Jane

I see myself as the girl who is most content curled on a sofa in an ugly sweater, holding a cup of coffee and reading Jane Austen. Look off into space occasionally, sip my coffee as I ponder something I've just read, close my eyes, nod as the sheer brilliance seeps into my brain and speaks to my soul. Think to myself, "She is the essence of what it means to be a woman." Post quotes from her work all over my Facebook, text all my friends some wisdom I've discovered and command them all to read "this amazing book that will change everything you thought about life." Talk to girls my age about how much I wish I lived back then - wore the dresses, spoke with their vocabulary, lived the life, got the handsome guy who loved me despite my flaws.

Except for one thing: I hate Jane Austen.

I've tried, I really have. I love the story of Pride and Prejudice - skimmed it once for a class, watched the movie countless times, gushed over it like the rest of my friends. But I just can't get into her writing. I like old literature - Little Women and The Hunchback of Notre Dame are two of my favorites. But for some reason ane and I have never meshed.

Maybe it's the utter girly-ness of her stories. I love a good romance as much as the next girl, don't get me wrong. But reading about that time, that culture - when everything revolves around meeting Mr. Wonderful-and-his-3000-a-year - one can really only take so much. And there's not much action. Lots of dialogue and moving around from engagement to engagement with the fashionable Lady So-and-so, but no running, screaming, chaos. Everything's just so...nice. It makes me want to find a Stephen King novel and be shocked and grossed out and disturbed.

This isn't a proud proclamation, this is a major dilemma. I feel like I'm somehow less of a woman because my soul isn't touched by Jane Austen. I cry at "Titanic," sigh contentedly at "P.S. I Love You," celebrate at the end of "Sleepless in Seattle," and raise my fist with Bridget Jones. I eat chocolate, mope over boys, and, though I'm not a fan of shopping, will go if food is involved at some point. But despite all that, I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a hostile mob of women, judging me for being a freakish anti-Austen half-woman.

For the record (I feel the need to justify myself somewhere) I happen to love sitting alone on my front porch reading with a cup of coffee. But something funny (The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells), fast (Angels and Demons by Dan Brown), or just downright ridiculous (A Liar's Autobiography by Graham Chapman) are more my speed.

My apologies to Jane. You are indeed appreciated by many woman...I just happen to not be one of them.

Also, I feel the need to drop book titles in wherever possible. This is not meant to prove anything; this is just me being snobbish.