I was the girl reading Bronte in the fifth grade, crying over Dickens in middle school, and ranting
passionately about Homer in high school English. But nothing could ever compare to Austen,
and—cliche as it sounds—Pride and Prejudice has always had my heart. I first picked it up in
elementary school and have read it countless times since.
That said, when one is a fan of classic literature, you can’t really ignore the mass market of
modern adaptations. Most fall flat, some are good, but very few are great. I myself have read and
watched any and all possible adaptations of this tale of two quarrelsome lovers, and so I was both
wary and curious about how Eden Appiah-Kubi would reimagine Pride and Prejudice on a
modern college campus in The Bennet Women.
The story focuses on EJ, a former ballerina and current engineering student, who is figuring out
her post-grad plans; her best friend Jaime, who has just recently transitioned and is coming to
terms with her new gender identity; and Will Pak, whose life in Hollywood, derailed by a bad
breakup, led him to finish his B.A. at Longbourn. Tessa, EJ and Jaime’s level-headed best friend
Katerina, Will’s loyal and protective manager, and Carrie, the uber-famous ex-girlfriend that
broke Will’s heart and trust also add in their two cents. Switching between these perspectives, the
novel tells the story of how Will and EJ fall in love. Starting from their bumpy first meeting at
the Fall Formal to the eventual romantic relationship they embark on, Appiah-Kubi incorporates
integral moments from the original Pride and Prejudice, while also creating her own original
story.
Sorry, purists—it’s by no means the most faithful adaptation. Set in the 21st century on an
American college campus, Appiah-Kubi took many liberties in the way she transformed many of
Austen's famous characters. Elizabeth became EJ; Jane became Jaime; Darcy became Will;
Bingley became Lee. Other characters like Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Collins, George Wickham,
and Catherine DeBourgh were also altered to fit more into the 21st century and overall feel of the
novel, either by switching genders, changing motivations, or melding together different roles.
But the essence of Austen—her wit, social commentary, and ability to give a voice to the
voiceless—remains. What I loved most about this remake is that it was so unapologetic about
who it was written for. This adaptation is for all the people who don’t fit into beauty standards of
a white, cis, straight society—those who had to learn to love themselves in a world built to tear
them down, who deserve to find romance in a world that refuses to cast them as the lead.
Appiah-Kubi transforms Elizabeth into a proud Black woman, trying to make it in a field that
often devalues her. Jane, the character in the original novel depicted as the pinnacle of womanly
perfection, is placed into the role of a newly-out trans-woman figuring out her identity. And
Darcy becomes an Asian-American actor trying to break free of the stereotypes forced on him.
For all those people out there, this Pride and Prejudice adaptation is for you.
And, my god, did I feel seen in this novel. When EJ had a reckoning with her parents about the
sacrifices they have made for her, I couldn’t help but think of my own complicated relationship
with my parents as I have gone off to college. Her fierce protectiveness of her fellow Longbourn
women, resonated with me, especially as an older sister and mentor to Barnard underclassmen.
And maybe because Longbourn College reminded me so much of Barnard and Columbia, or
maybe because I felt for EJ as she was figuring out whether she wanted to be more practical or
idealistic about her postgrad plans—whatever it might be—this might be the most relatable
modern adaptation of Pride and Prejudice I’ve ever consumed.
EJ, Will, and Jaime will never truly take the place of Elizabeth, Darcy, and Jane, but they’ve
crawled their way into my heart. I always loved Elizabeth as a character, someone headstrong
and stubborn, but it wasn’t until EJ that I saw myself in her role. It wasn’t just her struggle for
self-acceptance within a college populated by people who didn’t look like her or live like her, it
was in her relationship with her parents, her friendships with the women in her dorm that made
me feel like Appiah-Kubi was reaching into my heart and speaking to my soul.
Regardless of my love for this adaption, there are moments where certain topics being brought
up do feel somewhat contrived, like Jaime offhandedly mentioning how she and Lee use “I”
statements when arguing because of their years spent in therapy, or how often different waves of
feminism are brought up in casual conversation. Though the commentary feels real, at times
Appiah-Kubi is less than subtle about her reproaches against modern society.
Appiah-Kubi addresses race, too. Maybe other readers—ahem, white readers—might feel it
makes the novel awkward when Will talks about being forced into nerdy sidekick roles as an
Asian-American, or EJ getting tense when someone comments on her majoring in civil
engineering as a Black woman. But I felt a kinship towards these struggles—struggles my
friends and I face everyday.
This novel is a love story between EJ and Will, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about
sisterhood, acceptance, loving yourself and choosing to open your heart to others. And isn’t that
the point of Pride and Prejudice? It isn’t just a love story; it’s a family drama, it’s comedy, it’s
social commentary.
I like to think that if Austen was a 21st-century woman, she’d want people reading and writing
about her books to take risks, be bold, poke fun at popular ideas and themselves. This is a
woman who focused on her writing career and died a spinster when everyone else was getting
married and having children. Maybe I’m being idealistic, hoping that a white woman from the
19th century would support Appiah-Kubi in the choices she made, but Austen was a standout in
her own time—why couldn’t she be one today? And why shouldn’t writers adapting her novels
be as bold as her? The topics for social commentary have changed, money might still make the
world go round, but issues of race, sex, and gender are just as prevalent. Comedy and family
issues are far more different and complicated than they were in the 19th century and marriage is not everyone’s idea of a happy ending or secure future. Faithfulness to Austen doesn’t mean
being stuck in 19th century England; it means adapting the storytelling choices Austen made in
the 19th century to the 21st.
So for all the lovers of Austen, casual or fanatic—hey, even those indifferent to Austen—I highly
recommend this book. Maybe you’ll finally come to enjoy Pride and Prejudice, or, like me,
you’ll fall even more in love with the story. Whatever your feelings might be, The Bennet Women
is a book worth reading. So, pick it up and give it a whirl. Let yourself be seen.
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