Funny how being a lover of fiction and someone who despises reading other people’s life stories, I am a writer of non-fiction myself. That too the kind I hate reading. So I’m a hypocrite, who isn’t?
I just saw Becoming Jane. Jane Austen’s stories are always about rebellious young women of poor families who hate even more rebellious and ‘impertinent, rude’ rich young men. Then eventually, the young women turn down scores of wimpy losers to marry those very young men who transform from Satan’s own into hot, passionate and extremely appealing lovers.
And they lived happily ever after.
It’s terribly sad that non-fiction (read: real life) isn’t like fiction at all. In her own life story, Jane does find her own insolent, insufferable Prince Charming but reality rudely intrudes and separates the lovers. Finally, when she’s old, accomplished and (still) unmarried, she meets him again..
Will he take her in his arms and tell her that his circumstances now allow him to marry her –the love of his life for whom he has waited for, for all these years?
Nope.
He just introduces her to his daughter (Named Jane) and he sort of looks like he’s going to cry when he realizes the passionate lovers are inspired by him. That’s kind of it.
Shucks.
Maybe one day, I’ll fashion some sort of story based on my whatever-you-may-call-it with Prashant...
Something that’ll make me seem more like Elizabeth Bennett and less like Lydia Bennet.
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