A Muse Named Jane

"At this rate, I shall not pity the writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, it is all very well, but to be at so much trouble in filling great volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the torment of little boys and girls, always struck me as a hard fate; and though I know it is all very right and necessary, I have often wondered at the person's courage that could sit down on purpose to do it." - Northanger Abbey

Dance of Apollo with the Muses by Giulio Romano, 1540.
Fresco in Palazzo Pitti.

Classical mythology tells us of nine Muses: the goddesses of inspiration. There’s Thalia, the muse of comedy. Melpomene’s province is tragedy, one of the most important contributions the Ancient Greeks made to world culture (think Oedipus). Terpsichore is the muse of dance. Clio inspires history, so we have her to thank for the laments of Catherine Moreland on this subject. Astronomers warrant a muse: Urania. Calliope is the muse to the epic poets, like that guy Homer. Euterpe is the muse of lyric poets, which were traditionally accompanied by an instrument and sung, while Erato handles the love poetry. Polyhymnia, appropriately, inspires hymns. Anyone missing? To whom can a poor novelist turn?

The novel really is a modern art form. Prose have existed from time immemorial, they just weren’t considered the venue for great literary works (sorry Plato). The novel as we know it was a relatively recent invention in Jane Austen’s time. In Western literature, Don Quixote, Moll Flanders, and Robinson Crusoe vie for the honor of being the “first” novel, and by that point in time, no one was adding new muses to the lineup.

I feel like I bounce around between these ladies. One moment I’m seeking help from Thalia or Melpomene, the next it’s Clio whose assistance I need. Obviously, I’m being ridiculous. Whose spirit do I really invoke when I hit a wall? Jane Austen’s, of course! A muse for the modern age. In fact, I was rather explicit about this at the beginning of my first novel, First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice. I give you my highly tongue-in-cheek “Apology” (and yes, it’s a socratic reference):

It is well acknowledged that every author determined to continue, elaborate on, or simply meddle with Jane Austen’s novels must be highly tempted to include a pithy universal truth, in the manner of the lady herself, which establishes the theme of the story. It’s almost like a religious ritual, an epic invocation: we call for the great authoress to inspire (and forgive) the games we play with her texts. After all, this is hallowed ground on which we tread. So may I ask you, Miss Austen, to please excuse what I am about to do to your tale of Elizabeth and Darcy? I offer this story in homage to your sense of playfulness, not in some mistaken belief that my pen could ever duplicate yours. You gave each character his or her original essence and to them I will endeavor to be true. I promise to try to not antagonize your delicate sensibilities with the vulgarity of our modern age though I must assume, in spite of my best intentions, that something here will offend. How can it not? The real question is, Jane, do I have your permission to proceed anyway? If only the dead could speak! Perhaps then I would not commit the following atrocity.

And atrocious it was! I irritated MANY people with First Impressions (this low-angst story is my most controversial), but those who got it laughed. It was a good lesson in how you need to write from your heart without worrying about what others say. No one can please everyone at once, and when a muse calls it is best to follow wherever she may lead. And of course, I had Austen’s permission to tamper! She never would have inspired me to do so otherwise, right?

See the conflict of interest?

Currently, my muse is reasonably active. It's time to write that I lack. Normally, at this time of year, I'm deep into Twisted Austen. I do have an idea (and yes, it's Northanger Abbey based), but I have not written a single word. If I get it done this year, t'will be Twisted Austen miracle.

When I have been writing, I've been plugging away at what I continue to call either A Mixed-up Mashup or Walking in Austenland. Currently, I favor the latter (any thoughts or suggestions on this point are most appreciated). The idea for this most recent atrocity came to me many years ago, when I wrote most of a very rough draft on this blog, and now I am now rewriting it and posting at A Happy Assembly. 

I never thought I'd revisit this abandoned work, and I completely credit the pandemic with making the world feel topsy turvy enough to continue. It is very strange: probably my most conscious venture into magical realism. The story is largely writing itself, as all of mine do. I am not an author to make notes and outlines. I just start writing and follow the inspiration trail, with only a foggy notion of how it all ends.

Maybe the gods will be good to me, and bestow upon me some precious writing time. In the meantime, here is a taste of the madness I'd like to immerse myself in (literally, as I'm in the book. We can thank Salman Rushdie for inspiring such outrageous narcissism). This is still very rough, and there is no way to easily summarize the events that led up to the following scene, but I think it manages to stand alone, albeit a bit wobbly. Enjoy:

“Hello Miss Price,” Miss Bennet greeted her with an easy smile. “You look very elegant.”

“Miss Woodhouse has been very kind.”

“I think we have been most fortunate in our hostess,” Miss Dashwood said, surveying her own attire. “Not so many ladies are both as willing and able to assist in such matters as she has proven herself.”

“Please, say no more,” called the lady in question, now making her own descent arm and arm with Miss Morland, “lest I accidentally overhear something I should not. So far, I have been a most fortunate eavesdropper, only hearing what flatters me.” She looked with pleasure upon the ladies before her. “You do all look very well. What a credit to this new society, to boast so many beautiful young women!”

“We must hope there are enough deserving young men for all of us,” Miss Bennet said, “for nothing is more likely to cause strife than a shortage of gentlemen.” 

“Having spent the day playing hostess to this new little society in which we find ourselves, I assure you there are gentlemen aplenty. The problem is that they are sharing a finite amount of allure betwixt them, and that resource has been far from equitably divided.”

All the ladies had experience with this predicament, and it was in a companionable spirit that they donned their final accoutrements before walking into the night. Miss Marianne, feeling very comfortable with the present company, smiled saucily and asked, “And who are the lucky few so endowed, Miss Woodhouse?”

She laughed and replied, “Mr. Darcy is rather impressive, no one can deny, and have you met Captain Wentworth? Very dashing, indeed. I understand Mr. Bingley has lately been claimed by your sister, Miss Bennet, and I congratulate her on him. They look very handsome together. So too is Miss Morland’s Mr. Tilney quite charming, and Miss Prices’ Mr. Crawford.”

Miss Price shook her head negatingly, while Miss Morland protested, “He is not my Mr. Tilney.”

“Not yet you mean, but certainly cannot say so. You are right to object to my presumption, Miss Morland. Nevertheless, it can do no harm to hint your amiable competition away from him, my dear.”

“Usually it is the unamiable competition one has to fear,” reflected Miss Dashwood.

“Very true,” agreed Miss Woodhouse, “and I am sorry to say that we have a great deal of that, as well. I can extend my earlier assurances regarding the number of gentlemen to encompass a good quantity of ladies, not all of whom were as fortunate as ourselves in securing a sufficient portion of sense, though several possess more than their fair share of material wealth, or at least maintain the appearance of doing so.”  

“I despise such pretense,” replied Miss Marianne, emboldened by such a free manner of discourse, “though one encounters it all too often. It is an unaccustomed pleasure to find myself amongst so many intelligent ladies, even if we must yet put up with the a good deal of the usual ignorance and graspingness of others. I am glad Mrs. Adams has brought us together,” she concluded, spontaneously taking Miss Price’s arm. Receiving a surprised but welcoming smile from that demure lady in response, she confided, “Mr. Collins is of the opinion the Mrs. Adams is not a proper lady. I hope I shall not shock you, Miss Price, but not only do I find that I do not care at all if she is not, but I rather hope we shall discover that she is entirely the reverse.”

The night concealed Miss Price’s blushes, who certainly was shocked. “Whoever she may be,” she cautiously replied, “and from whatever background, we must hope we are in both good and wise hands. It is uncomfortable being so very much in a stranger’s power.”

A sudden burst of laughter from their companions, from whom they had lagged behind, diverted Miss Price and Miss Marianne from their tete-a-tete, inspired them to increase their gaits, and had them regaining the others in time to hear Miss Bennet admonish, “You must not so tease Miss Morland, Miss Woodhouse. Especially when so many of the same observations might be made of you and Mr. Knightley.”

“Mr. Knightley?” Miss Woodhouse exclaimed, halting where she stood. “Whatever gave you such an idea?”

It was Miss Bennet’s turn to be grateful for the dark. “Excuse me, have I presumed too much? You seem so very natural together. Please forgive me, Miss Woodhouse.”

“Oh, I am not in the least affronted, Miss Bennet,” she reassured her. “I am only astonished the idea should even occur to you.” Though the night was deep enough to conceal changes in complexion, it could not hide the looks of inquiry exchanged between the other ladies, all of whom now stood attentively together. “Did you all believe that there was an attachment between myself and Mr. Knightley?”

“I understand he is closely connected with your family,” Miss Dashwood attempted to explain. “In these extraordinary circumstances, given the ease with which you took command of his household, I am afraid it does somewhat appear as if you have come to an understanding.”

“Does it indeed? I must say, I am taken complete aback. I had not considered that our easy friendship might give rise to such speculation. Everyone in Highbury knows us so well, you see, as well as my intention to remain unmarried.”

Any awkwardness initially attending these revelation had now been well vanquished by Miss Woodhouse’s candid reaction, and Miss Bennet, feeling that levity might once more be her ally, replied with a modicum of deliberate impertinence. “Many women profess such an intention, Miss Woodhouse, but few are ever believed. To be called a wife and mother one day, no matter how much those titles might cost us, is presumed to be the dearest wish of us all.”

“I cannot deny that what you say is true, Miss Bennet, but I have none of the usual incentives to marry, as my independence is quite secure. My father needs me, certainly, but mine is no life of drudgery. Few wives are more mistress of their homes than I am of Hartfield.”

“Yet Mr. Knightley is very handsome,” said Miss Morland, teasingly.

“He is, indeed,” agreed Miss Price. “Very distinguished.”

 

“I should imagine he would make a most comfortable husband,” mentioned Miss Morland.

 “And son-in-law,” appended Miss Bennet.

“Surely, he is far too old for Miss Woodhouse,” protested Miss Marianne.

“There are many successful marriages with even greater age disparities,” countered her sister.

“But it is all nonsense!” laughed Miss Woodhouse. “I assure, I do not think of Mr. Knightley in such a way. You shall make me blush to see him!”

“If you have never thought of Mr. Knightley before, perhaps it would be wise to at least examine the possibility?” asked Miss Bennet. “Few other women would have been so negligent in examining all the options a neighborhood affords. How would you feel if some of our ‘amiable’ competitors were to swoop in upon him?”

“Oh, Mr. Knightley must not marry. It would only disadvantage my nephews!”

“The claims of your nephews cannot weigh so heavily with other women as they do with you.” 

“Has he expressed an intention not to marry?” asked Miss Price

“Not to me, no, but it must be understood. Surely, it is,” Miss Woodhouse said with no great conviction, a spreading unease now filling her breast.

“This is a strange way to repay your kindness, Miss Woodhouse,” said Miss Dashwood. “Let us walk on. Mr. Knightley is clearly relying on you, of that much we can be certain, and we ought not deprive him of your valuable assistance any longer.”

She nodded gratefully, Miss Bennet squeezed her hand comfortingly, and they were soon again on their way, not long in arriving at Donwell. 

My First Book Baby's Birthday

Eleven years ago tomorrow, my first novel, First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice, was published. It seems like forever ago and, simultaneously, yesterday. I have been struggling to rewrite the book, combining it with its two sequels (which were never part of the original plan) for three years. It's a way bigger project than I ever imagined. In fact, I had envisioned breezing through it in the chaotic days following the birth of my last child. That was both wildly optimistic and naive.

I really would have liked to celebrate the book's 10th birthday, but not only was the blog kind of dead in the water at this time last year (and the several proceeding years), but I was also struggling to cope with the early days of lockdown. Understandably, my thoughts were elsewhere. So to try to make the event a bit special this year, here is a first peek at some new, original material from the revision (confession: I did actually do a reading of this excerpt back in December, but as no one actually saw it, this is legitimately a first peek). I intended this to be an extension of the prologue to the third book, Holidays at Pemberley, but I am now working on yet another new scene, and it will proceed all the events previously chronicled in the trilogy. That, however, is nowhere near ready for eyes beyond my own, especially considering it still exists mostly in my head. Hopefully, I'll get it on paper soon. In the meantime, enjoy part of the beginning to the new (though still rough) and improved (I trust) Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice:

Mr. Lucas was a man in his ascendency. Though born of humble parents, his life’s journey elevated the
family from their mercantile roots to glorified heights unimagined when he was but a suckling babe in his mother’s arms. He utilized his mayoralty well, making much of the economic opportunities afforded by conflict and amassing a small fortune. In recognition of his contribution to the war effort, he was honored with a knighthood, a distinction so strongly felt that he was compelled to divest himself of his business interests and quit Meryton, removing his family no less than a full mile outside of town, denominating his new abode Lucas Lodge, and reinvented himself into a country squire, with no greater occupation than being civil to all the world. 

Unshackled by business, Sir William set about increasing the size of his family, which swelled with the years. The tidy fortune with which he had retired was sufficient to provide his sons with the educations and inheritance required to complete the family’s ascendency to the gentry, but his daughters were left rather portionless in the process, forced to rely on their charms and wit to secure husbands devoid of trade’s taint. With the latter commodity, Charlotte was well-endowed, more so than her sisters, who were richer in the former. 

Before the rapid family expansion began, Charlotte and her next brother, Will, were for many years the only children. One might assume they would, therefore, have a closer bond than the others, but it was not the case. The two never got along very well, Will perhaps feeling his father’s new consequence too much, and Charlotte too pragmatic to indulge his inflated self-importance. Her sisters, while very dear to her, were not her intellectual equals, and so she was forced to seek quality companionship beyond the walls of the Lodge. Fortunately, within a short walk lived the Bennets of Longbourn.

Mr. Bennet was of old family, long landed in the area. He had married a wife who was native to Meryton, the daughter of a local attorney possessed of a small fortune and good looks, and together they began a family. Thus far, it consisted of four girls. As the estate was entailed on descendants male, it was generally believed that many more children could be expected to follow, until the longed for boy was born. The two eldest daughters, Jane and Elizabeth, were old enough to be something like companions to Charlotte. Though not much older than her own sisters, they provided her with far more stimulating conversation than could be found at home. Consequently, she was a great deal at Longbourn, and Jane and Elizabeth, likewise, were often be found at Lucas Lodge.

On one such day, near the end of the old century, while snow gently fell outside and large fires made all snug within, the three girls barricaded themselves in Charlotte’s room and played with Josephine, the doll given to Miss Lucas by the Westover family nearly a decade before. While Charlotte was rapidly leaving girlhood behind, she was yet young enough to highly resent her sisters playing with what was most certainly hers, as they had been found doing, resulting in a vindictive expulsion of the younger girls from both Josephine’s noble presence and the room. Being well beyond having any interest in actually playing with the doll, Charlotte pulled out her sewing basket instead and looked for scraps that might be fashioned into clothes for her, a task in which the Bennet girls were happy to assist.

“That brocade is lovely, Charlotte! Let us make her a ball gown,” Jane exclaimed.

Charlotte smiled. “It is from a scrap of the remains from my mother’s presentation gown. She gave it to me to trim my new cloak, and this is the last remnant I have, but as it is too small to use for much else but a doll’s overskirt, a ball gown it shall become. I have some silk we can make into a bodice.”

Jane, a fine little seamstress, began to lay out the fabric and take measurements, all the while trying to keep her sister from cutting it to pieces before all her preparations were in order. To distract her, Charlotte called Elizabeth’s attention to a small box of spare beads, which they set about sorting for use in trimming the gown. Elizabeth excitedly proclaimed which were her favorites, carrying the transparent ones to the window in order to probe their depths. Charlotte laughed at her antics. It was impossible to not be charmed by the little girl.

“There,” Jane declared, when she had finished with the gown’s design. “Now you may cut out the pieces, Lizzy, but do be careful not the shred the brocade. We have little enough as it is.”

“Josephine only hires the finest modistes and milliners to construct her wardrobe,” Charlotte teased. “She could entrust no one less with such an important task.”

Elizabeth looked up from her work. “Why should a lady’s wardrobe be so important? Mama speaks of it endlessly. I do not see why I should always be scolded for getting dirty or tearing a hem. When she insists I wear such flimsy fabrics, what else can be expected to happen?”

“I think Mama expects you not to be climbing trees and running through fields.”

“That is all very well for you, Jane, but it is not in my nature to behave otherwise. The clothes should be made to suit me. Why should I be forced into alterations to fit them?”

“Eliza would rather go about in trousers, like one of the boys, that she might climb to the very highest branches of the oak tree in the church yard without causing a spectacle.”

The two elder girls laughed, but Elizabeth remained studiously thoughtful, eventually saying, “No, I should not like that. Why can I not dress like a girl and still be able to romp about, the way the Wilson girls do?”

“You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. The Wilsons are my father’s tenants. There is a deal of difference.”

“Yes. So I am told, but I do not see why it must be so. ”   

With complete attention did Elizabeth now focus on the task at hand, carefully working the scissors, her small face taut with concentration. As she liberated each section, Jane began stitching the tiny gown together, and Charlotte assisted each when needed. As she helped Elizabeth straighten the fabric, she revived the former subject. 

“You asked why you ought not conduct yourself at the Misses Wilson do. I am sorry to say it, but such questioning can do one little good. From what I have thus seen of the world, regardless of where and for what initial purpose its restrictions derived, one must abide by them or suffer the consequences. A lady has very few avenues by which to secure her position, marriage being by far the best. You may not behave as the Wilsons do, because it would hurt your future prospects.”

Elizabeth had stopped working to listen to this speech and now frowned intently at Charlotte, “But that is unfair.”

The older girl nodded. “I think so, too. Unfortunately, fairness is rather irrelevant.”

“I do not think it so awful,” said Jane. “Someday, like Josephine, I will put on my most beautiful gown, made just for the occasion, make my entrance into a beautiful ballroom, where I shall meet a most handsome and eligible gentleman, and we will fall in love, have ten children, and live happily ever after,” she concluded with stars in her eyes, causing both of the other girls great amusement. “I do not see what is so humorous,” she protested, her feelings bruised. “Is it not what all women wish?”

“Certainly most of them,” Charlotte replied with an encouraging smile. She did not mean to disrupt the serenity of Jane’s dreams for the future, they being far safer to indulge than Elizabeth’s revolutionary notions, but she could not help but think the younger Bennet possessed greater penetration than her sister.

“Do you not wish for a handsome husband?” the former now asked, her sparkling eyes studying Charlotte intently.

“I think I should value a kind husband more.”

“But you do want to be married and have a family?” Elizabeth pressed.

“Certainly. Having no personal fortune to see to my own future, my only other options are to either live with Will,” Elizabeth twisted her face at this notion, “take a position as a governess,” now the little girl laughed, “or marry whatever man is so gracious as to ask me. Which should you choose?”

“To be married, of course! But I do so hope I might meet a gentleman both kind and handsome.”

“Do not forget rich,” Charlotte added.

“So you shall, Lizzy,” Jane smiled. “So shall we all! It must be so.”

As the two younger girls chattered on about what the future might bring, Charlotte withdrew to the window to stare at the falling snow. All such talk was still the distant future to her companions, but she was getting close to the time when she would begin the search for a husband, and a real one, too, not some creature born of fairytale. The prospects in her own neighborhood were not good, and she had little opportunity to form new acquaintances from the broader world. Certainly, a handsome, kind, and rich husband would be delightful, but she was too practical to consider such a possibility. She set her sights on kind and respectable. For more, it was too daring to dream.

I think it fitting that these combined tales will be hitting their teen years at the same time as my eldest child. I'm in such a very different place than I was when I began this JAFF journey. It is rather overwhelming to dwell upon. I like to think my writing has greatly improved over the last decade. I hope it has. May the new volume, whenever it's complete, reflect that. Thank you, as always, for reading.

NaNoWriMo 2018: Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice!!!

Announcing my NaNoWriMo novel for 2018! Da da da da! Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice. Yes, that's the name of the blog, as well as the name of the trilogy that comprises my first three novels: First Impressions, Second Glances, and Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters. The paperbacks are now out of print and, though still available for Kindle, all three stories are badly in need of proper editing. My plan is to rewrite the entire story and rerelease it in one volume. First Impressions, though in the worst condition of them all, remains, by leaps and bounds, my best selling book. So I will probably will not stop selling the original books, just offer this as an alternative to readers. Here is the preliminary cover (and a new blog banner to compliment it). What do you think?

Since I'm kind of cheating this year - working with pre-existing material - I'm hoping to make up for it by writing three times are much. Instead of 50,000 words, I'm shooting for 150,000. This is probably insane, but it fits my profile. Wish me luck!

Four Year Anniversary Giveaway: Holidays at Pemberley

Wow! Four years ago today, Holiday at Pemberleys, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes, was published, completing my first "What if?" conception. To celebrate, all three books in the trilogy are free for Kindle at amazon.com tomorrow. I just realized today was my book anniversary, or I would have been on top of this and had the giveaway scheduled for today. C'est la vie.

I'm also marking the occasion by announcing my intention to rerelease the entire series as a single volume next year. I've been meaning to do this for sometime. First Impressions, particularly, has some grievous editing problems that I've never bothered correcting. The whole thing is going to be polished up and chronologically ordered into a single tale. Not sure what the new title will be, but my money's on simply Tales of Less Pride & Prejudice, which will hopefully make it crystal clear that this is, at the end of the day, the same story, with only minor alterations. Of course, the whole project is predicated on me actually being productive postpartum (little Jack is due on January 4th). Fingers crossed I'm more focused than after Eliza's birth.

Be sure to take advantage of this offer while it lasts!
https://www.amazon.com/Alexa-Adams/e/B003HSCV6S/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

First Impressions Birthday Giveaway

Yay! Today is my first baby's birthday! Seven years ago, I published my first book, First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice. I wrote it very quickly, with no idea I would ever publish. It was really, in conception, more of a reaction to the world of JAFF than a new story. I had only recently found and immersed myself in the world of Austenesque literature, and it was only when I started running out of new books to read (a thing that could still happen back then), that I was driven to write something myself. I had no idea it would turn into a trilogy, let alone a major life's passion. Jane Austen was always important to me, but since I published that first book, her influence has penetrated my entire world. Now I think, breathe, and live Austen. I used to only read her.

To thank all who have purchased, loved, and supported both First Impressions and my other scribblings, I want to offer one winner the complete set of books in the Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice series (either paperback or Kindle, winner's choice), along with these absolutely adorable, wooden Easter ornaments, which I fell in love with at my local supermarket here in Switzerland (I bought two sets: one for me, and one to share). Simply leave your email address in the comments by April 7th. Double entry if you share the giveaway on social media, but you must let me know you did so in your comment. This giveaway is open worldwide. Thank you all, for so much.

More Agreeably Engaged

I've been interviewed! It's been a while since I've done one (not since First Impressions came out). I was very grateful that Janet T over at More Agreeably Engaged (love that title) was able and willing to do an interview, as with all the NaNoWriMo craziness I was having a hard time coming up with new ideas for guest posts. Plus, her questions were wonderful, which gave me a chance to step back, reflect a bit on what I've been doing for the past four years, and consider what I want to do next. I hope you'll read the post and comment. Copies of both Second Glances: A Tales of Less Pride & Prejudice Continues and Holidays at Pemberley: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes are up for grabs!

http://moreagreeablyengaged.blogspot.com/2013/12/tales-of-less-pride-prejudice-with.html

Lovely Reviews!

In midst of Twisted Austen madness, I received some rather gratifying reviews. First, the one I missed: Anna at Diary of an Eccentric wrote the ONLY proper Emma and Elton: Something Truly Horrid review the story has received. I learned of the post right when Jane and Bingley started posting, so though I was late to the game, the timing probably was perfect. Read it here: http://diaryofaneccentric.wordpress.com/2013/09/13/review-emma-elton-something-truly-horrid-by-alexa-adams/

Also super exciting was stumbling upon Warmisunqu's Austen review of the ENTIRE Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice series. This is the first time I've read reviews of all three books as a trilogy, which was very exciting! Read the review of First Impressions here: http://warmisunquausten.blogspot.com/2013/10/libro-01-first-impressions.html

Second Glances here: http://warmisunquausten.blogspot.com/2013/10/libros-2-second-glances.html

and Holidays at Pemberley here: http://warmisunquausten.blogspot.com/2013/10/libro-03-holidays-at-pemberley-o-third.html

My Jane Bennet

My head is currently divided between trying to get the word out on Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes and writing Jane & Bingley: Something Truly Horrid, and it occurred to me that between the two, a few readers might feel I am mistreating such a dear, sweet creature as Miss Bennet. I had the same concerns last year regarding Emma & Elton: Something Truly Horrid, but, as I've said before, Janeites usually have a measure of tolerance for Miss Woodhouse falling on misfortune. Not so for Elizabeth's idyllic sister, whose greatest fault lies in being too kind and never thinking poorly of anyone.

SPOILER ALERTS: No misfortune actually befalls the heroine of Jane & Bingley, but that is not true for the Jane Bennet of Second Glances: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes, who has a miscarriage. The reviews for First Impressions: A Tales of Less Pride & Prejudice frequently called for more conflict, and I tried to respond to that need in a variety of ways in Second Glances, but the only person to suffer anything truly tragic in the course of the book is Jane. Why?

I began Second Glances right after experiencing two miscarriages myself. Both Jane and Elizabeth become pregnant during the book, and in inflicting this same loss on Mrs. Bingley, I was definitely making her more emotionally accessible to myself. Throughout the course of my third and successful pregnancy, I found myself researching not just modern birthing practices, but 18th and 19th century techniques as well. The horrors of the Regency "birthing chamber" gave me much for which to be thankful, but the knowledge would creep into my writing. There was no possible way for me to incorporate these gruesome details into my polite little stories, but they would assert themselves, nevertheless. In Holidays at Pemberley, Lady Catherine references some ...

“For an infant, William has a remarkable number of verbose fans to declare his perfections,” added Elizabeth. “Lady Catherine seems to take all the credit for his safe arrival upon herself. She writes: ‘The well-being of both mother and babe can be attributed in no small part to the sage advice I provided Mrs. Collins throughout her confinement. Had the matter been left in the hands of Mrs. Bennet, there is no guarantee that the outcome would have been so felicitous. She would have the midwife close off the room and build up the fire ...’ Oh my! The remainder of this paragraph is quite unsuitable!” she blushed, as did Georgiana, who had rather more notion than the other young ladies as to what the topic pertained, while Mrs. Gardiner tried not to laugh.

... and Elizabeth herself suffers from infection (puerperal fever) following delivery, a very common occurrence and often fatal. Mrs. Darcy, of course, recovers, but it is an important moment in the book, as it plays a strong role in changing Charlotte Lucas' opinions on love in marriage, the central theme. It also helps reconcile the two sisters, which I left estranged at the end of Second Glances. I hope I haven't given too much away, but felt the need to offer some sort of justification for my actions. Sympathetic readers should understand that I do not seek to make Jane suffer needlessly, for "pictures of perfection" do not make me "sick and wicked." Here's one last excerpt (one last spoiler) which I hope proves my point:

When a carriage entered the grounds of Pemberley not long after Elizabeth’s recovery, Mrs. Reynolds had only three conjectures as to whom it might be – Lady Catherine, Mrs. Bennet, or someone wishing to tour the house and grounds. She fortified herself against the most difficult of these options, determined no one should be admitted, but she lost all her will when a distressed Mrs. Bingley raced through the door demanding, “Is my sister all right? I heard that she is ill.” “Yes, Mrs. Bingley. Mrs. Darcy is quite on her way to recovery. We no longer have any fears on that score.” “Thank goodness!” she cried, almost collapsing into her husband’s waiting arms. “I am sorry to burst in upon you this way,” he explained, “but rumor reached us that Mrs. Darcy was in decline, and we almost instantly departed for Pemberley. It has all been a bit too much excitement for Mrs. Bingley.” “Of course, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Reynolds, ushering the couple into the nearest parlor and ordering tea. “I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Darcy will be delighted to see you. We did have our time of concern, to be sure, but Mrs. Darcy is vastly improved.” She paused before adding, “Young Master Frederick is as hale a little lad as ever I saw.”
Jane looked towards the housekeeper with appeal in her eyes, but she said nothing.

“I will get Mrs. Gardiner.” A few minutes later, that lady entered the parlor with Mr. Darcy, who was holding in his arms his new son. Jane rose with eyes for no one but Frederick, and a broad smile swept away any last vestige of her pain. “My little nephew!” she exclaimed softly. “Lizzy’s little boy! Oh, Mr. Darcy! May I hold him?” He laughed. “You certainly may. It is wonderful to see you, Mrs. Bingley. Now our joy is complete.” She looked up from the babe in her arms for just a moment, casting her brother a pained gaze. “Nothing could keep me away when I heard Lizzy was ill. Is she truly recovered?” “Mr. Stevens assures me he has no further concerns, though she is to keep to her bed for the time being. Would you like to bring Freddy to her?” “I might drop him!” she protested. “He is so small!” “You will do nothing of the sort, my dear,” smiled Mrs. Gardiner, “and he is not small, but rather enormous. I will go with you.”

 

Holidays at Pemberley Plus Giveaway at The Book Rat

 Austen in August rages on, and yesterday featured a sneak peak at one of the climaxes from my next novel, Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes (you can read the beginning of the novel at the page above). I don't usually share scenes that give so much away, but as everything from this book seems to be a spoiler to the previous two, I threw caution to the wind this time. Please check it out here and enter to win a copies of First Impressions and Second Glances while you're at it!

Jane Austen, Independence Day, and Holidays at Pemberley: Part One (B)

Happy 4th of July, my fellow Americans! My family is getting ready to be off to the inevitable BBQ, but I just wanted to share some thoughts and more story on this most relaxing of holidays.

Jane Austen was not a year old when the Declaration of Independence was signed 237 years ago today, and while she could have little opinion of it at the time, she grew up in a world coping with the upheaval then begun. Her books provide escape from a world in chaos. Politics and revolutions do not soil their blissful pages. In my own writing, I struggle to find a place of retreat from the concerns of the modern world, and that's why I'm usually loath to introduce sadness and suffering into it. We all get enough of that already. Though I am willing to plunge on occasion into misery, as I did in the spirit of the Halloween season with Emma & Elton (and I have another story of the same sort in mind for this October), usually I like to avoid the pain.

In First Impressions I removed all of Elizabeth and Darcy's initial pride and prejudice, but I did not in any way fix those character flaws. In Second Glances and now Holidays at Pemberley, I have tried to imagine how everyone would evolve without the benefit of the cures Austen so effectively applies to her characters, necessarily rendering these continuations a bit more negative than their predecessor. My hope for these books is that they are as uplifting as possible despite the intrusion of inconvenient relations, sycophants, and even loss.

This is the third excerpt from a DRAFT copy of Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes that I am sharing with you, Part One (A) and a Prologue having preceded it. As this is still a work in progress, please share any thoughts you have on it. Being self-edited, I can always use the help of an extra set of eyes.

Happy 4th of July!

Spoiler Alert - The following assumes a knowledge of the concluding event of First Impressions. If you have not read that book, this will probably both confuse you and reveal the plot, so you may wish to proceed no further.

Read the prologue: Somewhere in Hertfordshire, July 1790
Read Part One (A)

“Oh, Mr. Bennet! Do look up! I believe I have spotted a chimney!”

“For the last time, my dear, I am attempting to read,” he replied, his eyes stubbornly affixed upon the pages of an impressive tomb.

“How can you be so uncaring about the estate which will be our dearest Lizzy’s home?”

“You do me an injustice! I care a great deal for Lizzy’s comfort, and as Mr. Darcy assures me Pemberley is equipped with at least four walls and a roof that does not leak, I feel quite easy on the subject.”

“Now I see smoke. It most certainly is a chimney! How grand the house must be!”

“My dear, do use your head,” he succumbed to the temptation to witness his wife bouncing in her seat with all the excitement of a schoolgirl and lifted his gaze. “We have not even entered the gate, and the park is ten miles round, a fact you cannot have forgotten, having mentioned it to everyone within hearing distance these many weeks. You cannot possible see the house yet.”

“I could if it were situated on very high ground and was many miles long itself!” she defended.

 “We do not typically measure homes in miles.”

“Oh no? What do we use then?”

“Whatever would most suit you, my dear,” he replied with humor. “In lieu of miles, what think you of acres?”

“Acres then! It matters little, for I know a chimney when I see one, and all your reckoning of the distance serves to prove is how truly impressive it must be.  Lady Catherine spent 500 pounds on a fireplace alone; just think of what such a chimney as this might cost!”

Charlotte Lucas stifled a threatening giggle, focusing more intently than ever on her work. She did not believe Mrs. Bennet to have spotted Pemberley anymore than Mr. Bennet, and despite having spent the last three days in a closed carriage and being just as keen for liberation as her chaperone, she could not dispel reason for fantasy. Endeavoring to dull her eagerness with the lady’s chatter, Charlotte considered what a welcome addition such a steady supply of hot air as that provided proved to the comfort of the journey.

“It is a chimney!” Mrs. Bennet squealed with delight.  “Oh do look, Mr. Bennet! Miss Lucas! I insist you look out the window!”

She was right. It was a chimney, but that belonging to the lodge. Mr. Bennet teased her quite mercilessly regarding the epic grandeur of the accommodation, while Mrs. Bennet insisted it was a very fine dwelling indeed, worthy of a magnificent estate. She almost determined to demand a tour of the premises, in proof of her point, but a gentle reminder of what lay ahead cured her desire for such delay and freed the gatekeepers wife, who watched the scene from the window with no small sense of alarm, from the burden of her inquiries.

 The entrance to the park was in one of its lowest points, and as they drove through a beautiful wood, gradually ascending for a half mile, both Charlotte and Mr. Bennet were just as attentive to the scenery as Mrs. Bennet could desire. Perhaps a most extraordinary soul might be unimpressed by Pemberley’s lower grounds, but upon reaching the eminence where the woods ceased and the house came into view, few breathing humans could be so insensible as to not pause in admiration.

“Oh my! Have you ever seen anything so grand? I knew Lizzy was to be terribly rich, but never did I imagine this! Netherfield is nothing to it! Nothing! Oh my! But it is so very big!”

Indeed it was. The three travelers climbed out of the carriage, ignoring frigid climes for the glory of the outlook. The house was situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road, with some abruptness, wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills. In front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. They were all of them warm in their admiration, but Charlotte was possibly the most delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. Of all this Lizzy would be mistress! She had often congratulated her friend on her good fortune, and before her lay the evidence of precisely how good that fortune was. To be Mrs. Darcy was certainly something extraordinary.

Returning to the carriage, the trio continued towards the house, necessarily alive to all Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasm the entire way. Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Jane and Elizabeth were all gathered on the portico, waiting to greet them. It was as delightful a reunion as mutual affection can assure. Mr. Darcy was at his best in his own domain. Behind the formal wording of his welcome, his future relations easily perceived warmth, yet his manners remained grand enough to stifle Mrs. Bennet’s most blatantly silly impulses, rendering the entire scene perfect to both himself and his future wife. Georgiana enjoyed a different satisfaction in the family atmosphere created by the arrival of the Bennets and Miss Lucas. She had relished the time spent in Hertfordshire at Longbourn. To her, Mrs. Bennet quickly became something of a surrogate mother, a feat assisted by being spared, along with her brother, from that lady’s most voluble behavior. All that could improve upon the moment would be if the youngest Bennet sisters, Kitty and Lydia, were also in attendance. Unfortunately, and in spite of Lydia’s rather violent protests, they were not permitted to delay their entrance into Mrs. Rivers’ establishment in Bath, to which they were referred by Mr. Darcy, for the acquirement of greater composure before being introduced to society. Georgiana was charged with sending a detailed account of all the festivities to Kitty, whom she rather preferred to Lydia.

Mrs. Bennet declaring herself fatigued, Georgiana escorted her to her quarters and saw her made comfortable, while Mr. Bennet determined that the famous Pemberley library could be neglected not a moment longer; he must see it immediately. Mr. Darcy happily led the way, finding no little amusement in the child-like joy displayed by the usually wry gentleman upon entering the sanctuary. Mr. Bingley joined them on this excursion, but quickly finding himself unable to participate in the other men’s bibliophilism, he excused himself, and drawing Jane away from the other ladies on the flimsiest excuse, Charlotte and Elizabeth found themselves alone.   

Caressing her hand along the silk material of the elegant chair upon which she sat, Charlotte exclaimed, “It is a lovely room! I knew Pemberley would be grand, but I had no notion such grandeur could be so warm and inviting. You are a most fortunately woman, Eliza.”

“I try to count my blessings, but mathematics never being my forte, such exponential growth is beyond my abilities to track. All I can do is pray this is a dream from which I will never wake, for it all certainly must be too good to be true.”

“I had not realized the estate would be so massive. No matter how often I heard the size calculated most exactly, it did little to prepare me for the reality.”

“You mean my mother has been talking your ears off these past days recounting every minute detail she knew about Pemberley. Poor Charlotte! At least you are now sure of respite, for until his name is mine she will not dare do anything to frighten Mr. Darcy away. How we shall manage once that restraint is released, I know not.”

Charlotte smiled, “Perhaps she too will fear to end the dream, and so refrain from any sudden oscillations?”

“One can but hope. Let us not engage in such fruitless conjecture. I had much rather discuss the fineness of this house over which I am to preside. Now we understand why Mrs. Wickham was so determined to tie herself to Pemberley!”

“Yes, indeed. Poor woman! I’ve heard she was most put out to learn that nothing scandalous marked her husband’s relationship to Mr. Darcy. Can you imagine wishing for illegitimacy?”

“She has my utmost pity, I assure you, and can only deserve more in time, as she comes to learn what kind of a husband she has caught. Unfortunately, marriage is an ailment for which there is no cure.”

“It almost is enough to make one wish to be an old maid. As I dwindle into perpetual maidenhood, Eliza, be sure to remind me of what a great blessing it is not to be married to Mr. Wickham.”

“Oh, let us not rely on him alone. The man is not worthy such undo consideration. Think on my new brother, Mr. Collins, should you ever need a reminder of Artemis’ blessings.”

“But how shall I fare when all the gentlemen before me are not Mr. Wickhams or Collinses, but Mr. Darcys and Bingleys? If your fiancée weren’t so impressive, my lot might be made easier.”

“You are still a young woman, Charlotte. Your fate is not yet sealed.”

“Perhaps in spirit, but reality renders me dangerously near thirty.”

“There will be a number of eligible gentlemen here over the next few days, as well as variety that should be worth meeting once the rest of the guests have departed. I shall make it my first priority as a married woman to see you properly settled with an agreeable gentleman of easy fortune, whose home lies in close proximity to my own.”

“You sound as if you already have someone in mind, Eliza,” Charlotte laughed. “If so, you shall hear no complaint from me, as the situation you describe sounds very agreeable, and I cannot be so simple as to not have formed hopes for the new acquaintances I shall make while in Derbyshire.”

Elizabeth smiled secretively, as she had indeed already selected a potential suitor for her friend: Mr. Westover, the rector at Kympton, but she had no intention of manipulating the situation in any way to bring about such a happy ending. The two would have ample opportunity to meet, and if her instincts proved correct, they would establish a ready rapport. She thought his steady temper and scientific mind were precisely what would appeal to her practical Charlotte, while a shared interest in the arts would encourage those more creative aspects of her friend’s personality, so wont be eclipsed by her stubborn pragmatism. Of course, Elizabeth had only dined with him once thus far, and so while she saw no harm in privately amusing herself with visions of the future, she would not yet dare to speculate aloud and so turned the subject back to the wonders of Pemberley.

   

“I truly think that should Mr. Darcy’s house have proven a hovel, we would still be just as happy together.”

“Though certainly not nearly so comfortable! Be reasonable Eliza. If Mr. Darcy had been penniless, you never could have allowed yourself to accept him, no matter how in love you profess to be. It would have been madness to do so.”

“But I do not imagine him penniless, only living in a hovel. Would not a miser be just the same as an impecunious husband?”

“Not at all. Do not bait me so! Be as romantic as you wish, but you cannot convince me that you would ever have married against your interest. It is very well to boast such munificence when you have never been forced to weigh such considerations, but the reality, had you been in such a sorry predicament, would be very different from what you describe. Only fools marry against their own interest.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow questioningly. “What of Mr. Darcy? No one can say he has chosen to align himself profitably, in manners of both influence and finance. I’m sure I am far more likely to be seen a detriment to his well-being than an asset.”

“Then he will surely pay the price for his folly!” Charlotte declared rather forcefully before checking herself and continuing, in a more gentle tone of voice, “My dear Eliza, who could begrudge you your luck? I know no one so deserving of it, and if it truly is all a magical dream, as you say, you cannot reasonably concern yourself with the normal rules of everyday life. I give you leave to be the happiest couple in the world, without qualification.” She rose to survey the view from the window. “I cannot wait to explore your park!”

Elizabeth began to expound on what she had so far learned of her new home and grounds, and soon Georgiana rejoined them. The dinner hour drawing near, Charlotte excused herself to see her room settled and herself refreshed. Before departing, she said in an aside to Elizabeth: “Thank you, Eliza, for including me in your wedding, and for giving me the opportunity to escape Hertfordshire for a while. You must know how miserable it will be at home without you nearby!”

“Do not think of such things now, for we know not what the next few months may bring,” Elizabeth replied, negating the need for any more to be said on the subject. She had her own dress to see to, as well as an appointment to keep with Mr. Darcy in the Conservatory. She could not be happier than she was, and if anything appeared off in some of Charlotte’s sentiments, it was certainly the effect of many days of travel – in wearying company, no less – and was quickly forgotten.

But when left by the maid to the quiet of her own reflections, Charlotte struggled with regrets she could not quell. She had betrayed some of her less generous sensations regarding the impending marriage to Elizabeth, and she could not excuse such carelessness in herself. Though sincerely happy for her friend, something like envy could not be repressed. She had meant to be grateful and supportive, condoling with Elizabeth on the great responsibilities she was about to undertake, and helping her to transition from her old life to her new, but her revere that morning while standing on the overlook had left her unsettled.

That impressive spectacle – the confirmation of all she had heard of Mr. Darcy’s wealth, and more – brought forward nagging doubts she had fought against ever since the inevitability of Elizabeth’s fate became clear. Charlotte, ever practical, was quick to celebrate the match. Being well acquainted with her friend’s opinions on marriage without attachment, she rejoiced to see Elizabeth find someone who not only suited her ideals, but who also had the means to marry for affection. She was honored when Elizabeth chose to include her in this most important of life’s great rituals, and would have happily born Mrs. Bennet’s exclusive company for four days more, had the distance required it, in order to stand with her closest friend as she took her vows. Nevertheless, Charlotte could quietly acknowledge that her joy was not unalloyed. There were nagging sensations tempering her delight. She would miss Elizabeth’s presence in the neighborhood, certainly, but though the vacuous void left in Charlotte’s life, as she trod ever further down that seemingly inevitable path towards spinsterhood, was sure to be rather horrendous, this was not what most bothered her. Missing a friend was a torment, but the feelings thus invoked where at least honorable. Charlotte was bothered by other emotions, of a nature to cause her shame. The vista as she gazed down upon Pemberley’s grandeur that day had forced the most pressing of these to the forefront of her consciousness.

From the first, Charlotte struggled with an irrepressible desire to find something in Mr. Darcy that she could despise, his perfections being far too much for a lady like herself to bear. Too long had she schooled herself against unreasonable expectations, debating with Elizabeth the wisdom of seeking affection in marriage at all, and to see such a fairytale unfold before her very eyes undermined some of her most cherished beliefs. Were Mr. Darcy ill-looking, bad tempered, or overly proud, Charlotte could be more equanimous, but to be confronted by a real-life Prince Charming was intolerable. Such beings did not exist, or at least not for a lady of little fortune, average face, and on the wrong side of five and twenty. Something, anything, must be discovered wanting in Mr. Darcy.

The task was not an easy one, but slowly her doubts began to center upon the disparity between Eliza and Mr. Darcy’s circumstances.  Their very different backgrounds would certainly compound the inevitable challenges of such a marriage. Why a seemingly sensible man would connect himself without more advantage she could not fully comprehend, nor could she understand the good fortune that led his relations to bless the engagement, for they could not be blinded by Elizabeth’s ready wit and pretty countenance to the absurdities of the connection. Charlotte found such blatant disregard for his own interest suspect, a conclusion that set her mind at ease without any great diminution to her friend’s triumph. A little stupidity in a husband was not such a bad thing, after all. It might even be considered an asset. Yet to see his capability on such obvious display everywhere one looked at Pemberley, where everything stood proof of Mr. Darcy’s excellent stewardship! Charlotte was left to contend with the possibility that dreams really do come true, at least for others.

No knight in shinning armor could be expected to lose his caliber over Miss Lucas, but she was not yet completely hopeless of finding someone acceptable. If she might yet attract a husband both respectable and of adequate fortune, she would then think herself nearly as lucky as Elizabeth. As the alternative was playing attendant aunt at Lucas Lodge all her days, Charlotte knew she was willing to endure a great deal for the independence gained through such a marriage. She wondered she could be so discriminating on Elizabeth’s behalf, finding even so excellent a man as Mr. Darcy to come up short, but confronted her own dismal prospects with relative calm. Looking at her circumstances objectively, Charlotte knew she had no better hope of meeting a potential husband in her near future than on this trip to Pemberley. Though Lady Lucas never discussed it with her daughter, the variety of new gowns she had made up for the trip implicitly revealed that she too perceived the invitation to Pemberley as a vital opportunity. Charlotte was determined to do everything in her power not to let it go to waste.

Read Part One (C)