I have long wished to be exactly like Elizabeth Bennet. Instead, I’m Mary.

Dear Nobody,

The day you realize that you are Mary Bennet is an awful one.  As much as I’d like to ignore it, the fact remains that we bear more than a passing resemblance.  Like Mary, I am socially awkward, long-winded, and a bit of a hermit.  If I allow myself to remember how I used to try to seem smart by bringing books to parties, the comparison is tragically sealed.

It might be silly to be bothered by my similarities to a semi-obscure character from Pride and Prejudice.  And it could certainly be worse; I could be Kitty, or God forbid, Mr. Collins.  But it does bother me, mainly because I have long wished to be exactly like Elizabeth Bennet. 

Now, it’s not just because of the Mr. Darcy of it all (though that is a substantial reason).  It’s a bit more than that, though. Pride and Prejudice is my comfort book.  I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read it.  And when I was younger, I firmly believed that Elizabeth was the literary protagonist most like myself.  This was an opinion based more on wishful thinking than fact. Elizabeth Bennet was really everything that I wanted to be.

Nobody, you might be thinking that it takes a great deal of hubris to even compare one’s self to the incomparable Lizzy Bennet.  I suppose that my point would be better made if I explained how Elizabeth is the better version of her sister, Mary, who, as we have established, I am. Both are well-read, preoccupied with the world outside courtships and husbands, and are not particularly observant.  Most importantly, neither fit neatly into their worlds, and are thus often discounted.  That was what I loved about Elizabeth; she didn’t always belong, but she deserved to.

Elizabeth proves that first impressions are deceiving.  Mr. Darcy thought she wasn’t worth noticing, only to realize just how likable, charming, and witty she is. Yes, she does stumble along the way—but she’s able to learn from her mistakes, and become even more likable, charming, and witty.  

While Elizabeth moves forward, Mary stays right where she is.  Mary reads a lot, and knows a lot, but can never practically apply any of it.  All that she’s capable of is parroting the thoughts of others, often incorrectly.  And it’s not much deeper than that; Mary really is as pretentious and foolish as she appears. 

Essentially, Elizabeth can learn, and Mary cannot.  Elizabeth is original; Mary is not.  Elizabeth gets to marry the hottest bachelor in Regency England since Regé-Jean Page; Mary gets to stay in her room being pedantic and bad at the piano.

Mary is everything I fear I am, and Elizabeth is everything I wish I was.  I worry that I’m not nearly as creative or clever as I’d like to think.  That I’m not really capable of any original thought.  And that I’m just not able to do a single thing about the way that I am.

Despite all of this Mary slander, I never really disliked her.  I mean, she’s clearly gotten the short end of the stick.  Can you imagine being the only plain Bennet sister?  It really isn’t fair, that when Mary tries to excel in other ways, she finds that she’s still mediocre at best. 

But Mary’s still reciting, lecturing, and playing the piano off-key for anyone who will listen, and that, Nobody, is pretty badass.  May we all have the courage to be incompetent. 

Sometimes I feel like Jane Austen—with all due respect—is a little too hard on Mary.  Because, well, it’s hard being Mary.  Of course, Elizabeth has her own shortcomings and hardships—that’s the whole point of the book.  But if I had to choose, I’d prefer her flaws to my own any day.  But something tells me Mary wouldn’t.

Nobody, I don’t bring books to parties anymore.  I don’t try to sound smarter than I am so that people will like me.  And I couldn’t really be a know-it-all, since I never really trusted myself to know anything.

Hopefully, the first step to not being a Mary is acceptance of the Mary-ness in you.  And who knows?  Maybe some of it isn’t so very awful.  I may never be an Elizabeth Bennet, but I think that Jane Eyre is a reasonable goal.

Also, Mary never had to sit through a proposal from Mr. Collins, so there’s that.

Talk again soon, I hope.