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The Glorious Anxiety of Motion: Jane Austen's Persuasion

To be sure, I hasten to add, occasional fictional triumphs from that age still glow in splendid isolation for us, brilliant spots to which we continue to point with genuine admiration (Frankenstein and The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner come to mind most readily). Nor could I hope to leave such a topic without declaring that I—like the rest of you—recognize the extraordinary genius of Sir Walter Scott fully as much as I anticipate the widespread revival of his works which, perennially, is certain to begin in earnest in another academic year or two. But with such more or less necessary qualifications out of the way, I think I can return to my opening point with a clear conscience: for present-day tastes only Jane Austen and Peacock from among the many novelists who wrote in England during the Romantic period seem capable of providing that continuing sense of enjoyment which transcends the scholarly purposes of Ph.D. theses, learned articles, well-meaning antiquarianism, and recondite notes.