Mostly miserable and even "unforgivably cruel", Jane Austen's famous romantic hero is not what he seems, writes the author Sebastian Faulks, in an exclusive extract from the Folio Society, to mark the 250th anniversary of Austen's birth.

Pride and Prejudice is not only Jane Austen's most popular book; it is one of the most famous and enjoyable novels in the language. First published in 1813, it was the second of Austen's major novels, following Sense and Sensibility in 1811; it still has a youthful sparkle when compared to the formal perfection of Emma or the gravity of Mansfield Park. For two centuries, readers have relished the characters and the comedy that lie within. It is a novel of almost boundless wit and charm that has withstood film and television adaptations and attempts to define it as a "fairy tale" or a "romcom".

Even a reader wary of such terms may at first take the novel at its face value: a story of two people destined for one another, each of whom must overcome one of the eponymous flaws to win their happy ending; as a comedy of manners that engages our emotions yet whose moral certainty ensures that the characters receive their just deserts.

From the opening sentence, however, things are not what they seem. It claims to state a "truth" that is clearly not true. The second paragraph contradicts it at once: it is not the wealthy man who is in search of a wife; it is the mother of daughters who is in search of wealthy husbands. Jane Austen not only subverts received ideas of society, she undercuts her own story and enlists the reader's help in doing so.

The glory of this novel is foremost in the life force of its characters, particularly Elizabeth Bennet, who is the most appealing of literary heroines, backing her own judgement and vitality against odds that are often overwhelming. But there is a richness to the reading experience that consists of much more than cheering on this spirited young woman. It lies in the multiple and inconsistent narrative standpoints Jane Austen adopts. As a reader you are made complicit in these, sometimes without noticing. The virtue of this method is that the novel becomes satisfying in ways more complex than you at first expect from the deceptive lightness of tone; the drawback is that the exuberance of Jane Austen's virtuosity can create problems of interpretation.

The principal of these is Mr Darcy. He is, to put it bluntly, such an awful man. The main thread of his story – the top line of the melody, as it were – is that, as an orphan, heir and older brother, he has been too much deferred to and has come to think of many things and people as "beneath" him. In the end, though, because he has a clear view of society, is generous with his fortune and has a kind heart despite his unfortunate manner, he needs only to fall in love with a woman who treats him not with deference but as an equal: then he will be fine.

While it's certainly beguiling to think of an arrogant man being taught hard lessons by someone of a lower social class, this version of Darcy is not all that Jane Austen gives us. He is also unforgivably cruel. "Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?" he asks Elizabeth, when making his marriage proposal. And that should really be the end of the matter. Mr Darcy's grudging offer of matrimony shows less self-knowledge than that of Mr Collins a few pages earlier; yet we are asked to accept that Darcy's deep ignorance of how to behave can be "fixed" by a witty girl.

An inconsistency of viewpoint helps make the characters vital and believable. We don't quite know how Elizabeth is going to manage the next challenge because our access to her mental processes is not continuous. She copes as real people do: impulsively, inconsistently and learning as she goes along. The changing way in which the story is told allows us to feel part of an unpredictable process.

You feel Jane Austen wants you to recognise these contradictory qualities and come to your own conclusions. The problem is, however, that once........

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