I have not read any Austen for a very long time. I read a handful of her books when I was young enough to assume that I had absorbed everything there was to know about them, and duly tossed them aside for more exciting material. I have never been overly interested in British history, since a short summary of it generally goes, 'and then we took over everything,' but Austen's social observations and her understated wit appealed to me upon second reading in college. Considering the distractions I had in college, I'm still in awe that my younger self bothered to read anything that lingers so much on the quotidian--but then again, it helped me get a date with several English majors. (Not at the same time, I assure you.) College students set high value on date-getting literature.
I'm sorry for the delay in my reply. My memory of Persuasion was very vague, and Austen's language required an excess of attention and presence of mind I haven't had lately. Thank God, I've relocated at home, which is, at least, familiar, even though I thought I hated familiar, I don't know what to think now. The place is a goddamn train station, and people will insist on bothering the hell out of me. I am not to be trusted to take care of myself, apparently, and I'm beginning to suspect the plan is to drive me mad so they can lock me up in a mental hospital and be done with it. Who needs enemies...?
Before you ask, I'm not getting any work done, either. And that's for you, Quinn, if you've got the goddamn nerve to go through my mail, for which I will fire you, if I find out.
Where was I? Oh, yes, Austen. I don't think Persuasion can possibly be any less sentimental than any of her other works. The woman is pining, for God's sake, through the entire thing. I'm not sure whether it's the resignation or her stubborn insistence to make the best of it that's more pathetic. I don't see why she should deserve (see your observation in Chapter 23) to make the captain pine over her as well, though he does a better job of denying it than she does. Occupation as distraction. Part of the problem is that these women had no occupation, and nothing better to do but pine. You have to hand it to Austen for making a romance out of only a handful of meetings, three or four horrifically awkward conversations--and no sex.
I'm surprised at your idealism at the back of your book, and would like to hear more of it.