Epistolary Fan Fiction: Letters From Pemberley and More Letters From Pemberley by Jane Dawkins

So I am currently reading My Dear Charlotte by Hazel Holt, an epistolary mystery that makes free use of quotes from Jane Austen's letters, and it has gotten me thinking about Austen's use of the epistolary form and the temptation it poses for writers of JAFF. We know one of Austen's biggest influences, Samuel Richardson, was something of the king of the epistolary novel, and that she frequently experimented with it, both in her juvenalia (like recently reviewed The Three Sisters) and early novels. Lady Susan remains intact as an example of Austen's prowess with letters, giving ample food for our fantasies about what Elinor and Marianne (Sense and Sensibility) and First Impressions (Pride and Prejudice) might have been like. For unknown reasons, Austen decided to abandon the format (not that I am complaining), but it seems to be a favorite of her fans, especially those who have opted to pick up the pen and elaborate on her work. I have read two short series written in epistolary form: Letters From Pemberley and More Letters From Pemberley by Jane Dawkins and A Visit to Highbury and Later Days at Highbury (both of which are in desperate need of reprinting as copies are getting scarce and expensive) by Joan Austen-Leigh. As I have commented on the books by Ms. Austen-Leigh previously (you may read my glowing reviews here and here), today I'd like to focus on Ms. Dawkins' work.

Letters From Pemberley was one of the earliest pieces of Austen fan fiction I read, and I continue to return to it to pursue its peaceful pages again and again. Ms. Dawkins' books are my favorite Pride and Prejudice continuations available, as they provide those desperately wanted glimpses of Darcy and Elizabeth's lives at Pemberley (it chronicles the first year of their marriage) without including anything untoward like over the top drama and gushy sex scenes. The epistolary form works very well towards this end. As Elizabeth is our letter writer (Jane is the recipient), Ms. Dawkins is freed from the burden of trying to capture Austen's voice, saving her energy for creating a years worth of activity upon nothing more than those few teasing words at the end of Pride and Prejudice, indicating what the future holds in store for our happily married couples.

More Letters from Pemberley is also excellent, though perhaps not quite as fulfilling as it's predecessor. Here we learn about the next five years of married life, rendering this book more speculative than the first, and the picture is broadened by including Elizabeth's correspondence with several parties: Jane, Aunt Gardiner, Georgianna, Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, Charlotte, Darcy himself, several new acquaintances (some bearing a striking resemblance to characters from Austen's other novels), and even Mr. Humphrey Repton! In one carefully worded letter to Lady Catherine, Ms. Dawkins demonstrates her excellent grasp of Elizabeth's voice and character while playing with some of the advantages the epistolary form allows:

I am also deeply obliged to you for your words of advice; it was most kind of you to take so much of your valuable time to impart your own experience , and I intend to make careful study of your words, particularly since you mention that my dear friend, Mrs. Collins (whose good sense I value highly) has benefited so greatly from the. Your Ladyship may rest assured that I am resolved to be a good Mother to my Children, to pray for the, to set them good examples, to give them good advice, to be careful of their souls and bodies, and to watch over their tender minds. Since (as you say) my Children will have all the advantage of wealth and position, I am sure you will agree that as their Parents, Mr. Darcy and I will be obliged to remind them how priviledged they are, and instill in them the qualities of good character, modesty, integrity and compassion for others, without which wealth and position are meaningless.

Now, we never read the letter to which this was written in response, just as we never hear Lady Catherine's reply, but the epistolary format allows us to infer what both might have looked like. Knowing Lady Catherine as we do, the high handed condescension (or is it honesty and frankness?) doled out in the former is easy to envision, as is her vocal response (perhaps "Obstinate, headstrong girl!") upon reading the above. And isn't it just like Lizzy to choose her words so carefully, so as to claim agreement while simultaneously undermining the sentiment expressed? Lady Catherine's outrage, though never witnessed, is palpable: therein lies the beauty of an epistolatory narrative.

As I consider the novels of both Ms. Dawkins and Ms. Austen-Leigh some of the very best JAFF available, I hope that more sincere Janeites will follow their example by adopting this somewhat archaic format. Its use both honors Austen's literary foundations and encourages her style of witticism, all while providing an excellent vehicle for capturing her tone without besmirching her subject matter with our modernism.

Lady Vernon & Her Daughter

As noted a few posts ago, the new book Lady Vernon and Her Daughter by Caitlen Rubino-Bradway and Jane Rubino was recently brought to my attention and I (typically) rushed right out to procure a copy. I have now finished reading it and was surprised to enjoy it as much as I did. My trepidation stemmed from the description of the book as a "completion" of Lady Susan on Amazon. I could understand if the book was marketed as an expansion, in the same way that Sense & Sensibility and Pride & Prejudice are expanded versions of Elinor & Marianne and First Impressions, but to suggest that Austen left Lady Susan incomplete rubs roughly against the grain. Upon reading the story's first chapter I found myself even more infuriated by this description, for it became clear that the characters were entirely altered from their original form: Lady Susan (Lady Vernon here, her titled having derived from a knighted husband - not sure I buy the authoresses' explanation for this) is sympathetic, Miss Vernon bookish, Sir James is a witty cousin, and Mr. Vernon a villain. But as I read on and it became clear that this wasn't a completion or an expansion of the original I began to enjoy myself. While this book is certainly inspired by Lady Susan and follows a similar plot line it is an entirely different story, with completely different thematic and moral implications than Austen's original. It is a regency romance, resembling Georgette Hayer's style more than Austen's (i.e. clearly defined romantic hero, easily recognizable villain, elaborate plot twists), and as such it is successful. I would have been happier had the authoresses created a story strictly adhering to Austen's original but, nonetheless, once I stopped tracking the discrepancies between the two, the tale is good fun. Better for those with a penchant for regency romance than the strict Austen adherents.

How about those beloved Austen endings...

If anyone out there is actually paying attention, they know I reread Lady Susan last weekend. Twice actually. It was then brought to my notice that there was a "completion" (I have serious issues with that word) of the story entitled Lady Vernon and Her Daughter by Jane Rubino and Caitlen Rubino-Bradway. I haven't finished it yet but what I can say is that the characters in this story, while sharing the same names and life experiences of Jane Austen's, are entirely new creations. That being said, in the spirit of my last post I thought I'd share the Rubinos' opening line:

A woman with neither property nor fortune must ward off affliction by cultivating the beauty, brilliance, and accomplishment that will blind a promising suitor to the want of a dowry.

Quite cute, I thought, and much more in keeping with the spirit of Austen's text than the rest of the book has so far proven to be.

So what about last lines? Lady Susan's is classic:

For myself, I confess that I can pity only Miss Manwaring, who, coming to Town & putting herself to an expense in Cloathes which impoverished her for two years, on purpose to secure him, was defrauded of her due by a Woman ten years older than herself.

It has the same catty bite to it as the end of Persuasion:

It would be well for the eldest sister if she were equally satisfied with her situation, for a change is not very probable there. She had soon the mortification of seeing Mr Elliot withdraw, and no one of proper condition has since presented himself to raise even the unfounded hopes which sunk with him.

Austen is similarly sarcastic at the end of Northanger Abbey:

To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of twenty–six and eighteen is to do pretty well; and professing myself moreover convinced that the general’s unjust interference, so far from being really injurious to their felicity, was perhaps rather conducive to it, by improving their knowledge of each other, and adding strength to their attachment, I leave it to be settled, by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny, or reward filial disobedience.

Jane Austen's other endings are rather more "happily ever after" in style than school girl cheek, though she still demonstrates an unwillingness to let her characters go in peace. For example, in Pride & Prejudice she must remind us of our heroine's unpleasant relations:

Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley.

In Emma we are not allowed to forget that the Knightlys will still have to endure the Eltons:

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own. "Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! Selina would stare when she heard of it." But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.

And the end of Sense & Sensibility undermines the entire premise of perfect happiness:

Between Barton and Delaford there was that constant communication which strong family affection would naturally dictate; and among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that, though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.

Only in the case of Fanny Price, of all Austen's heroines, does the authoress leave us with a prospect of complete contentment and that is gained only in juxtaposition to her previous suffering:

On that event they removed to Mansfield; and the Parsonage there, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had never been able to approach but with some painful sensation of restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as everything else within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park had long been.

Perhaps Fanny is the only one capable of such quiet complacency? As Elizabeth freely admits to Jane, "Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness."

Is that a sword Miss Elizabeth is wielding?: Horror-fying Austen

I read Amanda Grange's Mr. Darcy, Vampyre today. This is way more Udolpho than Vampire Darcy's Desire was. Appropriately, it is dedicated to Catherine Morland.

Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters awaits.

This is not what I read Austen for. This is more akin to torture.

Why am I doing to myself, forcing my way through this new subset of Austen fan fic? And where did all these monsters come from anyway?

It's not the first time I've encountered the occult in Austen sequels: Carrie Bebris' Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries, which I enjoyed, are full otherworldly occurrences, well beyond the bounds of Jane's "two inches of ivory". But there is definitely something different going on with this monster phenomenon, particularly in these vampire stories, their major similarity being not fangs but sexual frustration (I'm struggling not to spend an enormous amount of time psychoanalyzing that). I admit to enjoying Ms. Jeffers' effort, more so than I did her previous books, but I much preferred Ms. Grange's diaries of the Austen heroes to this new effort, which really does resemblance Ann Radcliff's work more than Austen's. I never did manage to finish Udolpho. It's one of the very few book I've ever abandoned mid-read.

I don't mean to imply that these harrowing takes on Austen aren't readable. Obviously the concept of inserting Zombies into Pride and Prejudice appealed to a great many people. Is it wrong of me to suspect them of being the same people who didn't much care for the tame world of Austen in the first place? Furthermore, is it unfair for me to expect something different from people like Ms. Grange and Ms. Jeffers, who obviously have a deep and passionate love for Austen? I need to take a step back and think.

Ms. Grange is going on a blog tour. Perhaps she'll address some of my questions.

I'm still determined to pick up that copy of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, but I think I first deserve a reprieve from monsters and mayhem. I believe I'll reread Lady Susan - her kind of chaos seems quite palatable right now.