Jane Austen’s “Mansfield Park” is one of 

the last books remaining from the selection 
my mother left me. Without having read an 
Austen novel prior to “Mansfield Park,” Aus-
ten has already held an influential role in my 
life. When I was little, I remember curling up 
to my mother on rainy days as we watched 
the BBC “Pride and Prejudice” series. I was 
too young to comprehend the intricacies of 
the story, yet I was able to find comfort in 
the quiet ambiance the episodes would bring 
about as well as the calm sense of safety I felt 
in my mother’s arms. 

Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility” and 

“Emma” were also familiar stories in my 
household; I still have short, but vivid, recol-
lections of specific moments in each of those 
film adaptations after peeking into my moth-
er’s room on serene summer or still winter 
days. More recently, my mother and I bonded 
over Austen’s stories as we attended the Uni-
versity of Michigan Department of Theatre 
& Drama’s beautiful production of “Sense 
and Sensibility” this past fall, and again as we 
critiqued the 2020 remake of “Emma” dur-
ing the early springtime. 

The reason I share these anecdotes is not 

to describe my pre-established relationship 
with Jane Austen, but rather to emphasize 
the fact that I was not aware of Austen’s 
“Mansfield Park” until I started reading it 
two weeks ago. I knew I had an Austen novel 
in my mother’s passed down collection, but 
I had assumed that it was “Pride and Preju-
dice” due to my mother’s particular fondness 
for the story. When I asked her why she left 
“Mansfield” instead, she promptly denied 
it. After I showed her proof of my copy, 
she then remembered why she chose it: “I 

thought it was prettier than the “Pride and 
Prejudice” copy I found.” She also revealed 
that “Mansfield” was her least favorite 
Jane Austen book. While that didn’t exactly 
encourage me to start reading, I had to read 
“Mansfield” as I don’t own a copy of “Pride 
and Prejudice,” and my mother would not let 
me borrow hers. 

“Mansfield Park” is about a young girl, 

Fanny Price, who leaves her family in Ports-
mouth to live at Mansfield Park with her 
wealthy uncle and aunt, Sir Thomas Bertram 
and Lady Bertram, and their family: the Ber-
tram daughters, Maria and Julia, who are 
both shallow and unpleasant, and the Ber-
tram sons, Tom and Edmund, the former 
who is a lavish drunk and the latter who is 
Fanny’s only friend. Fanny’s other aunt, Aunt 
Norris, also often resides at Mansfield Park. 
Apart from Edmund, the Bertrams make an 
effort to highlight their indifference to Fanny, 
for she is not a true member of the family: “ ... 
and how, without depressing her spirits too 
far, to make her remember that she is not a 
Miss Bertram.” Instead of being rightfully 
aggrieved over the numerous insults Fanny 
receives from the Bertrams (specifically her 
Aunt Norris), she accepts the insults as what 
she deserves. She believes there is fault with-
in her instead of in the treatment she faces. 

I couldn’t help but despise all the char-

acters apart from Fanny. The inconsiderate 
characterizations made reading the book a 
difficult task, and for the first third of the 
book I was unenthusiastic about picking it 
up. The language was another factor that 
influenced my indifference; however, as I 
read the language and familiarized myself 
with the style, it became easy to understand. 

7

In late May, superstar ballerina Maria 

Kochetkova posted a ghostly photo of the 
Berliner Ensemble theatre on her Instagram: 
An aerial shot of what was supposed to be the 
audience’s thicket of red velvet seats was now 
an otherworldly scene of deforestation. Every 
third or fourth seat had been unbolted and 
ripped from the ground, leaving socially dis-
tant pods of one and two-seat arrangements 
scattered across the floor. The photo was 
originally posted on the Berliner’s Instagram 
account with a caption that translated to “the 
new normal,” but Kochetkova’s thoughts 
proved more striking: “Why are the theaters 
forced to do this,” she wrote, “and not the air-
lines?” 

The controversy began immediately: Some 

praised Kochetkova for making a political 
statement, others accused her of advocating 
for the violation of health codes. In reality, 
her question fell into neither category and 
the curiosity was well-founded. Like in the-
atres, airplane passengers sit in seats next to 
each other, wrestling over elbow room and 
breathing each other’s exhales. While the 
similarities may end there, it’s an experience 
with substantial physical crossover, much 
of which bodes poorly for the prevention of 
virus transmission. In response to the loom-
ing pandemic, most airlines limited their 
seating capacities, and most theatres faced 
complete shutdowns. This disparity was 
borne less out of malice and more out of our 
evaluation of what is and is not essential dur-
ing a health crisis. At the crest of COVID-19’s 
wave, these questions about essentialness are 
fairly easy to assess: No one needs a night at 
the ballet, though some may still need to fly. 
As we attempt to surf the wave’s crash, how-
ever, these evaluations of essentialness ripple 
and foam in a long series of complications. 
Kochetkova’s question may have appeared 
oversimplified because she posted it while we 
were at the undulation’s crest — I’d argue she 
was actually trying to ride the wave all the 
way to shore. 

The Arts and Culture sector of the United 

States employs more than five million people 
and adds $877 billion to the economy every 
year. Wrapped up in this are the millions of 
dancers, performing artists and backstage 
workers that continue to live without pay-
checks. The Transportation and Warehous-
ing sector adds only $612 billion. Wrapped up 
in this are the airline crews that continue to 
fly planes. Together, the two sectors make up 
half of the top four most profitable industries 
in America — on the eve of a global economic 
meltdown, it should seem obvious that our 
survival thus relies on the support of both 

groups. 

Our government recognized only half of 

this argument: In March, the Coronavirus 
Aid, Relief and Economic Security Act allo-
cated $50 billion in 11 major U.S. Airlines. The 
money allowed planes to continue facilitating 
travel at socially-distanced seating capaci-
ties. Broadly, it allowed the Transportation 
and Warehousing sector to continue serving 
our economy. The same legislation allocated 
only $75 million (not billion) to the thousands 
of arts organizations in need. In June, New 
York City Ballet canceled “The Nutcracker” 
because it was not financially feasible for 
them to stage a production at socially-dis-
tanced seating capacity. Broadly, they do 
not have the support to continue serving our 
economy. Come December, there will be no 
audiences buying tickets. No families will 
splurge on merchandise and no couples will 
buy food at nearby restaurants before the 
show. NYCB will lose millions — the city and 
country will lose even more.

In response to this danger, the Be An Arts 

Hero campaign began advocating for the U.S. 
Senate to pass Arts relief by August 1. Their 
website makes six main demands: extend 
unemployment through December, provide 
subsidies to arts workers for COBRA health 
insurance, dedicate stimulus packages that 
are proportional to the economic contribu-
tions of the Arts and Culture sector, distrib-
ute that relief as quickly as possible, extend 
paycheck protection to government non-
profits and update the tax deduction laws 
for creative professionals. The August dead-
line is not arbitrary — the last week of July 
marks the last week of federal unemployment 
checks provided by the Coronavirus Aid, 
Relief and Economic Security Act, a lifeline 
that has kept tens of millions of Americans 
alive for the past four months. As we surf 
into the end of summer, Congress appears 
depressingly confused about the danger 
of ending such support: Our country is not 
reopening; the places that have tried now 
face deadly new spikes of virus transmission. 
Artists — especially performing artists — are 
still out of work. So are retail workers, restau-
rant waiters and even many transportation 
employees. In many ways, the United States is 
no safer than we were in March. This is espe-
cially true for creative professionals, many of 
whom belong to companies who have already 
announced complete shutdowns until at least 
January. Ending federal support now is not 
only misguided, it adds fuel to an already 
blazing false narrative about this country’s 
ability to safely reopen.

Thursday, July 23, 2020

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com ARTS

SUMMER SERIES
SUMMER SERIES

LILLY PIERCE
Daily Arts Writer

SUMMER SERIES
SUMMER SERIES

ZOE PHILLIPS

Managing Arts Editor

Arts organizations 
face a looming crisis

‘Mansfield Park’ and 
the lessons of reading

Read more at michigandaily.com
Read more at michigandaily.com

