Austen was something, although Jemima had always found both the author and her female characters a little too much for her: they all seemed terribly virtuous, diamonds of the sex; and even the ones who had overt vices were still much too witty for her to relate to.
But novels would be a better comfort to her than essays, and poetry already sounded like a lost cause in this conversation.
“I haven’t heard of that one,” Jemima said, caught between dubiousness at the title and the desire to befriend her now sister-in-law. It sounded rather depressing, but perhaps ploughing through it nonetheless would endear her to Clementine? “Is it very enjoyable?” Oh, but that was the wrong question, she realised, so added in haste – “Or – well, what kind of woman is it about?” Jemima wasn’t sure she wanted to read about slaves, particularly.
But novels would be a better comfort to her than essays, and poetry already sounded like a lost cause in this conversation.
“I haven’t heard of that one,” Jemima said, caught between dubiousness at the title and the desire to befriend her now sister-in-law. It sounded rather depressing, but perhaps ploughing through it nonetheless would endear her to Clementine? “Is it very enjoyable?” Oh, but that was the wrong question, she realised, so added in haste – “Or – well, what kind of woman is it about?” Jemima wasn’t sure she wanted to read about slaves, particularly.
