Accomplished. Sort Of.
When I first picked up Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, I expected to read nothing but middle-class English people of the early 1800s complaining about the problems of the English middle class in the early 1800s. Instead, I found myself falling in love with the story of the Bennet family and their quaint existence. Everything about them was just so charming and whimsical. However, while Elizabeth’s and Jane’s charisma and beauty won over the hearts of my fellow Ellisians, another Bennet caught my eye. Mary, who can only be described as, well, Mary. From the moment she opened her big mouth to pridefully describe the folly of pride, I was hooked. I knew we shared a connection.

(insert genius heading)
Since I was young, I wanted to be the best at everything I did. Whether it was playing the piano like a virtuoso, getting the best grades in the class, or scoring the most goals in a sports game, it had to be me. These dreams have still never come to fruition, but I keep chugging along, waiting for my chance. Mary, like me, “worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments” (27). The truth is that, even with all this hard work, she often fell short. At the beginning of Pride and Prejudice, the Bennet sisters discussed a way to introduce themselves to the charming Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bennet asked her, “What say you, Mary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know,” (13) Then, when she went to say something witty, Austen wrote that “Mary wished to say something sensible, but knew not how.” (13) She came up with nothing but silence and a confused look, demonstrating just how inadequate her hard-earned intelligence was. This exact (sort of) situation is one that I run into quite often. In class, I want to say the answers to the questions, but I don’t know how to phrase them. I want to say the answers, but I just don’t know them. Once it’s said, I kick myself for not remembering at the moment. That feeling of inadequacy strikes once again, even if I know it’s okay to not be the quickest in the room.

Mary and I: Party Poopers by Nature
I used to think that I was alone in hating big parties and social engagements (I mean, who doesn’t like dances or ice cream socials?). I had such a bad attitude about them that even my friends’ parents knew I was the kid that refused to dance the “Whip and Nae Nae” and “Cotton Eye Joe”. My dad, my chaperone to some of these events, would simply shake his head in my direction, incredulous. Then I met Mary, and I wasn’t alone anymore. (Mary, that’s who.) If we lived in the same decade, we would be the girls in the back corner of the gym at homecoming, sitting and talking about how silly everyone looks posing at the photo booth. 

Like me, Mary didn’t seem super interested in engaging in common social activities. When Lydia, Mary’s youngest and loudest (in more ways than one) sister, suggested a visit to a town called Meryton, “every sister except Mary agreed to go with her” (64). In doing so, Mary intentionally skipped an opportunity to catch the eye of a strapping young soldier in the regiment (that’s another thing Mary and I don’t concern ourselves with: boys). Any time Mary interacted with others, there was a sort of social gap between them. Instead of mingling and circulating at balls, she felt the need to display her musical talents to the room. For example, at one of the Netherfield balls, she sat herself down at the piano, and, “after very little entreaty” (98) began to play. To say the least, “Mary’s powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner affected.” Austen wrote the whole fiasco with agonizingly awkward detail, describing the other partygoers as “in agonies.” (98). Also, when Mary failed to produce something notable at the other Netherfield ball, she was forced to “purchase praise and gratitude” (27) from her fellow guests with more popular and less Mary-ish music. 

Fortunately, I was never unfortunate enough to have to win my friends over with fake enjoyment, but not being active in social events and things that everyone was doing/talking about sometimes put me a step back from my classmates. To this day, it’s a rare anomaly to see me on the dance floor.

The Aspiring Overachievers Club
In Pride and Prejudice, there was a lot of talk about “accomplishment” and being “accomplished”. There were also many ways in which “accomplishment” was described. To Mr. Darcy, everybody’s favorite pompous ass, “[one] must have thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages” (38). Sadly, this was only the beginning of a long list of requirements for those who wished to be “accomplished”. Mary seemed to have heard these criteria before. She was most often found “deep in the study of thorough-bass and human nature” (55), or some other form of intelligent application like piano or reading. It was her entire life. To be fair, Austen did acknowledge that “Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighborhood” (14) at the first Netherfield ball, so she did get some recognition for her hard work. She was, after all, pretty knowledgeable of music, singing, and other academic pursuits. 

The sad thing about Mary is that, while she worked so hard to be so proficient at being proficient, others around her were simply more naturally inclined to succeed. For instance, Caroline Bingley was “accomplished”, not because she worked as hard as Mary, but simply because she had the resources to get her farther. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet were both “accomplished” because they had naturally occurring wit and charm, and they each had a basic understanding of art, music, singing, dance, and courtship. At my old school, I was surrounded by those people, the ones that made it look so easy to be cool, smart, and likable. Looking back on those classmates and how I saw them then, I wonder, Would I consider Mary “accomplished” today?

When I first read this analysis of Darcy’s, my heart sank straight to my knees. How was anyone supposed to live up to that? If I wouldn’t impress a 19th-century snob with an attitude, how would I ever impress a 21st-century teenager (same thing)? I remember talking to one of my friends about how we wished we could be as fabulous as one of the seniors at school. She told me that she would never reach that “next level of elite”. What could that possibly mean? To me, accomplishment comes with being happy, healthy, and always trying your hardest at everything you do, whether it’s school, sports, or an attempt at a social/home life. To the rest of my generation, though, accomplishment comes with having the team title of MVP or a 4.0 GPA (or an extremely popular TikTok account), getting into some crazy college and earning a high-paying job, and not failing at everything else. Having a romantic relationship isn’t always at the top of the list like it was in Mary’s time, but you’re still a step in the “right direction” if you’ve got one. It seems that if you can check off all of these boxes, plus a few extras like being in shape, funny, and popular, you have achieved true success in life.

I like Mary Bennet. Most of my classmates despise her and think she’s annoying, but I like her. She drones on for millennia about boring topics like reading and learning. She’s unattractive and too vain for her own good. But we share the same dislike for big parties and frivolous conversations. We may not be perfect (honestly, who is?), but we have grit and determination that keeps us moving forward. Even though we sit in the corner at parties and aren’t the best at the piano, we can be sure of a few things: learning is fun and useful, we don’t need boys mucking up the picture, and it’s okay to be a little bit Mary sometimes. I like Mary Bennet a lot.

Works Cited:

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. 1813. Global Classics, 2019.