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Student ID: 1418241
EN330 Eighteenth Century Literature
Tutors: Dr Christina Lupton and Dr David Taylor
Word-count: 5,463
The role of shopping in Jane Austen’s Emma.
One need only read the most often quoted line of Austen’s to see that marriage
and class are foundational themes in her novels: as ‘it is a truth universally
acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a
wife’ (Pride and Prejudice, 1), a parallel acknowledgement might be that Austen’s
novels are primarily concerned with just that − single men, good fortunes and
prospective wives. Emma is no exception. Marriage and class are certainly the wheels
on which the novel itself, and the society of Highbury, turn. Austen wrote at a time
when marriage and class were intertwined; the social rank to which one was born
tended to govern the marriage in to which one was destined. Hence, in her works,
marriages often occur within class boundaries as opposed to across them. Yet, a truth
relatively unacknowledged in the divergence of these themes is the role of choice −
‘the act of choosing; preferential determination between things proposed; selection’
(OED). While marriage is characterised by ‘the act of choosing’ someone with whom
to spend the rest of one’s life, there is no such process of ‘selection’ regarding the
class to which one is born. Therefore, although marriage and class are certainly the
primary issues considered by Austen, she cannot do so without simultaneously, even if
subconsciously, raising this issue of choice, or lack thereof. This theme may be
nowhere more evident than in Emma, having at its heart Miss Emma Woodhouse,
whose ‘love of match-making’ (53) − the act of making marriage choices for other
people − is what colours the plot of the novel. Thus, what it means to be the ‘chooser’
or the ‘chosen’ is illuminated in every relationship depicted in Emma.
Austen’s exploration of the role of choice reflects the increasingly materialistic
nature of the society in which she was writing; a period that began to privilege the
‘consumer’, i.e. the ‘chooser’. Indeed, the era of the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth centuries is deemed as a ‘crucial moment in the development of consumer
culture, one in which luxury shopping could truly become […] ‘social habit’’ (Pinch,
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xii). Austen’s decision to include the rather ‘revolutionary’ (xxiii) setting of a shop −
Ford’s, ‘the principal woollen-draper, linen-draper, and haberdasher's shop united; the
shop first in size and fashion in the place’ (Austen, 140) − not only situates Austen
within this significant historical moment when luxury shopping was on the brink of
‘becoming ordinary’ (xi), but it also acts as a metaphor for the theme of choice. With
just ten explicit references to Ford’s, and only a few scenes actually taking place there,
it would be easy to either miss the presence of Ford’s entirely, or, if noticed, to dismiss
it as simply one of the ‘minute details’ of the novel (Sir Walter Scott, 200). Yet, as
Pinch argues, Ford’s is ‘essential to the texture of this novel’ (xii). Indeed, although it
would be false to describe Emma as a novel about shopping, one could certainly call it
a novel about choice, and, as shopping is an activity determined by choice (‘the act of
choosing’ from an array of objects one that one wants), the setting of the shop is
remarkably deliberate. This essay will analyse the position of Ford’s, and the shopping
behaviours of some of the novel’s main characters, in order to suggest that Austen
uniquely employs the shop as a setting from which to make observations on the act of
choosing.
Before grappling with the role of the shop in Emma, it is important to gain a
historical picture of the significance of shopping generally in the late eighteenth and
early nineteenth centuries. This is particularly important, as the significance of shops
and shopping in literature from Austen’s era may well be lost on modern readers, as
shops have since become ordinary fixtures, blurring into the background of our daily
lives (not least because the popularity of online shopping has rendered even the
physical space of a shop obsolete). However, as the quotidian nature of shopping was
only just forming in Austen’s era, the moment when shopping was ‘on [its] way to
becoming ordinary’ (Pinch, xi), it should not be overlooked. Although the practice of
selling and buying goods was, of course, not a new concept, ‘shopping’ as a cultural
activity did not begin to take shape, as historian Helen Berry writes, until ‘local
markets’, which had been ‘the main centres of consumption in England’, ‘underwent a
crucial transformation during the period 1690-1801, when trade “passed into the hands
of shopkeepers”’ (378). This physical shift of shopping from the busy outside market
places to the more intimate space of a shop, brought with it an equally notable shift in
the nature of trade; the move from perfunctory and practical purchasing − ‘shopping
for necessity’ − to middle-class polite spending − ‘shopping for luxury’ (Pinch, xii).
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Pinch alludes to the contemporary debate on luxury spending in the eighteenth
century, stating how the value of it was ‘hotly contested in English political and
literary circles’, seen by some as ‘synonymous with vice’ in contrast to others who
saw ‘the pursuit of luxury goods […] as a legitimate source of personal happiness and
[…] of national health and pride’ (xii). For writers to include shopping as part of their
narratives was, therefore, to enter into this contemporary debate, indicating their own
opinion through their presentation of shopping.
Shopping must also be contextualised within the eighteenth century culture of
‘politeness’. Commenting on the Third Earl of Shaftesbury’s idea of politeness, Klein
writes that it was considered the ‘positive form of the highest achievement in human
culture’ (188). Indeed, it was an aim to which many aspired, largely those who desired
to be considered a member of ‘polite society’ and in possession of all the airs and
graces with which this was associated. As politeness was an inherently social concept,
‘seen as an attempt to grasp and frame an interactional view of human relations and
society’ (187), in order to prove one’s status as a polite individual, a societal platform
from which to do this was vital. Many eighteenth century consumers found one such
platform in shopping, as successful luxury shopping in this era depended entirely on
one’s ‘almost daily ability to negotiate the rules of polite consumption to their own
social and economic advantage’ (Berry, 393) and, as such, ‘required a considerable
amount of social skill and economic nous on the part of the consumer’ (393). Berry lists
‘gesture, verbal exchange, and a ritualised pattern of behaviour as the customer engaged
with the shopkeeper’ (377) as examples of necessary shopping behaviours that perfectly
aided performances of politeness. Therefore, by ‘viewing the rise of “politeness” as an
aspect of commercialization’ (Klein, 187), the increasing popularity of the activity can
indeed be partly attributed to the fact that it produced a polite lifestyle, since it provided
‘people who were among, or who aspired to join, the ranks of […] ‘polite society’’ the
opportunity to flaunt polite behaviours (Berry, 377).
Interestingly, to ‘shop’ did not necessarily mean to ‘purchase’; as much as
shopping was about someone making their choice of goods, it was also about exercising
their ability to not make a choice and simply browse. Indeed, browsing was as
significant as purchasing since many believed that deep scrutiny of an object was vital.
Browsing was a practice observed by those wanting to seem as though the quality of
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goods was of extreme importance, when actually, they were only doing so in order to
demonstrate the quality of themselves, in terms of their social rank, discernment
abilities and politeness. Ironically, then, this focus on the object was not about the
object at all, but about the consumer. As such, the years between 1790 and 1820 saw
aspiring and higher ranks of society entering shops purely to browse rather than buy, as
can be gleaned from a letter written in 1798 by Maria, a young lady who recounts to a
friend having received an invitation to accompany other ladies on a ‘shopping tour’:
I declined accepting their invitation; alleging that I had no occasion to purchase any-thing
today; and therefore begged to be excused from accompanying them. They laughed at my
reason for not engaging in the expedition. “Buying […] is no considerable part of our
plan, I assure you. Amusement is what we are after.” (208)
Berry’s observation that ‘some eighteenth-century women turned browsing into an art
form, and a distinctive pleasure in its own right’ (387) is telling of how common such
browsing, or ‘amusement’, trips were. Yet, emphasis should be placed on the ‘some’ of
Berry’s comment, since it would be misguided to infer that all women saw browsing as
polite society at its finest, as Maria’s response indicates:
A most insignificant amusement this, said I to myself! […] Of all expedients to kill time,
this appears to me […] the most ridiculous and absurd. What possible satisfaction can
result from such a practice? […] is it any advantage to the mind? Does it enlarge the
understanding, inspire useful ideas, or furnish a source of pleasing reflection? (209-10)
If Mary Wollstonecraft were to answer Maria’s rhetorical questions, she would
certainly respond in the negative. In A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1793) she
writes scathingly on the lack of depth of women who partake in activities such as
shopping:
[…] but, I contend, that [conversation between French women] is not half so insipid as
that of those English women whose time is spent in making caps, bonnets, and the whole
mischief of trimmings, not to mention shopping, bargain-hunting. (93)
The divisive nature of shopping as illustrated by these sources, again speaks to the
contemporary debates surrounding the activity, demonstrating how eighteenth century
consumption was ‘neither as straightforward or as familiar an activity as one might
assume’ (Berry, 393), bound up with de facto ideas about class and behaviours, which
created a contemporary air of sensitivity surrounding it as a growing social
phenomenon. With an understanding of the multi-faceted opinions around shopping,
literature from this period with references to the act of shopping or that uses the setting
of a shop are highly significant. Situated within this ‘crucial moment in the
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development of consumer culture’ (Pinch, xii), Austen is one such author, Emma is one
such novel, and Ford’s is one such place of notability.
A primary avenue for exploring the significance of shops and shopping in
Emma can be ascertained by considering where Austen positions Ford’s; the shop is
only mentioned in the middle paragraphs of the central volume of the novel − at its
heart. Although this might make the shop easy to miss, since it is not a thread that runs
throughout, it is remarkable because Austen thus projects a sense of centrality about
Ford’s that works on the level of narrative structure. She further compounds this air of
centrality about Ford’s, as the shop finds itself geographically at the epicentre of the
town of Highbury. Indeed, we are told it is accessible enough for ‘“every body [to
attend] every day of their lives”’ (Austen, 157). Since it is ‘the principal woollendraper, linen-draper, and haberdasher’s shop united’ (140), the centrality of it is perhaps
necessary and unsurprising. But it is certainly significant, as it indicates how Ford’s is
the focus of Highbury, both geographically and socially. Austen thus not only
establishes her acute awareness of increasing consumer culture by including a shop at
all, but this deliberate sense of structural and narrative focus on Ford’s indicates
Austen’s desire to channel both the readers’ and Highbury citizens’ attention in the
direction of Ford’s.
Furthermore, by limiting the references that are made to Ford’s to the very
centre of the novel, Austen invites the reader to do a parallel narrowing down in their
conception of Highbury. In other words, one can access Ford’s by viewing it as a
microcosm of the town itself. This is indeed true if one thinks in terms of class and
social mobility, since the neutrality of Ford’s allows for a unique crossing of classes. As
Brodie posits, ‘Austen devotes much of her narrative genius to outlining communities,
then exploring the permeability of their boundaries’ (59). Indeed, although Highbury
can certainly be seen as hierarchal, it is in fact ‘a place of status ambiguities’ (Pinch,
xiv). Harriet’s potential marriages to men of ‘real, long-standing regard’ (Austen, 17)
would secure her ‘rise in the world’ (61) from merely ‘the natural daughter of
somebody’ (19) to a ‘well married’ gentlewoman (61). Similarly, the Coles’ family
have gone from little wealth, living ‘quietly, keeping little company, and that little
unexpensively’ (162) to yielding great profits from ‘the house in town’ (162), thus
making them ‘second only to the family at Hartfield’ (163). Downward social
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movement is also illustrated through the financially ‘poor’ Bates women and Jane
Fairfax, who have ‘sunk from the comforts [they] were born to’ and therefore whose
‘situation should secure [Emma’s] compassion’ (295). Ford’s reflects this same
permeability of social boundaries, as a place that can be, and is, visited by ‘everybody’
(157). Although Frank Churchill’s ‘every body’ may not mean ‘every body’ as in ‘any
body’, but ‘every body’ as in people of social importance, it certainly is a place that is
‘crisscrossed by many feet’ (Pinch, xi), and these feet belong to people across social
boundaries. For example, the ‘respectable’ (12) Mr. Weston, ‘“comes to Highbury six
days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford’s”’ (157); Harriet accidentally
meets Robert and Elizabeth Martin there, members of the town’s working community
who are deemed ‘“inferior as to rank in society”’ (50); even the unnamed woman who
Emma sees from the doorway of Ford’s is ‘travelling homeward from shop with her full
basket’ (183). Ford’s thus provides a unique setting for Austen to emphasise and reflect
the socially mobile world that Highbury epitomises.
Consequently, the lack of class distinctions within Ford’s makes it a place
simultaneously owned by everybody and nobody. In this way, outings to the shop are
unlike any other in the novel, marked by a potent sense of neutrality; one does not need
an invitation to attend Ford’s, unlike the other social events in the novel, such as the
ball at the Crown Inn, the Coles’ party or the outing to Box Hill, encounters reserved
only for invited ‘especial [sets]’ (86) of people. Nor does attendance at Ford’s resemble
visiting someone’s house on a social call, like Randalls, Maple Grove, or Hartfield,
since, by entering Ford’s, one inhabits a space of neutrality and equality, rather than
one shaped by the social positioning of the Ford family. Indeed, even though Mr. and
Mrs. Ford of course own Ford’s, their ownership is significant for its insignificance; the
reader never meets Mr. Ford, and only explicitly sees Mrs. Ford on one occasion where
she has just two lines of speech. The near silence of the Fords pertains to the polite
culture of shopping, wherein the shopkeeper was required to submit to the customer
entirely and relinquish their own sense of identity. Berry quotes an eighteenth century
tailor for whom ‘the polite show of manners that his customers expected was a source
of loathing, […] a subservient self-denial of his own individualism and identity’ (393).
The ‘self-denial’ of the shopkeeper is reflected in the lack of presence maintained by
the Fords. The reader who, like Miss Bates ‘did not see [Mrs. Ford’s] before’ (Austen,
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186) behind the counter, might also ‘beg [Mrs. Ford’s] pardon’ (186), for allowing her
ownership of a space so significant in the novel to have faded into insignificance.
As such, Ford’s is a place of both structural and geographical centrality and is a
microcosmic version of Highbury itself. But why does Austen make a shop so central a
setting in a novel that is not about shopping? One answer can be found in that it situates
Emma within a ‘crucial moment in the development of consumer culture’ (Pinch, xii),
where, for a fashionable shop to be the destination of almost everybody’s daily walks,
was an aspect of life ‘that [was] on [its] way to becoming ordinary’ (xi); in creating
Ford’s, Austen imprints a unique and contemporary stamp on the town of Highbury,
distinctly marking it by social transition. Yet, Austen uses Ford’s and the activity of
shopping more pertinently and self-consciously than simply to reflect social change
since Ford’s also acts as a metaphor for Austen’s musings on choice. The exploration of
choice largely relates to the relationship plots of the novel, both marital and platonic,
and there is certainly a tangible dynamic between ‘chooser’ and ‘chosen’ in every
relationship depicted in the novel; Mr. Weston chooses Miss Taylor explicitly saying it
is ‘a great deal better to chuse than to be chosen’ (14), Emma chooses Harriet to be her
new companion as ‘exactly the young friend she wanted’ (21), and, to the surprise of
everybody, Frank Churchill chooses Jane Fairfax, despite seeming to have chosen
Emma. Austen also shows characters exercising their right to refuse being chosen − for
instance, Emma refuses Mr. Elton, and Harriet refuses Robert Martin − neither woman
reciprocates the choice made. Furthermore, Austen exposes what it looks like to have
someone choose for another person in Emma and Harriet’s relationship. Given the
prevalence of Austen’s theme of choice, what better place could she have chosen to
compound it, than a place that depends entirely on someone entering and choosing,
from an array of objects, one that they desire? The link between shopping and
relationships is therefore evident, as choice is central in both instances. In order to see
how Austen uses the shop as a metaphor for choice, one might take a closer look at the
scenes at Ford’s.
The first scene to actually take place in Ford’s (as opposed to the encounter
reported by Harriet) is one featuring Emma, Mrs. Weston and Frank Churchill:
At this moment they were approaching Ford’s, and he hastily exclaimed, “Ha! this must
be the very shop that every body attends every day of their lives, as my father informs
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me. He comes to Highbury himself, he says, six days out of the seven, and has always
business at Ford’s. If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove
myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must buy something at
Ford’s. It will be taking out my freedom. − I dare say they sell gloves.” (157)
In this paragraph and the succeeding scene Frank epitomises the growing materialism
of the early nineteenth century, believing somewhat ridiculously that his status as a
Highbury citizen is founded on making a purchase. Emma encourages him − ‘lay out
half-a-guinea at Ford’s, and your popularity will stand upon your own virtues’ (157).
However, more significantly, it is Frank believing that to shop would be ‘taking out
[his] freedom’, as the notion of freedom, of having choice, prompts the question of
Frank’s non-existent choice. Indeed, one must consider his position at this moment as a
man with a distinct lack of freedom, as the nephew at the beck and call of a sick Aunt
‘who could not bear to have him leave her’ (248). As yet, he is not free from his Aunt
to make any of his own choices. Mr. Knightley employs the same language of choice
when judging Frank for his unreliability, saying ‘There is one thing, Emma, which a
man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty’ (115, emphasis added); Frank’s
problem is that he cannot always choose, even something as important as his duty to his
father. His assertion that buying something at Ford’s would be ‘taking out [his]
freedom’ feeds into this larger picture of his own lack of freedom; Ford’s offers him the
opportunity to be in the privileged position of the chooser, rather than the chosen by his
Aunt, and thus restrained by her.
It would not be farfetched to suggest that this trip to Ford’s is also what inspired
the ‘so much talked of’ (345) purchase in the novel, the pianoforté for Jane; ‘when the
gloves were bought and they had quitted the shop’ the first line spoken is Frank asking
‘Did you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?’ (158). It is plausible that
this unexpected question arose as a result of Frank spending time surrounded by objects
in a shop, and thinking about what object the woman he loves might desire, and decided
on a pianoforté. Unfortunately for him, the ‘every thing’ (157) apparently sold at Ford’s
does not include a pianoforté. The unavailability of the instrument parallels Frank and
Jane’s relationship; just as a pianoforté is immediately inaccessible (he must go the
‘sixteen miles twice over’ (161) to London under the guise of having his hair cut in
order to make the purchase), so too is Jane. Not inconsequently, he flippantly claims
that buying something at Ford’s would make him ‘a true citizen of Highbury’ (157),
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when marrying Jane would give him this status unequivocally; indeed, Emma soon
reminds him of ‘how much she belongs to Highbury’ (158, emphasis added). As such,
Austen uses this scene to subtly underscore Frank’s lack of personal choice through the
limitations of his purchasing choice; gloves are not really what he wishes to acquire by
‘taking out [his] freedom’ − Jane is.
The more famous ‘shopping scene’ shows Harriet fussing over ribbons and
parcel destinations while Emma observes Highbury as she waits for her. However, the
preceding conversation is essential to understanding its significance. Harriet and Emma
have just been discussing the Coles daughters, who Emma says are ‘“without exception,
the most vulgar girls in Highbury”’ (183). Immediately following this hyperbolic
statement of vulgarity, the scene suddenly shifts to Ford’s: ‘Harriet had business at
Ford’s. − Emma thought it most prudent to go with her’ (183). This stark jump from
discussion of vulgarity to the activity of shopping is ironic, as the rapid juxtaposition
casts a subtle slur on Emma and Harriet’s activity of shopping. Austen’s shift in
narrative thus reflects her awareness of the contemporary contentious nature of
shopping, as those nineteenth century readers ‘who saw luxury as synonymous with
vice’ (Pinch, xii), may view Emma and Harriet with the same disdain that Emma does
the Coles daughters. However, although it would be convenient to a nineteenth century
shopping-sceptic to believe Austen to be depicting shopping as vulgar, and therefore
implicate Emma in this category, Austen is very quick to excuse Emma from shopping.
Indeed, it is Harriet who ‘[hangs] over muslins and [changes] her mind’ (183) while
Emma neither touches a single object, nor even fully inhabits the space of the shop by,
instead, waiting in the liminal space of the shop doorway. Austen thus avoids her
heroine being categorised by either pro-shopping or anti-shopping readers, by placing
her in the privileged position of both ‘there’ and ‘not there’.
More importantly, though, is how the shopping scene pertains to Austen’s
parallel between the role of choice in shopping and in relationships. The scene first
describes Harriet’s shopping behaviours; she is ‘tempted by every thing’, ‘swayed by
half a word’ and ‘always very long at a purchase’ (183). These descriptions could just
as well apply to her dealings with the men with whom she is infatuated; she is tempted
by nearly ‘every’ man Emma deems suitable for her (Mr. Elton, Frank Churchill and,
unbeknown to Emma, Mr. Knightley), she is swayed by Emma to refuse Robert, and if
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one sees ‘purchase’ as the end-purpose of shopping and marriage as the end-purpose of
romantic relationships, she is indeed ‘very long at a purchase’, taking the whole novel
to finally marry Robert. Furthermore, Harriet’s indecision as to the destination of her
parcel is telling of her inability to navigate a social world to which, according to status,
she does not belong; ‘“Yes−no−yes, to Mrs. Goddard’s. Only my pattern gown is at
Hartfield. No, you shall send it Hartfield, if you please. But then, Mrs. Goddard will
want to see it.”’ (184). Harriet is unaccustomed to the privilege of choosing, so when
she finds herself in a setting in which she is the chooser, she cannot make a choice. She
thus requires the help of Emma, who steps in with all of her usual confidence, telling
Harriet to ‘“not give another half-second to the subject”’ (185) before governing the
destination herself. Shopping provides a platform from which Emma can flaunt her
choosing and polite skills, while Harriet flounders under the pressure, thus
demonstrating the social chasm and the dynamics of ‘chooser’ and ‘chosen’ that exists
between the two girls.
But is it really an inability to choose and a reliance on Emma that Harriet
demonstrates? A closer look would suggest perhaps not. Before asking for Emma’s
advice, Harriet solves the problem of destination herself by asking if Mrs. Ford could
‘make it into two parcels’ (185). Although she may not know it, Harriet does not need
Emma’s help. Emma’s intervention, saying ‘“It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs.
Ford the trouble of two parcels’” (185), is rendered palpably unnecessary when the
‘obliging Mrs. Ford’ responds by saying it would be ‘“no trouble in the world”’ (185).
Emma unnecessarily plays the role of saviour, taking over Harriet’s choice with her
own, in a way that mirrors entirely Emma seeking to save Harriet by persuading her to
refuse Robert Martin. At Ford’s, Emma again supersedes Harriet by imposing her own
choices onto Harriet; although the instance at Ford’s is trivial, it reflects a matter with
far more serious emotional consequences.
Furthermore, Harriet’s desire to split the parcel in two might also symbolise her
desire to divide herself between two worlds; to have one half ‘sent to Mrs. Goddard’s’
(185), a world in which it would be acceptable for her to marry Robert Martin who she
‘had always liked’ (378), and to have the other half sent to Hartfield − ‘“for [Harriet] is
never happy but at Hartfield”’ (44) − where she can keep Emma’s approval and
attention, believing her to ‘“understand every thing”’ (61). The duality that Harriet
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desires is impossible and her social straddling is unsustainable, placing her in the
position as predicted by Mr. Knightley at the start of their ‘great intimacy’ (29);
‘Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with all the other places she belongs to. She
will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom birth and
circumstances have placed her home.’ (31) Indeed, Harriet cannot maintain a
relationship with both Emma and Robert simultaneously, and although she ultimately
chooses the world of Robert, in this moment at Ford’s, Harriet, like the parcel, is
destined by Emma ‘to Hartfield’ (185).
Unlike Frank and Harriet, who are respectively characterised by their lack of
freedom and indecisiveness, Emma is the privileged chooser of the novel. Indeed, she
revolutionarily chooses not to marry (‘Emma’s resolution of never marrying’ (94) is
often talked of) and, even believes she can choose Harriet’s social class in the absence
of knowledge of Harriet’s parentage (‘Emma was obliged to fancy what she liked’ (22)
in her ‘endeavour to find out who were the parents’ (21)). Grossman writes that ‘For
Emma, as for most of Austen's unmarried female characters, choosing between
matrimonial possibilities represents a career choice within the leisure class’ (156).
Indeed, choosing is certainly Emma’s occupation, but what Grossman does not
acknowledge here is that Emma’s work is rather in choosing other people’s partners for
them, through her ‘love of match-making’ (53). Although her success in this role of
matchmaker is limited, it heightens the irony that, as the primary ‘chooser’ in the novel,
Emma does not actively choose her own match for herself. Even at the point of
realising her love for Mr. Knightley, this is not a matter of choice for Emma; it is a
matter of ‘thoroughly [understanding] her own heart’ (324, emphasis added). That the
revelation ‘that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself’ ‘darted through her, with
the speed of an arrow’ (320) is significant in illustrating how remarkably passive Emma
is when it comes to choices of her own; indeed, the romantic cliché of the arrow with its
associations to Cupid ironises the fact that far from playing her usual active role of
metaphorical ‘arrow-shooter’ herself, she is made the victim of it.
Austen uses Emma’s shopping behaviours to illuminate this ironic lack of
choice; although she is often seen at Ford’s, it is notable that she is never there ‘on
business of [her] own’ (184), reflecting the fact that she is never overtly concerned with
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the business of her own heart. Even in the shopping scene she does not shop but instead
goes ‘to the door for amusement’ (183) where she reflects on Highbury;
Much could not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury; − Mr.
Perry walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox letting himself in at the office door, Mr.
Cole's carriage horses returning from exercise, or a stray letter-boy on an obstinate
mule, were the liveliest objects she could presume to expect; and when her eyes fell
only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from shop
with her full basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling
children round the baker's little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had
no reason to complain, and was amused enough; quite enough still to stand at the door.
A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not
answer. (183)
Pinch aptly argues that although Emma’s movement to the door could of course be read
as ‘a turn away from shopping’ (xxii), actually ‘Emma’s turn in Ford’s doorway is a
turn to more of the same’ (xxiii). Indeed, Emma consumes the scene with an attention
to detail that mirrors Harriet’s ‘rapt consumption of fashionable goods’ (xxii). She even
lists the inhabitants of Highbury in a style reminiscent to that of a shopping list.
However, one might argue that more specifically than ‘shopping’, Emma is ‘browsing’.
Indeed, the detail that she describes − such as the ‘obstinate mule’, or the ‘dirty bone’
being fought over by the dogs − and background she projects to those in the scene −
assuming that the horses are ‘returning from exercise’ and that the old woman is
‘travelling homewards from shop’ − are acts of mental mimesis of the process of
scrutiny and handling that was so central to the ‘art form’ of browsing (387). The
significance of browsing in eighteenth century shopping was that it was ‘the first stage
of shopping’ (390), usually led by a choice made and an object purchased. Although
Emma engages in this first stage as a browser, she does not choose one object of
Highbury to focus on, just as she does not choose a match for herself.
Essentially, Austen positions Ford’s as a place of central importance from which
to make subtle observations about the act of choosing. Her underlying explorations of
choice are particularly pertinent when contextualised within the historical significance
of this era’s growing consumerism. Therefore, a level of understanding of shopping in
the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries is required, in order that a modern
reader might not lose the metaphor purported by Ford’s. Indeed, writing at a moment in
history when luxury shopping and polite consumption were phenomena gaining notable
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social momentum, and, consequently, the consumer, i.e. the chooser, was considered to
be at the top of the social hierarchy, what better time to explore what it means to choose
and be chosen? And what better setting in which to do so, than a place where the act of
choosing is its sole purpose − a luxury ‘shop first in size and fashion’ (Austen, 140)?
The shopping behaviours of the central characters therefore parallel the nature of the act
of choosing in their personalities and relationships; indeed, choice is limited for Frank,
overwhelming for Harriet and surprisingly absent for Emma. Ultimately, Emma cannot
be described as a novel about shopping, but it is certainly about choice, and, as
shopping is an activity characterised by the choices made by a consumer, Austen
projects structural and geographical centrality onto Ford’s in order to illuminate the
importance of the act of choosing. The whole novel, then, might be read as an
exploration of Mr. Weston’s philosophy that it is ‘a great deal better to chuse than to be
chosen’ (14); Austen seems to suggest that although this may be the case in shopping,
this philosophy does not necessarily transpose onto matters of the heart.
Word-count: 5,463
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Klein, Lawrence. ‘The Third Earl of Shaftesbury and the Progress of
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Pinch, Adela. Introduction. Emma. By Jane Austen. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
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"choice, n." OED Online. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Web. 10 April 2016.
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