I recently finished reading Austen's Persuasion. It has always given me the impression of being the most 'girly' of Austen's novels, and still does. I'm not quite sure what it is that makes it seem so, but my best guess is that the "inward repetition of looks, words, and deeds" that George Eliot attributed to girlish minds plays a much more central role in the actual story of Persuasion than in most of her other works; large portions of the story are about Anne's ruminations on whether Wentworth's looking so-and-so has such-and-such meaning, and she has to stop every few minutes to restrain her emotions on overhearing something. Girly; just a tiny hint of what one finds in those silly women's magazines to how it goes about its way. But despite not particularly enjoying that aspect, I enjoy the novel, nonetheless; had Austen had time to refine it, it might well have been a real rival of the Great Austenian Triumvirate: Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Sense and Sensibility. As it is, it's still better than 99.999% of the novels ever written. It does make me glad, though, that Austen has characters like Emma, and Elizabeth, and even Lady Susan (my favorite villainess of all time), to balance her out. Were Emma, for instance, never to mature but to harden into her ways, she would be very similar to Lady Susan: ruthlessly manipulative, infinitely self-righteous, and realistically wicked. She's a very strong character. Much the same can be said of Elizabeth. But Anne Elliot turned villainess wouldn't be much at all. And the reason is that she isn't a very strong character; she has good qualities, and is likable (like Jane, but more sharply defined) and sometimes we see there's a bit more to her than meets the eye, as at Louisa's fall. But she is by and large a very subdued, unintrusive sort of person.
Two things particularly struck me this time around. (1) Although it's a very faint and subtle role, divine Providence, and our responsibility to it, plays something of a role in the story (and is explicitly recognized as such). Austen tends to avoid such things; but it makes an appearance (with a very light touch) in Persuasion. I don't think it provides any grand key to the story, but it is interesting to find it there.
(2) This dialogue on the value of testimony caught my philosophical eye (in Chapter XXI):
"Colonel Wallis! you are acquainted with him?"
"No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that;
it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence. The stream
is as good as at first; the little rubbish it collects in the turnings
is easily moved away. Mr Elliot talks unreservedly to Colonel Wallis
of his views on you, which said Colonel Wallis, I imagine to be,
in himself, a sensible, careful, discerning sort of character;
but Colonel Wallis has a very pretty silly wife, to whom
he tells things which he had better not, and he repeats it all to her.
She in the overflowing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all
to her nurse; and the nurse knowing my acquaintance with you,
very naturally brings it all to me. On Monday evening, my good friend
Mrs Rooke let me thus much into the secrets of Marlborough Buildings.
When I talked of a whole history, therefore, you see I was
not romancing so much as you supposed."
"My dear Mrs Smith, your authority is deficient. This will not do.
Mr Elliot's having any views on me will not in the least account
for the efforts he made towards a reconciliation with my father.
That was all prior to my coming to Bath. I found them on
the most friendly terms when I arrived."
"I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but--"
"Indeed, Mrs Smith, we must not expect to get real information
in such a line. Facts or opinions which are to pass through the hands
of so many, to be misconceived by folly in one, and ignorance in another,
can hardly have much truth left."
"Only give me a hearing. You will soon be able to judge of
the general credit due, by listening to some particulars
which you can yourself immediately contradict or confirm.
Nobody supposes that you were his first inducement. He had seen you
indeed, before he came to Bath, and admired you, but without
knowing it to be you. So says my historian, at least. Is this true?
Did he see you last summer or autumn, `somewhere down in the west,'
to use her own words, without knowing it to be you?"
"He certainly did. So far it is very true. At Lyme.
I happened to be at Lyme."
"Well," continued Mrs Smith, triumphantly, "grant my friend the credit
due to the establishment of the first point asserted. [...]"
