Why Mansfield Park Matters

Engraving of author Jane Austen, 1873. (GeorgiosArt/iStock/Getty Images)

Dear Fanny Price — what are we to do with her?

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Dear Fanny Price — what are we to do with her?

V erily magazine once published an amusing ranking of Jane Austen men (which I’m unable to dig back up, alas). Mr. Darcy, of course, held up nicely, as did Emma’s Mr. Knightley. Edmund Bertram, of Mansfield Park fame, did not fare well, but despite its main male character’s shortcomings, this Austen novel claims the first spot in my list of her works. Regrettably, this lengthy tale is heartily disliked by many readers, with its uninspiring male characters and a (seemingly) weak leading lady. The supporting characters have significantly more charm but are shallow and immoral. With these apparent flaws, who can blame the novel’s detractors for their distaste? Take a closer look, though, and we shall see how this Austen masterpiece brings us a worthy heroine, a despicable villain, and some pointed observations of human nature.

Dear Fanny Price — what are we to do with her? Sent at a young age to live with her rich Bertram relations, Fanny is taken from all she knows and loves and placed in their imposing country estate, Mansfield Park. There, she comes into her own while dealing with four dramatically different cousins, an oppressive uncle, and two ridiculous aunts. She’s painfully shy, easily fatigued, and can seem prudish. With Fanny, though, it’s important to dig much deeper into her character and background to uncover who she truly is. As I wrote back in 2020:

While modern readers might consider Fanny a prude, it is her attention to the needs of others, her consideration of what is morally appropriate when everyone else around her is stumbling, and her desire to do right by those she honors that keep her on a steady path. . . .

As the story progresses, Fanny endures indolence, spitefulness, pettiness, and unwanted attentions with grace and forbearance. She is not a long-suffering saint, and she has plenty of faults and oddities — from overthinking every situation to struggling with jealousy — but she has insight into herself and a desire to better her mind through reading wholesome books and engaging in enlightening conversation.

For those of us, myself included, who are not witty and clever, Fanny is an encouragement. As William Deresiewicz observed in his book A Jane Austen Education, in Mansfield Park, Austen has taken one of her most beloved characters, Elizabeth Bennet, from Pride and Prejudice, and split her personality. She has given Lizzy’s wit and charm to Mary Crawford, the Bertrams’ neighbor and Edmund’s love interest, and given her goodness and kind nature to Fanny. Austen doesn’t disdain wit and charm, but she is showing us how each type of person can be easily misunderstood and how traits are quickly attributed to them that might not accurately reflect their true natures.

Not only is Fanny naturally retiring, she is also rather crushed by her dreadful aunt. Part of her fortitude comes from dealing with this best and most detestable Austen villain. A nag, a busybody, a flatterer, and a miser, Aunt Norris is indeed the finest Austen creation. Willoughby, Wickham, and this novel’s Henry Crawford — dreadful rakes all, but their machinations can’t hold a candle to those of Aunt Norris, who brings no real pleasure to a single person throughout the tale. In fact, she makes life miserable for all around her, from the servants to the head of the household, Sir Thomas Bertram. Her pernicious influence ruins the characters of her Bertram nieces, and her meddling sets up an ill-fated marriage for one of them; her scolding continually demeans Fanny. Even when not physically present, she lurks in the background of every scene, her wrath or unnecessary bustle strongly felt. Among characters elsewhere in the Austen oeuvre, Mrs. Bennet may be silly, Mr. Woodhouse may be uptight, and Mary Musgrove may be insufferable, but their foibles pale in comparison to Aunt Norris’s sharp tongue and unceasing complaints. Austen brilliantly uses Aunt Norris to highlight the various virtues and vices of the book’s other characters, and makes us ponder if we ever display Norris-like traits ourselves.

Ultimately, all the bustlings, intrigues, dalliances, and quarrels are Austen’s way of showing us the dangers of dissatisfaction. Nearly every character is frustrated with his or her lot in life, even though all are rich, accomplished, and popular. Tom Bertram, the oldest son, is easily bored; Mary Crawford despairs that Edmund insists on being ordained, a profession she considers to be of insufficient status and wealth; Dr. Grant continually raises a fuss about his meals; Maria Bertram despises her betrothed and loves another who toys with her affections. While Austen doesn’t imply that her characters should simply settle for something mediocre, she shows how their lack of virtue and right understanding renders them unable to find peace in their surroundings. This even goes for Fanny, who, though she certainly has a stronger moral character and simpler tastes than any of the others do, doesn’t realize how much she loves Mansfield Park and those connected to it until it is taken away from her. This is a book about finding contentment, and also how true contentment could’ve been had if proper patience and prudence had been observed.

The novel isn’t flashy, and Fanny is not a brilliant heroine, but this forces us to give its themes and her feelings a more nuanced consideration. It is for precisely this reason that Mansfield Park will never make a good movie — for who wants to watch a heroine who does (almost) everything she’s told and can’t look her uncle in the face? No, for while Aunt Norris might be just the character moviegoers love to hate, Fanny’s character and the story’s theme of contentment are not meant for the harsh light of the screen. Within the novel’s pages, we can best discern the thoughts and actions of our characters, hearing Austen gently chide them and encourage them in turn. It is the fortitude, gentleness, and thoughtfulness of Fanny particularly that are best left in print and in our imaginations, for there, she stands in a softer glow. Her character is one that makes small changes, but changes that reflect a sincere striving to grow in grace and right understanding. Meet her there, and you will find a treasure.

Sarah Schutte is the podcast manager for National Review and an associate editor for National Review magazine. Originally from Dayton, Ohio, she is a children's literature aficionado and Mendelssohn 4 enthusiast.
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