The Pride and Prejudice Bicentenary Challenge

I suppose it's rather scandalous that I have yet to make any mention of the 200th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice's publication. There is no excuse for such negligence on a blog supposedly  devoted to all things Jane, so I will make no attempt to justify myself. The year will, I trust, bring ample opportunity to celebrate, and what better insurance than committing myself on the aficionada level (9 to 12 reviews/selections) to participation in The Pride and Prejudice Bicentenary Challenge hosted by Laurel Ann Nattress of Austenprose. I loved participating a year ago in her Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge, and as I managed to complete my goal of 12 review AND have a baby, I think I should be able to so much again. I have not yet made any final choices regarding what to review, but I am pretty sure I'll include those P&P films I have not reviewed before (which is all of them but the 1980 version, the review for which you can read here), the revised and expanded version of David M. Shapard's Annotated Pride & Prejudice (so glad this came out when it did, as my copy of the first edition has been so well loved that it is now on the verge of falling apart), and the two P&P continuations I actually managed to find a few blissful hours to read over the holidays: The Three Colonels by Jack Caldwell and The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy by Regina Jeffers. To kick it all off, I thought I would make mention of some of my very favorite P&P based novels that I have reviewed in the past. Perhaps these will provide some inspiration for other challenge participants:

Young Master Darcy: A Lesson in Honour by Pamela Aidan
     Note: I wrote reviews for Ms. Aidan's Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman trilogy. Maybe a    rereading is in order so that I may repair that omission.

The Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries by Carrie Bebris

Twilight of the Abyss by Casey Childers

Rainy Days by Lory Lillian

Master Under Good Regulation by Kara Louise
     Note: I never did a review for Something Like Regret, which I adored. Perhaps it too will be part of the challenge.

Mr. Darcy's Obsession by Abigail Reynolds
     Note: Never reviewed From Lampton to Longbourn, which presumably now has some other title, and it is one of my very favorite "What if?" stories.

As I made this list, I realized how many more fabulous books I never reviewed, far more than can be noted here, but the most glaring are omissions are Lydia Bennet's Story by Jane Odiwe, A Match for Mary Bennet by Eucharista Ward, and Mr. Darcy's Little Sister by C. Allyn Pierson. There is also the issue of the many new novels that came out over the past 19 months and slipped past my radar, so consumed with baby have I been. If anyone wants to bring to my attention particular books that truly are must reads, I would love to hear your suggestions!

The Annotated Sense and Sensibility, Edited by David M. Shapard

I can think of no better way to end both the year and The Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge than with a a review of The Annotated Sense and Sensibility by David M. Shapard. Like his editions of Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion (read my review if the latter here), Mr. Shapard not only displays a sincere love and respect for our dear Miss Austen, but also an incredible understanding of her intentions, humor, and the era in which she lived. I adore his annotated volumes and consider them fundamental reading for all Janeites with an academic interest in her work.

When I read Mr. Shapard's annotations, I feel like I've been transported into an intensive class on Austen. When I reviewed his Persuasion, I quoted extensively from his annotations as a means of conveying this sensation. Unfortunately, the clock rapidly clicking towards year's end, as well as the demands of a six month old, do not allow me the leisure to repeat that effort here. Instead, I will confine myself to pointing out his particular attention to "the cult of sensibility", it's fundamental importance to this novel (especially in the development of Marianne's character), and his success at explaining it to a modern audience. I quote from his introduction:

... the theory of moral sense, was an influential philosophical doctrine that explained morality as the product of an instinctive sense of benevolence in human beings. This sense allowed people to understand moral principals, served as proof of the validity of moral laws, and gave people a reason to act morally, since such actions would naturally produce pleasure while immoral actions would produce pain.

In these principals lies the core of Marianne's philosophy. Often we dismiss her as merely a spoiled teenager and fail to understand that her actions are grounded in a doctrine that was pervasive at the end of the 18th century. Austen directly challenges these notions, advocated by many of the great minds of the day - a rather bold move for a young woman of rural origins. For example, when Marianne clearly trespasses on the rules of decorum when she and Willoughby tour Allenham, she and Elinor have the following exchange:

"I have never spent a pleasanter morning in my life."


"I am afraid," replied Elinor, "that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety."


"On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure."

Mr. Shapard's annotations on this scene point right back to the notion of Moral Sense, and it is in this manner that he emphasizes this fundamental aspect of Marianne's character throughout the book, constantly reminding us of what would be obvious to Austen's contemporaries, though it is a rather alien notion to the modern audience. My previous readings of Sense and Sensibility have certainly been informed by the knowledge I have of 18th century philosophies, but it took Mr. Shapard's annotations to illuminate the pervasive extent to which Austen dwells on these subjects. I finished the book with renewed appreciation for Austen's brilliance and a far better understanding of her authorial intentions. This book is so much more than an excellent romance; it is a carefully worked philosophical essay.

For more on the cult of sensibility I refer you the excellent post that Laurel Ann Nattress, coincidentally our Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge host, wrote for the last installment of The Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Celebration at My Jane Austen Book Club, entitled Marianne Dashwood: A Passion for Dead Leaves and Other Sensibilities. Mr. Shapard's Annotated Emma will be out in March. I can hardly wait!

Happy New Year everybody!

The Dashwood Sisters Tell All by Beth Pattillo

I managed to get this book read - absolutely necessary if I have any possibility of completing The Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge, issued by Austenprose - by reciting it to my husband as we drove ten hours to Indiana to celebrate Christmas. I have wondered about the books of Beth Pattillo before but never read them, not being super keen on Austenesque set in the present, so this was a welcome opportunity to expand my horizons a bit. The Dashwood Sisters Tell All is about two sisters (shocking, I know) who travel to England to attend a Jane Austen themed walking tour as part of their mother's dieing request. The mother, being a attentive Janeite, knew the importance of documenting her final wishes rather than simply relying on a promise to do as she wished. John Dashwood, after all, certainly intended to fulfill his father's request to care for his sisters, amply demonstrating how good intentions often go to waste. Before Ellen and Mimi Dodge can inherit their mother's estate, they must attend this tour and choose a place to scatter her ashes, and they also must determine what to do with a most unusual item that had been in her possession - Cassandra Austen's diary.

I challenge any Austen lover to read this book without drooling over the prospect of Cassandra's diary. Such an item, as the characters in the book are so good as to continually assert, would be priceless. One of the most intriguing parts of this story is reading some of those imagined entries. Ms. Pattillo envisions a new romance for Jane that drives her behavior in some of the most debated episodes of her life, like the flirtation with Tom Lefroy and Harris Bigg-Wither's proposal. The whole concept is extremely juicy and compelling, but I found myself dissatisfied at the end. The problem with this book is not the premise, which is fabulous, but the characters. Like every Sense and Sensibility modernization I have read during the course of this challenge, the modern versions of Eleanor and Marianne annoyed the heck out of me.

Why is it that when Eleanor and Marianne are transformed into 21st century women they become frigid and ditsy? I noticed this in The Three Weissmanns of Westport by Cathleen Schine and Jennifer Ziegler's Sass & Serendipity. Do the Dashwood ladies just not translate into our modern world, or have they not been done justice? I think it is a case of the latter. In this story, Ellen is cast as the practical one while behaving as if her head was sewn on backwards. Here she is in possession of an invaluable article that she insists on hiding it in her hotel room, repeatedly foreshadowing its eventual theft (I do not consider that tidbit a spoiler as it is blatantly apparent that this is precisely what will happen almost as soon as the diary is introduced). I felt like reaching into the book and smacking her. She also completely lacks Eleanor's keen perception of character and empathy, as demonstrated in her paranoid misreading of her Edward's intentions. Mimi is the pretty vivacious one with a knack for falling for the wrong guy. I think I would have been more satisfied with her portrayal if she hadn't kept complaining that no one thought she was smart while acting like an idiot. Should it not be the cardinal rule of all Austen homages that characters display their essence through actions? A person who asserts one thing while behaving in an opposite fashion is the profile for a Lucy Steele or Fanny Dashwood, not our heroine.

Overall, despite my complaints, the book kept us well entertained though our car trip (the baby, in her infinite mercy, slept almost the entire way). I would love to attend a walking tour like the one described here. The Dodge sisters visit all the great Austen locals, from Steventon to Winchester. The story is, in many ways a Janeite fantasy come true, which is precisely what makes the main characters' shortcomings so annoying. I would love to further elaborate on my response to this book, but as I am just barely managing to get this post completed before the end of the year (and I still have one more review to go before the challenge can be considered complete - stay tuned!), I will conclude by simply saying that I do intend to read Ms. Pattillo's other books, but I am not in a rush to do so.   

From Prada to Nada

The Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge has led me to reflect on how amazingly universal Jane Austen's stories are, particularly considering how limited was the range of her own experience. Though she confined her topics to the very small world in which she existed, she captured quintessential truths about humanity, allowing her stories to cross cultural boundaries in an impressively fluid manner. For this challenge, hosted by Austenprose, I have watched two adaptations of Sense and Sensibility that set the tale outside of Regency England: Kandukondain Kandukondain, which I loved (read my review here) and From Prada to Nada. The latter is a very cute film, providing excellent entertainment while my daughter napped on a snowy afternoon, and though it kind of falls apart at the end, it is, nevertheless, a wonderful illustration of the remarkable pliability of Austen's novels.

Our story begins in Beverley Hills, where highly assimilated Nora (Camilla Belle) and Mary Dominguez (Alexa Vega) live pampered lives. Like the book, this movie starts with death - we learn that their mother died several years ago, and then their doting father suffers a similar fate, hurrying us into a funeral scene. Here the girls are surprised by the appearance of their illegitimate older brother, Gabe (Pablo Cruz), of whose existence they were previously ignorant. He has with him his girlfriend, Olivia (April Bowlby), who does justice to everything that is repulsive in Fanny Dashwood's character, and the two are quick to claim their share of the assets. Unfortunately for everyone, their father had apparently been in bankruptcy proceedings, leaving nothing but debt behind him. Nora and Mary take refuge at their aunt Aurelia's house (Adriana Barraza) in East LA, where Spanish is the native tongue and gun shots ring through the night. No Barton Cottage, but with time the girls come to consider it home.

Like all Elinors, Nora is pragmatic and focused, intent on getting her law degree. Like all Mariannes, Mary is spoiled and self-centered. Her Willoughby takes the form of a TA at her college named Rodrigo (Kuno Becker). He is, of course, thoroughly despicable, but the fact that Mary sees him as a means of regaining her old life style softens the blow he inflicts. Colonel Brandon's role is taken by Bruno, played by a shockingly sexy Wilmer Valderrama (where did little Fez go?), a brooding artist who lives across the street from their aunt. Though his back story is entirely eliminated, I really enjoyed his strong, silent portrayal of the brooding lover, even if I had a hard time understanding his attraction to Mary, who is horribly rude to him when they first meet. It would have been nice if his was a more developed character. The only male role that really receives a lot of attention is that of Edward Ferrars, a lawyer who hires Nora as a clerk, and his development is completely dependent on the intensity of feelings for Nora. Perhaps the most Latin aspect of this film, other than the setting, is the acute romanticism of the male roles. Depth and complexity are reserved for the ladies.

Though the movie is very cute and entertaining, as mentioned above the ending is not well composed. Austen's style of hurrying everyone along towards perfect happiness in the last chapter doesn't work well on film. It would have been much better if the filmmakers had spent more time making the conclusion realistic. As it is, the end feels like a fairytale, lacking in believability. I also wish they had included Wickham's repentance scene. Still, I would definitely recommend this movie to all Janeites. It is a fitting homage to the sweeping nature of Austen's endurance.

Sass & Serendipity by Jennifer Ziegler

Upon receiving an email from Jennifer Ziegler's publicist, asking if I would be interested in reviewing her new young adult novel inspired by Sense & Sensibility, I was happy to agree for three reasons: 1) with the new baby, young adult lit conforms to my attention span, 2) the book would count towards my completion of the Sense & Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge, and 3) I love free books. Sass & Serendipity fulfilled my expectations, providing me with a quick and easy read - the perfect source of light entertainment while breast pumping (about the only time I have the opportunity to read these days). Though the book bears little resemblance to Austen's novel, except in its focuses on two sisters of differing personalities, it kept me engaged and amused, a rather impressive feat when one considers that I could barely tolerate the main characters.

Gabby and Daphne live in the imaginary Texan town of Barton with their divorcee mom. Gabby, the older sister, copes with her extreme anger at her father and feelings of abandonment following her parent's divorce, emotions that have left her bitter and alienated from everyone in the town except her best friend, Mule. Daphne, on the other hand, is peppy and popular, having managed to maintain a rather naive sense of romantic idealism in spite of her broken home life. The story focuses on Gabby dropping the chip on her shoulder, while Daphne gains a more realistic perspective on love and romance.

Though Daphne's story does in ways resemble Marianne Dashwood's experience, Gabby, while cast as the "responsible" sister, is nothing at all like Elinor. Instead of inspiring admiration, I actually found myself hating her, as her negative energy taints everything around her. She continuously accuses Daphne of selfishness when she is equally so, revealing herself to be completely lacking in Elinor's self-perception and consideration. Daphne too, while more tolerable than Gabby, lacks the intelligence and conviction that makes Marianne so appealing in spite of her flaws. However, there is a chance this criticism is unfair. I usually avoid young adult novels, as they tend to be a bit emotionally transparent for my taste, and perhaps that is what really bothers me about these characters. Those who enjoy the genre might be more tolerant.

For me the bottom line is that if Sass & Serendipity inspires a young reader to pick up Austen's first novel, it is worth its weight in gold, but for those already familiar with her masterpieces of literature, this book doesn't particularly add to ones appreciation. Nevertheless, as I said at the beginning of this post, it was the perfect light read for me to pick up and put down again when able to grab those few moments available to me. I recommend it to any of you who find yourselves in similar circumstances and need something to just pick up now again. 

Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters by Ben H. Winters

Let me begin by explaining why I have not, in my title for this post, credited this book as a collaborative effort, as is done on the cover. You see, while the basic framework for the tale is undoubtedly that of Jane Austen's original book, the story is so fundamentally altered, and in such a thoroughly bizarre manner, that we really must, in all fairness, put the entire burden of both its triumphs and tribulations solely upon Ben H. Winters. And yes, that was an admission that the book does have moments of triumph, despite the  extreme skepticism with which I approached it. I first began to read Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters two years ago, when it first came out, but only one chapter in I abandoned it in fury, a thing I have only done three times in my life - that's how horrible I thought the book was going to be. I decided to pick it up again in fulfillment of the Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge, hosted by Austenprose, as it was already sitting on my bookshelf. Maybe this is just the happy pregnancy hormones speaking, but I was pleasantly surprised. The same elements that filled me with disgust when I first tried to read the book were no less present than before, but this time around I was able to discern in the book a satiric critique of Austen that I can't help but acknowledge as justified, even though it does rankle.

The fact of the matter is that Jane Austen strictly wrote about the tranquil lives of genteel men and women, never allowing the turbulence of the outside world to interfere with their relatively peaceful existences, despite the fact that she lived in a time of massive social upheaval. This is actually one of the essential elements that makes me love her novels so much: they are an excellent means of escapism. In Mr. Winters' tale, on the other hand, the hostility of the world is ever present. All the characters live in a constant state of imminent peril, such as to render the relatively mundane concerns of society, particularly love and romance, trivial in comparison. Is this a fair critique of Austen? Absolutely, but to take such an approach while billing the novel as a collaborative project (surely for no better reason than that having Austen's name on the cover is publishing gold) seems rather misleading to me.

Instead of the honorable world of Austen's gentlemen and ladies, Mr. Winters takes the reader to a savage place - part fantasy, part horror, and part steampunk - in which humans are engaged in a constant struggle for survival against the creatures of the water. Now one might think that, if all the fish in the sea were determined upon inflicting bodily harm, that people would avoid interacting with them at all costs, but in Mr. Winters' world such logic does not prevail. The humans in this story spend far more time in nautical pursuits than their original counterparts, tempting fate at every turn by embarking on underwater explorations, pleasure boat rides, and even going so far as replacing the role that the metropolis of London played at the time with an underwater city, entrapped in a great glass dome, called Sub-Marine Station Beta. This disregard for life and limb extends to the manner in which servants are treated, who are far more like slaves than freemen, and an unquenchable blood lust, expressed through bloody public spectacles resembling those in which the ancient Romans so greedily indulged. While I am able to rationalize such elements as a deliberate reversal of Austen's portrayal of the world, what I have a far harder time coping with is the insensibility Mr. Winters' attributes to her (I suppose I should say his) characters. Both Marianne and Eleanor constantly ignore blatant signs of danger, consumed instead in their own petty cares, an attribute of obliviousness totally at odds with the characteristics that define not only these two, but all of Austen's heroines. Of course, no one in Austen, regardless of their moral fiber, would pick their teeth, let alone with a cuttlefish bone just hacked up out of one's throat, in the manner that Marianne is here portrayed doing, but perhaps such qualms ignore the spirit of Mr. Winters' project.

Overall, I must admit to thinking this a far better book than the more profitable Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, as Mr. Winters, unlike Seth Grahame-Smith, at least displays a creditable knowledge of Austen original work, his commentary displaying a legitimate engagement in the text rather than a random insertion of desperate elements for the sole purpose of marketing power. However, even disregarding the aspects of the novel that are inherently repulsive to me, it would have been much more successful if some of the newly inserted side plots came to some sort of fruition in the end. Elements such as the Devonshire Fang-Beast and Margaret Dashwood's strange story (neither of which I will elaborate upon, so as to avoid spoilers) prove to have little purpose in the end. Yet as far as monster mashups are concerned, this could have been far worse than it was, and I do not regret, as I feared I would, reading it. A rather lukewarm recommendation, I know, but remarkably generous considering my previous feelings on the genre.

Kandukondain Kandukondain (I Have Found It) - 2000

I watched Kandukondain Kandukondain (I Have Found It) for the Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge hosted by Laurel Ann of Austenprose. As soon as I signed up for the challenge, I knew this film would be the subject of one of my posts, as I am something of a Bollywood freak. Though this movie is technically a Tamil musical, it still follows the same conventions of Bollywood and features many faces that will be familiar to fans of Indian cinema, most prominently the gorgeous Aishwarya Rai, also known to Austenites as the actress who played the Elizabeth Bennet character (Lalita Bakshi) in 2004's Bride and Prejudice. Though this latter film is far more famous, I must say I far preferred Kandoukondain Kondukondain. While the storyline has been altered to reflect both modern times and a rather different culture, the main characters are largely true to their original counterparts, resulting in a charmingly successful adaptation.

Our story begins in a manner that fundamentally grounds the film in Tamil culture. A helicopter descends before a magnificent waterfall, paratroopers leaping down to make their way through a dense woods. These are members of the IPKF (Indian Peace Keeping Force), who were deployed by India into Sri Lanka during the late 80's in an attempt to being an end to the Sri Lankan Civil War. The troops are lead by Major Bala (played by Mammootty, also a megastar in India), who is our Colonel Brandon character. When lingering by a school, one student opens fire upon the military, and as Bala runs back through the forest he triggers a land mind, resulting in the loss of his leg. It is this event that shapes his character, as opposed to the history of Eliza that molds Colonel Brandon's.

We then cut to a film set in an urban environment, where our Edward Ferrars character, the far more socially adept Manohar (Ajith), is working in pursuit of his dream of being a director, much to the chagrin of his wealthy parents who sent him to the United States for college, where he studied to be an engineer. In the course of filming Manohar is asked to request permission to shoot in a village temple from the royal family of the area, and this is when we finally meet our Dashwoods. Mahalakshmi (Srividya) has returned to her father's home after a rupture, the result of her marrying against his wishes, to care for him, bringing her three daughters along. The cause of the patriarch's illness is not defined, but his incapacitated state suggest he has had a stroke. For months he has been muttering the same word over and over again (will) without being able to convey his desires to his daughter and granddaughters, who think he has lost his senses. Meanwhile, Mahalakshmi is determined to marry her eldest daughter, Sowmya (Tabu), who certainly resembles Eleanor in her pragmatism and emotional conservativeness, but differs from Austen's character in being tainted by the label "unlucky", the result of the death of her former fiance. The family is expecting a potential groom (one of many) when Manohar arrives seeking permission to film in the temple and confuse his purpose, much to Sowmya's embarrassment, but this mix up results in Manohar's pursuit of Sowmya, to whom he is instantly attracted.

While Sowmya is dutifully fulfilling her obligations as daughter, which includes running the college the family owns, the next sister, Meenakshi (Aishwarya's role), is dreaming of being swept off her feet by a romantic hero. Her passions are music and poetry, and it is when he hears her sing that Bala, a successful local florist, becomes infatuated with her. Urging her to pursue more serious music, Meenakshi mocks him for drunkenness (which seems to be his means of dealing with his crippled state and disillusionment). Bala soon reforms and begins to court her, developing a friendship with the family, but when Srikanth (Abbas), a high profile investment banker, comes to the town, he sweeps Meenakshi off her feet (just like Willoughby, literally), bonding with her over their mutual love of poetry. It is easy to see where his downfall will lie, as he is promising outlandish returns on investments made by the village's poor and innocent population, but otherwise I would say this is the character whose storyline most resembles that of his original counterpart. Bala, unlike Colonel Brandon, shows his love for Meenakshi by doing all he can to facilitate her happiness, even when this means trying to unite her with a man he knows is less worthy of her affections.

It is only halfway through the movie that the family patriarch finally dies, right upon the youngest daughter having finally discovered for what he has been asking. The tragedy of this circumstance reveals itself upon the will being read, which leaves everything to Mahalakshmi's brother, who has not been to visit their father in ten years. Completely dominated by his wife, the couple take control of the family holdings, quickly reducing their sister and nieces to the role of servants in their former home. I must say that, if you can believe it possible, this rendition of Fanny Dashwood is even more odious than Austen's. The ladies have nothing, but pride drives them from their ancestral home to take up residence in the capital city of Madras (now Chennai), where they are forced into a transient lifestyle while the girls try to find work. Eventually, Bala and Manohar locate the family, allowing our romances to progress, while Sowmya's ability to find a job as a software developer and Meenakshi's success as a musician and singer stabilize the family finances. There is far more to the plot than revealed here, but I have gone into this level of detail specifically to demonstrate the ways in which the film stays true to the plot of Sense and Sensibility while altering it to fit both the modern and Indian context.

Now if you do not care for the conventions of Bollywood, this movie is unlikely to gratify you. Yes, the characters burst into spontaneous, massively choreographed musical numbers, often taking place in completely disjointed settings (why are we suddenly in Egypt or a European castle?), and our heroines first appear dramatically emerging from the water. However, the stereotypical use of rain to increase dramatic tension is very similar to the manner in which that same atmospheric phenomenon was used by both Ang Lee and John Alexander when they directed the 1995 and 2008 adaptations, respectively. I highly recommend that those who hold prejudices against such tactics try to overcome them by embracing the camp, for there is so much to enjoy this adorable film, let alone in the Indian film industry as a whole, but if such attempts are beyond you, I suppose you will just have to resign yourself to missing out. I, for one, imagine I will be watching and rewatching this movie for years to come, and I must send a big thank you to Laurel Ann for hosting a challenge that brought this overlooked gem to my attention.      

Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell

I first read this book around the same time as I read Cranford (see my review here), sometime during my early teenage years, but as little as I recalled that book, I seem to have had even less memory of Wives and Daughters. I have no explanation as to why Elizabeth Gaskell's books made such little impact on me at that time, especially as I have so enjoyed reading them now, but I owe a debt of gratitude to Katherine of Gaskell Blog for hosting the Gaskell Reading Challenge, thereby compelling me to revisit this author. This is my final review in completion of that challenge, but I have to assume that you will hear more from me about Gaskell down the road, as I have every intention of continuing to explore her works.

You know that feeling of desperate longing you get every time you reread Sanditon (if my presumption that you have read this last fragment of an Austen novel is incorrect, I highly suggest you act to rectify the matter immediately)? Well imagine how much worse that sensation would be if she had manage to write the vast majority of the story, only to die before completing the climax of the book. It would be like Pride and Prejudice suddenly ending right after Lady Catherine's confrontation with Elizabeth at Longbourn, or Persuasion stopping right when Anne receives Captain Wentworth's note.. Without giving too much away, I have to acknowledge that this was what reading Wives and Daughters was like. After following the life of our heroine, Molly Gibson, for more than six hundred pages, the book suddenly ends right before we reach the satisfaction of "happily ever after", due to the untimely death of Gaskell. I so little remembered the book that this took me totally by surprise, but regardless, because the course of the plot is rather transparent throughout, it was still a highly satisfying read. Normally, such an obvious storyline would be a detriment to a story, but because of Gaskell's excellent character development, the novel remains thoroughly compelling. Molly is a heroine who it is impossible not to like - unwaveringly consistent in her morality, unfailingly kind, and touchingly tender in her affections - but I actually think it is the less amiable characters that make the book work so well. Pam Morris, in the introduction to my Penguin Classics edition of the novel, dwells at length on the attractions and multidimensional attributes of Cynthia Kirkpatrick, Molly's step-sister, presenting her as a feminist force, "If she is 'doomed' to be a heroine by the fact that she is a woman, Cynthia is represented as determined to remain in control of the fiction in which she stars." While this reading certainly adds a compelling dimension to any critique of the novel, it is her mother, Mrs. Gibson, who fascinated me most. Mrs. Gibson is in no way the wicked step-mother of fairytale, although Ms. Morris constructs her discussion of the novel within the context of a "fairytale subtext", but she is a consummate hypocrite and, as such, causes both Molly (to say nothing of her duped father) and Cynthia no little discomfort. My attraction to Mrs. Gibson lies greatly in her resemblance to several of Austen's characters, namely Isabella Thorpe and Mary Crawford. I was struck repeatedly by how her words and actions echoed those of these two notorious ladies. Her affinity with Isabella lies in her constant tendency to act in direct opposition to her words, while her similarity to Mary is more calculating and mercenary, particularly her readiness to capitalize on the potential death of an heir to an estate. Again, though I did find the plot rather transparent, I do not wish to divulge too much of the story for those who have not read it by delving deeply into this matter, but fans of Austen cannot help but perceive these correlations.

While we are on the subject of Austen's possible influence on Gaskell in this book, I must take a moment to point out the likenesses that exist between Molly, who I just described, to quote myself, as "impossible not to like", and that most derided of heroines, Fanny Price. Though Molly is not in the marginalized position that Fanny is, being the daughter of the house instead of a poor dependent, their characters are remarkably similar. This is particularly apparent in her constant tendency to scold herself ("'mean,' and 'envious of Cynthia,' and 'ill-natured,' and selfish,' were the terms she kept applying to herself; but it did no good, she was just as naughty at the last as at the first.") but it also comes through in her willingness to take what seems an uncharacteristically brave stance in the name of what she believes to be right, even in the face of immense pressure. Unlike the text of Mansfield Park, this external coercion comes not from a patriarchal figure (Mr. Gibson, though Ms. Morris might characterize him as chauvinistic, is totally enamored of his daughter), but from the gossips who inhabit the town of Hollingford, where the Gibson's live.

Fans of Cranford will enjoy the comfort to be derived from the society of Hollingford, which is uncannily like that of Cranford, right down to the prominent presence of two spinster ladies, the Miss Brownings, who were the daughters of the late rector, the elder of which acts as the stern moral authority of the town while her younger sister, Phoebe, forms its tender core. Just like gossip and rumor can cause irrational (and rather humorous) chaos in Cranford society, those same forces display their more sinister effects in Hollingford when Molly becomes the wrongful target of their venom. However, this incident provides an opportunity in the book to not only display Molly's worth, but also develops those feminist themes Ms. Morris so dwells upon in her intro, displaying the hypocrisies of a society that turns its head towards male misdemeanors while simultaneously, as Mr. Gibson puts it, putting "evil constructions...upon the actions ever so slightly beyond the bounds of maidenly propriety", yet another way in which the books reminds me of both Mansfield Park and Northnager Abbey.

The subtitle of this novel is An Every-Day Story, and while Ms. Morris goes a long way to dispute the accuracy of this label, relating it not only to fairytale and feminism, but also to Darwinism (quite convincingly, I should add), I think it is the familiar qualities of the book, as I have been emphasizing, as well as its resulting predictability, that made it so compelling to me. The novel provides an uncanny sense of coziness that only such thoroughly ordinary territory can provide. Though tensions arise along the way, I had a constant sense of confidence that this book would end well. Perhaps that is why the absence of those final chapters was such an abrasive shock to me. All the assumed givens of the story - the small English village, the maneuvers and motivations of the surrounding landed families, the archetypal characters - created this lovely complacence in me, and I happily lolled along until reaching the abrupt end. Any great writer's death is always a double tragedy, not only depriving their loved ones but also their public, leaving a longing for what might have been. I end this post wishing Mrs. Gaskell had just a few more months, perhaps even weeks would have sufficed, in order to complete this magnificent novel.      

Rifts and Restorations: Margaret Dashwood's Story by Sister M. Eucharista Ward

I came across Rifts and Restorations: Margaret Dashwood's Story by Sister M. Eucharista Ward accidentally on Amazon when searching for a different novel, and immediately purchased it to read for the Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge hosted by Austenprose. I really loved A Match for Mary Bennet and was ecstatic to find another Austen continuation by this author. Unfortunately, while entertaining, this book did not live up to its predecessor. It begins several years after the conclusion of Sense and Sensibility, when Margaret Dashwood is still unmarried at age twenty-seven. Much of it is told in flashbacks, retelling the events of Margaret's romantic life, interspersed with the details of her sisters' lives, particularly Elinor's. So much happens in less than 300 pages that it is almost impossibly to summarize succinctly, but here are the major points: Lucy Ferrars is a Machiavellian nuisance, Mrs. Ferrars a fickle tyrant, and Margaret must learn to cope with her disgust for both with grace, a lesson that corresponds to her finding true love.

While the multitude of events that make up this story contribute to the difficulty in reviewing it, the biggest impediment is the lack of coherence in the character development. While this is a problem across the board, I think I can best illustrate it by examining the very first line, "A young lady of meager dowry deemed in her youth to be 'not promising,' shows great indiscretion in refusing a suitor of substantial means." Nothing at all about the depiction of Margaret Dashwood conforms to this notion of her being "not promising". From a young age she stops eligible gentlemen in their tracks with her beauty, and while she does reject at least one proposal from a man of "substantial means", the gentleman who is referred to in this opening sentence may have means, but they are in no way substantial. In fact, his status as an agent of Willoughby's, caring for the house at Allenham (which the charming rogue did indeed, after all, inherit) in the owner's absence, is one of dependence, though it is depicted in a highly glorified manner. His eventual marriage to the daughter of a shopkeeper is far more appropriate than a union with a gentleman's daughter. Stranger still is the fact that the lady he does marry is somehow accepted without question by society, though she too is without the benefit of a dowry. The entire book is filled with these confusing discrepancies, requiring the reader to suspend thoughtful analysis in order not to become frustrated.

My other issue with the book is the religious content. I suppose I should not be surprised by it, considering the author is a nun, as well as the fact that A Match for Mary Bennet was highly religious, but I was more easily able to over look it in the case of that novel due to the main character's established spirituality. The problem here is that not only is religion presented far more overtly than it is in Austen, but also it is of a decidedly Catholic nature, which feels very much out of sync with an early 19th century English setting. Now I'm married to a Catholic, and I have absolutely no issue with Catholic literature, but it just doesn't work with Austen. The book would have been vastly improved if Ms. Ward had suppressed the urge to inject her own religious beliefs into the story and kept such references within the scope of Austen's purview. The fact that the novel also covers content of a decidedly unsavory nature makes the injection of religion all the more jarring.

All this being said, I did find the book enjoyable. I like the notion of exploring Margaret's story and found her depiction compelling. I just think that the book would have been far more effective if significantly cut and cropped and edited for historical accuracy. Perhaps if I had never read and adored A Match for Mary Bennet, freeing myself from having to contend with disappointed expectations in Rifts and Restorations, I would have found the novel more satisfying.
 

Sense and Sensibility - 2008

The 2008 version of Sense and Sensibility is a beautiful film, written by that giant of Austen adaptations, Andrew Davies, but while I watch and rewatch it (on this occasion, as part of my participation in the Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge, hosted by Austenprose), hoping to enjoy it more each time, there is something about this movie that just does not sit quite right with me. Unlike its predecessor, the 1995 Ang Lee film (read my review here), which blatantly had a large influence on this later production (from Mr. Dashwood's deathbed scene, to the exaggerated depiction of the Dashwood ladies poverty, and including Marianne's ill-conceived tromp through the rain), there is a darkness to this version that fails to celebrate the comic aspects of the original story. It's impossible not to compare the two movies, as they share far more than a storyline, but with three hours in which to do the tale justice, I wish the newer production had better succeeded in staying true to the original ambiance of Sense and Sensibility, rather than over dramatizing (and over romanticizing) the plot.

I could make a list of the incongruities, but that would feel peevish, so I will just name the two that irk me the most. The first, and most troublesome, is the more explicit (and sinister) sexuality displayed, both in Willoughby's relationships with Colonel Brandon's ward, Eliza, and with Marianne. The former is particularly troublesome as the Colonel seems perfectly aware of Willoughby's trespasses from the moment he arrives in Barton, but does not challenge the rogue until he abandons Marianne, in whose name he has no right to fight. My second complaint is more trifling, but it is emblematic of the entire overly sensational nature of this adaptation, and that is the setting. While I have never been to Devonshire, I can read a map, and I have a hard time understanding how the cliff-ridden, ocean views that surround Barton Cottage in this film could possibly be located "four miles northward of Exetor", which should place it decidedly inland. Yes, the ocean scape is breathtaking, but its overall effect is only to add to the too heatedly romantic atmosphere.

That being said, I cannot emphasize enough how gorgeous is the film's cinematography. Just because I don't feel it quite works, does not in any way undermine its beautiful aesthetics. Also, some of the casting is equally magnificent. I adore Dominic Cooper as Willoughby. He looks just right, and his internal struggles are more clearly portrayed than in other interpretations. Similarly, while Dan Stevens initially seems a bit too at ease for Edward (which I admit adds to his charm - I do not have a great fondness for Mr. Ferrars), his performance grows on me as he so clearly fights against his intense feelings for Elinor while despairing over his engaged state. Really all the performances are quite good, it is just that most of them pale besides those of the 1995 version, with two very notable exception, even if they are small roles. The first is Mark Williams as Sir John Middleton. I am predisposed towards Mr. Willaims, as he will always be, in my mind, Mr. Weasley, but the script for this film also develops the kindlier aspects of his personality, which are definitely present in the novel, while most films render him only a buffoon. The second and, frankly, more notable, is Daisy Haggard as the elder Miss Steele. She is the one glimmer of comic relief in the film, and the personification of Austen's original creation.

But it is wrong to not mention how wonderful Hattie Morahan is as Elinor Dashwood, even if I do prefer Emma Thompson in the role. Similarly, Charity Wakefield is a very good Marianne, it's just that Kate Winslet is far better, and the fact that the former resembles the latter makes it very difficult to disregard the comparison. Furthermore, I think I actually prefer Lucy Boynton as Margaret Dashwood to Emilie Francois, but as she is more Emma Thompson's creation than Austen's, it is hard to attribute proper credit to the interpretation. Again, as much as I try to praise, I fall into criticism. It is clear that all my biases lean towards the 1995 version, and no matter in how many ways the 2008 film will triumph, it will never measure up in my mind. I feel particularly guilty about this sad review as it is certainly a far better movie than the previous BBC renditions, made in 1971 and 1981, which, however, I find very easy to praise, as my expectations for them were never so high, and because I am always trying to convince people to give them a try (most Austen fans require no such persuasion to watch the 2008 production). This film should be celebrated and appreciated, and my prejudices are preventing me from doing it proper justice. It is simply that, in this case, Hollywood far outshown the BBC. I suppose it will happen at times, and the mid-90's were a particularly magical time for Austen adaptations - The Golden Age, if you will.

So let me end on a positive note with a quote from Marianne, spoken to her mother and Elinor on their return trip to Barton Cottage, after their stay at Cleveland. The words are all Davies', but the sentiment summarizes, very concisely, what is perhaps the most universal theme in all of Austen's novels, and therefore deserves note:

"It is not what we say or feel that makes us what we are, it is what we do, or fail to do." 

Only a true Janeite could say it so very well!

Sense and Sensibility - 1995

In my humble opinion, the 1995 film, written by Emma Thompson and directed by Ang Lee, is the creme de la creme of Sense and Sensibility adaptations. Not as long, and far more Hollywood, than its competition, it is, nevertheless, the version that stirs me the most. In fact, it is one of my favorite Austen adaptations, period, and when you consider that Sense and Sensibility, for all its charm, is probably my least favorite of Austen's novels (which still places it amongst my very favorite books of all time), that is definitely saying something exceptional. It is magnificently done, and if Emma Thompson was, perhaps, a bit mature to be playing Eleanor, her development of such a fabulous screenplay far overrides this complaint, especially as her performance is an absolutely triumphant.

More than any other cinematic version of this novel, this is the one that best balances the romance of the story with its social commentary, all without sacrificing the humor that Austen incorporates into all her works. The sentiment of all the other Dashwood ladies, when compared with the stolid practicality of Eleanor, is perfectly presented, providing many highly humorous moments. Kate Winslet is perfect as Marianne, and the heroes of the story are just as well captured. Alan Rickman makes the most of Colonel Brandon's tormented, romantic nature, adding to my appreciation of the character's subtleties in the manner that only a truly great actor can. He is by far the best Brandon ever. Hugh Grant, too, does an excellent job of bringing Edward Ferrars to life, beautifully capturing his awkwardness. Even Willoughby, as played by Greg Wise, is a precise version of Austen's original, never a hint of the rogue appearing in his behavior until his abrupt departure from Barton brings his actions into question (followed by one of my favorite scenes, in which Mrs. Dashwood, Marianne, and Margaret all close themselves in their bedrooms to weep inconsolably, leaving Eleanor to calmly sip her tea on the stairs).

The minor characters are very well done too, though Lady Middleton, the elder Mrs. Steele, and Mrs. Ferrars are disposed of, apparently not deemed worthy of being brought to life on the screen (I particularly regret the absence of the last). I adore what Hugh Laurie does with the character of Mr. Palmer, making him far more sympathetic than Austen portrayed him, playing up the similarities in his predicament to Mr. Bennet's, and emphasizing his political interests. I also think Richard Lumsden is fabulous as Robert Ferrars; no one else has captured his foolishness so well. John and Fanny Dashwood, too, as played by James Fleet and Harriet Walker, are perfectly impotent and vile, accordingly. I think it is the minor characters in Austen that add so much texture to her writing, particularly in providing latitude for her wit, and it gives me great joy to see them properly portrayed on screen. 

Of course, there are some glaring discrepancies between this film and Austen's novel, not all of which can be chocked up to time limitations (at 136 minutes, this is the shortest of the adaptations made of this book). Margaret Dashwood (played by Emilie Francois) is an entirely new creature in this version: tomboyish, vibrant, and with a far greater role in the action than Austen allotted her. Furthermore, the financial straits the Dashwood ladies are thrown into are greatly exaggerated, Austen never indicating that they are so very impoverished as to not be able to afford meat and sugar. Lucy Steele goes to London in company with Miss Jennings, Elinor, and Marianne, giving her far more opportunity to torment Elinor than she has in the novel (indeed, I am not fond of Imogen Stubbs in the role of Miss Steele, as her machinations are made far too explicit). And Willoughby's entire confession at Cleveland is eliminated, his regret being only expressed by his forlorn look at the end of the film, as he observes Marianne's wedding from a distance. But these minor issues are easy to overlook in the face of the film's mastery of the book's themes, so truthfully represented. I have seen it countless times, and at every viewing I rejoice in its triumph. Is it sacrilegious to admit that I think I might actually enjoy this movie even more than the book, or at least that I love it equally? I feel very sheepish saying so, but it is the highest compliment I can bestow, and it is fully deserved.    

This review is my second in celebration of the 200th year since Sense and Sensibilities publication, as honored by the Sense and Sensibility Bicentary Challenge, hosted by Austenprose.   

Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell

I did read this book long ago, at a time during my teenage years when I was cramming in as much Victorian literature as I could get my hands on, but I never seemed to be able to recall it very well. I avoided watching the acclaimed BBC productions based upon it, as I had every intention of rereading it someday, and I generally prefer to know a book before a film adaptation. So when Gaskell Blog hosted a Cranford group read, I jumped at the chance to participate. I never caught the Gaskell bug and had not thought much about the author since high school. She never came up in college and, until I began blogging about Austen and learned how many Janeite's were huge Gaskell fans, did not spare her much thought, but as it has been forcibly born down upon me how many devotees of the author there are amongst people whose literary tastes concur with my own, this was bound to change. I did not manage to finish Cranford in tandem with the group, the holidays having proved an impediment, but upon announcement of the Gaskell Reading Challenge thought it would be the ideal place to begin. As I try to tie all non-Austen reviews to that lady, as she is the subject of this blog, please bear with me as I make my comparisons.

Cranford thoroughly displays its roots as a serial publication, in a manner far more obvious than most novels I have read that were released in this manner. Each chapter feels more like a vignette than a coherent tale, until the last few suddenly bring the narrative full circle. One of the most striking things that I found in the story is the fact that our heroine, Mary Smith, who narrates the events chronicled in the first person, is never named until the fourteenth chapter, the third to last. How very unusual! It emphasizes her role as observer rather than actor in most of the story, especially as her name, when finally revealed, is at a moment when she is finally asked to be a major player in directing the course of events (prior to this she does, in her quiet way, manage the developments, but not at the behest of others). The originality of the book's structure is almost jarring in its rebellion against the expected, especially when compared with the rather humdrum subject matter: that of ordinary life in a small town.

In Cranford, Gaskell tells the tale of members of a small community, just like Austen does, except that her characters are almost exclusively women, and mainly of the "old maid" variety. The fact that the story begins by making this perfectly clear ("...Cranford is in possession of the Amazons...") establishes the feminine focus of the book as its most important aspect. Therefore, all of their concerns are of a domestic nature: servants, household management, economizing, entertaining, furniture preservation, etc. What makes such subjects interesting is the witty and satiric tilt of Mary Smith's prospective, which highlights the foibles of her companions while never loosing empathy for their motives, and in this I again see great similarity to Austen (although sometimes the anecdotes reach a level of absurdity which Austen never obtains - like the notion of dressing a cow in a gray flannel suit to keep it warm). For example, this scene, in which Miss Smith, her hostess (and main concern) Miss Matty, and their friend Miss Pole dine with a rather rustic bachelor (by the way, the referenced story of Amine is from The Arabian Nights - there are no ghouls disguised as people in peaceful Cranford, although we are told of a ghost story):

When the ducks and the green peas came, we looked at each other in dismay; we had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true, the steel was as bright as silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked up her peas, one by one, on the point of the prongs, much as Amine ate her grains of rice after her previous feast with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over her delicate young peas as she left them on one side of her plate untasted; for they would drop between the prongs. I looked at my host: the peas were going wholesale into his capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, in spite of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr. Holbrook had not been so heartily hungry, he would probably have seen that the good peas went away almost untouched.

I laughed heartily as I read this account and developed a lot more respect for Miss Smith than I had previously felt. Generally, she is in lock step with the customs and values of the Cranford ladies. It is when circumstances take them out of routine that the story is most humorous. The following scene focuses on Mrs. Jamieson, the wealthy widow who sets the tone for the town, upon the occasion of being entertained at the home of Miss Betty Barker (the owner of the well-dressed cow, mentioned above), who in former days had worked as her lady's maid:

The tea-tray was abundantly loaded. I was pleased to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present might think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs. Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she did everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in the house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs. Jamieson was kindly indulgent to Miss Barker's want of knowledge of the customs of high life; and, to spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow's.

Just like one of Austen's most beloved heroines, it is clear that Gaskell, via Mary Smith, takes great delight in the "follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies" of humanity, of which Cranford offers an ample supply. Yet the predominant attribute of the town is the care and affection that its ladies display for each other. In the absence of family, they cling together in a fiercely clan-like manner. There is as much to admire here as there is to laugh at, a thing which can certainly not always be claimed in regards to Austen's more humorous characters. Although reading Cranford again was much like discovering it for the first time, there was nevertheless a sense of familiarity in its pages: a comforting nostalgic quality that I look forward to revisiting, both in text and film. I do not yet know which Gaskell novel I will read next, but whatever it is I hope it will charm me as this text did, and I will embark upon it with the mindset of a potential convert, just waiting to join the ranks of her ardent fans.   

One last thought - I really loved the new edition I picked up of this book (my old one being of inferior quality). This Broadview publication, edited by Elizabeth Langland, was chock full of useful footnotes and supplementary materials. I highly recommend it.

Gaskell Reading Challenge

After much soul searching, I am finally ready to commit to the Gaskell Reading Challenge hosted by GaskellBlog.com. I have never quite developed a passion for Gaskell, probably due to the fact that my first exposure to her was The Life of Charlotte Bronte, which bored me to tears when I read it as a teenager. Nevertheless, being, at the time, determined to conquer the Victorian canon, I went on to read Wives and Daughters, Ruth, and Cranford, none of which captured my imagination the way the Brontes, Dickens, or (particularly) Elliott did, and, quite frankly, I pretty much forgot about these books until I began blogging and discovered the huge interest in Gaskell amongst Janeites. So perhaps I missed something as a teenager? Very likely. I am already partway through a reread of Cranford, which I have found very amusing, if a bit scattered, and as the commitment for this challenge is "a minimum of two works", I figured it behooved me to give Gaskell another go. I do not know if I will manage more than the minimum, as I'm already feeling overextended in this pre-baby half of the year, but if I become enthralled there is no saying what may happen. The big question is, after Cranford, what shall I read nest? Suggestions are not only welcome but encouraged. What is your favorite Gaskell novel?

The Sense and Sensibility Bicentenary Challenge 2011

Though I kind of promised myself not to participate in any more reading challenges, this is one that cannot be resisted. In honor of the 200th anniversary of the publication of Sense and Sensibility, Laurel Ann of Austenprose has organized this fabulous challenge. Being a glutton for punishment, I put myself down at the aficionada level, which means 9 to 12 Sense and Sensibility related selections over the course of the year (I guess we'll just have to wait and see if having a baby interferes with those plans). Prizes are associated with this challenge. Please check out Laurel Ann's original post to learn more details.

I have already read several of the choices, but as many of them were never reviewed, I will use this as an opportunity to record my thoughts on those. I am also looking forward to reading/watching selections I am currently unfamiliar with. And just to get into the spirit of the thing, here are links to those I have already reviewed/commented on. Perhaps they'll help others who want to participate get started!

Eliza's Daughter by Joan Aiken

Suspense and Sensibility by Carrie Bebris

The Third Sister by Julia Barrett

Willoughby's Return by Jane Odiwe

Sense and Sensibility -1971

Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte

I did it! I finished all the books I committed myself to when signing up for the All About The Brontes Challenge last year. Fortunately, Agnes Grey proved a much quicker read than the other novels, allowing me to complete the challenge. How little I perceived the life events that would hinder my attempts to finish the challenge on time when I signed up last fall! How happy I am to have reached my goal in spite of those life events! I thoroughly enjoyed rediscovering Anne and Charlotte's lesser known novels but, in the future, I will think twice before committing myself to any similar challenges, as it has proven rather stressful.

Though Agnes Grey is Anne Bronte's best known novel, I think The Tenant of Wildfell Hall a far better read. The story of Agnes Grey, while it contains some romance to hold the plot together, is more a documentary on the life of a governess than a novel. It is, therefore, a perfect companion piece to Jane Eyre, and that is probably why it is so much better known than The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. However, Anne indulges in none of the Gothic extravagances of her sisters. Though her books are marked by female suffering, born out of social limitations, they are always relieved by a happy ending in the form of a loving marriage. In this way, her books are far more akin to Jane Austen's than to her sisters'. Both writers are concerned with marriage as the one true haven for the educated lady of the19th century and the anguish that ensues when it is entered into lightly. Of course, Anne is a Bronte, so we cannot expect anything light, bright, and sparkling (as is Austen's style) from her. Still, I like to imagine that she both read and loved Austen. There are moments in the book that seem to be direct parallels to Austen's work. For instance, one of Agnes' charges is a spoiled and flirtatious young woman named Miss Murray. Let's look at a scene in which she rejects the proposal of a pompous clergyman:

‘I proudly drew myself up, and with the greatest coolness expressed my astonishment at such an occurrence, and hoped he had seen nothing in my conduct to justify his expectations.  You should have seen how his countenance fell!  He went perfectly white in the face.  I assured him that I esteemed him and all that, but could not possibly accede to his proposals; and if I did, papa and mamma could never be brought to give their consent.’

‘“But if they could,” said he, “would yours be wanting?”

‘“Certainly, Mr. Hatfield,” I replied, with a cool decision which quelled all hope at once.  Oh, if you had seen how dreadfully mortified he was - how crushed to the earth by his disappointment! really, I almost pitied him myself.

‘One more desperate attempt, however, he made.  After a silence of considerable duration, during which he struggled to be calm, and I to be grave - for I felt a strong propensity to laugh - which would have ruined all - he said, with the ghost of a smile - “But tell me plainly, Miss Murray, if I had the wealth of Sir Hugh Meltham, or the prospects of his eldest son, would you still refuse me?  Answer me truly, upon your honour.”

‘“Certainly,” said I.  “That would make no difference whatever.”

‘It was a great lie, but he looked so confident in his own attractions still, that I determined not to leave him one stone upon another.  He looked me full in the face; but I kept my countenance so well that he could not imagine I was saying anything more than the actual truth.

‘“Then it’s all over, I suppose,” he said, looking as if he could have died on the spot with vexation and the intensity of his despair.  But he was angry as well as disappointed.  There was he, suffering so unspeakably, and there was I, the pitiless cause of it all, so utterly impenetrable to all the artillery of his looks and words, so calmly cold and proud, he could not but feel some resentment; and with singular bitterness he began - “I certainly did not expect this, Miss Murray.  I might say something about your past conduct, and the hopes you have led me to foster, but I forbear, on condition - ”

‘“No conditions, Mr. Hatfield!” said I, now truly indignant at his insolence.

‘“Then let me beg it as a favour,” he replied, lowering his voice at once, and taking a humbler tone: “let me entreat that you will not mention this affair to anyone whatever.  If you will keep silence about it, there need be no unpleasantness on either side - nothing, I mean, beyond what is quite unavoidable: for my own feelings I will endeavour to keep to myself, if I cannot annihilate them - I will try to forgive, if I cannot forget the cause of my sufferings.  I will not suppose, Miss Murray, that you know how deeply you have injured me.  I would not have you aware of it; but if, in addition to the injury you have already done me - pardon me, but, whether innocently or not, you have done it - and if you add to it by giving publicity to this unfortunate affair, or naming it at all, you will find that I too can speak, and though you scorned my love, you will hardly scorn my - ”

‘He stopped, but he bit his bloodless lip, and looked so terribly fierce that I was quite frightened.  However, my pride upheld me still, and I answered disdainfully; “I do not know what motive you suppose I could have for naming it to anyone, Mr. Hatfield; but if I were disposed to do so, you would not deter me by threats; and it is scarcely the part of a gentleman to attempt it.”

‘“Pardon me, Miss Murray,” said he, “I have loved you so intensely - I do still adore you so deeply, that I would not willingly offend you; but though I never have loved, and never can love any woman as I have loved you, it is equally certain that I never was so ill-treated by any.  On the contrary, I have always found your sex the kindest and most tender and obliging of God’s creation, till now.”  (Think of the conceited fellow saying that!)  “And the novelty and harshness of the lesson you have taught me to-day, and the bitterness of being disappointed in the only quarter on which the happiness of my life depended, must excuse any appearance of asperity.  If my presence is disagreeable to you, Miss Murray,” he said (for I was looking about me to show how little I cared for him, so he thought I was tired of him, I suppose) - “if my presence is disagreeable to you, Miss Murray, you have only to promise me the favour I named, and I will relieve you at once.  There are many ladies - some even in this parish - who would be delighted to accept what you have so scornfully trampled under your feet.  They would be naturally inclined to hate one whose surpassing loveliness has so completely estranged my heart from them and blinded me to their attractions; and a single hint of the truth from me to one of these would be sufficient to raise such a talk against you as would seriously injure your prospects, and diminish your chance of success with any other gentleman you or your mamma might design to entangle.”

‘“What do your mean, sir?” said I, ready to stamp with passion.

‘“I mean that this affair from beginning to end appears to me like a case of arrant flirtation, to say the least of it - such a case as you would find it rather inconvenient to have blazoned through the world: especially with the additions and exaggerations of your female rivals, who would be too glad to publish the matter, if I only gave them a handle to it.  But I promise you, on the faith of a gentleman, that no word or syllable that could tend to your prejudice shall ever escape my lips, provided you will - ”

‘“Well, well, I won’t mention it,” said I.  “You may rely upon my silence, if that can afford you any consolation.”

‘“You promise it?”

‘“Yes,” I answered; for I wanted to get rid of him now.

‘“Farewell, then!” said he, in a most doleful, heart-sick tone; and with a look where pride vainly struggled against despair, he turned and went away: longing, no doubt, to get home, that he might shut himself up in his study and cry - if he doesn’t burst into tears before he gets there.’

‘But you have broken your promise already,’ said I, truly horrified at her perfidy.

‘Oh! it’s only to you; I know you won’t repeat it.’

That was rather long, I know, but there is a bit of a point to this. Miss Murray is precisely the kind of young lady who aspires "to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man", which no Austen heroine would ever do, but it feels like there are several parallels in this scene to both Mr. Collins' proposal to Elizabeth and even more so to Mr. Elton's proposal to Emma. Mr. Hatfield's situation is very much like Mr. Elton's in that he has good reason to believe he has been given encouragement. His anger and disappointment, too, remind me of "Mr. E". He too is quick to marry another lady of less distinction than his first aspiring choice. 

Anne Bronte's tale is far from a lighthearted romance, but like Austen she is a studier of character and her books teach their readers to judge people by their actions, not their words. Perhaps Agnes is the type of heroine who would laugh, along side Lizzy and Emma, at the foibles of her neighbors, but as life has put her in the power of characters like Caroline Bingley, Lady Catherine, and Mrs. Elton, her circumstances are no laughing matter. Agnes Grey might be seen as a companion piece to Jane Eyre, but I also find it a valuable supplement to Austen's work, reminding us that while many characters are unpleasant to interact with socially, they must be far more intolerable to work for.

Read my other All About The Brontes Challenge reviews:

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
The Professor
Villette
Shirley

Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen: Rediscovering Shirley

I'm supposed to be posting the second part of Persuasion Janeicillin today - for those who are fiending, I will try to make good tomorrow - but I am "all alive" with Shirley, as Lady Bertram might phrase it, and with the All About the Brontes challenge wrapping up in two weeks (while Agnes Grey remains unread - it will be a small miracle if I get to it in time!), I must spend the day with Charlotte, rather than my dear Jane. My apologies for the diversion, but there really is no help for it.

I first read Shirley in eleventh grade, and all I remembered about it when I picked it up again a month ago (lesson learned: never begin a long, serious read while moving) was that it wasn't until the second volume that the title character is introduced. The book made very little impression on me and, consequently, reading Shirley now was like discovering a whole new Bronte book. And what a discovery it was! I did not know (or remember, as the case may be) that Charlotte could write with so little perversity (excuse the word use - as Miss Bronte herself might say, "Find me an English word as good, reader," and I will gladly adopt it). Nor did I know she was funny! In summation, nothing at all prepared me to discover in Shirley that Charlotte Bronte could be so very much like and owe such a vast debt to Jane Austen.

I understand that what I just said flies in the face of all common perception about these beloved authoresses. It is, after all, a truth universally acknowledged that Bronte disdained Austen's "ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses." Yet I could not help but wonder as I read Shirley, so remarkably unlike Bronte's other novels, if the book wasn't a response to Austen, an attempt to adopt and improve on her themes, with a good dose of Charlotte's vaunted "Passion" thrown into the mix. We know for certain that Bronte had read both Pride and Prejudice and Emma, as she specifically commented on them in her letters. I would argue that she had, at least, also read Sense and Sensibility, but more on that in a moment. Let us first turn our attention to Pride and Prejudice. Bronte made the following famous comments on January 12th, 1848, in a letter to George Lewes:

Why do you like Miss Austen so very much? I am puzzled on that point. What induced you to say that you would rather have written Pride and Prejudice or  Tom Jones, than any of the Waverley novels?


I had not seen Pride and Prejudice till I had read that sentence of yours, and then I got the book. And what did I find? An accurate daguerrotyped portrait of a commonplace face; a carefully fenced, highly cultivated garden, with neat borders and delicate flowers; but no glance of a bright vivid physiognomy, no open country, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses. These observations will probably irritate you, but I shall run the risk.

This correspondence took place at the beginning of the year in which she began writing Shirley. It is also the year that ended with the tragic deaths of her brother, Branwell, in September and Emily in December. The following March of 1849, a letter to her publisher tells us that she had already submitted the majority of the first volume but put it aside when death struck her family. Though May brought the death of Anne, she still finished the book by the end of August. Yet despite these horrible events, Charlotte produced her very happiest of novels. Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of angst and despair to delight even the most morbid devotees of Jane Eyre (how could there not be?), but here is a novel about a small community - "three or four families in a country village", painted on a "bit (two inches wide) of ivory", worked "with so fine a brush" - that takes place in the same year as Pride and Prejudice, about two ladies crossed in love, in which the heroines are not introduced until the narrative is well underway, that is in Austen's third person style (as opposed to the first person, favored by the Brontes), that concludes summarily, just like Austen ends all of her novels, and which includes characters and circumstances that highly resemble Austen's. Let's have a look, shall we?

The first chapter of the book introduces us to the curates of the area in which we are concerned: Mr. Malone of Briarfield (where our main characters reside), Mr Donne of Whinbury, and Mr. Sweeting of Nunnely, all of whom are minor character and provide comic relief to the book. In both of the Austen books we know Bronte read, members of the clergy (Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton) are held up as examples of the ridiculous. Of course, as Bronte is nothing if not devout, there are several other clergymen in Shirley to represent the virtues of the race, but on the three curates she has little mercy. The best example of this is when Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne pay a visit to Shirley Keeler (our second heroine, and the hieress of the neighborhood). After her dog, Tartar, chases both men through the house, in an almost slapstick scene, Mr. Malone tries to be charming:

He talked to the ladies by fits and starts, choosing for topics whatever was most intensely commonplace; he sighed deeply, significantly, at the close of every sentence; he sighed in each pause; he sighed ere he opened his mouth. At last, finding it desirable to add ease to his other charms, he drew forth to aid him an ample silk pocket-handkerchief. This was to be the graceful toy with which his unoccupied hands were to trifle. He went to work with a certain energy: he folded the red and yellow square cornerwise; he whipped it open with a waft: again he folded it in narrower compass: he made of it a handsome band. To what purpose would he proceed to apply that ligature? Would he wrap it around his throat - his head? Should it be a comforter or a turban? Neither. Peter Augustus had an inventive - an original genius: he was about to show the ladies graces of action possessing at least the charm of novelty. He sat on the chair with his athletic Irish legs crossed, and these legs, in that attitude, he circled with the bandanna and bound firmly together.

Would not Mr. Bennet have a field day with him? Meanwhile, Mr. Donne attempts to collect money for a church project from Shirley:

"Wretched place - this Yorkshire," he went on. "I could never have formed an idear of the country had I not seen it; and the people - rich and poor - what a set! How corse and uncultivated! They would be scouted in the south."


Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her nostrils dilating a little, her taper fingers interlaced and compressed each other hard.

"The rich," pursued the infatuated and unconscious Donne, "are a parcel of misers - never living as persons with their incomes ought to live: you scarsley - (you must excuse Mr Donne's pronunciation, reader; it was very choice; he considered it genteel, and prided himself on his southern accent; northern ears received with singular sensations his utterance of certain words); you scarsley eversee a fam'ly where a propa carriage or a reg'la butla is kep; and as to the poor - just look at them when they come crowding about the church-doors on the occasion of a marriage or a funeral, clattering in clogs; the men in their shirt-sleeves and wool-combers' aprons, the women in mob-caps and bed-gowns. They pos'tively deserve that one should turn a mad cow in amongst them to rout their rabble-ranks - he! he! What fun it would be!"

A sure method of loosening the purse-strings, undoubtedly! About as appropriate as Mr. Darcy's first proposal (Shirley, by the way, can boast of its own botched proposal scene). In none of her other books would I categorize the caricatures Bronte paints as humorous.

Another character that reminds me of one of Austen's is Hortense Moore, the unmarried sister of the novel's two heroes. The Moores have returned to England after having been raised in Belgium, where their family were highly respected and successful merchants. The younger generation has inherited a bankrupt company from their parents and Robert Moore, the elder brother, is determined to repay his debt and renew his fortune. For this reason he has come to Yorkshire, where he runs a mill while Hortense keeps house. It is in this proud lady, officious and indomitable even in reduced circumstances, that I see a likeness to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Now, one must imagine what Lady Catherine would be like without her title, position, Rosings Park, and as an alien in a foreign land. Listen to this speech of Hortense's, regarding her cousin Caroline Helstone (the first heroine of the novel, though not its namesake), to whom she teaches French:

"She does not, she appreciates me better than any one else here; but then she has more intimate opportunities of knowing me: she sees that I have education, intelligence, manner, principles; all, in short, which belongs to a person well born and well bred."


"Are you fond of her?"


"For fond - I cannot say: I am not one who is prone to take violent fancies, and, consequently, my friendship is the more to be depended on. I have a regard for her as my relative; her position also inspired my interest, and her conduct as my pupil has hitherto been such as rather to enhance than diminish the attachment that springs from other causes."


"She behaves pretty well at lessons?"


"To me she behaves very well; but you are conscious, brother, that I have a manner calculated to repel over-familiarity, to win esteem, and to command respect. Yet, possessed of penetration, I perceive clearly that Caroline is not perfect; that there is much to be desired in her."


"Give me a last cup of coffee, and while I am drinking it amuse me with an account of her faults."


"Dear brother, I am happy to see you eat your breakfast with relish, after the fatiguing night you have passed. Caroline, then, is defective; but, with my forming hand and almost motherly care, she may improve. There is about her an occasional something - a reserve, I think - which I do not quite like, because it is not sufficiently girlish and submissive; and there are glimpses of an unsettled hurry in her nature, which put me out. Yet she is usually most tranquil, too dejected and thoughtful indeed sometimes. In time, I doubt not, I shall make her uniformly sedate and decorous, without being unaccountably pensive. I ever disapprove of what is unintelligible."

I know I cannot prove a directly correlation, but when I read these lines I could almost see Lady Catherine. Perhaps I am just so Austen crazy that I see her everywhere. I admit it is possible, but I have yet to finish stating my case.

In April of 1850, admittedly after the completion of Shirley, Bronte commented on Emma in a letter to W.S. Williams. Though she does not say she only just read Emma, which she specifies in her comments on Pride and Prejudice, I think it is reasonable to argue that both books were quite possibly read around the same time. She writes:

I have likewise read one of Miss Austen's works, Emma - read it with interest and with just the degree of admiration which Miss Austen herself would have thought sensible and suitable -- anything like warmth or enthusiasm, anything energetic, poignant, or heartfelt, is utterly out of place in commending these works: all such demonstrations the authoress would have met with a well bred sneer, would have calmly scorned as outré and extravagant. She does her business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously well; there is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature delicacy in the painting: she ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy Sisterhood; even to the Feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition; too frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her progress.

I find this passage fascinating - mostly because it is such a fabulous illustration of Charlotte's obsession with personification, but also because it shows she has thought deeply about Austen's work, even if she finds it lacking. In fact, I believe Miss Bronte was amongst those who do not particularly care for Emma Woodhouse, largely based on chapter ten of Shirley, entitled "Old Maids".

Caroline Helstone - for her own reasons, which I will not disclose - has determined that she will never marry. She is not pleased with this decision; unlike another heroine, the single life holds no charms for her and inspires compassion for those who have long endured it:

"How wrong it is to neglect people because they are not pretty, and young, and merry! And I will certainly call to see Miss Mann, too: she may not be amiable; but what has made her unamiable? What has life been to her?"

Here is a young lady who would never dare scoff at Miss Bates. The entire chapter reads like a rebuke to Miss Woodhouse, consisting of visits to two ladies: the aforementioned Miss Mann and a Miss Ainley. Hear what the authoress says of Miss Mann:

Communicative on her own affairs she was usually not, because no one cared to listen to her; but to-day she became so, and her confidant shed tears as she heard her speak: for she told of cruel, slow-wasting, obstinate sufferings. Well might she be corpse-like; well might she look grim, and never smile; well might she wish to avoid excitement, to gain and retain composure! Caroline, when she knew all, acknowledged that Miss Mann was rather to be admired for fortitude than blamed for moroseness. Reader! when you behold an aspect for whose constant gloom and frown you cannot account, whose unvarying cloud exasperates you by its apparent causelessness, be sure that there is a canker somewhere, and a canker not the less deeply corroding because concealed.

And on Miss Ainley:

Miss Helstone studied well the mind and heart now revealed to her. She found no high intellect to admire: the old maid was merely sensible; but she discovered so much goodness, so much usefulness, so much mildness, patience, truth, that she bent her own mind before Miss Ainley's in reverence. What was her love of nature, what was her sense of beauty, what were her more varied and fervent emotions, what was her deeper power of thought, what her wider capacity to comprehend, compared to the practical excellence of this good woman? Momently, they seemed only beautiful forms of selfish delight; mentally, she trod them underfoot.

Charlotte Bronte must not have been satisfied with Mr. Knightley's rebuke: "It was badly done, indeed!" She seems to have felt the need to illustrate just how unjust and cruel Emma was; to let the world know just how little she values intelligence and superiority of mind when compared with unpretentious goodness.

I think the influence of Sense and Sensibility can also be found at the end of this chapter, but before examining why, lets return to that correspondence with George Lewes in January of 1848. On the 18th she wrote:

You say I must familiarise my mind with the fact that "Miss Austen is not a poetess, has no "sentiment" (you scornfully enclose the word in inverted commas), "has no eloquence, none of the ravishing enthusiasm of poetry"; and then you add, I must  "learn to acknowledge her as one of the greatest artists, of the greatest painters of human character, and one of the writers with the nicest sense of means to an end that ever lived". The last point only will I ever acknowledge. ... Miss Austen being, as you say, without "sentiment", without poetry, maybe is sensible (more real than true), but she cannot be great. 

She goes on to say:

With infinitely more relish can I sympathise with Miss Austen's clear common sense and subtle shrewdness. If you find no inspiration in Miss Austen's page, neither do you find mere windy wordiness; to use your words over again, she exquisitely adapts her means to her end; both are very subdued, a little contracted, but never absurd.

This argument over the semantics of sentiment verses the sentimental smacks too much of "sense and sensibility" to be coincidental, especially in reference to Austen. Furthermore, see what Caroline determines to do after her visits to Miss Mann and Miss Ainley:

Caroline went home, laid her plans, and took a resolve not to swerve from them. She allotted a certain portion of her time for her various studies, and a certain portion for doing anything Miss Ainley might direct her to do; the remainder was to be spent in exercise; not a moment was to be left for the indulgence of such fevered thoughts as had poisoned last Saturday evening. 

Sound familiar? Something like  Marianne Dashwood's "course of serious study"? However much Bronte might sneer at Austen's lack of sentiment, she seems happy to compliment her sense. It is sense that Miss Helstone has, without forsaking sensibility, as acknowledged in the following passage (spoiler alert!), which occurs after the man she loves greets her coldly, much like Willoughby does to Marianne when they meet at the party in London:

Now, what was she to do? - to give way to her feelings, or to vanquish them? To pursue him, or to turn upon herself? If she is weak, she will try the first expedient, - will lose his esteem and win his aversion: if she has sense, she will be her own governor, and resolve to subdue and bring under guidance the disturbed realm of her emotions. She will determine to look on life steadily, as it is; to begin to learn its severe truths seriously, and to study its knotty problems closely, conscientiously.


It appeared she had a little sense, for she quitted Robert quietly, without complaint or question - without the alteration of a muscle or the shedding of a tear - betook herself to her studies under Hortense as usual, and at dinner-time went home without lingering.

Perhaps I am just obsessed with Austen, but this seems to me a clear discourse on the subject matter of Sense and Sensibility. In fact, her heroines, Caroline and Shirley, could be seen as parallel representatives of Elinor and Marianne - sense and sensibility - respectively. In the introduction to my Penguin Classics edition of this book, Andrew and Judith Hook see the two heroines as representations of Charlotte's recently departed sisters: "Charlotte poured her feelings for her sisters into the characters of Shirley Keeldar (Emily) and Caroline Helstone (Anne)." If so, my characterizing of each as "sense " and "sensibility" is strongly supported  by their respective writing styles.

All I'm really attempting to do here today is prove that there are more connections between these great authoresses than convention typically allows.  Perhaps I am grasping at straws. Still, I think Shirley is by far the most interesting Bronte book to read through an Austen tinged lens. In it, Charlotte writes, "every character in this book will be found to be more or less imperfect, my pen refusing to draw anything in the model line". Jane's, "Pictures of perfection, you know, make me sick and wicked," is awfully similar. If nothing else, the former quote, from early in the novel, was enough  to inspire this entire exercise. I found it enjoyable and hope my readers don't deem it futile.

For both the opinions of Charlotte Bronte and other notables on our dear Miss Austen, visit Pemberley.com.

Read my other All About The Brontes challenge reviews:

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
The Professor
Villette