A Truth Universally Acknowledged

A first look at Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

The opening line of Pride and Prejudice is celebrated as one of the most effective first lines in literature. Why? What makes it such a brilliant launching point?

For one thing, this single sentence throws readers right into the middle of the story, introducing the question that drives the characters for the rest of the novel. Because Mr. and Mrs. Bennett have had only daughters, his estate is eventually going to pass to Mr. Collins, his nearest living male relative. The only practical way for the girls to have a secure future is for them to marry well. That opening line is part of the introduction of Mr. Bingley, the rich young bachelor who has just rented the estate next to the Bennett’s and the first possible candidate for a suitable husband for Jane, the eldest Bennett girl.

The opening line also introduces a subtler source of tension. The line assumes that the thing that most makes a husband suitable is money. Given the limited opportunities open to women at the time, this isn’t a stupid position. Back then, about the only alternatives to a good marriage in the Bennett’s social class were either dependence on charity from family members – living with a married relative -- or a menial, limiting position – a paid companion or such. This is why we might excuse Mrs. Benett for her obsession with finding her daughters rich husbands.

Yet the three daughters who marry by the end of the story (even Lydia, in her own way) buck this economic reality and marry for love. In fact, Elizabeth rejects proposals from both Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy because she can’t bring herself to love them. Her decision does get some support from her father, at least about Mr. Collins’ proposal, but most of the rest of her society would have considered this an insane thing to do.

The other beauty of that opening line is that, in just a single sentence, it establishes the character and attitude of the narrator. Capturing any character in a single sentence requires serious skill, and to do it in the opening line, with absolutely no context, is something that only the best authors can manage. In fact, I could think of no examples that manage to do so much so quickly.

“Call me Ishmail” establishes in just three words that the narrator considers himself an outcast, set apart from society, and also shows that the identity of the narrator is not as important as the story he’s about to tell. But it’s much easier to establish a character’s identity when you’re writing in the first person, since you invite readers into the character’s head. Austen’s narrator has no head – there is no actual character attached to the narrative voice. Also, Melville’s opening line might establish Ishmail’s character but it does nothing to put readers into the story.

The opening line that comes closest to doing what Austen has done comes from a much more modern story, long after omniscient narrators had faded from the scene: J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” That “thank you very much,” conveys the same sense of bemused detachment you find in Austen’s narrator. And it certainly drops readers into Rowling’s world, where the pathological normality of Privet Drive contrasts with the magical world that becomes apparent as we watch owls soaring around and meet a cat who can apparently read road signs. (And this before Hagrid shows up on the flying motorcycle.) But the opening line doesn’t introduce readers to Harry’s battles, both internal and external, against he who must not be named. It doesn’t tell us what drives the story.

Finally, Austen’s opening line is even more brilliant given her historical context. As I said last week, many novels written before her era don’t have anything near the crisp beauty of her opening line. Fielding’s A History of Tom Jones, a Foundling begins (after a lengthy introduction on the nature of novels by the intrusive and boringly didactic narrator) before Jones was born. Among Austen’s contemporaries, Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein opens with a letter (it is an epistolary novel) that only makes vague reference to an “enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings,” which doesn’t exactly kick the story off. Walter Scott’s Waverly (after an introduction by another intrusive and boringly didactic narrator) begins with Waverly leaving his family to join the Dragoons, which is the first event of the story but doesn’t exactly lay out what the novel is about.

So Austen’s opening line may be the first, ever, to embody what we now consider the virtues of a good hook – establishing the character of the story and drawing readers directly into the meat of it. It is hard to read that first line and not want to read the second.

C. S. Lewis once complained that he had to go listen to a student’s essay on Scott that began, “Scott was born . . . “ That was a pretty standard opening in the earliest novels by even the best writers. Until Pride and Prejudice came on the scene and instantly made it obsolete.

A few quick bookkeeping notes. I realized in rereading it lately that I have a lot to say about Pride and Prejudice, and I plan to unfold it in the next few months. If any of you who are subscribing would like to take advantage of the offer to have me look over a couple pages of your WIP, I’d be happy to take a break.
And feel free to tell me your favorite opening lines. Or correct me if I’ve missed something. I’m a pretty good editor, but I’m not a literary expert by any means, and my reading has always been a little haphazard.

Next week, plot arc. Until then,

Good Writing.