Romantic Dysfunction in Jane Austen: John Thorpe

Every day, humans exchange commonplace statements: "How are you?" "How are things going?" These are not shallow questions even though the answers are usually equally off-hand: "Fine. How are you?" There are "placeholders," conversational patterns that ease people through encounters or into conversations. 

Just imagine, though, someone who only makes such statements. 

Austen's John Thorpe from one of her funniest novels, Northanger Abbey, is this type. He says whatever the situation calls for. On the day of a drive, he proclaims that it will be sunny. If someone talks about enjoying art, he proclaims how much he likes painting. If someone argues in favor of conversation, he proclaims a preference for conversation. 

He isn't being "nice" or agreeable since he will contradict people easily and constantly with whatever the conversational gambit is at the moment: No, I'm sure you're wrong. Your friends are busy elsewhere. I'm sure you're wrong. It's not that far to the other town. Oh, no, it won't rain (five minutes before it starts pouring).

This John Thorpe is a tad too calculating--the dialog  is accurate.

Imagine him as a less helpful Alexa or Siri. Any keyword prompts a comment, even a negative one. 

He courts the book's heroine in an equally desultory way. Oh, I'm sure you said you wanted to join me on the drive. Oh, I'm sure we set a date. Oh, I'm sure we're engaged. 

Regarding the last, at one point, the heroine, Catherine, is convinced she ended any hope of a relationship between them, only to be surprised and aghast when her so-called suitor assures her that they are practically engaged. He isn't lying. She used the wrong keywords. 

She is protected from a terrible mistake by her fundamental honesty. She didn't say what he says he said, no matter how garbled the message.

Has to be said: Doesn't work with people.

In Anyta Sunday's Austen tribute, Cameron Wants to be A Hero, John Thorpe uses the Alexa-approach because he isn't interested in much more than his car yet believes, in some subterranean part of his brain, that he should be. 

In Austen's novel, he is not so easily excused though very similar in personality. He still causes the heroine all kinds of grief because he just doesn't understand her cues:  

Please repeat the question.