Why Girls Need to Read Jane Austen

A copy of Sense and Sensibility on the table

Few days ago my wife came home visibly upset. One of her students had proudly said that marrying a rich man is a good way to secure a comfortable life. After my wife left for work again, I kept thinking: how is it possible that girls still believe this in the twenty-first century? This question stayed with me, and it made me think about Jane Austen.

I know from colleagues and friends that her work is part of the school curriculum in the UK, but not in many other European countries. Personally, I never read her at school. For a long time, I assumed she was simply a romance novelist and not worth my time. However, after starting my English literature degree, I was forced to confront that prejudice. And looking back now, I’m convinced that every young woman should read her work — Austen understood, more than two hundred years ago, that education and economic independence are essential to women’s freedom.

So far, I have read only one of her novels, Sense and Sensibility, but even this was enough to make me recognize the bias I had carried. From the first page to the last, I was transported to the English countryside at the end of the eighteenth century, following Elinor and Marianne as they struggled to navigate a society that was deeply hostile to women without male protection. While reading, I was struck not only by how vividly Austen portrays women’s lives, but also by how relevant her observations remain today — even 250 years later.

At its core, Sense and Sensibility tells the story of two sisters, Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, who must adapt to a life far different from the one they were accustomed to. Their contrasting approaches to life reveal Austen’s central message. Elinor, grounded, emotionally intelligent, and responsible, embodies “sense.” She loves Edward Ferrars, yet her feelings are restrained and private; she does not allow romantic desire to consume her identity. Even as a young woman, she understands her position in the world and responds to it with realism and prudence.

Marianne, by contrast, reminds me vividly of my wife’s student. She has constructed her worldview around romantic poetry and novels, just as today’s teenagers often build theirs around TikTok and social media. Though the sources are different, the fantasy is remarkably similar: an ideal love story in which a charming man rescues the heroine. This is why Marianne immediately idealizes Willoughby. When he helps her home after her injury, she does not just see kindness — she sees the promise of escape, emotional fulfilment, and romantic perfection. Austen shows how dangerous such fantasies can be: not because love itself is wrong, but because women who depend entirely on romantic rescue risk surrendering their agency.

Sense and Sensibility is not simply a romance novel. It is a coming-of-age story with a timeless lesson for young women. While love matters, independence matters more — particularly economic independence. Marianne’s journey is fraught with disappointment and emotional pain as she gradually realizes Willoughby’s true character and the vulnerability of her own dependence on fantasy. By the end, she learns that true sensibility requires sense, and she emerges wiser, stronger, and more self-aware.

With this in mind, I cannot help but wonder whether my wife’s student will have the chance to learn the same lesson — and whether she might first need to experience her own disillusionments to understand it.