Fresh Air Review of Jane's Fame by Claire Harman

I just had to share what one of my very favorite book reviewers, Maureen Corrigan of NPR's Fresh Air and Georgetown University, has to say about about Claire Harman's new book, Jane's Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World. I still haven't decided whether or not I will actually read this book, but the review is magnificent!

Sanditon by Jane Austen and "Another Lady"

I had a lovely week By the Seaside with Sanditon, hosted by Laurel Ann of Austenprose, rereading this precious fragment - Austen's last, incomplete novel. Not content to let the tale end on one of my favorite lines in Austen ("Poor Mr. Hollis! lt was impossible not to feel him hardly used: to be obliged to stand back in his own house and see the best place by the fire constantly occupied by Sir Henry Denham."), I continued reading my favorite of the two completions I own, that by "Another Lady". One of the joys of By The Seaside with Sanditon was learning the name of our anonymous authoress - Marie Dobbs, also known as Anne Telscombe - but as I do not know if either of these are real names or both pseudonyms, I am going to continue referring to her as Another Lady. This version seamlessly picks up where Austen abandoned us. So flawless is Another Lady's adoption of Austen's style that she has fooled many an expert, including myself (if I dare claim myself as such) and The University of Virginia Library Systems' Electronic Text Center, who mistakenly posted this version of the completed novel instead of Austen's fragment (another discovery uncovered during By the Seaside with Sanditon). This completion was the first piece of Austen fan fiction I ever read, thus the inspiration for a considerable obsession, and it remains my absolute favorite.

There is only one complaint I have about this book and that regards Another Lady's development of Mrs. Parker, as I believe it exceeds the bounds of her promise, but every other character (and she only introduces two not named by Austen, Sidney Parker's friends Henry Brudenall and Reginald Catton) perfectly conform to the identities originally designated to them. Charlotte Heywood comes alive, every jot the practical young heroine, and Sidney Parker, the hero Austen left so very undeveloped, is utterly charming, quite in the manner of Mr. Tilney, with a bit of Frank Churchill mixed in. Another Lady's ability to weave all the loose ends into a complex, highly amusing, and thoroughly satisfying novel astounds me. Take this piece of dialogue:

"Oh sensible, prudent Miss Heywood, how very correct in you to rebuke me," said he, very much amused. "You are already so well acquainted with my family that I had forgotten how short a while we have known each other. I should, of course, have waited at least a month before trying to compare our opinions on all my relations."

"I very much doubt that a month would bring any great change in my outlook," replied Charlotte, quite firmly. "Very few of us lack superficial faults and we must rely on each other's kindness to overlook them."

"But people take such trouble with their faults and go to such lengths to make them fascinating to others that it is really very unkind to overlook them," protested Sidney. "They would much rather be laughed at on their own merits than politely ignored as members of a community."

Now is that not quintessential Austen? Another Lady fulfills my utmost fantasies, allowing me to suspend reality and pretend for a moment that here, indeed, is another complete Austen novel. Yes, as Laurel Ann so rightly pointed out, the end does get rather silly, but even the slightly ludicrous scenario our heroine finds herself in holds me completely captive (and highly amused). Note the following passage, in which Another Lady gives voices to the Miss Beauforts, who Austen tells us "were very accomplished and very ignorant, their time being divided between such pursuits as might attract admiration, and those labours and expedients of dexterous ingenuity by which they could dress in a style much beyond what they ought to have afforded." These ladies, having ignored Miss Heywood previously, seek her out in hopes she will introduce them to the new gentlemen in town:

"We have been longing this age -- oh, quite aching, I assure you, dear Miss Heywood -- for some chance of furthering our acquaintance with you. We have been making the most delightful schemes for days past. But there! We both have the greatest horror of being thought forward or pushing! It is amazingly difficult for us to get to know anybody at all."

"Sanditon is a most charming place, we find -- perhaps a little thin of company. But more people are beginning to arrive now, I dare say. The hotel seems to be filling up at all events ..."

"Oh! I am dotingly fond of Sanditon already in spite of it being a little secluded," interrupted Miss Beaufort, feeling her sister was being a shade premature. "My particular friend, Miss Nicholls, a dear creature and most truly modish, tells me there is far more going on in Ramsgate. There one sees new faces every day -- but here the stranger is quite a rarity."

"Lord yes, I always say these small, retired places are infinitely to be preferred to the bustling, popular resorts," agreed Miss Letitia. "When one comes from a largish inland town, one longs only for solitude in a seaside retreat. I must declare the view from our balcony quite delights us. Not a soul to be seen on the beach for hours at a time."

"Oh yes, we both rave about the peace -- about the generally deserted air of Sanditon. Within a few days one knows virtually every face in the district -- "

"Exactly. So I really could not help exclaiming to Lydia the other morning when I saw -- nothing beyond the merest glimpse really, you know -- two, no less than two, complete strangers."

"Ah! now you mention it, Letitia, I do remember them. They seem to be putting up at the hotel -- some connection with the Parkers I did overhear -- most genteel-looking young men, both of them so excessively well-dressed."

"The sort of people, one would imagine, more likely to be found patronising Brighton rather than Sanditon."

Their blatant shallowness and insincerity seems so authentically Austen, very much in the style of what one would imagine of the Miss Steeles, had they greater affluence.

Another Lady is more than your average Austen fan fiction writer - she has meticulously studied Austen's style and thought deeply about her appeal. At the end of Sanditon she writes "An Apology from the Collaborator" in which she states:

Ever increasing numbers, seeking to escape the shoddy values and cheap garishness of our age, are turning to Jane Austen's novels to catch glimpses of life in what appear to be far more leisured times.

Like Mr Woodhouse, we enjoy the company of these old friends best; and though we prefer their actual company to second-hand discussions and speculations about them, anything concerning them will always hold a fascination for us.

No, this isn't Miss Austen's hand at work, finishing the story that torments her devotees with its potential, but I think it's as good as we're likely to get. I have also read Juliet Shapiro's completion, which was interesting but not nearly as satisfying. Laurel Ann wrapped up By the Seaside with Sanditon by listing some of the fan fiction available for this book, and in response I have ordered two more completions: The Brothers (which was Austen's original title for the work) by Jane Austen and (yet) Another Lady, Helen Baker, and Jane Austen's Charlotte by Julia Barrett, author of Presumption, the first Austen sequel I ever read. Of course, I will share my thoughts on these versions as I read them, but today it was oh so pleasant to spend time with this dear friend: a beloved book that sits on my shelf next to Austen's six novels, as close as anything has ever come to reviving her long lost voice. Can I possibly rave more?

The Three Sisters

After all this talk of Bronte, Heyer, and now Dumas, as I prepare for his Classics Circuit tour, I needed some Austen time. Not Austen spin off, rewrite, or continuation time, but just the lady herself. So I've been rereading some of her juvenalia and would like to focus today's post on a short piece of epistolary fiction, presumably incomplete, entitled The Three Sisters, about the three Misses Standhopes response to a marriage proposal. Follow this link if you would care to read it online at Pemberley.com.

Many of Austen's novels have the marriages of three sisters at their core. Sense and Sensibility has the Dashwood sisters: Elinor and Marianne are of perfect, marrying age, though Margaret is rather too young to fit this pattern well. Mansfield Park begins with the three sisters Ward, whose fates we discern after many years as Mrs. Norris, Lady Bertram, and Mrs. Price. And of course Persuasion finds the daughters of Sir Walter Elliot in a mixed way, one acceptably married while the other two are quickly surpassing the common marriageable years. Parallels are easy to draw between these many sets of sisters' circumstances, and have been done so to particular effect particularly in Jane Greensmith's story Three Sisters, which I will return to in a moment. However, when I review Austen's The Three Sisters, I think it is the antecedents of Pride and Prejudice, a story of five sisters, which are most obvious in this quirky text, certain of it's characters baring a strong resemblance to those of her most famous novel.

In this story, the eldest sister has been proposed to by a man her mother approves of, for he has "six times as much" income (which makes her's five hundred a year, approximately the Dashwoods' - if you include the three thousand left by their grandfather to the girls), but there are other objections to Mr. Watts, namely that Miss Stanhope declares, "He is extremely disagreeable and I hate him more than any body else in the world." If Miss Stanhope declines the offer, he will ask Sophy, and then Georgiana, much in Mr. Collins' style of deference to the claims of birth order. The story lasts only long enough to see the decision made, reveal some of its consequences, and demonstrate the character of each sister.

Mary, Miss Stanhope, is immediately revealed to be a shallow lady as she writes to her friend Fanny of the honor of the proposal. She says, "I do not intend to accept it, at least I beleive not, but as I am not quite certain I gave him an equivocal answer and left him." Quite in the manner of "elegant females", isn't it? Why is Mary uncertain of her intentions? Because, while it would be "such a triumph to be married before Sophy, Georgiana, and the Duttons" and she "could not bear to have either of [her sisters] married before" her, she cannot decide if that would be worse than being married to a man who would make her "miserable all the rest of [her] Life, for he is very ill tempered and peevish extremely jealous, and so stingy there is no living in the house with him." Imagine how Lydia Bennet would have felt about the import of marrying first had she been the eldest rather than the youngest! Miss Stanhope decides to turn to her sisters, not for advice but to learn if they would accept Mr. Watts if she rejected him. If they will, she will marry the man, if not, it is safe to refuse.

This is where Georgiana claims the pen, and the rest of the story is told via a letter to her friend Anne. She and Sophy have been warned by their mother that "she certainly would not let him go farther than our own family for a Wife. 'And therefore' (says she) 'If Mary won't have him Sophy must, and if Sophy won't Georgiana shall.' Poor Georgiana!" Echoes of Mrs. Bennet perhaps? Anyway, these two younger Stanhopes are not so silly as their elder sister, and, not wanting to be forced into the marriage themselves, engage in a "little deceit" with which they "are not perfectly reconciled". In short, they allow Mary to believe that they would certainly snatch up an opportunity to marry Mr. Watts, though their feeling are quite the opposite. In the following quote the younger Miss Stanhopes are assessing the predicament when Mary comes in to feel out their opinions of Mr. Watts. Notice that both have qualms about their deception, but that it is Georgiana who can laugh them both into comfort while Sophy demurs, deterred by her conscience:

"Let us flatter ourselves (replied She) that Mary will not refuse him. Yet how can I hope that my Sister may accept a man who cannot make her happy."

"He cannot it is true but his Fortune, his Name, his House, his Carriage will, and I have no doubt but that Mary will marry him; indeed, why should she not? He is not more than two and thirty, a very proper age for a Man to marry at; He is rather plain to be sure, but then what is Beauty in a Man? -- if he has but a genteel figure and a sensible looking Face it is quite sufficient."

"This is all very true, Georgiana, but Mr. Watts's figure is unfortunately extremely vulgar and his Countenance is very heavy."

"And then as to his temper; it has been reckoned bad, but may not the World be deceived in their Judgement of it? There is an open Frankness in his Disposition which becomes a Man. They say he is stingy; We'll call that Prudence. They say he is suspicious. That proceeds from a warmth of Heart always excusable in Youth, and in short, I see no reason why he should not make a very good Husband, or why Mary should not be very happy with him."

Sophy laughed; I continued,

"However whether Mary accepts him or not, I am resolved. My determination is made. I never would marry Mr. Watts, were Beggary the only alternative. So deficient in every respect! Hideous in his person, and without one good Quality to make amends for it. His fortune, to be sure, is good. Yet not so very large! Three thousand a year. What is three thousand a year? It is but six times as much as my Mother's income. It will not tempt me."

"Yet it will be a noble fortune for Mary" said Sophy, laughing again.

"For Mary! Yes indeed, it will give me pleasure to see her in such affluence."

Thus I ran on, to the great Entertainment of my Sister, till Mary came into the room, to appearance in great agitation. She sat down. We made room for her at the fire. She seemed at a loss how to begin, and at last said in some confusion,

"Pray Sophy have you any mind to be married?"

"To be married! None in the least. But why do you ask me? Are you acquainted with any one who means to make me proposals?"

"I -- no, how should I? But mayn't I ask a common question?"

"Not a very common one Mary, surely," (said I). She paused, and after some moments silence went on --

"How should you like to marry Mr. Watts, Sophy?"

I winked at Sophy, and replied for her. "Who is there but must rejoice to marry a man of three thousand a year?"

"Very true (she replied), That's very true. So you would have him if he would offer, Georgiana, and would you Sophy?"

Sophy did not like the idea of telling a lie and deceiving her Sister; she prevented the first and saved half her conscience by equivocation.

"I should certainly act just as Georgiana would do."

"Well then," said Mary, with triumph in her Eyes, "I have had an offer from Mr. Watts."

We were of course very much surprised; "Oh! do not accept him," said I, "and then perhaps he may have me."

In short, my scheme took, and Mary is resolved to do that to prevent our supposed happiness, which she would not have done to ensure it in reality. Yet after all, my Heart cannot acquit me and Sophy is even more scrupulous. Quiet our Minds, my dear Anne, by writing and telling us you approve our conduct. Consider it well over. Mary will have real pleasure in being a married Woman, and able to chaperone us, which she certainly shall do, for I think myself bound to contribute as much as possible to her happiness in a State I have made her choose. They will probably have a new Carriage, which will be paradise to her, and if we can prevail on Mr. W. to set up his Phaeton she will be too happy. These things however would be no consolation to Sophy or me for domestic Misery. Remember all this and do not condemn us.

While I can't actually imagine Jane and Elizabeth Bennet behaving quite so shabbily (and it is fortunate their circumstances never required it), I can't help but see parallels between their sisterly confidences and those portrayed here . Clearly, Sophy and Georgiana are far superior in understanding to Mary, and it is Georgiana who has the wit while Sophy is a kinder creature. Do I reach too far in seeing a resemblance to the eldest Bennet ladies? When Mary and Mr. Watt squabble over her very unreasonable demands for the marriage, he, with absolutely no sensibility, proceeds to carry out his threat of pursuing her sisters:

"And pray, Miss Stanhope (said Mr. Watts), What am I to expect from you in return for all this."

"Expect? Why, you may expect to have me pleased."

"It would be odd if I did not. Your expectations, Madam, are too high for me, and I must apply to Miss Sophy, who perhaps may not have raised her's so much."

"You are mistaken, Sir, in supposing so, (said Sophy) for tho' they may not be exactly in the same Line, yet my expectations are to the full as high as my Sister's; for I expect my Husband to be good-tempered and Chearful; to consult my Happiness in all his Actions, and to love me with Constancy and Sincerity."

Mr. Watts stared. "These are very odd Ideas, truly, young Lady. You had better discard them before you marry, or you will be obliged to do it afterwards."

Sophy's scrupulously honest reply so reminds me of Jane's sincerity. This indeed seems how she might respond if confronted with such a situation, though the frankness is more reminiscent of Elizabeth. We feel bad for Mary marrying such a man, as do the Duttons, for whom "that anyone who had the Beauty and fortune (tho' small yet a provision) of Mary would willingly marry Mr. Watts, could by them scarcely be credited," but see the tragedy would have been far worse for Sophy and Georgiana, who would find no solace in mere material triumph. Young ladies of small fortune, especially those without father or brothers to aid them, certainly did face a terrible position during Austen's time. We modern readers tend to be harsh on characters, like Charlotte Lucas, who succumb to the very real pressures of survival in their choice of spouse, while undermining what courage rejecting a suitable offer really took, as well as the consequences for
such actions.

Here's where I return to Jane Greensmith. If you do not own a copy of Intimations of Austen, I highly recommend you buy one (read my review of the book here), but the short story Three Sisters can be read at The Derbyshire Writers' Guild, where it was originally published under the name Jane GS. Before you read this, read that. It will only take a few minutes and will prevent me from spoiling an excellent tale, as I have every intention of now doing.

Three Sisters crosses the story of the Misses Elliots with that of the Misses Ward. It begins with what is clearly a description of the Elliots:

Sadly, their mother died when they were still young—the eldest being sixteen and the youngest but twelve when this sad event occurred. The girls were left to the care of their father, a vain man, more concerned with the hue of his complexion than the order in his household. Fortunately, an old family friend stepped into the breach left by the mother's passing, and this lady—Milady as she was called by the girls—counciled the daughters of her friend as if they had been her own.

Each sister declares her hopes for marriage - the eldest wants wealth, the youngest respectability, but the middle sister will marry only for "the deepest love". A young sailor comes into her life and they fall in love but, unlike Lady Russell, "Milady" does not succeed in stopping the engagement. The fate of what seems to be Anne Elliot becomes that of Francis Price, living in squalor, with too many children, and demanding of Milady, "Why did you let me marry for love and love alone? You were the one I looked to after my mother died. Why didn't you persuade me to give him up? I would rather be alone than to have married for love."

I adore this story, turning as it does all our assumptions about Austen on their head. Seen in this different context, Lady Russell's persuasion becomes admirable prudence and Francis Prices' choice far more sympathetic. It reminds us how very different was Austen's world from ours and that those dear beliefs and moral code that pervade her work, which Janeites so proudly promote, can be seen as rash and foolhardy in their contemporary context. Three Sisters highlights the extreme difficulty of the Miss Stanhopes' circumstances, even as I laugh at Mary's contradictory nature and Georgiana's feisty social critique. While Austen's work is almost always humorous, it is useful to sometime stop and remember that the issues she tackled were of the utmost consequence. Truly her work is a towering example of laughter therapy.

Just one last thought I cannot resist sharing - how about that song from Fiddler on the Roof, "Matchmaker"? Could the writers of the musical have found inspiration for their three young, Russian Jewesses, Tzeitel, Hodel, and Chava, in Austen?

Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict by Laurie Viera Rigler

I'd like to thank those of you who urged me to read Laurie Viera Rigler's Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict after expressing my disinclination for it in my post on the novel's predecessor, Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict. I enjoyed Rude Awakenings far more than I had imagined. In fact, it in many ways told the story that I have long been telling myself in my mind: the narrative that sparked my Austen mania. I can't tell you how often I have envisioned one of Austen's heroines, usually Anne Elliot or Elizabeth Bennet, sitting beside me in a movie theater or in the passenger seat of my car, expressing her awe at the spectacle. Such imaginings as these were what initial drove me to start rereading Austen's work. This book is, in that sense, is much like a fantasy come true for me.

Jane Mansfield (of Somerset, not pinup fame) awakens one morning to find herself in the body of Courtney Stone, 21st century Californian. She must adapt to both her unusual situation and the modern world, which, while difficult, she manages with a deal of finesse. I must say I like her much more than Courtney, whose irritating personality greatly impeded my enjoyment of Confessions. While Courtney, with the benefit of knowing something about the time she is in, bungles her way through Jane's life, Jane, though she commits more overall blunders, is far more conscious of her role as "steward", thereby doing more to improve Courtney's situation. I think Ms. Rigler intended both ladies to bring fresh perspectives to their respective situations but, by my way of thinking, it is not an even trade.

The one benefit Courtney bequeaths to Jane is a set of steadfast friends, without whose help Jane would really have had a hard time. With good intentions, they whisk her off to a psychiatrist when she insists she is not Courtney. I love this scene between Jane and the doctor:

She poises her writing instrument atop her paper. "Do you have any history of mental illness in your family?"

What an impertinent question. As if any family would reveal such information. "Indeed not."

"Have you any thoughts of hurting yourself? Any suicidal thought?"

"Of course not. Are you a magistrate as well?"

But other than highly devoted friends, Courtney has given Jane a life of dead end work, overdue bills, and a wreck of a relationship. All this Jane goes about setting to right, and her observations on modern dating are some of the most intriguing moments of the book. These range from highly humorous, like this exchange ...

"Let me buy you a coffee. An iced coffee, if you like. And I'll tell you all about it, okay?"

I manage a smile. "Only if you allow me to buy the coffee."

For that is what independent women may do with their non-boyfriend gentlemen friends, is it not?

... to far more serious, philosophical observations on the state of gender equality ...

"No man expects his wife to be untouched. Maybe our grandparents might have, but even that I doubt. Birth control changed everything."

"Doesn't look to me like much has changed."

"Oh, so I suppose we can just ignore the entire women's movement."

"Movement? Towards what - a lack of respect for oneself?"

"I've never heard you talk like this, Courtney. I thought you were a feminist."

"If that means I am a defender of my sex against blackguards like you, then yes, I suppose I am a feminist."

By the end of the story, Jane has succeeded in incorporating her 19th century values into the modern world. Amusingly, not much has really changed, as the solution to a lady's predicament apparently remains a good marriage, regardless of the century.

The book is simply fascinating. I still feel like the body swapping mechanism is poorly explained but was glad, at the end, to have a better understanding of our heroines fates. I am considering rereading the series with my husband, who enjoyed Lost in Austen (my review of which you can read here) and is generally open minded to Austen based narratives, especially when there is a fantasy twist. I recommend this book to anyone who, like me, spends hours wondering what kind of reaction Marianne Dashwood would have to techno music and Emma Woodhouse to flip flops.

Georgette Heyer Poll Results & Classics Circuit Check Up

So 75% of participants in my little poll enthusiastically exclaimed, "Oh yes! Please oh please provide Heyer reviews!" Ask and you will receive. As I do with Austen inspired fiction, I will review the Heyer's books that I enjoy as I peruse them. The problem is that I've already read several very good selections, so I think I will need to go back and at least briefly describe the very best. I will start by mentioning my two favorites, both Regency romances. For those of you who haven't been there before, Georgette-Heyer.com, "the definitive fan website for Georgette Heyer", provides excerpts from all of her books, quite useful in navigating (and remembering!) all of this prolific lady's work.

I think my favorite book so far is Friday's Child, a remarkable thing considering the incredible shallowness and one dimensionality of Lord Sheringham and Miss Hero Wantage, the main characters. I love that this is a tale that begins with a marriage rather than ending with one. The foolhardy couple mentioned above decide to marry under most exceptional, hasty, and unpromising circumstances, engage in a totally ridiculous and most improper series of escapades, and eventually find perfect happiness in their silly selves. The plot and dialogue are absolutely hysterical, our heroes admirably supported in their absurdity by a cast of equally inane supporting characters. This is the first Heyer book I read aloud with my husband, immediately after finishing it myself, and the one that made him open to more. We laughed from beginning to end, thoroughly enjoying this vicarious romp through Regency London.

Not everyone was so charmed. Read The Classics Circuit reviews by Sparks' Notes,  sasha & the silverfish, and Reading, Writing and Retirement.

Cotillion is also great fun. The characters, though also not brilliant, are far more personally endearing that those of Friday's Child and engage in a similarly ridiculous and equally charming plot. Kitty Charing has been put in the awkward circumstance of having to marry one of her cousins or forsake any inheritance. One of said cousins is the Honorable Freddy Standen, whom she convinces to fake an engagement, giving her the freedom to kick up a lark in London (for who knows what the future may bring) and attempt to entice the cousin she really wants, Captain Jack Westruther, to ask for her hand. The result is a cacophony of secrets and intrigues that remarkably work themselves into a satisfying conclusion. Mr. Standen, a kindhearted but vacant man of impeccable ton, is shockingly endearing, as is another hapless cousin, Lord Dolphinton, though for very different reasons.

Read the Carol's Notebook review for The Classics Circuit.

Several other Regency romances that I enjoyed are being featured in this month's Classics Circuit. Here are links to reviews of other books that I particularly liked (I will add to this list as the Circuit progresses - last updated 4/7/10):

The Corinthian courtesy of Medieval Bookworm
Frederica courtesy of One Librarian's Book Reviews
Frederica courtesy of ReviewsByLola's Blog
Frederica courtesy of Linus' Blanket
The Grand Sophy courtesy of Jenny's Books
The Grand Sophy courtesy of Staircase Wit
The Grand Sophy courtesy of Kay's Bookshelf
The Nonesuch courtesy of A Few More Pages 

Yes, Frederica and The Grand Sophy were popular picks for good reason. Also, you can visit my review of Black Sheep, which was wonderful (the book I mean, not my review, which I am only willing to deem adequate), right here.

Above image borrowed from Historical Tapestry.

The Professor by Charlotte Bronte

Rereading The Professor after all these years was fascinating, but I have been dawdling for three weeks now over this post and still feel uninspired. My first issue is that I have to somehow relate it all back to Jane Austen, as I declared I would upon accepting the All About the Brontes Challenge. Secondly, I don't want to engage in the rather boring exercise of critiquing a text that is blatantly stamped with all the hallmarks of "a first attempt", despite the authoress' protests to the contrary in her preface. Where does this leave me? After assuring you that this tale of a young man making his way in the world, finally finding his path at a Belgium boarding school, is very worthwhile reading in spite of its foibles (or, perhaps, because of them), I propose to write about some archaic nonsense, which I shall impose upon my reading and thereby color it . What kind of archaic nonsense did I have in mind? Have you ever heard of the noble Science of Physiognomy?

In brief, and according to Wikipedia, physiognomy "is the assessment of a person's character or personality from their outer appearance, especially the face." In essence, facial features are said to be measures of intelligence, kindness, stupidity, and madness. It belongs to the same school of thought as phrenology, but physiognomy has the added distinction of being highly subscribed to by the artists of the time. Its influence is easy to see in Victorian literature, writers often describing their characters' "physiognomies" in depth. The Brontes are no exception; indeed, Charlotte is the darling of feminist literary theorists exploring the implications of the physiognomy of madwomen. In The Professor, William Crimsworth judges everyone based upon such notions, from his estranged brother's wife ...

I sought her eye, desirous to read there the intelligence which I could not discern in her face or hear in her conversation; it was merry, rather small; by turns I saw vivacity, vanity, coquetry, look out through its irid, but I watched in vain for a glimpse of a soul.

... to the entire Flemish race (of whom I beg will take no offense at the following quote) ...

Flamands they certainly were, and both had the true Flamand physiognomy, where intellectual inferiority is marked in lines none can mistake; still they were men, and, in the main, honest men; and I could not see why their being aboriginals of the flat, dull soil should serve as a pretext for treating them with perpetual severity and contempt.

The novel even catalogs his students, in almost epic style, based upon such observances of their appearance and characters. Physiognomy is so much an assumption that we must conclude that, for Charlotte, it was a truth, as incontestable as God.

Here's where Jane, with a mischievous smile, chimes in with a witty set down, for well she knows that while "one [might have] all the goodness" another might have "all the appearance of it." Austen pays not the slightest heed to physiognomy, which was only just coming into prevalence during her lifetime. In fact, she emphatically warns us how deceptive appearances can be in the form of charming rascal after charming rascal: Willoughby, Wickham, Crawford, Churchill, and Elliot. The entire plots of Pride & Prejudice and Emma are based upon how one should never make assumptions based upon appearance. Austen barely even provides a basic description of her heroines' looks, drawing only the vaguest pictures of what these ladies look like (to the convenience of modern cinema).

On that note, I abruptly wrap up my musings on physiognomy and leave you with one last quote from and thought on The Professor, having absolutely no relevance to the previous subject. I find it remarkable that Charlotte Bronte, the orchestrator of all Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester's violent emotions, wrote the following:

Novelists should never allow themselves to weary of the study of real life. If they observed this duty conscientiously, they would give us fewer pictures chequered with vivid contrasts of light and shade; they would seldom elevate their heroes and heroines to the heights of rapture - still seldomer sink them to the depths of despair; for if we rarely savour the acrid bitterness of hopeless anguish ...

Though this is the policy she employed in writing The Professor, we'll see how well she adheres to it in Villette, my favorite Bronte novel and the one which I am reading next.

Read my review of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

The Pemberley Chronicles: Recollections of Rosings by Rebecca Ann Collins

Warning: Slight spoiler alert. Please proceed with caution, though I do not believe that reading my review will diminish your enjoyment of the book. For some reason I don't seem to be able to review The Pemberley Chronicles without giving something away.

Read my review of volume seven, Postscript from Pemberley, here.

Read my summary of the first six books in The Pemberley Chronicles here.

His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint smile, "Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments."

"No," replied Elinor, "her opinions are all romantic."

"Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist."

"I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not."

I commence this review of the eighth volume in The Pemberley Chronicles with the above quote from Sense & Sensibility because I have come to the conclusion that second attachments are the pervasive theme of the series. Yes, several of the characters enjoy very happy first attachments, but as each book proceeds, Rebecca Ann Collins focuses increasingly on the more mature and fuller love to be found later in life, after early romantic expectations have been disappointed. Such is certainly the case in Recollections of Rosings, where the focus falls upon the eldest daughter of Mr. Collins and Charlotte Lucas, Catherine Harrison.

While the back cover of this book would lead you to believe that this story is primarily about Catherine's youngest daughter, Lillian, and conflict over her romance, it is her mother's relationships that dominate. Following in her mother's footsteps, Catherine (the favorite and namesake of Lady Catherine de Bourgh) married the rector of Hunsford at the age of twenty-nine. As the book begins, disaster has struck at Rosings in the form of a devastating fire. In his anxiety to help in the emergency, Dr. Harrison overexerts himself and has a heart attack, precipitating a rapid decline. The family is relocated to the Dower House on the estate, where the doctor breaths his last, leaving Catherine and Lillian, the only child still at home, alone.

Into this scene comes Frank Burnett, an expert brought in to assist the in the preservation and restoration of the scorched main house. Soon it is revealed that this same man, in Catherine's youth, held the position of librarian at Rosings and that the two had developed a close friendship. Due to the will of a rather officious and overbearing lady (need I mention names?), that friendship came to an abrupt halt. Now, with no one to stand in their way, Catherine and Frank have the freedom to get to know each other again.

The most striking thing about this novel are the images of Rosings, that imposing edifice that so impressed Mr. Collins with its expensive fireplaces, after the fire:

It was nearly four days since the fire, yet parts of the building were still smoldering - the smoke, acrid and dark, drifting upwards - while everywhere across the once immaculate park was strewn the debris of days past, Scorched walls, crumbling masonry, and shattered windows - all those many dozens of windows that her father used to speak of in a hushed voice, whose glazing had cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh a fortune - shattered now, hung with raged bits of rich curtains blowing in the wind.

Catherine gasped. She could hardly breathe, and beside her Lillian was weeping as Jonathan and Mr Grantham helped them alight. The driver of the vehicle they had hired stood beside them open-mouthed, so shocked he seemed to have been paralysed, unable to even recall the agreed hire when Mr Grantham attempted to pay him. "Jesus!" he said. "Jesus, I never seen such a sight before!" and it seemed he spoke for them all.

Rosings, in this novel, stands as a monument to Lady Catherine's legacy. It's near total destruction represents the end of her notable influence, freeing those who were subjected to her rule from the burden of her legacy. Strangely, I feel almost sorry for the great lady as her morals, priorities, and values are swept away in a tide of change. But if nothing else, the Victorian Era was about progress, and the younger representatives of the Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Collins families are clearly members of this evolving world, while Lady Catherine is distinctly a relic of the past.

This book almost entirely focuses on this next generation while their elders - Darcy, Lizzy, Jane, and Charlotte - are very much relegated to the background. I prefer it when Ms. Collins includes these original characters more. There is even a marriage from Longbourn without any mention that the ceremony is taking place in the same church that saw the Darcys and Bingleys married, the unions that are the premise for the entire saga. Several other things bother me about this volume. While Ms. Collins is usually a very careful writer, she obvious overlooks a typo that skews the chronology of events, includes an episode of high drama that does nothing to advance the plot, only making the book unnecessarily longer, and never even has it occur to Catherine, while mourning lost years of potential happiness, that had things proceeded differently she would not have her beloved children until the very end, when the obvious is thrust in her face. For the woman who is supposed to be the heir to all of her mother's kindness and pragmatism, I find this frustratingly oblivious.

So this isn't my favorite episode in this sprawling Victorian epic, but neither is it the one I liked least. Like all Ms. Collins' books, it's somewhat repetitive and dry, but if you don't read this book, how can you proceed to the next? A Woman of Influence will be released in June and promises to be about the life and times of Rebecca Tate, Catherine's younger sister. I fear this book is going to be a lot like My Cousin Caroline, more of a recap than new material, but I will, of course, read it anyway.