Book Review On Sense And Sensibility นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“I don’t know. You keep everything in such good condition. I’m almost afraid to touch anything in this room.” “I know you’ll be careful with my things.” She nodded and pulled the book off the shelf. “I didn’t know you liked Jane Austen.” “Why not?” She shrugged. “She’s a woman author.” “I’m broad minded enough to think women have a lot to offer society. I enjoy her work.” “This is one of my favorite books. Sense and Sensibility. The story of two sisters who represent two opposing forces: logic and emotion.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He seemed to be considering her analysis of the book. “I didn’t think anyone else in Virginia understood that.”

I had created an account with a different user name. I had a few notifications from the app, so I opened it. I read the book, she had been reading that day. It was very nice and captivating. I finished it over the night. I liked the way the author had penned down the book. I looked for the other works by the same author. There was another book which was not very long, I finished it within two hours. Her writing style was good. I liked the way she described the love scenes with a subtle sensuality. Romantic... Very romantic. Sensuous, steamy, witty and crisp. I commented what I felt and was surprised to see that she answered back politely.

I had been prepared to go through a romance book with raunchy scenes that were custom made for a female audience to giggle over. March Madness was about a housewife that resented her husband and marriage and was slowly finding herself again. It was well written. But it wasn’t what I would have ever imagined London wrote. Not even in a million years. It just felt like every other too serious work of fiction that were supposed to get reviews like, “outstanding masterpiece” “a thought inducing read”

I realised he had been reading it before I arrived when my eyes landed on the book he had dropped on the floor earlier. Wait—was he reading it in the dark? I shook off the thought. That was not what mattered right now. What mattered was that he was wrong. I turned sharply, lips parting, already armed with my counterargument. "That’s not the point at all." I shot back. "The novel isn’t about vanity—it’s about growth. Elizabeth wasn’t just ‘stubborn’; she was learning to break free from societal expectations. And Darcy? He was not lonely because of pride; he was conditioned to believe vulnerability was weakness."

"I suppose no place in London is truly safe, which is why no woman should walk the streets alone, especially in the evening." Her gaze grew distant for a moment. "It is a mistake I will not make again." Then she looked down at her book. "Next question, my lord." Well, he'd tried. Perhaps a more circuitous route was required to win her trust. "What book are you reading?" He nodded at the tome she'd set aside. "Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations." "Truly?" He blinked at her. Most men he knew couldn't finish that book, and he'd never given much thought to whether a woman would read it. Not that he didn't think a woman could manage it, just that it was so bloody boring

He simply was, a mountain in the chaos, and she found herself wanting to scale him. On the fifth day, she found it. The book was unassuming, bound in a dark, supple hide that felt like the inside of a thigh. There was no title. She picked it up. The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. It wasn't a memory or an emotion. It was pure, undiluted sensation. A phantom mouth closed over her nipple, tongue and teeth working in a rhythm that made her gasp. A hand, large and calloused, slid up the inside of her thigh. It was so vivid, so physical, her knees buckled and she had to brace herself against the shelves.

At her feet, there were four books. All written by Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice. Sense and sensibility. Persuasion. Emma. She had another book open in her hands, and when she looked up at me, flashing me a smile that showed off her perfect pearly white teeth, my heart skipped. She was angelic. For a moment, I didn't move. Couldn't. I didn't speak either – just stood there gawking at the beauty of her. She must have thought I was awkward.

"I was just dropping a book I borrowed from the library." It was really none of my business but I still asked anyways. "Which one?" "Sense and Sensibility." "I didn't know you read Jane Austen." Then again, I didn't know a lot about him in the first place but it was kinda hard to picture the school's star quarterback buried in one of Austen's creations. For some reason, my mind drifted off to Blake, I could picture him reading literature and looking natural at it. "I don't." I saw him hold an eye roll as he continued talking. "Mandy is into them for some reason now and she keeps going on and on about reading shit together as a couple."

She took a fry from his tray and threw it into her mouth. "The day I had to get the ring, I guess you weren't at the library then or would rather I give you a few seconds to get out an articulated lie?" Daniel's eyes went to the book she was reading. It was Sense and Sensibility, book by Jane Austen. He didn't get why it was her favorite book. She had read that book more than a hundred times and one thing was for sure she wasn't going to stop reading it. "I just wanted to give you privacy. A proposal is something intimate and I didn't want to be an intruder."

He follows it up with silk hand gloves which he drops on my palms. Quietly, I follow his orders, taking care not to rip the hand gloves with my hastiness. "You can open it now." He pronounces. "You can't get much cleaner than that." With shaky hands, I skim the hand cover of the book, running my fingers through it and feeling the hard leather beneath my tips. Flipping it open, I stare in shock at the words written there. Pride and prejudice. Written by Jane Austen. Edited by William Gifford.