It was 1996. The channel A&E was airing Pride and Prejudice, a new adaptation that aired in the UK on the BBC. We only had two television sets and as a nine-year old, you had to watch what your parents were watching. So both my mother and I awaited for it to start. Some of the language may have went over my young mind, but at first viewing I was enchanted. I can’t pinpoint one element, but all of it just pulled me into the story. I didn’t even know that it was based on a book. So what would any good mother do?
She read it to me.
And from that day, I was besotted with the novel. Out of all the books I’ve read, Pride and Prejudice is the only I novel that holds a special place in my heart. It is the only novel that, even in my unhappiest days, can somehow uplift me in my darkest hour. No other book speaks to personally like this one. The language, the writing…the story sucks you in, makes you feel that you are really there. Austen’s wit can make any story so satisfying.
Don’t get me wrong I love all of Jane Austen’s novels. But Pride and Prejudice connects me both intellectually and emotionally. It is hard to believe that I reread it at least 12 times?
(My love for the novel is deep. I like to collection different editions or anything related to the novel)
This Day 2 of the 30 Day Writing Challenge.