In
the light of recent events, or rather, disputes, I
have to clarify something. Because I’ve had a rather heated discussion with one
of my best (male) friends on classic heroes. Right, I admit it. It started off
with me being overly enthusiastic about the male hero in Fanny Burney’s Evelina, Lord Orville.
My friend couldn’t get his mind around the fact that 18th-century British
stiff-mannered gentlemen hold a special attraction for us women. He was like,
“What’s the deal with these up-tight blokes? Whenever you girls read anything about
them or see them on TV you psych out completely and talk as if you were deranged!”
Of course, my pointing out that Mr Darcy wouldn’t condescend to make a reply to
such an unflattering speech didn’t exactly make things better. But it made me
think. After all, he sort of has a point. Why do
we forget everything around us as soon as one of those gentlemen sporting a
tuxedo and preferably on horseback, pops up on the screen?
