Pride and Prejudice and Superheroes

1. PROMETHEUS; OR, THE MODERN SUPERHERO

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a free mind, must be in want of a superhero. However little known the feelings or views of such a woman on a superhero first entering her neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the superhero's mind, that the woman is considered the superhero's rightful property—unless the woman is a superhero herself.

The Bennet family, beneficiaries of the landed gentry of the British Regency, lived in the ample Longbourn House estate in the village of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. It was a busy, if somewhat confusing, family home, with Mr Bennet and his servants keeping a modicum of orderliness over his five multifarious daughters, and over his, according to himself and anyone who knew her behind her fan, stupid, narrow-minded and shallow wife. At times, Mr Bennet thought that the perceived mental state of King George III, who all and sundry believed to be permanently insane, had somehow infected his estate. And, he understood well that the cost of a marriage could not be measured in purely financial terms, especially as his marriage had conspired not to deliver a son.

If only there had been a son, just a single solitary son, then the Bennets would have been able to inherit the Bennet estate. However, most unfortunate as it is, it is the cousin of Mr Bennet, one Mr William Collins, who stood to inherit the estate on Mr Bennet's death. To make matters worse, everyone who knew Mr Collins thought him to be an undesirable mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility. As a consequence, he had a different view of himself, thinking he was a quite desirable, noble creature. He had no conception that he was a rather toady, pathetic man whose whole had somehow conspired to be less than the sum of his parts.

And so, in the relative madness of Longbourn House, one dull September day, an interesting event was discussed ...

"My dear Mr Bennet," offered Mrs Bennet to her husband, as she impinged on the privacy of his library, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"

"No, my good wife, but I predict with utmost certainty that you are about to inform me of the positive."

"Yes, my dear, you predict correctly. For Mrs Long has just occasioned a visit here, and she has told me all about it."

Mr Bennet made no answer as he slowly and leisurely turned a page of a rather thick tome.

"Don't you want to know who has taken it?" cried Mrs Bennet impatiently, punctuating her impatience with a small childlike but graceful leap. Her husband must surely have seen this trivial action in his peripheral vision, designed, as it must have been, to gain his attention.

"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it," said Mr Bennet, lifting a magnifying glass and peering intensely at an illustration of an exotic plant.

For Mrs Bennet, her husband had left the door to conversation ajar, and she was more than ready and willing to plough through it.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England. That he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place. He was so much delighted with it he agreed on a tenancy agreement with Mr Morris immediately. He is all set to take possession before Michaelmas. Most decidedly, some of his servants will be readying the house as early as by the end of next week."

Mr Bennet sighed. It was obvious to him why his wife was so inclined and enthusiastic to discuss such news with him. He did his wife the courtesy of looking up from his book. However, when his eyes met hers, he could not but help rolling them sarcastically.

"Let us cut to the chase, good wife. What is his name?"

"Charles Bingley."

Mr Bennet's eyes took on a deepening, cynical look. His eyebrows tugged to a mild frown. "Is this young buck, this tip-top toff, married or single?"