Jane Austen has a truly relentless gaze. Think Cobra in a sitting room?
Just been rereading the first few chapters and am dazzled by the easefulness of her scrutiny, moving seamlessly between concealment and revelation. How many writers can combine this level of watchfulness with tenderness and humour? Little escapes her narrator yet we still feel the light, airy pleasures of reading a heroine who is both fallible and susceptible, and yet who charms us despite herself.
Emma reads everyone and we read Emma of course. A perfect dream date of narratorial pyrotechnics!
Who would dare take tea with Ms Austen?! Think of those crumbs!
