I'm a bit skeptical, for obvious reasons. I've read the Pride & Prejudice "sequels" and I'm not a Bridget Jones fan. This has potential to be a full degree worse, as the author sounds like more a Colin Firth as Darcy fan than an Austen fan. But I'm going to try it, because I'm fascinated by:
- the idea of a Jane Austen theme park
- the Jane Austen fangirl phenomenon
Darcy centrism
I like the sibilance of that phrase. Say it fast.National Public Radio has an author interview, an excerpt, and audio on the historical context of P&P. In the interview, the author says she dedicated her book to Colin Firth because
Jane Austen's book are fabulous... but, by taking away the narrator and just having this story, Colin Firth really became Mr Darcy.
Hmm. I love Austen's narrative voice in P&P, and I find Firth only OK in the role. I love the Darcy character in the book, and I think the film with David Rintoul playing Darcy is closer to the book in many regards--particularly Darcy. (I also love Elizabeth's character, and the whole society Austen creates; I'm not primarily a Darcy fan.)
The interview talks a little about women who watch P&P primarily for the romance (as does the book's prologue, below). For example, the main character in Austenland watches and rewatches certain parts of the movie, e.g. Colin Firth emerging from the lake in a wet shirt. Do women read the book this way too--rereading just the "romantic" scenes? I don't, though of course I love those passages.
Regardless, the premise of Austenland gives me a reason to re-read and re-think some of my favorite discussions on Teach Me Tonight, on readers falling for the hero (especially Darcy), on the role of the setting (particularly Pemberley) in creating the attraction, and on what the reader brings to the text (especially Darcy); and on Smart Bitches about favorite kinds of heroes.
The author's site has more excerpts. Here's the prologue.
Prologue
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a thirty-something woman in possession of a satisfying career and fabulous hairdo must be in want of very little, and Jane Hayes, pretty enough and clever enough, was certainly thought to have little to distress her. There was no husband, but those weren’t necessary anymore. There were boyfriends, and if they came and went in a regular stream of mutual dissatisfaction—well, that was the way of things, wasn’t it?
But Jane had a secret. By day, she bustled and luncheoned and emailed and over timed and just-in-timed, but sometimes, when she had the time to slip off her consignment store pumps and lounge on her hand-me-down sofa, she dimmed the lights, turned on her nine inch television, and acknowledged what was missing.
Sometimes, she watched Pride and Prejudice.
You know, the BBC double DVD version, starring Colin Firth as the delicious Mr. Darcy and that comely, busty English actress as the Elizabeth Bennet we had imagined all along. Jane watched and re-watched the part where Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy look at each other over the piano, and there’s that zing, and her face softens, and he smiles, his chest heaving as though he’d breathe in the sight of her, and his eyes are glistening so that you’d almost think he’d cry...Ah!
Each time, Jane’s heart banged, her skin chilled, and she clamped down on the distracting ache in her gut with a bowl of something naughty, like Cocoa Pebbles. That night she would dream of gentlemen in Abraham Lincoln hats, and then in the morning laugh at herself and toy with the idea of hauling those DVDs and all her Austen books to the second hand store.
Of course, she never did.
That pesky movie version was the culprit. Sure, Jane had first read Pride and Prejudice when she was sixteen, read it a dozen times since, and read the other Austen novels at least twice, except Northanger Abbey (of course). But it wasn’t until the BBC put a face on the story that those gentlemen in tight breeches had stepped out of her reader’s imagination and into her non-fiction hopes. Stripped of Austen’s funny, insightful, biting narrator, the movie became a pure romance. And Pride and Prejudice was the most stunning, bite-your-hand romance ever, the kind that stared straight into Jane’s soul and made her shudder.
It was embarrassing. She didn’t really want to talk about it. So let’s move on.
17 Comments:
I'm very flattered you have so many favourite discussions at TMT.
As is no doubt apparent from what I've said there, I don't read 'for the hero', I don't fall in love with the hero and, as it happens, Colin Firth and his wet shirt barely registered with me when I saw that adaptation. As for him as Darcy, I thought he was a bit too fleshy, because I imagine Darcy as being tall, thin and a bit more austere-looking.
read the other Austen novels at least twice, except Northanger Abbey (of course)
Now that I really, really don't understand. Henry Tilney's so much more interesting than Darcy: he's got a sense of humour and he defends novel-reading. He also has his fans but they're rather more ironic in their adoration than the Darcyites.
Last week I searched TMT for "Darcy ideal", so those posts were fresh in my mind :)
As for [Firth] as Darcy, I thought he was a bit too fleshy, because I imagine Darcy as being tall, thin and a bit more austere-looking.
Agreed. Have you seen the 1980 P&P starring a young David Rintoul? He's exactly that. And IMO he conveys the ego/vulnerability of the character in a way that Firth can't approach. I've always found it fascinating that Colin Firth in the role is what converted so many women to P&P fans.
Henry Tilney... also has his fans but they're rather more ironic in their adoration than the Darcyites.
Not surprising. Northanger Abbey is heavy on self-directed irony. And I wonder whether Darcy's remote perfection would be diminished if he talked more--Henry Tilney is a talker, so we see his flaws in a different way.
Have you seen the 1980 P&P starring a young David Rintoul?
No. We don't have a TV. I only saw the Firth version because I was at university and living with friends who did have a TV.
Henry Tilney is a talker, so we see his flaws in a different way.
He's not totally dissimilar to Mr Bennet, another witty man who married a woman whose intellect didn't match his, but Henry Tilney is more active, and is willing to suffer for his principles. And Catherine isn't as quite as silly as Mrs Bennet, and I have hope that she'll grow to appreciate irony as she gets older. After all, she did learn to love a hyacinth.
I'm not a TV fan, but I saw the 1980 series on Masterpiece Theater and it's stuck with me vivdly all these years. It's really worth a watch. Jane Espenson described it interestingly: "I think there's a modern impulse to put some earthiness in Darcy that he simply doesn't have." Whereas I don't see much nuance in Firth's earthier rendition. It's interesting too that Colin Firth felt indifferent about the role. If the Firth-as-Darcy fans love a conflation of the role and the actor, I wonder if they would be disappointed by that.
Henry Tilney is more active, and is willing to suffer for his principles. And Catherine isn't as quite as silly as Mrs Bennet
That's an interesting parallel. Let's hope Mr Bennet didn't start off like Henry Tilney--that would bode ill for Henry and Catherine! But Catherine isn't nearly as egregious as Mrs Bennet; and she seems to enjoy Henry's garrulous displays of intellect. Long may that last.
In the Guardian Thursday, http://books.guardian.co.uk/news/articles/0,,2129738,00.html
Her work has endured for two centuries, sold in its millions and inspired countless film and television adaptations. But would Jane Austen be able to find a publisher and an agent today? A cheeky experiment by an Austen enthusiast suggests not.
David Lassman, the director of the Jane Austen Festival in Bath decided to find out what sort of reception the writer might get if she approached publishers and agents in the age of Harry Potter and the airport blockbuster.
After making only minor changes, he sent off opening chapters and plot synopses to 18 of the UK's biggest publishers and agents. He was amazed when they all sent the manuscripts back with polite but firm "no-thank-you's" and almost all failed to spot that he was ripping off one of the world's most famous literary figures.
The assumption that the publishers 'failed to spot that he was ripping off one of the world's most famous literary figures' seems to me to be based on a false premise i.e. this man took the rejection letters at face value. From what I've read, publishers and agents often send out form rejection letters. They often say nice things like 'not quite right for us' because they don't want to get the hassle that would result from writing back to aspiring authors saying what they really think. If they'd written 'you're a plagiarist' would they not have been at risk of being sued? It also takes longer to write a personalised rejection letter.
This does sound like Form 21C, Reply to Crank Letter and/or Ridiculous Manuscript:
Bloomsbury... suggested the chapters had been read "with interest" but were not "suited to our list".
I think it would be a fun story for News of the weird or Reuters Oddly Enough. It's a pity Lassman (and The Guardian) oversold it as a publishing exposé. Their conclusions seem contradictory:
1. "Clearly clerks and office staff are rejecting these manuscripts offhand."
However,
2. We'll assume the editors saw it and didn't recognize a plagiarized classic.
3. Furthermore, the editors didn't know good writing when they saw it
The best news story would be if the publishers read it, liked it, and accepted it for (re)publication. I would know how to interpret that. But this seems like a non-story--it's Mr Lassman who acted strangely, not the publishers.
Forget about Darcy! I'm a Bronte (and Wharton and James) fan, and while I do appreciate the wit of Jane Austen, I've never been so bowled over by her the way a lot of romance readers and writers are. Plus, I never got the appeal of Colin Firth because he looks like a dad(which are the roles in which I'd been introduced to him)!
I'm an Austen fan, but P&P is a funny romance in today's sense of the word--so much of the romance grows while the protagonists are apart. Though Lizzy and Darcy do have their walk and frank talk at the end, which satisfies some of the romance reader's craving.
Thinking of an Edith Wharton walk-and-talk scene, I'm a huge fan of The House of Mirth. When Lily Bart and Lawrence Selden spend the afternoon philosophizing about society and personal freedom and Lily's quest for security... what a conversation! I love the building recognition between them in those early chapters. I'm sure some readers buy into Lily and Lawrence as a couple and then feel horribly let down by the tragic ending. To me, the connection between L&L gives the story contrast, and the way it plays out keeps the book about her choices and lack thereof, instead of a knight-in-patched-armor fable. It wouldn't say the same things if Lawrence inherited a fortune and swooped in to save Lily. It's not his book, it's hers and society's.
Speaking of "herstory", I love the Gloria Steinem quote you posted last week.
Shannon Hale addresses the Northanger Abbey line on her website, explaining how she is not her character and why she put that line in the book. She also has a fun letter to Colin Firth.
I'm about half-way through the audio version. One thing I wonder about this and Bridget Jones's Diary is why the main characters seem desperate for a guy (or at least depressed by their lack of love life). I haven't read P&P in a while, but wasn't Elizabeth quite content in not having a man?
That's great there's already an audiobook out. I haven't read the book yet, so bear with my guessing.
From excerpts and Hale's site, it sounds like her main character (Jane) is a typical obsessed P&P fan. So it fits that Jane wouldn't be into Northanger Abbey. I agree with Hale that a lot of people don't enjoy the more satirical style; and a reader who's in it for the romance might not enjoy the brutal truthfulness of NA (e.g. Catherine's very ordinary, and Henry initially noticed her because she was obviously crushing on him).
I was thinking of Hale's letter to Colin Firth when I wondered whether his fans realize he wasn't thrilled with his role. I'm curious about how much of people's obsession with that production is about him in the role.
I agree on Bridget Jones. The desperation got tiresome. (Even more tiresome in retrospect, after reading other chick lit with the same theme.) I'm sure some people do feel that way, but it was way too much.
I also agree on P&P. Lizzy didn't seem to feel any particular desperation to marry, until the right man came along. The Bennets' financial situation was always in the background, but that's pressure on a pragmatic level. On an emotional level, neither Jane (Bennet) nor Lizzy was depicted as needing to hook up to feel complete. Enter Helen Fielding to fix that "flaw" in the plot ;)
Henry initially noticed her because she was obviously crushing on him
I've always thought that was a very nice, realistic touch. And, in a strange sort of way, it gives Catherine more agency. She may seem silly at times but she's got a good heart and she does manage to win over the man she loves because of her actions.
I like that part too. Not all romances have equal and identical feeling on both sides, especially early on.
in a strange sort of way, it gives Catherine more agency.
That's an interesting way to look at it. Yes, and she wins Henry's affection by showing emotion, being unguarded. She was probably excruciatingly obvious about it (she's a rather young 17 in the book), but he doesn't laugh at her (for that reason, anyway).
Oh, I've been there, and done the excruciatingly obvious thing, several times, and as a method it does have its advantages, as Catherine's story demonstrates.
And I do think it's different from the calculated efforts of a Miss Bingley or an Isabella Thorpe because, as you say, it's an unguarded, honest, expression of emotion.
I'm not sure we ever grow out of "excruciatingly obvious", nor the emotions that give rise to it. We just delude ourselves we're hiding it better.
it's different from the calculated efforts of a Miss Bingley or an Isabella Thorpe
That's very Austen, isn't it: the "honest", passionate heroine in contrast to the calculating women you mention (and Mary Crawford), the reserved women (Jane Bennet, Jane Fairfax), the passionate undependable men (Wickham, Frank Churchill, Mr Elliot). The heroine usually chooses a very upright figure; only Henry Tilney and Sidney Parker (not entirely Austen's creation) display much sense of humor.
Which reminds me of a NY Times article today on the new films Becoming Jane and The Jane Austen Book Club. Apparently Mr Knightley is widely believed to be "bad in the sack". Poor Emma. And in line with the Jane Espenson quote above, the article mentions that "The emphasis on physical attraction began with the BBC’s 1995 'Pride and Prejudice' mini-series, which made Colin Firth a romantic idol as a Darcy with smoldering sex appeal."
Apparently Mr Knightley is widely believed to be "bad in the sack". Poor Emma.
How on earth do they think they can tell? I suspect it says a lot more about those readers and who they find sexually attractive than it does about Mr Knightley.
it says a lot more about those readers
Of course: another example of "what the reader brings to a text". I don't recall that Austen even revealed much of Knightley until the last few chapters. That makes me wonder whether the "bad in the sack" opinions are based on the movie version of Emma or the book. (Though that doesn't explain anything: I imagine more people have seen the Gwyneth Paltrow/Jeremy Northam version than the Kate Beckinsale/Mark Strong. Northam played Knightley as a much less authoritative character than in the book.)
Or perhaps those readers don't understand Emma's not-so-secret kink! I just read Barbara Karmazin's post about Dominance/submission "power exchanges". Knightley is clearly an authority figure.... Never mind poor Emma. Naughty Emma ;)
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