All Roads Lead to Austen by Amy Elizabeth Smith Page B

and would you believe that—
    Suddenly Mercedes put on the brakes.
    â€œThat thing, that recorder—is that still on?”
    Knowing I could never keep up with the whole conversation, I’d been taping us. We all laughed in mutual acknowledgment that we’d come quite a way from Austen.
    â€œTime for dinner,” I said, shutting off the recorder.
    ***
    As somebody completed the story about somebody’s sister and the so-and-so—off the record—we made our way to the restaurant, La Fonda de la Calle Real . It was noisy and festive, crowded with happy weekend diners. We had trouble finding a table for six but at last located a spot in the open central patio area.
    â€œAh, those musicians, I know them!” cried Mercedes, indicating two guitar players and a singer circulating among the tables in a side room. “They played a serenade for me on my birthday!”
    We ordered drinks, enjoying the music and gossiping. After we hit one of those moments of companionable silence, again Mercedes took the initiative. “Did you have any more questions for us? What else should we talk about?”
    Glad to return to a thread I’d wanted to pursue, I asked if they had any thoughts on the differences between the novel and the film.
    â€œI liked the film,” Nora said, “but the message, the idea that appearances can be deceiving, is clearer in the book. It also made me think more about how all of these problems the characters faced are exactly the things we all face in our lives and our relationships. The novel is set in England, but it’s just the same as if it were here. It could all be happening here.”
    This is exactly what I had been wondering, and I was glad to get this response without any prompting. Before I could pursue it, however, Mercedes added, “I liked the emphasis on families and romance. I don’t want anything to do with stories with blood and crime; we’ve got too much of that here.”
    I exchanged a look with Nora and recalled her story about the gruesome earring (and ear) snatching, as well as another she’d told me a day or two before our Austen group. Six armed gunman had stormed her daughter’s school on the day parents paid tuition, in cash (public schools are so terrible that many people work two jobs to pay for private education). They’d ordered the kids to the ground, roughed up the terrified secretary, and bolted with the money. Armed robberies are a common enough occurrence that store delivery trucks carry guards armed with machine guns; even the brightly painted rural “chicken buses” full of low-wage commuters get ransacked periodically.
    If indeed many of Austen’s contemporaries enjoyed her books as a respite from all the talk about Napoleon and the war, ugly realities beyond their immediate control—likewise, in Guatemala.
    â€œIn this novel, love conquered pride and prejudice both.” Ani’s contented look as she spoke suggested that she’d had this point in mind for some time. “Despite all the things that could have prevented a happy ending, love triumphs.”
    â€œThe book’s also a demonstration of good behavior,” Mercedes said. “Young people today have such bad manners.”
    The others nodded agreement, relishing the perennial middle-aged complaint, apparently not unique to the United States, about “young people today.” She added somewhat archly, “I’ve seen plenty of people who are supposedly well educated but are very rude and others, people with no formal education, who are very courteous.”
    I had the feeling Mercedes was hedging a bit on who some of those “ very rude” people might be, so I baited her: “I’m sure none of the U.S. students at La Escuela have bad manners.”
    All eyes were on me. Humor is hard to pull off in another language and sarcasm in particular, because it relies so much on tone. Tone is not