In a well-known essay first published in 1948 ("Manners, Morals, and The Novel"), Lionel Trilling wrote memorably of "the buzz of implication" which belongs to each time and each culture, and which it is very difficult for those of later times and other cultures to perceive. "The buzz of implication" means
that part of a culture which is made up of half-uttered or unuttered or unutterable expressions of value. They are hinted at by small actions, sometimes by the arts of dress or decoration, sometimes by tone, gesture, emphasis, or rhythm, sometimes by the words that are used with a special frequency, or a special meaning.
For in the works of an author as beloved, and as written about, as Jane Austen, one might expect that the "buzz of implication" had been thoroughly identified and analyzed. Yet this is not the case. For many modern writers, the implications of Austen's work are all about our own preoccupations ("gender" is, of course, chief among these), not those of the late eighteenth century. Yet Jane Austen herself possessed one of the most sensitive cultural ears of all time, and was mistress of the understatement. Her implications, therefore, contain much of her meaning.
What is astonishing is that her keen ear for the absurd and the obnoxious in society was developed so young. Love and Friendship, which Jane Austen wrote between the ages of eleven and fourteen, finishing it in 1790, is not only very funny. It is also a conservative polemic of considerable power. It does not take a Jane Austen to point out the absurdity of the sensibility cult of the second half of the eighteenth century: the excessive tears, fainting on sofas, etc. In Love and Friendship, Austen satirized this fashion, which she was later to treat in her more mature novels (particularly, of course, Sense and Sensibility), but she also attacked the radical selfishness which went along with the sensibility cult, from its very inception in the work of Rousseau and Goethe, and which was largely identified at the time with revolutionary politics.
This is often missed. The excellent 1997 biography by Claire Tomalin, for example, gets it 180 degrees wrong:
[Love and Friendship] is black comedy, absurd and riotous, rejecting domestic virtue and decorum with elan and authority.
In fact, Jane Austen used the novel as a vehicle to ridicule the radical rejection of domestic virtue. Marilyn Butler perceived the book's thrust:
Although Jane Austen's sentimentalists act in a way that is at the very least equivocal, for in practice they appear ruthlessly self-interested, it is no part of her intention to suggest that they are insincere. In her view the contradiction is inherent in the creed: she wants to show that the realization of self, an apparently idealistic goal, is in fact necessarily destructive and delusory.
Yet Jane Austen wants very much to show that her "sentimentalists" are insincere--in fact, that hypocrisy is a basic feature of being sincerely radical. Her anti-heroines, Laura and Sophia, steal money from parents while despising them, declare their attachment to a young girl while pushing her into an elopement with a fortune-hunter, and profess great sympathy for Sophia's husband imprisoned in Newgate, but cannot actually bring themselves to visit him.
Pippa Brush's introduction to Juliet MeMaster's authoritative 1995 edition of Love and Freindship (the original spelling of "Freindship" is often retained) claims that:
Love and Freindship is a parody of a form with which Austen seems to have been intimately familiar--her ironies are so exact--and, while she might have been disapproving, seems to have enjoyed. Austen is laughing at her object, but that laughter is only affectionate.
In fact, she misses the political point entirely. With devastating treatment of the characters' contempt for their neighbors, family, and parents, Austen's laughter is no less savage for being expressed with restraint. …