You Have Bewitched Me Body and Soul, Mr. Darcy

I wasn’t planning on making this post, but like with all the best things, Pride and Prejudice (2005) simply wouldn’t leave my mind until I wrote about it. Upon completing my first viewing, I have done nothing more than replaying the same scene over and over. When it’s not repeating on a loop in my headphones, it’s reverberating in my head. I’m talking about the unmatched dialogue within the clip titled “Last Man in the World.” The rapid tone of pace and delicate nuance put in the performance keep me utterly glued to the screen.

Tell me why I laugh out loud when I remember “Elizabeth Bennet needs to chill” from the After movie. I’ve never heard a funnier line, especially when I recall Tessa’s mocking accent.

Back to my original point, if I dare share my favorite lines I would include:

Mr. Darcy: “So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining so fully.

The timbre in his voice when saying that phrase gets me every time. E V E R Y  T I M E.

And then, Elizabeth’s quiet rage summed up in one reply:

Mr. Darcy: Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?
Elizabeth: And those are the words of a gentleman.

How have I lived so long without these two in my life? They completely reshaped my entire view on romance. Classics know how to make you pay attention to every little detail. Nothing can go unnoticed. The way the hands are placed, the glances that are shared or avoided, following them with your eyes, the longing, the yearning, the daydreaming… All of it! It’s everything I love.

I’ll admit that after completing the film, I went to the book and simply read all of the scenes with Mr. Darcy. It begs the question, does it count as reading when all you do is search for Mr. Darcy in the pages… The book gave me perfect clarity into his inner thoughts when on-screen he might appear passive. So when reading, I felt like Lizzie shouting “Oh, I was so wrong. He’s anything but unkind!” (When he realizes his wrongdoings and corrects them accordingly.)

Honestly, Mr. Darcy made me realize that you really need to pay attention when you develop feelings for someone. There are these tiny signals with certain people that if you don’t pay attention to you simply won’t catch. On the one hand, it’s exhausting to overanalyze their every move. On the other hand, it feels euphoric when you catch their eyes.

Plus, similar to what I paid attention to in Chekhov’s “The Kiss,” Classics made me realize just how timeless the topic of love appears. I can catch myself reading and thinking, “I do that!” For instance, the tug of war you have with yourself over their voice in your head… Or, vowing to move on: “If he does not come to me, then,” said she, “I shall give him up for ever.” Then the meme of pretend shock when he falls silent around you…

And then the overthinking consumes: is he intimidated or simply not interested? Do you never feel their eyes on you because they’re subtle when they look or because they simply don’t look? How frustrating, or in the words of Austen, “If he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing, man! I will think no more about him.”

I rejoiced in that particular moment after they’d confessed their feelings and could simply look back on all those times they were silent near each other and pick each other’s brain as to what they were thinking. It grants so much clarity… in hindsight. Oh, if only… Frankly, I don’t know what petrifies me more, being in a real relationship or the idea of never being in one.

“What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less, might.”

What a brilliant last line. How interesting that it’s harder to talk to people we’re keen on than people we aren’t into. That’s one theme I took constant comfort in within this book.

I’ve shared more of my favorite quotes on my twitter (@bookspoils), and I have to share them anew here:

I do hope this will quiet their colorful voices in my head in the meantime. If not, I need to fill up my brain with more of Austen’s words. Let me know what your favorite Jane Austen romance is. What are your recommendations?

Check out Pride and Prejudice and more Jane Austen works through my Amazon Affiliate:

Review: The Kiss by Anton Chekhov

As much as I like to be a cynic about love, it’s pieces of writing like “The Kiss” that serve to remind me just how timeless the topic of love is. I’ve been hopping from one book to another with seemingly nothing to please my impatient head-space. Until this story came to my notice, thanks to Tavi Gevinson’s blurb in Rookie on Love (how I got to reread my old review of Rookie is another story): “I just don’t trust words a whole lot, and wonder if writing this, too, takes the air out of the whole thing, like in the Chekhov story “The Kiss,” where the sad loner shares the story of an improbable romantic encounter with his male colleagues and, upon hearing it out loud, experiences the whole thing as woefully insignificant.”

This loner mindset sounded eerily familiar… It was all I needed to dive straight in. Truthfully, I was waiting to be disappointed like with all my previous readings. Thankfully, I was not.

This book left me in awe. My own words will fail me here so I’m opting to showcase the brilliant way this author can put words to thoughts. I felt seen, which is the one key thing I look for in books. I haven’t felt that in a while. Like, romanticizing someone you met briefly to deflect from your not-so-romantic situation? Check. Completely losing track of what they looked like and reconstructing them in your mind? Check. Realizing you have no idea how to visualize them and feel defeated? Check. Knowing full well that you’re in over your head with a simple encounter and yet still overthinking it? Check.

At first when the brigade was setting off on the march he tried to persuade himself that the incident of the kiss could only be interesting as a mysterious little adventure, that it was in reality trivial, and to think of it seriously, to say the least of it, was stupid; but now he bade farewell to logic and gave himself up to dreams. . . .

This is a gem. Thankfully, there are many capturing moments that I cherished:

Like, thinking of all the reasons you’ll never see them again, but then: The “inner voice,” which so often deceives lovers, whispered to him for some reason that he would be sure to see her . . . and he was tortured by the questions, How he should meet her? What he would talk to her about?

The days flowed by, one very much like another. All those days Ryabovitch felt, thought, and behaved as though he were in love. Every morning when his orderly handed him water to wash with, and he sluiced his head with cold water, he thought there was something warm and delightful in his life.

To add to the glamor of this piece, I have to share this beautiful song cover of Slow Dancing in the Dark.

Check out this gorgeous piece of writing for yourself through my Amazon Affiliate link: