The Coquette

Loveliest Lords and Ladies of Literature,

I have waded my way through another classic! Let the cheering commence!

Really, though, it's been far too long. It's the 4th month of the new year and I've found myself the proud reader of a mere 4 books. At this rate, I'll hardly finish 12, let alone 50. Summer had better redeem me or I am lost for certain.

If you can't already tell (thanks to my slightly pretentious writing thus far) I have just finished reading an 18th century novel. The self-righteous air I now possess fits well in that period, as everyone and their mother indulged in harsh judgment of others based on their merits (education and upbringing being the two most vital in composing a person well suited for society). Now, enough of my rambling and excessive words... I shall divulge to you the title of this fine work!


Okay, enough of my high-and-mighty language. I'm fairly boring myself! (There I go again - it's a disease, I tell you!)

To be honest, I enjoyed The Coquette. I honestly and truthfully found joy in plopping myself down in a chair and delving into a world in which letter-writing was an art form, in which women considered their close friends to be sisters, and in which earning the hand of a husband meant just that - earning. One had to be virtuous and sincere, educated and agreeable, loving and pure, all the things that modern society desperately needs. Sure, sometimes a marriage was a miserable affair, as some married for connections or wealth. Yes, some people were terribly stuck up and depraved. But, overall, society was much more respectable. Emitting a single word in the category of profanity was cause for a week's worth of shunning. And betraying your wife's trust... well, in the case of Major Sanford, we see that no man can even marginally redeem himself from such a grave misstep.

Thank you, Hanna Webstor Foster, for writing a novel with such real characters, who danced and wailed and breathed on the page. Thank you for twisting your narrative into such a psychological dilemma for both character and reader. Thank you for redeeming the woman who fell prey to the seducing of a monster. You are a woman of my own heart.

Oh, and just to quell the rumors... Yes, I was born in the wrong era.

And now, I run into the arms of Jane Austen. I will finish your Emma! I will!

~ Gina Marie