Savouring Austen’s novel of (re)discovery

Jane Austen’s Persuasion is a subtle, small-scale novel compared to her other classic works. The cast of characters is slimmer, and there are fewer humorous moments. The heroine, 27-year-old Anne Elliot, is primarily serious and introspective; she doesn’t even speak a word of dialogue until Chapter 5. Even so, Persuasion captivated me upon my first reading. Every few years, I return to Austen’s insightful rendering of a nuanced love story that begins on a note of regret.

Anne Eliot may not display the buoyant wit of Pride and Prejudice’s Elizabeth Bennet or even the amusing foolishness of Emma’s heroine. Still, she is quietly wise and has an intriguing past. Persuasion begins seven years after her significant error of judgment: ending her engagement to Captain Frederick Wentworth. They were a couple who were very much in love. However, Anne was convinced (persuaded) by her dear family friend, Lady Russell, that his seafarer position and modest financial means made him an unsuitable match. Years later, Anne still sees the social logic of this choice, but she is remorseful. The descriptions of her faded youth and lost bloom are about more than her age; they point to her heart’s pained, retreated state. 

Unlike Pride and Prejudice’s famous build-up to the arrival of a mysterious new suitor, the early pages of Persuasion tensely build up toward Wentworth’s return. Before he is even on the scene, Anne learns he is now a successful Captain and eligible bachelor. In contrast, the overspending of Anne’s father has reduced the circumstances for her and her family. 

As Austen brings Wentworth and Anne back into each other’s spheres, she masterfully executes the interplay between Anne’s interior reactions and external events. “A thousand feelings” rush on Anne as she meets Wentworth again – and that multitude is believable. This reunion is barely long enough for a bow, curtsy, and a half glance – yet it is enough to get Anne’s mind whirling with insecurity, curiosity and “nervous gratitude.” Overcome by this layered rush of conflicted feelings, she retreats for “a long application of solitude and reflection to recover her.” It’s a response she repeats often (and one I relate to). 

Anne tries to assure herself that her interactions with Wentworth are helping her recover from him, but her inner dialogues prove otherwise. She is hurt when he ignores or insults her, and she lights up at his moments of warmth. Wentworth’s thoughts are not as accessible to the reader as Anne’s, but there is enough proof that he follows a similar track of feigning indifference when he is indeed angry with her and yet also drawn to her. 

Anne and Wentworth do not dare to talk directly to each other about their shifting feelings; they become intense observers of each other. Two key scenes involve overheard conversations about the endurance of affection – how it is possible to love “when hope is gone” and how one “does not recover from such a devotion of the heart.” Subdued recognition occurs between them, rekindling their affections even as they struggle with anger and jealousy. Wentworth recognizes Anne’s practical compassion, for instance, and she, in turn, recognizes his steadfastness of character. They are familiar to each other, yet strange – the same, yet different.

In a clever move, Austen has a long-awaited romantic revelation expressed in most interior mediums: a letter. This pacing only amplifies its dramatic impact (I think I gasped when I first read the scene – at Wentworth’s admission of being “half-agony, half-hope” as he offers himself to Anne again). Austen describes it as a letter “not to be soon recovered from,” –  and it finally triggers a face-to-face outpouring of happy honesty between the couple. They are soon reunited, at last.

Let me pause on the word recover, though. Austen uses it several times in Persuasion, and the recovery process plays a key role in awakening characters to new possibilities and ways of thinking. Whether people are regaining composure, healing from physical illness or grief, or gaining back their possessions, they are considerably changed. 

Wentworth and Anne are in such a changed state upon their reunion. They do not go back to who they were years earlier or try to pretend that the pain of separation never happened. Instead, they own up to their wounds as they begin again. Their mutual forgiveness creates a stronger, more truthful foundation for partnership than they ever had, even in the ripe bloom of young love.

Yes, I read Persuasion every few years and swoon over its clever and tender romantic plot. However, I also read it to remember that any recovery process is a process of rediscovery. It even brings the word resurrection to my mind, according to its most basic dictionary definition: “The act of causing something that had ended or been forgotten or lost to exist again, to be used again.” I see something of the risen Christ, who openly owned up to his wounds, in Austen’s intimate novel of love renewed.