I certainly have not the talent which some people possess

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“I certainly have not the talent which some people possess”: Positing Mr. Darcy as Having Social Anxiety A brief Internet search can yield myriad examples of so-called “Darcymania”—from photo edits of Colin Firth to outright 12-foot-tall statues erected in memory of the man, the world has apparently fallen in love with Pride and Prejudice’s Mr. Darcy and forgotten to fall out again (Lyall). His being the proposed subject of this essay is perhaps merely another example of such a madness that so many seem to have for this nineteenth-century Harry Styles. This isn’t to suggest that all has been said and subsequently done in regards to Jane Austen’s iconic character—every day, perhaps, a new reader picks up a copy of Pride and meets Mr. Darcy anew, producing in their mind’s eye a novel interpretation of the man affected in part by their own idiosyncratic experiences with literature of its sort and with masculine love interests. Seeliger argues that “ … it is the very lack of explicit description in Austen's text that enables viewers to create their own image of the character,” going on to note that the very nature of Austen’s dialogue-focused narrative “creates information gaps that enable an active process between text and reader.” By way of such a process, readers of Pride and Prejudice would theoretically construct their own ideal Mr. Darcy as they read along, even going so far as to unconsciously gift him with their own ideal traits, romantic in nature or otherwise. In this way, and as a result of such literary gaps, the Mr. Darcy character gains the ability to become any number of attractive visions, all depending on a given reader and their own mind. A possible interpretation of the man, here to be expanded on, is that of a well-intentioned but often ill-mannered character experiencing something akin to social anxiety disorder. In other words, he’s not a dick—not entirely, anyway—merely a bit of an unfortunate, misunderstood soul.

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A sizable number of sources seem to concur on the first ball scene of Pride and Prejudice being a significant and primary example of Mr. Darcy’s purported social anxiety. The character is first regarded by the populace of the novel with considerable positive attention, “his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien,” and substantial salary being the causes of such interest in large, until his disposition can be more closely examined, the result of which is that “his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance … ” (Austen 13) The reader’s first introduction to Mr. Darcy is not an ostensibly favorable one, but an alternative to arrogance can potentially be read off his demeanor here: rather than viewing the character’s curtness as rude, one might consider the possibility of his merely being an uncomfortably situated introvert, many of which kind even today find themselves lost in more than one sense of the word in the crowd of a party. Most certainly, similarly reserved fans of the novel could find themselves heavily interested in contemplating the potential consequences of one’s experiencing significantly immobilizing social anxiety, even merely introversion, in Mr. Darcy’s society, a population especially preoccupied with manners and appearances. In the case of the ball scene, as a result of such social reticence, the man in question is, curiously enough, quickly disregarded in spite of his immensely large salary.

Pride and Prejudice’s original title being First Impressions illuminates the significance of Mr. Darcy’s introduction scene and the subsequent assumptions made about his nature through observation of his general demeanor; indeed, such first impressions are to be proven wrong only close to the close of the novel. Haviland points out that “[as] the story progresses it becomes less

Bxxxxx 3! and less believable that … [Darcy] is the stoic, pretentious character that his previous public appearances lent him to be,” later noting that this is “fairly common in people with social anxiety, especially in those … who can easily pass as someone without [social anxiety].” Given that those who do not experience such anxiety in common social situations do not, naturally, tend to consider this alternative, more apprehensive manner of residing within society, it is probably a simple matter for such characters (and readers) to assume of Darcy an organic talent and comfort in social scenes he may not necessarily own. From this viewpoint, he would, indeed, likely appear to merely be prideful and curt—and, to a certain and definite extent, he is. But a cause perhaps exists: “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,” announces Darcy at one point, “of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done” (Austen 171). If his inhibition cannot be explained away with social anxiety, it can surely be regarded as the result of something to a similar effect; Darcy, analyzed under the lens of the simplest interpretation of his unease, is unused to conversing with strangers—not a natural, unlike Mr. Bingley, unlike Mr. Wickham, unlike Mr. Collins (although the latter, for a preacher, perhaps has a significant amount to learn in regards to communication). Indeed, it is possibly only through the use of an extensively lengthy letter addressed to protagonist Elizabeth Bennet that Darcy is finally able to express all of his roiling thoughts to another character in a sincere and coherent manner. A substantial number of those readers of Pride and Prejudice with their own social anxieties can likely identify with such a scene in large measure—and even those without, really.

It can be noted that, although Darcy’s alteration in apparent character over the course of Pride and Prejudice can be considered in part a result of Elizabeth Bennet’s growing awareness

Bxxxxx 4! of his true nature, he has ostensibly changed in countenance by the close of the novel. Of previous actions and words directed towards Elizabeth, he tells her, “The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me” (Austen 347). While it is true that those who experience social anxiety might become better used to certain acquaintances over time and thus become more comfortable in their communications with such people, it does seem here that Darcy has, at least partly, gotten over himself, whether this particular aspect of his self can be attributed to mere introversion, a kind of social awkwardness, or even some Georgian brand of proto-social anxiety disorder. He has not been refashioned entirely from his prior nature, though—Elizabeth notes at the close of the prior conversation that she longs to crack a joke at her new fiancé’s expense, “but checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin” (351).

The Mr. Darcy character has been interpreted in endless ways; this isn’t to say, however, that more interpretations might not reveal themselves continuously via the introduction of new knowledge and terminology in combination with the newly fashioned opinions of recent readers of Austen’s renowned novel. As romanticized as he so often is in popular media, Darcy isn’t even necessarily a purely romantic archetype of the sort to be mooned over by half the world’s population of literati; Racine expresses in “Mr. Darcy Taught Me It’s Okay To Be A Silent, Taciturn Asshole” that “I’m not looking for a Mr. Darcy—I am a Mr. Darcy.” Other readers take a different approach in their analyses of the character, positing that Darcy and other characters in the novel—Collins, perhaps—are on the autism spectrum (Watson). And it’s in these endless interpretations of Mr. Darcy that readers of Pride and Prejudice can have fun with the character, even

Bxxxxx 5! while rejecting the notion of his being a mere Georgian era heartthrob. Darcy, indeed, could be any number of things: among Colin Firth, Matthew MacFadyen and Sir Laurence Olivier, he might also, perhaps, be an opulent, beautiful man who experiences social anxiety.


 

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Works Cited Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. Penguin Books, 2014.

Haviland, Camille. “Pride and Prejudice and Social Anxiety.” Medium, Medium, 13 Apr. 2016, medium.com/@HelloCamille/pride-and-prejudice-and-social-anxiety-6786adb5e099.

Lyall, Sarah. “Pride, Prejudice, Promotion? Mr. Darcy Rising.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 9 July 2013, www.nytimes.com/2013/07/10/arts/design/pride-prejudice-promotion-mr-darcy-rising.html?_r=0.

Racine, Hope. “Mr. Darcy Taught Me It’s Okay To Be A Silent, Taciturn Asshole.” Literally, Darling, 18 July 2017, www.literallydarling.com/blog/2017/07/18/45264/.

Seeliger, Henriette-Juliane. "Looking for Mr. Darcy: The Role of the Viewer in Creating a Cultural Icon." Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal Online, vol. 37, no. 1, 2016, p. 9. EBSCOhost, www.remote.uwosh.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType=ip,uid&db=lfh&AN=120674564&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Watson, Dana. “Pride and Prejudice Overanalysis, Part 2: This Little Character Has Autism, This Little Character Does Not.” Geek Buffet, 26 July 2007, geekbuffet.wordpress.com/ 2007/07/26/pride-and-prejudice-overanalysis-part-2-this-little-character-has-autism-thislittle-character-does-not/.