BRIDGET
JONES: Still chasing Mr Darcy
By Susanna Rustin, The
Financial Times - December 4, 1999
The diary, by definition, is the most self-conscious of forms, and
famous diarists cannot help but be aware of each other.
Thus Adrian Mole, aged 30 in Sue Townsend's latest novel, wonders
enviously and without irony how Bridget Jones got her diaries published.
Helen Fielding is quick to return the compliment: "Hurrah! The
wilderness years are over" trumpets Bridget in the opening fanfare
to The Edge of Reason.
The phrase is borrowed from Mole, but to Bridget, for whose unmarried
thirtysomething persona Fielding coined the term singleton, wilderness
denotes a specific lack: 1996's bestselling Bridget Jones's Diary
achieved closure with its heroine's acquisition of "boyfriends
1" - as she reminds her new diary at the outset.
Now chronic insecurity, combined with pride and neurotic game playing,
ensure that romantic bliss with Mr Darcy is shortlived. A series of
farcical faux pas - saucy Valentines, botched snogs, filthy faxes -
brings about the communication breakdown without which Bridget's love
life would have no plot. Her infuriatingly unhelpful friends Shazzer and
Jude heap coals on the fires of misunderstanding, until Bridget watches
her handsome prince retreat into the clutches of the Other Woman.
Back in the wilderness, Bridget resolves to cultivate the inner poise
which her library of self-help books values above all else: "Am
woman of world with career", "Am going to be top-flight
journalist", she announces, before embarking on a journey to Rome.
There, she conducts a ludicrous interview with actor Colin Firth,
ostensibly pegged to his forthcoming film Fever Pitch, but in fact
entirely taken up with his role in the BBC's adaptation of Pride and
Prejudice.
Even when ostensibly focusing on a career move, Bridget is ruled by
romantic fantasies, with the result that her accident-prone working life
is never more than a diverting sub-plot.
In Jane Austen's day, of course, marriage to Mr Darcy was all a girl
could hope for, and Fielding was loudly criticised, first time around,
for seeming to perpetuate the vain, self-obsessed, boy-crazy mentality
of the sillier Miss Bennets. Certainly, Bridget Jones is no Elizabeth;
although she has something of the self-contained dignity of Anne Elliot,
whose plight in Austen's Persuasion is the model for the particular
torments inflicted here. Publicly, she does retain her composure. And,
finally, she learns from her mistakes.
Two house parties hosted by arch-rival Rebecca provide some of
Fielding's finest comic moments, as she works her devious, self-serving
caricature to the bone. Bridget's mother is on memorably wild form,
bringing a Kikuyu tribesman home from a holiday in Kenya and
embarrassing her only daughter at every twist and turn. Magda's daughter
Constance lives up to her name deliciously when, at her third birthday
party, she makes her preference for honest Bridget over sycophantic
Rebecca absolutely clear. Darcy hardly puts a foot wrong. He has wit -
"dating war command" is his shorthand for Bridget's dubious
line in advice - as well as brains, looks and money. And he does a
smooth line in rescues.
I must admit to being taken aback to learn that Fielding's character is
getting on for 40, and would bet money that the actress who plays her in
the forthcoming film will be nearer 30. I laughed at the original Diary
more, but for a sequel this holds up well. Helen Fielding is very clever
and entertaining, and Bridget Jones has made her rich. Muddled-up and
emotionally immature, Bridget is no role model; but since when did we
look to satire for those?
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