Sanditon

I'm usually a bit snobbish when it comes to books. I tend to like nineteenth-century classics. I'm not sure why. Anyhow, most people have read (or at least heard of) Jane Austen's work. They've made enough movies about it (some of which are actually quite good, by the way). My favorite is probably Pride and Prejudice, just as it is for most Austen fans.

Still, Sanditon is a pretty close second (or maybe third; I don't know), even though most Austenians have never even heard of it, and those who have probably wouldn't give it a second glance. You see, this was Jane Austen's last novel, and she never finished it. Years later, a diehard Austen fan (possibly someone like myself, except that she's a better writer) decided to help her finish.

I picked up Sanditon from a small library in Maine, and according to the card inside, I was the first one to do so. It had virtually no wear and tear in it, and I can only assume that people simply glanced at it and passed it over for all the other Austen delicacies on the shelf. I had read all of those, however, and I wanted something new-- but something Austen.

I expected it to start out good and then roll into a big ball of cheese. I expected to know exactly when my author ended and "another lady began." I didn't. It had a different ending from the typical Austen novel, but it was still excellent, and I loved every minute of it. I even bought a copy that is now occupying a place of honor on my bookshelf.

If you like Austen, you have to read this book.