Since I was a kid, I’ve been a fan of Jane Austen. In middle school, I determinedly worked my way through her body of work, quickly assessing my favorites: Pride and Prejudice (of course), Emma (yes), and Persuasion (it is critically underrated).
Like many Pride and Prejudice enthusiasts, I’ve sought out as many adaptations as I could find in order to experience, over and over again, the feeling of starting the story anew. In the great battle between 1995 BBC miniseries and 2005 Joe Wright film adaptation, I am solidly in the Keira Knightley camp. It maintains—and deepens—the romance of the novel while adeptly drawing out humorous moments easily lost in the pages of the book. However, another adaptation I have a soft spot for is one that entered the virtual stage in 2012: YouTube vlog series, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, created by Hank Green and Bernie Su.
Here, Pride and Prejudice undergoes a radical reinterpretation. The web series works as most “authentic” vlogs do: the subject of the videos, or the “main character,” narrates critical moments in her life. Like the novel, there is a narrator. Unlike the novel, the narrator is not an omniscient force, but Lizzy Bennet herself, prone to quick judgments and overly confident declarations. A grad student majoring in communications and mass media, this Elizabeth (Ashley Clements) decides to share the minutiae of her life as part of a larger study on the dissemination of information on YouTube. She wants to accurately portray her relationships with her family and friends, but her own point of view dominates all others. Unlike the narrator of the novel, who ably provides nuanced insight into the thoughts of others, Lizzy can only guess at what they are thinking—and she is often wrong.
The format of the web series requires its participants to speak directly to the camera and recount events that, frequently, have already happened. Lizzy Bennet and others, including Charlotte (Julia Cho), Lydia (Mary Kate Wiles), and Jane (Laura Spencer), are well aware that they are in a one-sided conversation with a broader audience. In the novel, the narrator does not have personal stakes in the outcome of the story. Yet, in the vlog series, Lizzy’s own self is tied to the way she chooses to describes interactions and friends.
At the same time, the vlog tries to fight the sheen of inauthenticity by creating a space for, ironically, spontaneity. In the beginning, Lizzy conducts her vlog in her bedroom. This allows for a variety of characters, including her sisters and other house visitors, to randomly “interrupt” her vlog and casually talk to her. The audience first meets Lydia because she energetically bounds into the room to laugh at Lizzy’s attempts to create a personal video blog. Jane unknowingly stumbles into the camera frame when she returns a sweater. In this way, the vlog subverts the ingrained sense of “acting” with moments that feel real.
Unlike the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, with its stunning cinematography and score, the vlog lets characters repeat outfits, wear too much make-up (and then regret over-applying their blush), and allows them to occasionally appear out of focus or out of frame; this prevents the web series from appearing too polished, and instead creates a “home-made” atmosphere. The characters should not feel like movie stars, but like next-door neighbors with a camera.
Moreover, the narrative structure of the vlog lets other characters take control of the story when they want to. In the novel, the narrator has authority over the story; this presence decides when to follow Lizzy’s actions and when to describe the emotions of others. In contrast, the characters of the vlog try to override Lizzy’s leading account when they believe she has misrepresented other people or events.
In fact, Charlotte has significant narrative power because of her role as camerawoman and video editor. In one episode, Lizzy attempts to describe the “ridiculous” nature of her mother by sharing that she once had to wear a “spinster” costume as a young girl. Yet, Charlotte interjects to argue that she did not dress up as a spinster for Halloween: “We were in the same class. You were dressed as a witch—pointy hat, black dress, a wart on the nose?” Her response shows the misconceptions that Lizzy may perpetuate to overdramatize the actions of others and to prove her point. As such, characters close to Lizzy will often interrupt her ramblings to argue with her perception of events.
These actions emphasize that Lizzy is not consistently “correct” and that her biases may skew the characterizations of others. Later, Charlotte and Jane hijack the camera and label the episode, “Lizzie Bennet Is in Denial.”
In the scene, Charlotte says, “We feel that Lizzy isn’t being particularly…comprehensive with her commentary regarding recent events.”
They explain that she has willfully ignored the true implications of Darcy’s aloof behavior. Charlotte describes a moment where Darcy complimented a “pair of fine eyes” and then, “he stared directly at Lizzie!”
Intriguingly, Jane questions Charlotte’s assertion, which, in turn, creates a credible dynamic that offsets the fictive nature of these accounts: everyone interprets events differently, and even the alleged voice of reason—Charlotte—may not be correct.
Jane ends the video with a shrug, saying, “Lizzy sees what Lizzy sees.”
But, as the vlog shows, everyone sees something different. Unlike the novel and film, which establish a linear narrative that follows the actions of all main characters, the vlog disrupts and confuses moments so that the reader must, ultimately, decide what seems the most “correct” from each story.
Interestingly, the structure of the vlog also allows for something that neither the novel nor the film could openly grapple with or respond to: viewer feedback.
In “The Most Awkward Dance Ever,” Lizzy attempts to counter YouTube commenters who called her “harsh” when first describing Darcy. She relates having to dance with him at a wedding and later overhearing his rude remarks to Bing Lee: “Sure, Lizzy’s decent enough, but why would I continue to dance with her when no one else does?” In the scene, Lizzy folds her arms, uncomfortable; she appears legitimately hurt by his words, but she quickly brushes it off by saying, “See? He’s not a nice person.” In this version of the story, Lizzy only reveals Darcy’s unkind words because she feels pressured to better explain herself to her viewers. Otherwise, she might not have chosen to share a moment that leaves her looking slightly pitiful. In this way, the structure of the vlog, which provides a forum for feedback, also pushes the main narrative along.
While Lizzy is the primary focus because she is the one who mostly speaks to the camera, her closest friends, including Charlotte and her sisters, get a lot of attention because they spend the most time frequenting her orbit. One character, particularly, garners a sympathy unobserved in either the novel or the film: Lydia. Previous works perpetuate a one-dimensional characterization of the youngest sister, who causes a significant amount of turmoil with her impetuous actions.
In the end of the novel, “Lydia was Lydia still: untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless.” Her lack of character growth leaves her emotionally stunted.
Similarly, the film emphasizes Lydia’s oblivious self-importance as a new wife; she repeatedly attempts to steal Lizzy’s glass of wine, rather than drink water, even as her older sister grabs the drink from her. She may try to “act” like an adult, but she is not one yet, no matter her actions.
At first, the vlog shows a familiar depiction of Lydia, introducing her as a twenty-year-old party girl. She interrupts Lizzy to call her a “nerd” and mainly talks about meeting cute boys. By the second episode, Lizzy jokingly refers to her younger sister as “a stupid, whore-y slut.” Although she laughs, the words still sound jarring, especially since Lizzy rarely speaks so negatively about her loved ones. As if realizing the harshness of statement, she adds, “She’s like a puppy. A cute, adorable, humps-the-neighbor’s-leg, never-knows-where-she-sleeps puppy.” In this way, Lizzy’s brash condemnation of her sister appears to trail the novel’s well-trod path: Lydia is a thoughtless, boy-crazy girl who will cause trouble. Moreover, Lizzy and Lydia will not enjoy the same sisterly friendship that she shares with Jane.
Yet, although Lydia’s interruptions first seem to be a ploy to get internet attention, it soon becomes clearer that these bursts into Lizzy’s room are an excuse for Lydia to initiate contact with her older sister and, possibly, establish a deeper relationship. After Charlotte leaves to join Mr. Collins’s web company, Lydia arrives with a fresh résumé; she hopes to apply for the part of “sidekick.” Lizzy brushes off her comments as a joke, arguing that Charlotte was never her sidekick, but her best friend. She tells Lydia to leave and rolls her eyes. While played for comedic effect, Lydia’s fallen expression suggests that she truly wants to be in her sister’s life in a way that holds permanence. She does not want to only be “random, wild” Lydia, but a friend and ally—even if she has to formally apply for the job.
As the vlog continues, Lizzy’s dismissals of Lydia’s presence (and personality) build up to create an unsavory aspect of her character; she is overtly judgmental of her younger sister, which provokes the question of whether Lydia truly deserved such a harsh characterization in the first place.
In another episode, Lizzy forgets Lydia’s twenty-first birthday and, later, gifts her a book titled, Where Did I Park My Car? A Party Girl’s Guide to Becoming a Successful Adult. Lydia originally considers the book a “joke gift,” laughing, but pauses when she notices Lizzy’s serious expression. Lizzy explains that she wants Lydia to better contain her “energetic” side, a verbal faux pas that leaves Lydia heartbroken. In an earlier video, Darcy had snidely called her “energetic” to shame her for her demeanor.
As such, Lydia, near tears, asks, “You’re taking [his] side over mine?”
In this moment, the viewer sympathizes with the younger sister, who has repeatedly faced rejection from her older sister. The vlog carefully catalogues the small, mean-spirited moments that Lizzy engages in to show how these actions add up—eventually, they chip enough away from her younger sister that she runs away in tears.
As a result, Lizzy and Lydia experience a rupture that reaches a dire point when Wickham becomes involved. During their relationship, Lydia launches her own personal vlog series, available on YouTube. These videos subtly display the ways in which Wickham psychologically manipulates and mistreats Lydia, leaving her emotionally vulnerable. When Lizzy travels to Pemberley and works at Darcy’s company, her narrative fixated on her personal matters, viewers can witness both her life and Lydia’s, occurring simultaneously, but apart. In this narrative structure, multiple forms of storytelling—including tangential videos—deepen and personalize the lives of the minor characters, while also revealing how much the major figures of the story miss because they are so focused on their own issues.
Rather than run off together, which represented a truly devastating blow to a young woman’s reputation in the eighteenth century, a different form of social humiliation takes place: Wickham, without Lydia’s consent, sells their sex tape to a company for public streaming at a predetermined date. The primary characters, including Lizzy, immediately return home to rally around Lydia, who has transformed from carefree “party girl” to a broken young woman.
In a subsequent episode, Lizzy chastises herself for ignoring Lydia and her signs of mental unease. She says, “[H]ow could I not have seen her when she was standing right in front of me? Sometimes I feel so clever and rational and appropriately analytical about the world around me…”
In this version of Pride and Prejudice, Lizzy undergoes an emotional awakening not just for the prejudices she has harbored against Darcy, but also against her younger sister. She realizes that Lydia is not simply a “party girl,” but a multidimensional human with feelings—and so does the audience.
Moreover, the vlog lets Lydia forcefully take back her narrative and respond to the critiques leveled against her. Tears in her eyes, she says to Lizzy, “Do you think I don’t know what they’re saying? ‘Lydia, get over yourself! Lydia, you’re being too dramatic! You’re so selfish!’” In this story, she is well aware of the comments that viewers may have of her, despite not knowing the intricacies of her situation. She then adds, “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been acting like a stupid, whore-y slut again, right?” Her biting callback to Lizzy’s words shows that she has listened to Lizzy and that she has taken her words to heart, even the ugly ones. And Lizzy understands that her misjudgment has left significant emotional effects on her younger sister.
Later, the sex tape is removed before reaching its date of streaming (thank you, Darcy!), and Lydia and Lizzy attempt to navigate their fractured relationship. Finally, Lizzy apologizes for her spiteful words: “Lydia, I want you to know how sorry I am for the things I said to you on and off the internet. I didn’t really know you, I guess.”
In a sign of emotional maturity, Lydia also takes responsibility for her mistakes: “I didn’t really let you. And I’m sorry, too.”
Here, both sisters recognize the ways in which they have isolated themselves from each other. They are not distinctly “good” or “bad,” but painfully human. They hurt each other, but they also love each other, and they try to fix a relationship that has undergone substantial strife. Unlike the novel and the film, Lydia not only achieves redemption, but also experiences major character growth. She is not stuck, watching others move ahead, but has achieved the strength to survive and thrive on her own two feet.
Since the inception of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, countless adaptations have grappled with the story’s characters and relationships. Its reproductions have dissected the politics of marriage, love, and friendship, while also seeking to effectively capture the tone and essence of the original source. At the same time, the contents of the novel work differently when translated to other mediums, such as a vlog-oriented series. The authority—or lack thereof—of a narrator heavily shapes the composition and style of each format, creating a space where modern tools of storytelling must rework familiar scenes and characters to effectively convey their spirit, rather than produce a weak mimicry. And in some cases, it even deepens the arcs of characters too easily swept aside in the original source material.
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