Several weeks ago, I received a copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice in the mail from my sister J. It is one of my favorite stories and I greatly admire Austen's wit and intelligence. I finished the book rather too quickly, and, having created an appetite for a food wholly unavailable in Guadeloupe, I sought nourishment online. I was lucky to find Andrew Davies' 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice in its entirety on Youtube. But I did not expect the cache of English-lit-as-costume-drama available. Ever since, I have been indulging in the genteel notions, the charming dialogue, the silly bonneted women...
I have always been extremely fond of costume drama, especially the more recent BBC productions. But I do suspect that my current preoccupation is also some form of escape. It is easy to fret too much. Having gone over and over again the same fears and worries, I believe that I have worn actual grooves into my brain. Nothing like a trip to Meryton (or Barton Park, or Cranford, etc.) to break the habit and to put some distance and perspective in place. It does remind me, however, of another time in my life where I found escape in costumed characters in a non-existent world...
It began with an unexplained rash that developed on my grandmother's skin. It was probably the result of the summer heat and her polyester wardrobe, but she insisted on having an ambulance come and bring her to the hospital. I wonder now whether or not my grandmother had begun the whole thing out of caprice on a slow summer Sunday. That supposedly unbearable rash would disappear on its own during the hours-long wait in the ER. What was wrong, the doctor said, was not her skin, but her blood pressure; She would be kept for observation. And then, as if prompted by the sickness and dying in the hospital beds around her, my grandmother's health deteriorated rapidly. I am inclined to believe that this collapse came from fear - that fear which secretly inhabits the heart of every old person, where a unimportant trip to the hospital sends them to their death. The details of her sudden and unexpected decline are now confused with subsequent hospital stays. But I do remember that within a very short while, she was unconscious and intubated in the ICU. I remember walking home from the hospital that first day, wailing loudly. Unemployed that summer, I sat with her throughout her hospitalization, keeping her company when she was still conscious, monitoring the comings and goings of personnel when she was not. I spent hours keeping watch over her softly breathing body. It had been my first experience with dying. Perhaps dying is not the right word, as my grandmother survived for another two years. But I had never before given death such solemn attention.
Then, at night, while my parents and sisters slept soundly, I would sit up to watch syndicated episodes of Star Trek: Voyager. My sister S. had been a faithful fan of Star Trek: The Next Generation in the 90's and I had watched with her; therefore my like of Voyager was not wholly spontaneous. Still, I had never shown more than a glancing interest in any of the Star Trek series before that summer, and yet suddenly I was an avid watcher. I found I could not go to bed without having seen that night's episode.
It begins with the opening sequence - the clarion horns, the powerful drums - whose uplifting notes soared. The show was, for the most part, very predictable. There was a certain percentage of drama, and a slightly smaller (but no less significant) percentage of comedy. There was often a moral, or at the very least a discussion of some ethical ideal. And in every episode, a good dose of sexuality, often offered up in the body-hugging uniform of one Seven of Nine. Star Trek Voyager's greatest attribute was that there it reflect my reality in the least. Talaxians? Warp cores? The entire show seemed uniquely crafted for escape.
Television shows that emphasize the necessity of phasers or bonnets, and those who watch them, often seem to elicit the contempt of those with more mainstream tastes. Those who would lose themselves in non-existent worlds are clearly out of touch with reality. But sometimes, that is exactly what's required.
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