The AGM wasn't all dancing and feasting. In between, we were treated to a number of lectures and breakout sessions offering further insight on the world of Sense & Sensibility.
Maureen Kelly came all the way from Scotland to introduce us to some of the songs Marianne Dashwood might have sung. Scotland (aka Caledonia) had become something of a national craze in Jane Austen's time, with its romantic, melancholy landscape and the dashing figure of the highlander. Tartans became a fashion statement, and folk songs became the entertainment of choice for young ladies following the cult of sensibility, like the character Marianne. Actually, we know that Jane Austen herself liked the songs, since there are among her possessions several songbooks and some sheet music that she hand-copied--songbooks were expensive! Maureen has a fantastic voice. My favorite Scots song? The Lowlands of Holland, best sung in my humble opinion by Four Pints Shy-- check 'em out!
Dr. Sheryl Craig giving a presentation about the economics of Sense & Sensibility, called "Wealth Has Much to Do with It." (Excerpt: "In the waning years of the 18th century, incredibly wealthy characters living the lifestyles of the rich and famous (preferably in haunted castles) sold books. No-one was publishing novels about ordinary people who lived in a cottage down the lane. In retrospect, it seems a risky thing to have done, but Jane Austen was about to break the mold with heroines whose modest income would determine the course the story would take.")
Art historian Jeffrey Nigro expounding on "The Iconography of Sensibility," i.e., the artwork and literature that shaped the cult of sensibility in Jane Austen's lifetime. That sensibility cult would later evolve into full-blown Romanticism. Much of their influence can be observed in Marianne's postures, actions, and words throughout the novel.
Elaine Bander, Juliet McMaster, and Peter Sabor hailed from Canada to give a panel discussion on "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Sense and Sensibility." They spoke about the judgments characters make of one another, the duel, and the novel's many letters.
Here's a not uncommon sight at the AGM: ladies in their costumes-- ahem! their dresses--enjoying each other's company. Of course, some of them might be simultaneously sizing up the other's income, as our witty dance instructor, Miss Frances, pointed out.
Here's Miss Frances, now, with the son of one of the attendees and speakers, who gallantly attended more than one dance practice and wowed all the ladies with his accomplished bow.
Although, like any Austen fan, I'd seen many dance scenes in movie adaptations of her books, it was my first experience actually trying the dances myself. English country dance (ECD) had been evolving for more than two hundred years when Jane was born, but sometime after her death in 1817 it began to fall out of style.
My Aunt S. is a talented and avid dancer, and she began to explain the basic rules of ECD as we brought our luggage into the hotel. Soon it was time for dance practice, where Miss Frances took over and taught us to take hands four, set, allemande, and maintain a glowing smile all the way through.
The dancers line up in two facing columns on the dance floor. As a rule, the men are on the right and women on the left as you stand at the head of the column looking down, although of course these days many more women than men dance, meaning they have to keep their adopted gender straight when in the right column. The first pair at the head of the column is designated 1, and the second pair as 2, and the pattern continues all the way down the room. The mission of the 1s is to progress down the column, while the mission of the 2s is to progress up.
Each dance, then, is made up of the same sequence repeated many times, so that the 1s and 2s can progress and then (at least some) turn into the opposite number and progress in the opposite direction.
An endearing thing about ECD is its social and democratic nature: everyone dances with everyone, and no one remains fixed in either a high or low place. It's cultural, perhaps with no value other than pure enjoyment of music and one's neighbors.
But for me, the best things about it were being able to dance to live music, to finally give expression to the movement clearly called for by the music, and to experience for myself the same motions experienced by so many people two and three hundred years ago. The dances' names were lovely, too.
We danced:
Sprigs of Laurel
Highland Lilt
The Margate Hoy
Northdown Waltz
Moll in the Wad
The Midnight Ramble
Mr. Beveridge's Maggot*
The Whim of the Moment
The Hop Ground
The Duke of Kent's Waltz
*In contemporary terms, "maggot" is not a wriggling larvae, but rather a whim or fancy. Mr. Beveridge was a famous dance master, and his Maggot was one of England's greatest hits of 1695. It's unlikely to have maintained this popularity until the 1790s and 1800s, when Austen was writing, but that didn't stop movie makers from using it in their adaptations. We learned the choreography for the dance as it's found in the BBC Pride & Prejudice, ostensibly so that we could all have our "Mr. Darcy moment." :)
Thoughts... I always thought the dancing looked quite sedate, and so it may be, in comparison to many other styles. But in truth, the pace is usually more upbeat. I love the homely-courtly dynamic, too. In part, the dances evoke country folk, simple joys, and earthy energy. Yet at the same time the movements are restrained, demanding courtesy as well as broad smiles and winks, and there is a very procession-like feel to the progression. It's a very human form of dance, if you follow me. In sum, ECD is a cultural and social gem, and I am glad it continues to be preserved and polished.
Few of the areas I've visited over my short career as a conference-goer offer the high level of order and convenience found in Sundance Square and the Renaissance Worthington in particular. With the exception of a Japanese-style convenience store or grocery, it seemed like anything one could wish for was within walking distance. I was struck by the subtle strangeness of yet another state in the Union; a strangeness which found expression in the well-laid streets and architecture as well as in the occasional 'Western' element-- such as one small museum, nestled among the restaurants and shops, showcasing the paintings of Frederic Remington and Charles Russell.
Best of all, the weather and the temperature were consistently favorable. It was a bit beyond me why the hotel and shops persisted in air conditioning when the natural temperature was perfect, but I did sometimes flee the cold interiors for a bask in the outdoor sunshine.
I'm back from Texas, where I attended the 2011 Jane Austen Society of North America's Annual General Meeting-- or JASNA AGM, for short. The AGM is held in a different city (and sometimes a different country) every year, and each year a different theme is explored for the benefit of the members' better understanding of Jane Austen and her world. Some years, the theme is broadly defined, allowing for study not only of Austen's novels but also of her letters and "juvenilia" writings. This year, however, marked the 200th anniversary of the publication of Austen's first novel, and so the theme was Sense & Sensibility.
It was a marvelous long weekend. I danced my heart out, found some remarkable teacups, took a picture with a celebrity, and joined the promenade in Fort Worth's Sundance Square, much to the amazement of the local party-goers. I also learned a bit about women's language in the Regency and the various "kidney-rattling" modes of transportation available. If I were a wealthy Regency lady, I might drive a phaeton, whereas the adventurous eldest son in the family would be most flamboyantly accoutered in a curricle. As a lady, it would be improper for me to gallivant about the country on horseback, but that would be my first choice in different circumstances.
What do you think of the new look? Changing it was a piece of cake, but perhaps it isn't your cup of tea?
I loved the color and energy of the hitherto-design, but felt that I'd gotten too used to it and too complacent to post much anymore. Enter the chic new colors, textures, and fonts.
As always, I am keeping busy-- now with finding a job and with some personal pursuits I wasn't able to chase in the Japanese countryside. In fact, I will be spending this long weekend in Texas at a Jane Austen conference, where I will gain in-depth knowledge about the novel Sense & Sensibility, as well as about the era in which Austen lived and wrote, the English Regency period.
And tonight, I will dream that all security threats have been neutralized, and consequently all travel is as relaxing and enjoyable as a Frank Sinatra song. Nighty night!
It's been nearly a month now, since they passed away, my grandmother and her mother. Life feels different, less rich, as if dynamic voices in the great background score of life have fallen silent, leaving the melody to carry on in a weaker form; or as if you awoke to find walls and roof-beams missing from your home, opening it to the wind, falling leaves, and stars.
They, too, had their losses in life to reckon with, and yet they remained strong and vibrant. I kept going back to one particular memory during the first week. It happened one summer in Chicago when I was a child of ten or twelve. I was going off to bed and stopped to give Grandma the usual quick hug-and-kiss goodnight, but she held on to me tight and told me, "I love you so very much, Jessie." I knew it was true. Bigger, wiser, and stronger than I, she never stopped seeming larger than life, an enveloping, protecting, and above all loving presence in my life.
Death affects us all. It defines our world and our species. Some cultures in certain periods in history show a disconcerting preoccupation with it; for many decades American culture has been busily trying to keep death locked in the basement as it distracts itself with whatever is new, shiny, trendy, savvy, sporty, sexy, and youthful. But the closer it hits to home, the more death reminds us of our own mortality, which should be another way of saying it rejuvenates and motivates us. The more powerfully we experience it, the weaker all our distractions become.
Distractions can be good. It wouldn't be possible or indeed healthy to go on breathing the rarified air of death-sharpened consciousness all the days of our life. There is a time to mourn, and a time to dance, after all. But that rarified air brings the horizon into focus. We can no longer keep up the pretense at immortality.
That is not exactly a comfortable realization, but neither is it as unbearable as the burden of fresh grief, when our minds are filled with precise sensory memories of the beloved dead and thoughts of "never again."
When that first, bitter grief gives way to time, we take stock of the situation with some marvel and alarm. What delicate beings we are! Rooted in earth, needy for water, for air, for food, for shelter and heat, we step moment to moment with our lives in our hands. There are many things too big for us, many chasms we can never cross with our feet.
When the sun has sunk well below the horizon and all we have is the damp earth beneath and the dark sky above, perhaps we may find peace in the realization that we are, after all, only mortal. We honor the dead as we loved them in life. We remember them. And being simple men and women, we forge ahead, as they did before us.
