped me one whit.

The one and only teacher who ever made it remotely understandable or palatable to me was one in college. One thing she did NOT do was send people to the chalkboard alone to work problems and be humiliated before the whole class, and for that I'll always be grateful. But even though I did better with her, I still remember next to nothing of what I managed to learn there. Is it any wonder I equate suffering with algebra?

Also, did anyone else have the experience of being lousy at algebra but good at geometry? It seems this happens quite frequently--if you do well at one you do poorly at the other. In tenth grade my math difficulties disappeared for a time and I raced through geometry--probably the easiest year of math I ever had. Wonder why? I seem to remember that I could actually see some uses for geometry, and a lot of it had to do with simply memorizing principles and seeing how to apply them in a proof. Memorizing was something I could do, at least.

Hmmm, Rebecca, this seems to be my thread for rambling quite a bit . . . ;-)
Mary Anne

I was lousy at algebra but good at geometry and trig. Go figure.

It doesn't seem high-handed or smug to me, though I note that you are a real person and not a character in a book (and yes, I know I've just got done arguing that characters are real people, but they still have a literary structure to them, ok? *g*). I think to some extent it would depend on whether you were saying "He'd feel differently if" because you yourself had experienced illness and/or accusations of malingering, or whether you were saying it just because you felt the lack of sympathy was a moral fault of that person. The former is an involvement of a person who has a stake in the matter and the second is just preaching. But, in any case, it's not something that would bother me very much.

And, of course, since Mr. Knightley does have a narrative structure, he can express an opinion about something that would do Emma good and know quite well that Miss Austen will go and arrange a situation that makes it happen. *g* What he doesn't know is how she's going to turn the tables on him. But I still prefer characters who make lots of mistakes (not the same thing as suffering unforeseen circumstances) and don't come off as annoying perfect.

Of course, my opinions on this particular novel are probably bosh, because I only reread the first half of it anytime recently -- I couldn't get myself to finish.

Erica

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