I decided to read Washington Square, and now Catherine Sloper will haunt me all the rest of my born days.
She's the anti-Fanny Price and the anti-Anne Elliot, in that she's in a similar situation (so similar that I almost have to believe it was intentional) but makes all the wrong decisions because she happens to be stuck with horrible men. But her story's still worth telling because she still matters. She manages to maintain her dignity even in her small, pathetic story. She gets broken and it's sad, because she deserved better, yet the fact that she recognizes she deserved better is what keeps her strong in the end.
I should hate it but I don't, because instead of pure cynicism or mockery, there's compassion there, a recognition that even flawed, unremarkable people deserve our care. Almost nothing happens, yet in the week and a half since I read it, I keep thinking about it. I'm slotting it alongside Eugene Onegin as an anti-Austen story that fascinates me because of the sad ending. (And then I'm going to imagine that Catherine moves to Cranford and gets to experience sunshine and comedy and friendship).