Mr. Darcy and Domestic Abuse

"where fun goes to die"

[Skip this paragraph if you dislike me] I'm one of those good kids who offer to watch the little ones while my parents take a date night (of course, there is a certain amount of coercion involved...like ice cream and movies, but I am sacrificing my Saturday night after all...). Anyways, after 8 o'clock, when the girlsies go off to bed and the boy falls asleep with Buzz Lightyear on the sofa, dreaming of Star Command and light-up sneakers, I have free time. Free time to think, do homework (ha), read, and write. Also, since I did a selfless thing in offering up my time, I reflect on all of my other amazingly amazing qualities. Gosh, I am perfect. And the thing which makes me even more perfect is the fact that if someone told me I was not perfect, I would not believe them. My mind is made up. I am confident in my perfection. Now, since the only ones who would read my fantastic blog posts are those who APPRECIATE fine writing like it was French wine over Cali or White Rock coffee over Starbucks or Half-Price over Borders or love over sex or calling over texting or Henry James over Stephanie Meyer or Draco over Harry or Gandalf over Dumbledore or University of Chicago over the Ivies, I feel confident that all of you, dear readers, love to hear my countless success stories. Without further ado, I will brag a bit more before I actually get to my topic (third blog post in a week! welcome, senioritis!) I received a scholarship to the University of Chicago. Made my life, pretty much, considering that only 8% of admitted students get ANY merit aid there at all. (I will not mention the fact that the scholarship would only cover half of my boarding costs...so it's like hitting a ball and getting halfway to first base). BUT still. That is why I am perfect. Ask to see my pretty embossed certificate. It even comes in a personalized folder! Too bad the scholarship is MEASLY. (I blame this fact on Mr. Obama. He is liberal therefore he hates rich people therefore he believes that only need-based aid should be given out so that rich people have to pay full tuition and since he taught at Chicago, he influences all of their admission policies. EFF him.)

But now for my real topic.
I am re-reading Pride and Prejudice (fourth time) for the TAPPS Literary Criticism competition. Now, I love me some Jane Austen and all the movies and all the fan fiction. I have been compared to Elizabeth Bennet several times (best way to impress me: compare me to a literary character from a classic novel), and I fell in love with Matthew Macfadyen as soon as I saw the recent movie adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. I am well-versed in Austenian language. I abhor Emma. I understand Jane Austen better than I understand myself (or, at least, I understand Anne Hathaway's portrayal of her...)

However, there is something profoundly disturbing in the relationship between Eliza and Darcy in P&P. Look at the title. Pride = vice. Prejudice = vice. Both combined? Not healthy. Let's start with an outline of their relationship (if you have not read this novel, you can stop reading my blog. FOREVER.)
1. Darcy tells his friend Bingley that Eliza "is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me."
2. Elizabeth hates Darcy now, understandably.
3. They quarrel like married folk.
4. Darcy is secretly madly in love with Eliza, and treats her even worse to try to convince himself that he isn't, since she's poor and he's filthy rich.
5. Darcy can't stand his passion and proposed to Eliza. She rejects him cold.
6. Elizabeth falls in love with Darcy for a number of emotional reasons. The reader suspects her love has been repressed from the beginning. Freudian win.
7. They simmer for a while.
8. They express their undying love and mate up quickly. The book ends here so it doesn't have to explain what a trainwreck their marriage [probably] is.

It's pointless to resist. Really. 

Elizabeth is portrayed as a feminist throughout the book. She is strong-willed, cleverer than all the men, uniquely pretty, and does not fall for every rich man who walks into her life. But she falls into that pit called love. Now, some people have pillows at the bottom of their love-pit. Others have cotton candy, or cashmere, or are caught by a gust of fresh air before reaching the bottom. Elizabeth has vipers. Love bites her and poisons her. She forgets about her own pride and instead indulges Darcy's. Darcy gets everything he wants. He wins the love of the person who most despises him. What can't he do?

And there lies the issue. P&P is such a popular book, that I blame it for a certain amount of domestic abuse. Not the actual abuse, but the toleration of the abuse by women. I reason that women who have read the novel want a Mr. Darcy. Unanimously. They find an imitation Darcy, whatever suits their interpretation of his virtues, and marry/date him. Their Darcy might be a dirtbag, though. But the worse he treats them, the more they feel Elizabeth-like, and the more they wait for that day when their Darcy kneels in front of them and asks for forgiveness and love. But real life ain't like the books, sister. You get treated badly? You won't ever be treated differently. Darcy was verbally abusive, rude, and ridiculously elitist. If he were real, he would never change. Jane Austen could morph him into the perfect man, but she's the author. She can rewrite the personalities of her characters. You cannot rewrite the personality of your man. But I'm not going to write a petition to ban P&P. Not only have I fallen head over heels for Mr.Darcy and am a total hypocrite, but I am a true feminist. You wanna marry the dirtbag? Be my guest, you should be able to make your own decisions. That is the true spirit of feminism. I applaud you. Enjoy your illusion.

But don't be offended when I give you pepper spray as a wedding present.