Austen's writing is always delightful, but this is perhaps my least favourite Austen novel, and that is almost wholly due to the heroine. I just do not like Emma. She's far less wet than Fanny Price, which is something of a relief, but just as silly in an entirely different way, what with her compulsion to interfere in the lives of those around her. However, it must in fairness be said that the narrative doesn't skimp on acknowledging Emma's flaws. She's meant to be seen as silly and interfering, albeit genuinely good-hearted as all Austen's heroines are, and the whole point of Emma's story is her discovery of her lack of character and her determination to improve it. I can appreciate characters I don't like when there's no authorial blindness there, trying to convince me that they're excellent people anyway.

This is still an enjoyable book, but I leave it - as I've always left it - far more interested in Jane Fairfax than in Emma Woodhouse.