I imagine I am somewhat putting my reputation on the line by making my reading of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice common and public knowledge; after all, it is not every day that one finds a military man consenting to reading such novels. However, I safely presume that those readers who know me personally will already by sufficiently acquainted with the oddities and inconsistencies of my character to take no great offense at my present behavior while the opinion of the more general and disinterested reader can have but very little effect on my overall happiness, since my writing in this forum is largely for my own pleasure and conversation with the aforementioned friends, and thus can be generally dispensed with.
When it comes to reading, I am at times quite the literature snob--not because I think very highly of my own tastes or abilities to understand good literature, but simply because, in light of the vast array of books and writing (to which, I am told, there is no end) I simply must be selective in those that I bring before my eyes, considering that time is a valuable, because limited, commodity. Unfortunately for my own pride, however, I must admit that my literary tastes could hardly account for my not reading Austen's novel so much as my rather silly prejudice towards the book due to a lasting impression taken from the cover of the first copy I encountered. I distinctly remember the outlandish and silly looking woman on the front cover of the bright red paperback, extravagantly dressed in muslin, white lace, and a hat the size of Texas--adorned with nearly as many flowers as that great state can boast in springtime. "Sentimental nonsense," I muttered to myself, and would have nothing to do with the story, despite the claims of some friends to the contrary. Last month, however, a few friends pressed me so hard on this issue, and had the audacity to appeal to my literary snobbery as argument for their suit, that I ultimately capitulated and borrowed a copy of their book--a book which had the good sense to be dressed in a plain cover with nothing but the simultaneously pretentious and homely seal of "the Classics Club" adorning its front. It took me less than a week to finish the novel once I got started and I found it to be a very edifying exurcision, and now that I have sufficiently boasted of both my virtues and vices and invited you to laugh at them with me, I will turn to an examination of one aspect of the novel that I found intriguing.
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