Jane Austen's Usually Unknowable Characters

Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility is filled with people that don’t know each other, people who create public personas, participating in an act of polite deception all the while hiding private misgivings about those around them. 

As Austen’s characters actively construct personalities for themselves, they change behaviours like sets of clothes, one specifically cut out for the presence of polite society, while the unembellished self stays in private. Even the pretense that they know one another is part of the act. Yet this process of contriving false identities is not only undergone by imposters and cheaters. Elinor, the main protagonist, is no less proficient at playing pretend. Furthermore, identities are contrived and changed with such casualness that there is rarely any moral consequence involved. On the contrary, Austen illustrates in Marianne the perils of not participating in this polite deceit as Marianne constantly suffers for her honesty. 

In this world, playing pretend is clearly an expected custom, and to be honest is to be vulnerable. What results is a common sitting room populated by perfect strangers all happily deceiving each other into the belief that they really know one another. Yet that is only what lies on the surface. Ultimately, the novel is concerned with what lies underneath and how one can get to know anyone in the company of pretenders. 

For this, instances are provided in which a person fails to pretend convincingly, allowing brief views into private windows. These passing glances are crucial because without those public glimpses into personal lives there would be no evidence of the contradictory and changing nature of a person, for it is when the external fails to match up with the internal that Austen’s characters become complex and unknowable. 

Ultimately, it is in the conflict of the private and the public person that Austen’s concern lies as each is revealed to be critical to the completion of a person’s character. Thus, the connection between the contrived and the sincere is constantly being brought to the surface as Elinor and Marianne come to know the inconsistencies within themselves and those around them. In the end, it is only when both the public and the private person are seen in unison that unknowable people can be known with any certainty at all. 

 

Of all the ways that Austen incorporates the unknowableness of people into the plot, the constant claim of characters that they know each other better than they do is the most overt. The speed with which these comments are disproved by others shows that the definition of knowing someone is equally disputable. People are constantly wishing to be closer to others than they really are, not just in intimacy, but in proximity. Thus, Mrs. Palmer claims to live closer to Willoughby than she does, and the Dashwood sisters are consistently getting invited to spend more time with the Middletons than they would like. When Sir John is asked if he knows Willoughby he expresses great confidence in his knowledge of Willoughby’s character simply because “he is down here every year”. 

Of course, Sir John’s assessment of Willoughby’s character is proven to be horribly false. The problem with his view of knowing is later revealed as the narrator states that “to be together was, in his opinion, to be intimate”. 

Austen offers further cases of mistaken intimacy by displaying various unsuccessful pairings, couples who seem to play at marriage without knowing the other person at all, such as Mr. and Mrs. Palmer. It is debatable whether anyone outside the pair believes in their act, for not even Mr. Palmer seems to care enough to pretend that they really know each other.

These instances not only set the bar for what it means to know someone humorously low, it shows that many characters are contended to take others at face value. The falseness of surface appearances runs so deep throughout the lives of these characters that not even their claim that they know another can be trusted. They merely wish to appear as if they are well acquainted without actually taking the time to get to know one another. 

When Willoughby’s true character is revealed Mrs. Palmer suddenly decides to be glad that she was never “acquainted with him”. It is only after it has been publicly acknowledged that Willoughby is less than decent that he can be treated with anything less than politeness. Willoughby has, to put it simply, become someone who is no longer worth knowing, and, since they never really knew him at all, it is easy for those who had been acquainted with him to claim that they do not know him. It is, after all, true. 

In this way, the communal agreement at false intimacy works fine, for the most part, so long as its falseness is never publicly acknowledged. Yet for young women looking for a spouse, it makes for a dangerous playing field. 

 

The difficulty of knowing someone is most evidently displayed in the way the male characters are constantly mistaken for one another, hinting that, on the surface, a scheming man and an honest one look dangerously similar. Thus, when Edward and Willoughby are seen from a distance or in passing they are difficult to tell apart. It is precisely because Willoughby is not the only one who disguises himself that he blends in so well with common company, for the problem with surface appearances is that there is not much to them, and because people are generally expected to act amiably, they quickly start to resemble each other.  

Susan Morgan writes about the possible perils of blending people together in this way, saying that it creates a world “of uncertainty... without characters above reproach or beneath contempt”. The problem with everyone acting amiably is that they must be treated amiably in turn. Willoughby’s behaviour should thus be cause for suspicion from the start, for he is claimed to be known extremely well by many, all of whom “think him extremely agreeable”. Statements like these suggest that Willoughby is an extremely adept pretender, for he possesses an ability to be agreeable to anyone, whoever they may be. It is doubtful whether any of his acquaintances have ever seen the real Willoughby, for not only is he well liked by everyone, he possesses the ability to make everyone believe they know him intimately. 

In contrast, Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrars, whose surface appearances are painted to be quite boring, are also safer, for both turn out to be equally steadfast in their private and public lives. 

Meanwhile, any sign of the real Willoughby is so well hidden that those who meet him once a year believe they have already gotten to know him. No one openly pries Willoughby for his secrets in the way they do with Brandon, for there is no evidence that he has anything private to hide. Altogether, Willoughby is so proficient at displays of false intimacy that his deceit extends even into relationships of real private emotion, such as his relationship with Marianne.

Austen shows in Marianne that to be publicly known is to be horribly vulnerable, for Marianne is one of the few characters whose public self is the same as the private. Because Marianne does not participate in public deceit, her private affairs don’t just become public, she is left unprotected without anything to hide behind. The entirety of her relationship with Willoughby, from its positive start to its painful end, is completely exposed. In contrast with those other secret engagements and private affections shown throughout the novel, there is very little about Marianne’s relationship with Willoughby that is private. The majority of their romance, even the very public humiliation that ends their relationship, happen under the eyes of others. Morgan writes that the role of polite lies is to offer a “public avowal of continued feelings and thoughts... It is a polite lie which promises truth”. The problem, of course, is that the promise Willoughby’s public actions make is the extent of it. The intimacies in which Marianne and Willoughby participate in public are not backed up by any private promises. Marianne’s mistake is to assume that Willoughby is who he publicly pretends to be. The mistake of those who are looking in on their relationship is the assumption that there is a private relationship backing up the public, namely, that an engagement has been privately agreed upon. 

There are also reverse examples of this throughout the narrative as various engagements are agreed upon which signal at affections that don’t actually exist. Morgan notes that “neither Willoughby’s engagement nor Edward’s reflects the state of their affections”. The public assumption is typically that one’s actions reflect the state of one’s mind and the affection of one’s heart. Yet, though this is certainly a comforting thought, it is rarely shown to be the case. People are far more complicated than that, and it is this that makes them unpredictable and difficult to know. R.F. Brissenden writes about this, saying “Austen’s wry insistence that absolute honesty in conversation would make ordinary intercourse impossible is amusing rather than horrifying”. It is by lying that others are spared the discomfort of truth, just as it is by lying that her characters are spared the discomfort of being publicly known. 

By allowing glimpses of her character’s contradictory nature, Austen shows that, when a character’s public and private lives don’t line up, there is usually something wrong, for it suggests that there is something that is painful or base enough to merit hiding. In the case of Willoughby, it is the selfishness of his true nature. For Elinor, it is the pain of loving a man who is engaged to another woman. For Brandon, it is the cruel fate of the first woman he loved and how little he could do to save her. 

 

For better or worse, Austen’s characters are rarely who they appear to be. Thus, the inaccuracy of their first impressions serves as an insight into how they wish to be seen rather than who they actually are. By complicating their first impressions, Austen provides insight into the contradictory nature of her characters, leading into the question of why exactly her characters wish to be seen this way and what their public personas say about their private motives. Brissenden writes about this process, describing how Austen introduces her characters by showing “how their (manner) strikes people on first acquaintance” only to ask within the following sentences “whether the appearance accurately reflects or expresses reality”.  

This is what Marianne fails to do and what Elinor is constantly attempting to find out. In this way, Marianne’s desire to see Willoughby as good says more about her than it does about Willoughby. Elinor’s need to hide her emotions speaks volumes about the vulnerability she feels. Colonel Brandon’s demeanour, which many think is boring, allows insight into his desire not to be publicly inspected. Similarly, the insistence of others that Lucy Steele is a sweet girl says more about Lucy’s need to be liked than her temperament, for Lucy is a character whom John Mullan describes as “a kind of monster”, something which is not sweet at all. 

The common assumption that Marianne represents sensibility while Elinor embodies good sense is merely Austen’s way of tempting further false first impressions, this time on the part of the reader. Ultimately, the point is not that each sister represents one or the other, but how their ability to be both sensible and sensitive complicates their lives, their ability to feel and to make choices. 

 

Despite all its concern with private and public behaviour, the narrative spends little time with people when they are alone, suggesting that it is not really in the private where its interest lies. Rather, Austen is concerned with what public pretences promise about the private. Solitude is usually observed from afar, and a person is put into private places only to be intruded upon by unwanted visitors.   

In many ways, Austen’s avoidance of private places serves to preserve their privateness, for the narrator consistently refuses to impinge on moments of intimacy. What goes on in private is usually implied through the gossip of outsiders or the unintentional intrusions of other characters into scenes of intimacy. Furthermore, intimacies of any kind are typically relayed by the narrator without any kind of indulgence, and they usually end quickly. Proposals of marriage are preserved by removing them from public view, omitting them from the narrative entirely. The intense emotions of those more private characters are likewise protected as characters constantly withdraw into solitude in order to dwell on their feelings. Even Elinor, the character that is followed most closely by the narrator, is allowed to step away and experience her emotions in private. Thus, after learning of Edward’s betrothal Elinor waits until after the Steeles have departed to “think and be wretched”, upon which the first volume abruptly ends, allowing Elinor privacy even from narrative intrusion. 

In this way, the narrator takes great care in offering just enough to suggest the contradiction of a character’s private and public self, giving a glimpse at the truth beneath the deception without allowing for a complete understanding of their real character. Austen, in short, does not care so much about the truth as she does about the process of obtaining that truth, for it is in the act of knowing that her real interest lies. 

In the end, Austen’s characters are not there to be known but to learn and to teach how to go about knowing. 

 

Although the unknowableness of Austen’s characters allows for them to be misunderstood by an inattentive reader, this does not seem to concern Austen in the least, for any reader who would dismiss her characters based on their surface appearances has failed to learn the lesson she is trying to show. 

Morgan writes that “the limited truth that learning mere facts can provide constantly remind the reader of how difficult it can be to...understand others without actually seeing into their minds and hearts”. In this way, Austen’s choice to tell the story largely through the eyes of Elinor makes sense. Elinor starts off the narrative already knowing one of the most important lessons about getting to know someone: that knowing takes time. Morgan writes that “judgment requires...being able to give oneself time. But human relations do not wait for judgments to be conclusive. They happen in the meantime”. 

It is in what Morgan refers to as “the meantime” that human relationships are formed, either to fall apart and fade away or stand the test of time and continue forming. Morgan concludes by saying that “(although) politeness is not an adequate expression of our feelings and thoughts... it leaves space and time for something still to be known”. 

In short, Morgan believes that Austen’s polite deceit functions as a promise. It is in its very inadequacy that its value lies, for it leaves space for something still to be known, for people to be more or less than their first impressions. While this allows for betrayal and the pain of being mistaken in someone, it also makes room for hope, for people to pleasantly surprise, or to be more than one thought they could be.

Sense and Sensibility ends with a feeling of incompleteness, suggesting that the process of knowing remains unfinished. The marriage of Marianne and Colonel Brandon, though built towards since their first meeting, is mentioned in passing as the story moves to its conclusion. Altogether, more time is spent in telling how Willoughby never stopped loving Marianne than in relating how Marianne came to love Brandon. This is because in many ways the Marianne of the beginning of the story is already gone, just as the Marianne that comes to love Brandon is one the reader never gets to know. Yet the very fact that the novel ends with marriage is a promise that knowing will continue. Edward, a character who throughout is barely known at all, will be known by Elinor, just as Brandon and Marianne will get to know one another. Knowing continues, and so it is never complete.   

In this way, Austen’s characters will always be unknowable, for, in the scope of a novel, the process of knowing ends when the story does. Thus, as Elinor and Marianne move on into love and a lifetime of knowing, the versions of them that have been briefly revealed by the narrator are already being left behind.