What can be said, in a couple of paragraphs, to stay or support, to any effect, the great swell of love which has buoyed Pride and Prejudice for eleven generations worth of squealing romantics? The truth is, not much. But I did love it: the truth in character; Elizabeth Bennet’s sometimes prescient, sometimes startlingly obtuse internal compass; the letters; the day-long trips to travel thirty miles across the countryside; the novel’s celebration of hard-won, heartfelt love, sometimes seemingly undeserved but never held so aloof as to be ultimately unrewarded.Love equalizes everything in this world: class, culture, sex, and status. Even the frivolous find something on which to keep themselves afloat. Who wants to find flaws in so simple an idea? Who wants not to believe it?