The main story is that a clergyman’s daughter meets a clergyman with whom she enjoys a dalliance. It is all prim and proper and rather unexciting unless you can empathize with a rather unexciting clergyman’s daughter. Girls can do that, I guess. For guys, it helps that she’s somewhat pretty. With boobs. Chastely covered.
I’m referencing the film version here. If you are reading the novel, you are told bluntly that she is occasionally “almost pretty” and there is no description of her boobs at all.
And so the clergyman’s daughter and the clergyman (No, not her dad) meet some bumps in the road (None of which resemble boobs) and in the end, all ends well. The clergyman, by the way, is described (in the book) as “not quite handsome”. There is, however, another plot line with different characters which features boobs and a stiff masculine figure. Just when we poor guys are gasping for relief, eh!
In conclusion, the Austen novel is very good and the Austen film is fabulous. You can read the novel for its characterizations and its brilliant lines – line after line of sparkling composition. It is all the product of one author and her publisher. Or you can be enthralled by the movie versions, which retain the characterization and the brilliance, and the production values that help you forget that . . . nothing, really nothing, happens. The films are the product of many scriptwriters and directors and producers and cast and hundreds of crew and post-production people.
Now I’m reading the novel . . . again. I am reading it of my own free will. There is no stabbing. Only pleasant sensations.
Soon I will be truly finished.