I spent my childhood as the daughter of smart parents; each was gifted in a different way. My father was an Army officer, skilled not only at matters military but also a talented and competent writer who had earned his degree in journalism on the G.I. Bill after the Second World War. My mother was a teacher. She had been such a good student that she finished college with an unlikely double major in English and biology. She was well qualified to teach either or both, and it gave her a somewhat unique perspective. As the Korean conflict ended, way back when in the Fifties, my dad was assigned to a tour of duty on Okinawa, Japan. My mother was too restless to stay at home as the normal Fifties housewife. They employed a local woman as housekeeper/nanny, and my mother went to work at the U.S. Army Education Center.
I don’t keep up with how the Army does things now, but the Army in those days was intent on its soldiers being literate, and if you weren’t, you received a basic education. My mother taught English, and her students could be sorted into three groups: She had American students who spoke English but were poor readers and/or writers; there were Filipino soldiers who were literate in their own language, Tagalog, but who needed to be fluent in English; and there were soldiers from Puerto Rico, U.S. citizens who primarily spoke Spanish and needed what we would now refer to as “English as a Second Language” (ESL) teaching. I was pretty small, but as I understand it, Mom waded in cheerfully. As for me, I was attending nursery school and then kindergarten as part of the educational mission of the Department of Defense.
I have a clear memory of this time. I would be with Dad or Mom, and we would encounter assorted small groups of soldiers off duty, relaxing, and at leisure. I noticed very early that some of them would be reading comic books. As I didn’t yet read, I didn’t recognize any titles, characters, or publishers; they were just comic books.
I commented on this to my parents. My question was, “Why are grown ups reading comic books? It didn’t occur to me that these soldiers were mostly young people, often barely out of their teens. My mother fielded this question. “They enjoy reading the comics,” she replied. “Reading is a good thing, and it’s good for people to enjoy reading.” She went on to say that now that I was learning my alphabet, I would soon be reading, too.
It wasn’t until I was pretty well grown that I realized that the comics were affordable, approachable, attractive, and entertaining, especially to young people. My own parents encouraged me, read to me abundantly, and listened patiently as I became able to read back to them. I had the blessing of being introduced first to children’s books, then to the public library, the school library, and the bookstore. People who’ve read my brief introduction know that my first introduction to Jane Austen was “Northanger Abbey.” Naturally it was my mother’s, and it surfaced in a carton of books that had been in storage. I was attracted to the picture on the jacket and at age ten or eleven was determined to read the story. I did, but it took a great deal of help from my mother. She gave it patiently.
I can hear everybody wondering what this story has to do with Jane Austen. I just learned this past weekend that a modern adaptation (actually referred to as a “translation”) of “Pride and Prejudice” has been published with the expressed hope of making the book “accessible” to the modern reader. This very day (March 7) I have bought it and downloaded it to my Kindle.
I have made a good effort to begin the work of reading this translation and comparing it to the original. I will confess that I haven’t made much headway, but it has been less than 24 hours. I re-read each of Jane Austen’s books in round-robin style over the course of each year so that by Christmas, I have re-read all of them. It has only been since this morning, but I will confess that I find the revised version to be slow going. I have read the very beginning (Mr. and Mrs. Bennet discussing Charles Bingley’s arrival). I then turned to the very end (Lady Catherine’s, Caroline Bingley’s, and Lydia’s individual reactions to the Darcy/Lizzy marriage).
A few pages/paragraphs are not a basis for any kind of judgment or comparison. I’ll admit that freely and promise to keep an open mind as I go through the text. Anything else would be grossly unfair, and that would be “prejudice” in the sense of pre-judging. Since I’ve bought the book, I will surely be back with a final opinion after I have given it a fair reading. Let’s just consider this post as a preview of what I hope to accomplish.
There are three key points which have jumped out at me so far, and I’ll list them here:
- The very first section I found as I opened the Kindle was labeled “Forward.” It doesn’t look good to see that the first word on the first page of a serious effort has taken the form of a literary and grammatical faux pas. I found it jarring, and it jumped out at me immediately.
- Without having my copy of the original open in front of me, the famous and oft-quoted opening words of the book (“It is a truth universally acknowledged . . .”) have been left in their original form. I’m pitifully grateful. The closing paragraphs have been altered quite a bit, including the reference to the Gardiners as “the means of uniting them.” I felt instinctively that I had run across a few more grammatical faux pas in this last section, but I did not take the time to stop and check. One thing I’ve learned is not to trust instinct when it comes to grammar and construction—my own or anybody else’s. The “Chicago Manual of Style” will be beside me as I read.
- The conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet in the aftermath of church services, where she alerts him to the fact that Netherfield Park is let at last, and to a single man of good fortune, has been changed quite a bit.
That’s all I’ll say for the moment, as I intend to do a serious comparison and to be as fair as possible. Watch this space, and I’ll try to post as soon as I have finished.
Now, what has this exploration to do with my tale of my parents, the soldiers, and the comic books? Well, my mother’s attitude was that reading was generally good, and she wanted her students of whatever age to read for enjoyment. Let’s see if this translation will enable people to do that.
I’ll just conclude with the last verse of a sentimental but truthful poem by a man named Strickland Gillian. It’s entitled “The Reading Mother.”
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be–
I had a Mother who read to me.
See you next month!
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