Books. I love books. The collection in my possession is rather small, but mostly classics: Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Virginia Woolf, J. R. R. Tolkein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, etc..
Discovering the best of the best is due to my high school teachers and college professors; the only reason I have the books I have is because they were required for a course. Each of them were enjoyable, in their own way.
There are a few I’ve picked up with wholly self-motivation to re-read on my own, to enjoy with a new lens of experience, to leave re-unfinished back on the shelf: Wuthering Heights, Northanger Abbey, The Hobbit.
Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is my favorite out of the author’s and of the classics. Actually, the movie with Keira Knightley pushed me in the way of the novel. I loved the setting, the characters, the elegant outfits, the formal dancing, the prolonged confession of love and determination of man. . . the entire thing.
To shed some light on my love of the book, I have: the original (motion picture-covered) book, a complete Austen novel collection giant book, Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies, and a spin-off trilogy by Pamela Aiden of Darcy’s perspective of the whole Bennett throwdown.
Although Aiden’s series sounds appealing, it doesn’t quite hit the mark for me. Of course, they were written in the mid-2000’s, not 1813. (The first of the series is one of those that I picked up with determination to plow through in a day but put it back on the shelf, half unread.)
In conclusion, to answer the question posted by the daily prompt, it would definitely be Pride and Prejudice, the original.
You know why.
The Woman Who Writes 