Of all Austen’s novels, this is the one I both look forward to reading and approach with caution. I’ve always found Fanny Price to be the most misunderstood and unrightfully hated heroine of Austen’s works. There’s so much to unpack in the nature vs nurture debate, the evils of wealth and privilege, and the idea of romantic versus strategic love, that it can easily be overwhelming.
I believe this is Austen’s second longest novel and it’s the fourth she completed. It’s when you start to see her world getting smaller. Unlike the first three—Sense and Sensibility; Pride and Prejudice; and Northanger Abbey—Mansfield Park only has two locations with a very brief visit to a third. Now that’s not saying much as those first three only have 3-4, but we see the parties of people in the novel getting smaller too. With this we have to ask was this a result of Austen’s own shrinking world or was it a tightening of her focus and storytelling?
I’m sure it’s a bit of both and between that and the extreme difference between Elizabeth Bennet (the immediately preceding published novel’s heroine) and Fanny Price, it’s no wonder that people found Fanny to be small and unrelatable.
[Mansfield Park] divides admirers and detractors more than any of her other works, and for a simple reason, although many sophisticated ones have been given. It is, in effect and intention, a deeply moral book—that is to say, it is concerned with the moral and indeed the religious life. (Margaret Drabble Introduction, i)
Without a doubt Fanny is a product of how she was raised in her uncle’s family—with a huge amount of blame going to Mrs. Norris, her aunt who made sure to always keep Fanny downtrodden and her other nieces on a pedestal. I don’t think Mrs. Bertram (Fanny’s other aunt by blood) had the wherewithal to have even contributed to Fanny’s upbringing and Mr. Bertram (Fanny’s uncle by marriage) was neglectful to all of his wards regardless of if they were his children or not and that contributed to Mrs. Norris’ overrun and horribleness.
Re-reading this at 40 was interesting, I didn’t find Edmund as spotless or as attractive as I did previously; and I somehow was rooting for Henry Crawford even though I knew full well the ending of the novel wouldn’t change. Rooting for Crawford results from the fact that I wanted to see change. I wanted to see character growth and evolution.
Fanny is set in her ways, she is pious, she is deferent to her elders and her betters (whether they actually are or not). Similarly, Edmund has accepted his place as the second son and aside from a brief hope of marrying Mary Crawford on a whim even though she’s made very clear she will not marry him if he takes religious orders. And In direct comparison we have Crawford who after the undeniable influence of Julia and Maria Betram, more so the latter, is removed seems to have actually grown from an unabashed flirt to someone who is willing to change after playing with Fanny to get her to like him and then seemingly falling for him.
Now maybe, this is just me rooting for the enemies to lovers or “bet” trope (i.e. She’s All That; I really should go read Pygmalion and My Fair Lady), but I couldn’t help but think what if. And then with what happens I immediately go, hmmmm maybe Crawford was always a bad egg and that’s the point of Austen’s work, no one changes, but we clearly see Mr. Bertram and Tom Bertram change. So who knows what might’ve been.
One big thing that we see between this and Northanger Abbey is that Austen has figured out that breaking the fourth wall consistently throughout the novel isn’t the best thing. She only does so in the final chapter of this novel—to basically say and the rest is up to your imagination—and it is a bit more powerful than before. I think she does it a different way in Persuasion and I can’t remember off the top of my head if she does it at all in Emma—but we’ll find out about both soon!
Comparing this to the adaptation (ManslaughterPark by Tirzah Price) I read earlier this year—and maybe that’s where Edmund’s shine got tarnished a bit—I’m glad Price took it in a different direction. Price leaned into the fact that all of the Betram’s had more negative qualities than positive ones and that Mary Crawford was as much a product of her time and situation as Fanny was. She also did the thing where she moved it just far enough from the original that it became its own story, which always works better for adaptations.
Recommendation: I definitely recommend this one if you’ve read other of Austen’s works. I would not make it your first as it might put you off, but it is worth reading. Fanny Price isn’t your typical heroine, she doesn’t have the romance of Marianne, the sauciness of Elizabeth, the naiveness of Catharine, the wealth of Emma or the experience of Anne; she is run of the mill and mediocre, she’s been given a great boon growing how she does, but she just sort of exists and things happen to her and that is interesting on its own. There is a lot more for you to digest and to interpret in this novel than in any of the others and it makes it that much more rewarding when you finish it.
Opening Line: “About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income.”
Closing Line: “On that event they removed to Mansfield, and the parsonage there, which under each of its two former owners, Fanny had never been able to approach but with some painful sensation of restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as everything else, within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park, had long been.” (Whited out to avoid spoilers, highlight to read.)
Additional Quotes from Mansfield Park
“Mansfield Park is a novel about moral and social values, country and town values. That these sets of values are sometimes in conflict is not a new discovery.” (Introduction, vii)
“What she is trying to demonstrate in this novel is that life is not simple, choices are not simple, we cannot have our cake and eat it. Each positive choice in life implies a loss. The bright world where Elizabeth Bennet can win both Darcy and Pemberley without losing her own freedom of speech is no longer seen as a possibility. And the novelist, like the heroine, must choose between the bright glitter of cruelty and the dull comfort of kindness.” (Introduction, xii)
“The moral of this book is that choice is difficult. One cannot have both wit and wisdom.” (Introduction, xiii)
“Fanny Price is frightened of company, and wants nothing better than to listen unobserved; her judgments are shrewd and severe, but she keeps them to herself.” (Introduction, xv)
“The world is not inhabited by ideal people, or even by a mixture of heroes and heroines (Darcys and Bingleys) and grotesques (Collinses and Catherine de Bourghs)—it is full of real, defective, halfway people, neither good nor wholly bad, sometimes pushed one way by events, sometimes another.” (Introduction, xvi)
“This novel which appears to praise quietude, and which makes such efforts towards a positive portrayal of calm and domestic tranquility, has a terrible restlessness. We know that the issues before us are of the greatest importance, and yet we are tossed backwards and forwards, from disapproval to assent, in an exhausting rhythm, a perpetual tension that never reaches the simple satisfying resolution of Elizabeth’s marriage to Darcy, or Anne Elliot’s marriage to Captain Wentworth.” (Introduction, xviii)
“It divides admirers and detractors more clearly than any of her other works, and for a simple reason, although many sophisticated ones have been given. It is, in effect and intention, a deeply moral book—that is to say, it is concerned with the moral and indeed the religious life.” (Introduction, v)
“Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As far as walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly benevolent, and nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others: but her love of money was equal to her love of directing, and she knew quite as well how to save her own as to spend that of her friends . . . Under this infatuating principal, counteracted by no real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her to aim at more than the credit of projecting and arranging so expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so little know herself, as to walk home to the parsonage after this conversation, in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world.” (27)
“‘There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,’ observed Sir Thomas, ‘as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up; how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram. I should with to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorize in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relations; but still they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations, will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of conduct.'” (29)
“Her brother was not handsome; no, when they first saw him, he was absolutely plain, black and plain; but still he was the gentleman with a pleasing address. The second meeting proved him not so very plain; he was plain, to be sure, but then he had so much countenance, and his teeth were so good, and he was so well made, that one soon forgot he was plain; and after a third interview, after dining in company with him at the parsonage, he was no longer allowed to be called so by anybody.” (56)
“‘I am really not tired, which I almost wonder at; for we must have walked at least a mile in this wood. Do not you think we have?’ ‘Not half a mile,’ was his sturdy answer; for he was not yet so much in love as to measure distance, or reckon time, with feminine lawlessness.” (97)
“That is what I dislike most particularly. It raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very same thing—whatever it be!” (118)
“‘I am not going to urge her’—replied Mrs. Norris sharply, ‘but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her—very ungrateful indeed, considering who and what she is.'” (140)
“‘How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and the changes of the human mind.’ And following the latter train of thought, she soon afterwards added: ‘If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient—at others, so bewildered and so weak— and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control!—We are to be sure a miracle every way—but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.'” (190)
“The assurance of Edmund’s being so soon to take orders, coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still hoped uncertain and at a distance, was felt with resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She had begun to think of him—she felt that she had—with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond immediate amusement. If he could so command his affections, hers should do her no harm.” (206)
“Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connexions can supply; and it must be by a long and unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connexion can justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived. Too often, alas! it is so— Fraternal love, sometimes almost everything, is at others worse than nothing. But with William and Fanny Price, it was still a sentiment in all its prime and freshness, wounded by no opposition of interest, cooled by no separate attachment, and feeling the influence of time and absence only in its increase.” (211)
“To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships, and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!” (212)
“It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try to overcome all that was excessive, all that bordered on selfishness in her affection for Edmund. To call or to fancy it a loss, a disappointment, would be a presumption; for which she had not words strong enough to satisfy her own humility. To think of him as Miss Crawford might be justified in thinking, would in her be insanity. To her, he could be nothing under any circumstances—nothing dearer than a friend. Why did such an idea occur to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden? It ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination. She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of judging of Miss Crawford’s character and the privilege of true solicitude for him by a sound intellect and an honest heart.” (235)
“She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so many elegant young women! The distinction was too great. It was treating her like her cousins! And her thoughts flew to those absent cousins with most unfeigned and truly tender regret that they were not at home to take their own place in the room, and have their share of a pleasure which would have been so very delightful to them. So often as she had heard them wish for a ball at home as the greatest of all felicities!” (244-5)
“I am fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I began—but this is the end of them. I have (I flatter myself) made no inconsiderable progress in her affections; but my own are entirely fixed.” (257)
“The gentleness and gratitude of her disposition would secure her all your own immediately. From my soul I do not think she would marry you without love; that is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can suppose it her; but ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse.” (258)
“Fanny would have had quite as good a walk there, I assure you; with the advantage of being of some use, and obliging her aunt: it is all her fault. If she would but have let us know she was going out—but there is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of.” (285)
“She told him, that she did not love him, could not love him, was sure she never should love him: that such a change was quite impossible, that the subject was most painful to her, that she must entreat him never to mention it again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be considered as concluded for ever. And when farther pressed, had added, that in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar, as to make mutual affection incompatible; and that they were unfitted for each other by nature, education, and habit. All this she had said and with the earnestness of sincerity; yet this was not enough, for he immediately denied there being anything uncongenial in their characters, or anything unfriendly in their situations; and positively declared, that he would still love, and still hope!” (288)
“By degrees the girls came to spend the chief of the morning upstairs, at first only in working and talking; but after a few days, the remembrance of the said books grew so potent and stimulative, that Fanny found it impossible not to try for books again. There were none in her father’s house; but wealth is luxurious and daring—and some of hers found its way to a circulating library. She became a subscriber—amazed at being anything in propria persona, amazed at her own doings in every way; to be a renter, a chooser of books! And to be having anyone’s improvement in view in her choice! But so it was. Susan had read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own first pleasures, and inspire a taste for the biography and poetry which she delighted in herself.” (347)
“I purposefully abstain from dates on this occasion, that everyone may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much as to time in different people—I only entreat everybody to believe that exactly at the time when it was quiet natural that it should be so and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny, as Fanny herself could desire.” (405-6)
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