The Great Wash

My dryer is broken. First of all, let me acknowledge that it is a bit unusual to have a proper clothes dryer in Switzerland. Some apartments come equipped with a tumbler, but not a dryer, while most utilize shared facilities. It ought not feel a hardship to suddenly have to contend with line drying my clothing, but I am spoiled, and I'm finding the experience pretty darn frustrating.

W. H. Pyne. “Welsh Peasant Washers.” From The Costume of
Great Britain.  London: William Miller, 1808.

Thank goodness the weather has been good! Still, we don't get a full day of direct sunlight on our small patio, and I've had to be pretty creative in claiming new drying spots in windows and stairwells. I have not often had to think of such matters, but as my days have become regulated by shifting and turning items about, trying to help them dry faster, while watching the weather carefully for stray showers, I have inevitably dwelled on how mundane such thoughts and considerations were to Regency women. One of the most tedious and arduous of all household tasks at the time was doing the laundry, and even the most exalted had to have care and concern for the time and manpower involved. 

Jane Austen only really hints at the labor intensity of doing the laundry once in her novels, by my reckoning, in the fragment The Watsons, which I reread for the first time in about a decade this weekend. A recollection that doing the wash was mentioned inspired me. I've always far preferred Sanditon as a fragment and historically found The Watsons almost unbearably depressing. I enjoyed it much more this reading. Maybe the world is more depressing now, so it suits my mood better, or maybe ten years of intense Austen study has allowed me to properly understand the text. I certainly am more familiar with change, upheaval, and loss than I was when last I read it. Nevertheless, or perhaps as a result, the story doesn't seem so hopeless as it used to. I want to read it again and further crystallise my thoughts, so look forward to a proper post on the text.

For my purpose here today, there is just one line I'd like to examine. For those of you unfamiliar with the story (you can read it here), Emma Watson, our heroine, had just returned to her family home after years of privilege and comfort as the ward of her aunt and uncle. When the latter died, the former remarried a fortune hunter, who quickly dismisses Emma back to an already financially strained family. Elizabeth is her eldest sister and manages their meager household. Very early in the story she says to Emma, "Since you have been at home, I have been so busy with my poor father and our great wash that I have had no leisure to tell you anything ...." The modern reader may wonder why Elizabeth would have scheduled the wash for when her sister, unseen for eight years, is finally returning home, but she may have had very little choice. Obviously, the weather was a factor. Especially considering the wet climate in England, housekeepers had to be opportunistic about utilising fair weather. Not only does the sun whiten linens, it also prevented the necessity of having to find a place to dry everything inside the house, further discommoding everyone (particularly, one presumes, the servants). But there was more to it then taking advantage of limited sunshine. Most households would hire washerwomen in advance to come in and manage the process. These were experts in their field, with knowledge of how much soap and chemicals were required on which fabrics, and possessed of the strength to churn, lift, and wring heavy, soaking wet linen and wool. The task was formidable, and the lye soap utilised was disastrous to your hands, so to be avoided at all cost by any woman with pretensions to gentility. 

Jean-Baptiste Greuze, The Laundress, 1761.

Oil on canvas. Getty Museum, Los Angeles.

The wash would take at least two whole days to complete. It would begin the day before the
washerwomen would arrive, when a servant would be set to guard and tend the fire under the "copper," preparing it for use when the washerwomen arrived. There was then an order of operations to follow regarding what you washed first. A variety of cleansers were used, including urine on some of the more heavily soiled items, and blue dyes to counteract yellowing fabrics. Huge amounts of water were required for boiling and rinsing. It was a project to consume an entire household. Poor Emma must have felt quite out of place and useless to return home to such occupation and disorder. 

Of course, this just refers to table linens, bed clothes, undergarments, and corse garments. Fine fabrics and gowns required specialised care. A valuable gown would be disassembled for washing, all buttons removed, and reassembled with an eye to fixing and stretching that may have occurred to the fabric. All of this labor involved in the simple maintenance of clothing heavily reinforced class divides. It was simply impossible to maintain cleanliness without a small army of assistants. 

There are several excellent descriptions online of all that was entailed in doing the laundry. You'll find links to a few of my favorite below. I just want to reflect on how fortunate we are to have such an easy time with laundry, even as it still consumes a ton of my time and seems a never ending task (and that's when the dryer works). I am always so grateful to climb into a bed made with fresh sheets. That is a luxury that has never been lost on me. But now I will learn to be grateful for towels that are soft and fluffy instead of hard and crunchy. Indeed, I might be on the verge of down and breaking resorting to fabric softener for the first time in decades. Maybe the repair shop will call soon, and it won't have to come to that. Here's hoping!

18th Century Life: Ways to Wash your Linens

Jane Austen's World: Everyday Chores of Laundry and Scullery Maids, and Washerwomen

Pen and Pensions: The Georgian Washing Day

On Patience and Resignation: Persuasion, Chapter Eleven

"When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination."

Patience and resignation. Sigh. I feel like I'm preaching these notions a lot these days, as we stare into the void of another covid winter, and like Anne, my own conduct doesn't set the best example. The past year and a half has delivered such a brutal series of disappointments and tragedies. Sometimes I feel like I'm getting used to it. At other moments, I feel like I just can't take anymore. I assume these are the same experiences the entire world has had. Regardless of our cultures, political persuasions, and places in the world, I think it's safe to say this much is universal.

Jane Austen has so often been such a steady guide for me in times of trial, but I've struggled with her a bit during the pandemic. One line from her letters particularly haunts me lately: "How horrible it is to have so many people killed! And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!" (May 31, 1811). I used to think this so insightful - and in all truth, it is - but now it just feels so cold and heartless a thing to acknowledge aloud, even if in our hearts we are grateful it wasn't our friend, our neighbour, our family ... this time. But then again, don't we also require a bit of hard callousness to just cope with the incessant string of horrors? I fear the conduct of very few of us bears examination.

Anne Elliot's musings and advice to Captain Benwick are of use to me at the moment. I thought I would share how I apply these fictional examples to my very real life, just in case another might find it useful. This is her first response to Captain Benwick's introduction: 

"And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meet the party, "he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He will rally again, and be happy with another." 

This is such an interesting line, and I could write paragraphs about what is reveals of Anne's despondency, insight, and egotism, but my relevant takeaway is we should never assume how much another suffers, nor compare it in degree with our own troubles.

While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of the room, and by recurring to former days, supplied anecdotes in abundance to occupy and entertain the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed rather apart with Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of her nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him. He was shy, and disposed to abstraction; but the engaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her manners, soon had their effect; and Anne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young man of considerable taste in reading, though principally in poetry; and besides the persuasion of having given him at least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects, which his usual companions had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use to him in some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling against affliction, which had naturally grown out of their conversation.

It's so kind of Anne to take the trouble to engage Captain Benwick. I need to take more time to do this, despite the language barrier, which I often find prohibitive. It's harder to struggle through conversation in a foreign language when the other person's facial expressions are partially obscured by a mask, but I ought to exert myself to do it more often, and send a bit more connection and care into this splintered world. 

For, though shy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos; and moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry, and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.

I suspect Anne speaks from experience here, and that she can empathize greatly with the type of mind she describes. I relate, too. What we have in Captain Benwick is an ambivert, like me, and probably like Anne. That last line regarding poetry's misfortune sounds like she describes herself: that she is one of those with strong enough feelings to truly appreciate it, and it is exactly that understanding that warrants a cautious approach. This one, for me, is easily applied. During the pandemic I have avoided television, film, and books of too heavy and brooding a nature for my mental state. I cannot allow their influence to lead me down a path of brooding and despondency. I have a family for which to care. I MUST be reigned and patient. The alternative is a mess. But some days go better than others. C'est la vie. What can you do.

I find laughter the best medicine, and thank you, Jane, for always reminding me I always can, even when it is may be somewhat wretched to do so. 

And in that vein, here are two different tutorials in disagreement regarding the pronunciation of Giaour. I favor the first: 

My love to all. Thanks for reading.

The Ladies of Norland: Excerpt and Giveaway at The Book Rat

Click here to return to the master list of Austen in August posts!

Austen in August roles on! I had great intentions of posting more frequently throughout this event. I also had great intentions of writing 20,000 words over the past few weeks. None of that came to fruition. I even missed my first, self-imposed Monday blogging schedule for the first time in six months. I was on such a role! I suppose I should know better than to have such high expectations of productivity during summer vacation. The good news: school resumed today.

Please do visit the post, read the excerpt, and enter to win a copy of my most recent Twisted Austen novella: The Ladies of Norland. It is a reimagination premised on the idea that the Dashwood ladies are not dispossessed from their home, because struggles often lead to happy endings, while a clear prospect often turn into a rainy day. Not the happiest story, but Twisted Austen tales never are. They are a place for me to explore darker ideas than are strictly marketable: http://www.thebookrat.com/2021/08/the-ladies-of-norland-excerpt-giveaway.html.  

“It was a delightful visit;—perfect, in being much too short.” – Emma, Chapter Thirteen

The following was originally posted in August 2019, pre-pandemic, after returning from our last trip to the US. I maintain some hope of getting there this year, but it's fading. Yes, it was a hard trip, but I had no idea it would be the last for two years, and I wish we had taken more time. The meaning of the title quote continues to deepen.

Gabriel Joseph de Froment, Baron de Castille, and his wife,
Princess Hermine Aline Dorothée de Rohan,
with their family. French School, 1825.

I’ve long loved travel. It’s a passion my parents sort of had to force on me, but once it took hold, I was hooked. Journeys, even short ones, have a remarkable ability to change your perceptions, even of those things most familiar and dear. I had a startling reminder of this while traveling with my family in the US for two weeks. Though we took the baby to visit family when he was four months old, I consider this our first proper overseas excursion with two children, and oh my! What a marathon we ran! It was a lot of work, but I was prepared for it, and I think we weathered it pretty well. I returned home ready to process the memories, and as always I looked to Austen for guidance. What a shock to discover that this holiday suddenly allowed me to relate to Lady Middleton! My interpretation of Austen has again undergone a metamorphosis, driven by the new set of experiences and impressions brought on by travel with kids.

Take the title quote as an example. In the oh so recent past, I celebrated it for its snark, usually invoking it after saying goodbye to houseguests. Suddenly, it imparts a coziness before unknown. In Indiana, we had two nights at the house of my in-laws, a four bedroom which slept close to twenty people over the course of our stay. Now that was a party! Then in Texas, on the banks of Lake LBJ, my aunt and uncle’s four bedroom housed over ten for two nights. It was wonderful being with so many cousins and loved ones, but covering five states in fifteen days kept each reunion short and succinct. Normally, I might have lamented this brevity, but with the two kids it was just right. My daughter wasn’t around anyone long enough to become too provocative, and the toddler (he’s a good little monkey, but very curious) didn’t have long enough to figure out how to cause any true chaos. He did attempt to abscond with all my aunt’s remote controls, but I thankfully checked the bag he stashed them in before departing.

When I now read the quote, which references a visit by Isabella and John Knightley to Hartfield, I can barely trace the sarcasm I once found in it. Yes, our travels were perfect in being much too short. We left pleased with everyone and them with us. Just another day or two to linger might have soiled my happy recollections. It was incredibly hard to say goodbye, too soon and for too long, over and over again, but boy, did we feel the love! How fortunate we are to have such a wonderful and diverse family! I’m so grateful my children got to know them all better. Living so far away makes the time together so much more precious.

On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the opinion of the others. – Sense and Sensibility, Chapter Six

Another favorite quote that is suddenly imbued with new resonance. I’ve felt its truth for a long time, as my daughter has for eight years provided living proof, but my little guy is much more sociable and engaging than she was, content to sit sit and immerse herself in a project. Jack likes to be in the middle of everything. It is actually rather a strain on conversations, as they are hard to maintain, but he certainly keeps things from ever getting dull.

Unfortunately, a baby can’t be charming all the time, and I was honestly too tired to protest whenever someone volunteered to chase after him for me, a scenario which allows me to empathize with Lady Middleton’s hitherto intolerable laxity.

She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted. She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their work-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by, without claiming a share in what was passing.

“John is in such spirits today!” said she, on his taking Miss Steeles’s pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window–“He is full of monkey tricks.”

And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William is!”

“And here is my sweet little Annamaria,” she added, tenderly caressing a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last two minutes; “And she is always so gentle and quiet–Never was there such a quiet little thing!”

But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship’s head dress slightly scratching the child’s neck, produced from this pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone by any creature professedly noisy. – Sense and Sensibility, Chapter Twenty-One

Almost without exception, repeatedly over the course of the trip, anytime I asserted something about one fo the kids, their behavior instantly contradicted me. What can you do but laugh? It’s an inescapable part of motherhood. And let’s be honest: sometimes mom is just too tired to get up and stop the tormenting child. It doesn’t make it right, but it’s true. My apologies to anyone who was screamed at, bitten, or hit during the course of our travels. Poor Lady Middleton! What a relief it must be to her to have the Misses Steeles to stay and distract the children. I’m actually feeling a bit salty with Austen here, as she is quite hard on Lady Middleton, who really isn’t a bad sort. Wow! There’s a revolution for my mind.

The journey would have been totally intolerable if not for the help of my husband. I don’t know how my mom managed me on her own, a thought which led me to reevaluate my opinion of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s relationship. Persuasion has long been my favorite Austen novel, but my feelings towards Wentworth are subject to rather massive revision about once a decade (Anne I shall ever hold in the utmost and unwavering esteem). When I first read the novel, my heart was all Wentworth’s. In more recent years, I’ve found him rather petty and immature, though his letter always wins my forgiveness in the end. I still think he’s awfully childish in his behavior towards Anne upon their first reacquaintance, but the years have taught me that some men, like my husband, will always retain a certain immaturity (really wouldn’t have him any other way, though it’s challenging at times), and that the best relationships involve give and take, and a perception of the other’s needs to make that work. This is what the captain so perfectly displays when he and Anne are thrust together one morning at Uppercross Cottage. It is a scenario that I have lived innumerable times over the past few weeks.

Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy, a remarkable stout, forward child, of two years old, having got the door opened for him by some one without, made his determined appearance among them, and went straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in his claim to anything good that might be giving away.

There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.

“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.”

“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do you not do as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousin Charles.”

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it. – Persuasion, Chapter Nine

He might be angry and hurt, but Wentworth must act, must do what he can to help, when he sees that Anne requires it. My husband has a similar, easy way of stepping in just when I need him to, usually while others sit nearby and admonish the problem child from afar, a la Charles Hayter. I think it is in this moment that the captain first proves his ongoing worthiness of Anne’s affections. I hope I let my husband know how much those moments mean to me.

Tinted line drawing by C.E. Brock,
courtesy of Mollands.net.

On the other side of the coin, there were moments during our travels when my husband stood there and stared at me when I most required assistance, usually after Jack fell and hurt himself (this happened at least three times a day). In one particularly striking incident, the baby fell down a flight of steps, luckily coming to a halt on a landing instead of making the rest of his way down to the bottemmom. I was there in an instant, scooping him up, and turned to see both my mother and husband staring at me in shock. What would I not give to have had an Anne Elliot on the scene? Fortunately, he was largely unscathed, but as the near disaster swarmed around me, my mind managed to drift away to Lime Regis:

“Is there no one to help me?” were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.

“Go to him, go to him,” cried Anne, “for heaven’s sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them.” – Persuasion, Chapter Twelve

I always wanted to be more like Anne, but not to the extent of being the only deer that knows how to run from the headlights. That was quite frustrating. However, it was Captain Wentworth’s cry for help that first leapt into my mind, allowing me to relate to his predicament a great deal more than I have in recent years. “Are you all just going to stand there and stare at me?” I cried. “Someone get ice!” I guess I should just count my blessings that there is a pseudo-Anne on hand, and that we’re not both befuddled in an emergency. This goes back to the give and take. We all have our strengths to bring to the team. I bet Anne and Wentowrth made a great one.

So travel, as always, has expanded my mind, and consequently my understanding of my favorite writer. This process will continue throughout my life, and who knows where it will lead me? How has your perception of Austen changed with the years?

Austen in August 2021

My dear readers, 

I invite you to join in one of my favorite annual events, Austen in August, hosted by The Book Rat. I have been so fortunate as to participate in this celebration of all things Jane from its inception in 2009, which just happens to be the same year as I began blogging. This year, I am again participating in the round table interviews (check them out every Monday - I'm in excellent company this year), as well as giveaways. There will be an excerpt from The Ladies of Norland, and a repost of my "Strange Beauty Secrets of the Late 18th/Early 19th Centuries" article, plus loads of contributions from other amazing authors and Austen aficionados. Don't miss out!

Click here to return to the master list of Austen in August posts!

Misty's introduction and invitation to this year's event made me feel very sentimental (also old). I started looking back through my posts for AIA over the years, beginning when it was still Jane in June, and just two weeks instead of four. I stumbled on this forgotten post from 2011, which went live three days before my first child's birth. Wow! What a trip down memory lane! The post includes an excerpt from the original draft of Second Glances which was completely scrapped before publication. I ended up splitting the original story into two books, somewhat ironically, as I am now trying to meld them back together again. This might be really interesting to those who have reads both Second Glances and Holidays at Pemberley and are curious about my writing process.

By the next year, I had managed to complete Second Glances (I really can't remember how I actually pulled it off, as I was totally overwhelmed), and I contributed an excerpt actually in the finished novel. Also in 2012, I dutifully posted along with AIA read along, which was Persuasion, my favorite Austen novel. It's great to have my thoughts on it recorded in this fashion. If you are interested, please follow the links to read: Intro, Ch. 1-7, Ch. 8-18, Ch. 19-end.

In 2013, I dug in deep to Austen's juvenilia, which I'm always pushing. Unfortunately, I think that was the last time I contributed new materials. It's a reflection on the huge upheavals experienced in the last eight years: the loss of so many loved ones in 2014, my father's catastrophic car accident in 2015, moving to Switzerland, the birth of my second fabulous but rambunctious child in 2017, and the pandemic. It's been a wild ride, and it's far from over. I want to thank Misty a thousand times over not only for all the memories, but also for simply keeping this thing going. It's no small feat organising an event like this, and it would have been easy to let it go after COVID cancelled last year's AIA. I'm extremely grateful for her grit. Now let's get this party started!

All the best,

Alexa

Ruminations on and a story of Sense and Sensibility

This post, or something very like it, was first published in the summer of 2018. It has been updated to reflect current happenings

It’s so tempting to interpret Sense & Sensibility through the lense of its title, even more so than Pride & Prejudice. Yes, Elizabeth is prejudice and Darcy is proud, but there is some muddling of the lines, whereas Elinor is all sense and Marianne is total sensibility. Furthermore, Austen’s exploration of this polarity fits so beautifully into the context of Romanticism (somewhat ironically, as it implicitly rejects some of the movement's core precepts). Of course, the dynamic between the two sisters isn’t entirely black and white. Marianne will eventually be swayed by sense and Elinor is proven far from a cold fish. Feelings are not incompatible with reason, as she so eloquently argues:

If you can think me capable of ever feeling–surely you may suppose that I have suffered now. The composure of mind with which I have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful exertion;–they did not spring up of themselves;–they did not occur to relieve my spirits at first.–No, Marianne.–then, if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely–not even what I owed to my dearest friends–from openly shewing that I was VERY unhappy.

It’s a conversation I have with my mother quite often.

The funny thing about that is that I am usually on the side of sense and my mom sensibility. This is amusing because the other temptation I find myself succumbing too when analyzing this text is dismissing Marianne’s behavior as adolescent. It’s an argument I’ve made far too many times to count, and I rather wish I hadn’t. As I grow older it becomes more and more apparent that some people are less able (or less willing, some might insist, to attempt) to constrain their feelings. If this is not merely a characteristic of youth but a defining personality trait, then despite Marianne’s best intentions, she will never succeed in regimenting herself into pragmatism. Even in her old age, she will continue to be subject to the whims of emotion. I dwell on this thought now having just reread a story I wrote well over a decade ago about Marianne’s engagement to the Colonel. I’m glad that even at a time in my life when I was quite dismissive of Marianne, I understood this about her character.

The story is part of the collection “And Who Can Be in Doubt of What Followed?”: The Novels of Jane Austen Expanded, extending the ending of each of Austen’s six novels in accordance with those hints and explanations she so quickly flies through in her closing chapters. Here is a favorite scene, just to give you a taste:

Elinor used the opportunity afforded by the Dashwoods’ visit to reaffirm her relationship with her brother, knowing it was what her father would wish. They often walked together in the mornings, when Edward’s parish duties kept him occupied, and as Fanny was no walker, here was ample time for the siblings to share confidences. It was on one such occasion towards the end of his stay that John, as they passed by the gates of Delaford House, began the following soliloquy:

“I will not say I am disappointed, my dear sister. That would be saying too much, for certainly you have been one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon brother. His property here, his place, his house, everything is in such respectable and excellent condition! And his woods! I have not seen such timber anywhere in Dorsetshire as there is now standing in Delaford Hanger! And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the person to attract him, yet I think it would altogether be advisable for you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what then may happen. When people are much thrown together, and see little of anybody else — and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage, and so forth; in short, you may as well give her a chance. You understand me.”

Elinor had the grace to betray neither her own hopes in this direction, nor any shame for her brother. It was not until John renewed the subject with his wife on their journey home to Norland that his hopes received any encouragement

“I would not be surprised if that is precisely how matters unfold,” Fanny declared, having heard him out. “Our next visit to my brother will surely find us staying at the great house.”

“But do you think Marianne could attract a man like Colonel Brandon? A year ago, perhaps, but having lost her bloom, I see nothing but the convenience of her company to entrance him. I have suggested to Elinor that she would do well to throw them together quite often.”

“You miss a great deal, John! Marianne has fully recovered her looks, and with her disposition so vastly improved, I think her prospects better than ever. Her manners used to be impertinent — never a characteristic to endear a potential husband — but she has grown quite presentable. Furthermore, she seeks out the Colonel with surprising regularity, his library being her excuse. I am rather shocked your mother allows it, but she never was able to regulate the conduct of her daughters. Even were such advantages not hers, you must see that when any comely young lady sets her sights in the direction of an aging bachelor, one should not bet against her success.”

John, as usual, was quite pleased to embrace his wife’s perspective. “Indeed? I think you might be right, my dear. What a match! What timber! Did you take the time to properly observe the hanger?”

“Who could not? It is a vast deal more than Marianne has any right to expect, but I always did think your sisters would do well for themselves. I suppose we must have the entire family to Norland soon.”

“Yes indeed!” exclaimed John, allowing free rein to his most sanguine expectations.

The book is available for purchase on Amazon. Thanks for reading!

Five ways in which the Regency rocked

The following was originally posted in 2015 and now feels rather dated, but it still makes me smile. I hope it will do the same for you, dear reader.

There is a certain class of people who, upon learning of my Jane Austen obsession, feel the need to explain why the modern world is superior to that of the Regency. “But the 19th century was a terrible place to live! Women didn’t have any rights, most people lived in squalor, and you were lucky to survive your infancy!” Of course I realize that Jane Austen’s world was not just one of manor homes, top boots, and ladies maids (I do spend three months in Portsmouth with the Price family every time I read Mansfield Park). I have a massive appreciation for modern plumbing, medicine (especially the medicine!), electricity, and something resembling gender equality, but that does not mean that there are not ways in which the Regency period was superior to our current era. I am working on a novel entitled Being Mrs. Bennet, in which a modern woman, following a car crash, finds herself inhabiting the body of probably the worst mother Austen ever foisted upon heroine. Alison Bateman finds much of the early 19th century disconcerting, but she also discovers aspects to treasure. One can adapt to almost anything.

I planned this post to be a list of reasons why the Regency remains superior to the modern world. I intend this list to be egalitarian, so it does not include privileges and luxuries that belonged to the upper classes alone, and I confess: it was rather difficult to make. It started out as a top ten, then narrowed to a top eight, etc, until finally levelling out as the top five reasons why I think Jane Austen’s world was superior to ours. Enjoy!



1. Caps

A married woman used to wake up in the morning and plop a frilly cap on her head. Hairdressing done. I call the cap the Regency equivalent to the ponytail in Being Mrs. Bennet, and it is true, but how many of us actually get to wear that ponytail to work? Thanks to makeover shows, a ponytail is derided as boring and lazy, where as a cap could be fashionable and even becoming. Somewhere in the course of women’s liberation, we messed this one up.



2. Custom Shoes

You couldn’t share shoes with your friends and relations back in the day. Each shoe was made for and molded to a particular foot. Today you can buy handmade Italian leather shoes for somewhere in the range of $1000 a pop, but this buttery and luscious feel of slipping your foot into such a concoction used to be much more accessible. Of course men’s boots, those of both the laboring classes and the gentry, would be made of sturdier stuff that needed to be broken in, but once that first round of blisters healed you had a shoe that hugged the contours of your feet perfectly.

3. Cheap Live Entertainment

One need not be a mogul to attend the theater in the Regency Era. Even the most lavish venues had seats cheap enough to accommodate the working classes. Now even our sporting events are beyond the reach of many, television having rendered live entertainment a luxury item. Sigh.



4. Standardized Mourning Rituals

Having been to more than my fair share of funerals lately and experienced mourning rituals ranging over a wide swath of cultural and religious beliefs, I really think it would be nice to have not an imposed period of mourning (that would be far too stifling), but the broadly recognized need for a person to step outside their normal activities and take the time to grieve. I also like the idea of wearing all black, or having some other, external signifier of grief, so that others know to approach you with care, preferably without looking like an overgrown Goth kid. I also like that they had gradations of mourning. Black ribbons in my hair would have been perfectly appropriate for my cousin’s death last year, while my grandfather’s loss made me crave bombazine and a heavily veiled bonnet. Can’t wear that to the supermarket!

5. Etiquette

While some of the imposed social rituals of the 19th century, like calling cards, are archaic in our modern world of cell phones, they represent a code of behavior designed to help humans interact with each other in a peaceful and orderly manner. We’ve lost a lot of that. I could really go on and on with this topic, which would end up being preachy, at best, so I’ll just beg each reader to hold the door for someone, wait for others to exit before you enter, and say excuse me when you step in someone’s path. The world could be such a happier place.

There you have it! What is your favorite thing about the Regency Era? Anything you would gladly trade for today? Or has Jeanna inspired any one else to confess their closely held secrets to the world?