I’ve never liked Jane Austin’s novels. Every sentence always seemed to be written perfectly straight up and down without passion, cold and severe. I dreaded courses where they were assigned, and I’ve started more of them than I’ve finished.

But a retired teacher had great success with Austin in a program specific course I now teach, and I decided last Fall to assign Sense and Sensibility. I regretted it as soon as I did, but it was too late to change and I was stuck.

Here’s the thing: I loved it. More than loved it, I adored it with giddy enthusiasm. Now I’m reading others, and am wondering how I missed the sarcasm, humour and consistent cleverness when I was reading in university.

And those sentences? They set my head straight.

Rereading is great.