Jane Austen Novels Ranked Novels & Stories

Jimmy said to Susan. She laughed. “She’s going to be a famous writer. She’d better have some opinions on literature.” “Fine,” Kimia glared at me. “Jane Austin. She had some great leads.” I ticked off the male leads on my fingers. “Darcy was an asshole to Elizabeth, Bingly let himself be talked away from Jane, Wickham is just a bastard, Wentworth treated Anne like shit because she refused him as a teenager, Edmund Bertram was obsessed with the pretty new girl and forgot about Fanny, Ferras fell in love with Elanore when he was engaged to someone else, Brandon was still hung up on his dead ex, and let’s face it. Nobody cares about Northanger Abbey.”

I turned to her who was staring at the painting too. Bellva nodded her head. "You're absolutely right. But I also like novels." She looked at me with a smile. "I like Holly Black's books. Especially, The Cruel Prince. What novels do you like?" "I like too many, but the only thing I'm addicted to is the novels by Jane Austeen and Sarah J. Maas." And I mentioned the title to her. "I'll try to read it. Sounds good." "I can lend it to you." "Thank you, Amanda." She smiled, I replied it.

Inside it is a box, I lift the lid off of the box to reveal a collection of books with titles I instantly recognise. "Jane Austen's books, all first editions" Rhode tells me softly as I pull my hand back away from the covers, just as I was about to touch them. I can't believe it, I can't believe they're just here in front of me, just sitting in my lap. "No way" I gasp quietly and look up at him in disbelief. These must have cost him a fortune, on top of being nearly impossible to track down. Tears are immediately springing to my eyes, a very regular occurrence for me these days.

But somehow, with her, I was losing control all over again. Every damn thing reminded me of her. Even this room, neat, warm, filled with shelves of books. My eyes lingered on the titles stacked perfectly by the wall. Jane Austen. Oscar Wilde. Emily Brontë. She loved those. I could still remember the way she’d sit by the window with a cup of tea, reading for hours. She’d hum softly, sometimes reading out loud lines she found beautiful. And I’d tease her, tell her those old books made no sense but secretly, I liked listening.

It smelled like vanilla I put it back quickly. No. I wasn't going to get comfortable here. This wasn't my home no matter how nice it looked. I walked back into the bedroom and that's when I saw the bookshelf. A whole wall of books. How did I miss that ? Oh right I was too busy having a mental breakdown. I walked over and looked at the titles. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. Beauty and the Beast. Phantom of the Opera. Rebecca. These all looked familiar. I pulled out Jane Eyre and a piece of paper fell out. Fancy handwriting on expensive paper.