Dean Priest, from the Emily trilogy. For whose sake I have exceeded the character limit and must respond in two comments; I'm sorry about that. He's always been my favorite. Even when he hurts Emily as badly as he does (and he really does), he remains the character out of the entire series that intrigues me the most. And I'm not sure he's meant to. He's described rather attractively, if ambiguously, when he first appears—
Emily sat down, all at once more shaky than she had been through all the danger. Dean Priest leaned against the gnarled old fir. He seemed "trembly" too. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Emily looked curiously at him. She had learned a good deal about him from Aunt Nancy's casual remarks—not always good-natured remarks, for Aunt Nancy did not wholly like him, it seemed. She always called him "Jarback" rather contemptuously, while Caroline scrupulously called him Dean. Emily knew he had been to college, that he was thirty-six years old—which to Emily seemed a venerable age—and well-off; that he had a malformed shoulder and limped slightly; that he cared for nothing save books nor ever had; that he lived with an older brother and travelled a great deal; and that the whole Priest clan stood somewhat in awe of his ironic tongue. Aunt Nancy had called him a "cynic." Emily did not know what a cynic was but it sounded interesting. She looked him over carefully and saw that he had delicate, pale features and tawny-brown hair. His lips were thin and sensitive, with a whimsical curve. She liked his mouth. Had she been older she would have known why—because it connoted strength and tenderness and humour.
In spite of his twisted shoulder there was about him a certain aloof dignity of presence which was characteristic of many of the Priests and which was often mistaken for pride. The green Priest eyes, that were peering and uncanny in Caroline's face and impudent in Jim Priest's, were remarkably dreamy and attractive in his.
"Well, do you think me handsome?" he said, sitting down on another stone and smiling at her. His voice was beautiful—musical and caressing.
Emily blushed. She knew staring was not etiquette, and she did not think him at all handsome, so she was very thankful that he did not press his question, but asked another.
"Do you know who your knightly rescuer is?"
"I think you must be Jar—Mr. Dean Priest." Emily flushed again with vexation. She had come so near to making another terrible hole in her manners.
"Yes, Jarback Priest. You needn't mind the nickname. I've heard it often enough. It's a Priest idea of humour." He laughed rather unpleasantly. "The reason for it is obvious enough, isn't it? I never got anything else at school."
—but by the third book he's become something like the villain of the piece, perhaps because the author didn't quite know what to do with him. In Dean, she had created someone who is broken in several important ways and yet has been good for Emily, the cynical dreamer who can lose his cynicism with her, the scholar and traveler who spins for her legends of the ancient world and anecdotes from foreign countries, Emily's link with all the myths and wonders of life outside New Moon and Prince Edward Island and, in some ways, the modern day. She assimilates him immediately into her father's place as the person with whom she can talk about anything, show all of her poems and expect fair criticism and consideration in return, believe in fairyland and whatever comes into her head: she trusts him implicitly.
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Dean Priest, from the Emily trilogy. For whose sake I have exceeded the character limit and must respond in two comments; I'm sorry about that. He's always been my favorite. Even when he hurts Emily as badly as he does (and he really does), he remains the character out of the entire series that intrigues me the most. And I'm not sure he's meant to. He's described rather attractively, if ambiguously, when he first appears—
Emily sat down, all at once more shaky than she had been through all the danger. Dean Priest leaned against the gnarled old fir. He seemed "trembly" too. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Emily looked curiously at him. She had learned a good deal about him from Aunt Nancy's casual remarks—not always good-natured remarks, for Aunt Nancy did not wholly like him, it seemed. She always called him "Jarback" rather contemptuously, while Caroline scrupulously called him Dean. Emily knew he had been to college, that he was thirty-six years old—which to Emily seemed a venerable age—and well-off; that he had a malformed shoulder and limped slightly; that he cared for nothing save books nor ever had; that he lived with an older brother and travelled a great deal; and that the whole Priest clan stood somewhat in awe of his ironic tongue. Aunt Nancy had called him a "cynic." Emily did not know what a cynic was but it sounded interesting. She looked him over carefully and saw that he had delicate, pale features and tawny-brown hair. His lips were thin and sensitive, with a whimsical curve. She liked his mouth. Had she been older she would have known why—because it connoted strength and tenderness and humour.
In spite of his twisted shoulder there was about him a certain aloof dignity of presence which was characteristic of many of the Priests and which was often mistaken for pride. The green Priest eyes, that were peering and uncanny in Caroline's face and impudent in Jim Priest's, were remarkably dreamy and attractive in his.
"Well, do you think me handsome?" he said, sitting down on another stone and smiling at her. His voice was beautiful—musical and caressing.
Emily blushed. She knew staring was not etiquette, and she did not think him at all handsome, so she was very thankful that he did not press his question, but asked another.
"Do you know who your knightly rescuer is?"
"I think you must be Jar—Mr. Dean Priest." Emily flushed again with vexation. She had come so near to making another terrible hole in her manners.
"Yes, Jarback Priest. You needn't mind the nickname. I've heard it often enough. It's a Priest idea of humour." He laughed rather unpleasantly. "The reason for it is obvious enough, isn't it? I never got anything else at school."
—but by the third book he's become something like the villain of the piece, perhaps because the author didn't quite know what to do with him. In Dean, she had created someone who is broken in several important ways and yet has been good for Emily, the cynical dreamer who can lose his cynicism with her, the scholar and traveler who spins for her legends of the ancient world and anecdotes from foreign countries, Emily's link with all the myths and wonders of life outside New Moon and Prince Edward Island and, in some ways, the modern day. She assimilates him immediately into her father's place as the person with whom she can talk about anything, show all of her poems and expect fair criticism and consideration in return, believe in fairyland and whatever comes into her head: she trusts him implicitly.