Persuasion

I find myself in the last thin pages of “Persuasion” about to understand the crucial final events, its is not an epic novel by any means, but it is a love story of hope and timing that only Austen could have plotted so perfectly.

It’s got me thinking you see, it’s my first Jane Austen fully read in good, proper most elegant English. And taking aside the loveliness of the language, the delightful sense of lost romance is exactly the charm on it. The feeling of a hopeless romantic

Anne Elliot was at first a character whom I could not sincerely appreciate as she is well weak of character, persuadable and though not quite, rather introverted. I’ve never believed in such things as qualities and therefore couldn’t understand much of her way to carry herself. Now however I do comprehend quite a bit on her actions, she is a victim of lost romance indeed! And she is an intelligent woman of not too high spirits, situation which I can relate to.

But what is the persuasion? The power someone takes upon your heart or mind, against or within your will? I’ve always considered myself a non persuadable woman, yet, what power can people have over your thoughts? I can master persuasion, but isn’t it a low card to play at times? What is prudence but the limits to one’s character?

Persuasion fits in almost every romance, every sense of the word is filled with it, for ones character with both weaken and increase when in love, and there are always to roles to play in the young romance, the sense or the sensibility, which character will persuade and which will be persuadable? Of course it’s not so in every romance, there are some of both connections, but still there is no way to evade the persuasion, even loving a spirit free as it is or sheltered as it might be.

Romance is all about a quest of renewal and reinvention, romance is the longing for the past and the desire for the future, a true romantic can not be satisfied with the present, its but the longing what creates this loving bound.

Oh but romantics we are masochists in every sense, my own mother tells me so. A phrase as,

Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, than their final separation.

Seems to us, the sweetest agony, the tenderest misery, whilst the rest of the world believes it to be a neurotic parasitical dependence

But ain’t romance supposed to be misunderstood by all those who can’t feel it? Personally I hope I die before I loose my capacity to suffer in such romantic ways.

If I was wiser I’d understand it clearly, Alas! I must confess to myself that I am not wise yet.