This winter, I have not been reading much Jane Austen. And by “not much” I mean “any at all.” Jane has been on the bookshelf, and tucked away with the rest of the DVDs, and not even running on Masterpiece. (THANKS, DOWNTON.) 2012 is, so far, Janeless.
I have, however, been watching a lot of Fringe. (This is a thing that happens: Pacey from Dawson’s Creek grows up handsome and outs himself as a huge, hilarious nerd, and I’m supposed to stay away?) It’s great genre television: exciting, well-acted, and just sliiiightly off the deep end. In a nice way! For the uninitiated, Fringe is a show about parallel universes–our own, but also the one next door, where everything’s the same…except when it’s not the same at all. All this dimension-hopping, where every choice offers the potential for a new reality, has me inspired and on a spree of fictional universe creation; I’m tacking new dimensions onto stories right and left in my head, just because. Harry Potter? Great! Mindy Kaling’s memoir? Perfect! Genre is irrelevant. What this story needs, I think to myself, is more universes!
When it comes to Jane, of course, this is all downright enticing. What if there’s another Elizabeth Bennet, one who isn’t an eavesdropper OR a spectacular holder of grudges? What if some other John Dashwood marries the perfectly nice lady we know he deserves, and the Dashwood ladies don’t have to move into a hovel near some other handsome dudes? What if Catherine Morland meets an alternate version of herself (this is ALSO a thing that happens)–one who has an extra dash of common sense? Just think!
And then it occurs to me: I’m way behind the curve, AND I’m missing out. Jane already HAS parallel universes, fueled by the publishing market and the apparently endless thirst for Austen spin-offs, sequels, and spoofs. Writers and fans around the world have already imagined and executed a thousand parallel Austenian universes, both published and unpublished–ones with zombies and murder and sex scenes that would have made Jane blush all the way down to her toes—all in the name of what if? It’s my fault that I stay in Jane’s home universe; since I generally steer clear of non-canon Jane, I’m aware of these universes but generally don’t hang out in them. It’s not a choice I regret—even on Fringe, our universe is always a grounding force—but I think, suddenly, I get it a little better. There’s something nice about narrative flexibility.
If the membranes between universes start to break down, though, I think we know who to call.
True fact: The only thing Jane hates more than piracy (previous comments re: Captain Wentworth notwithstanding) is people messing with her internet. Seriously, the line about making sport of our neighbors and laughing at them in our turn? Follow that up with “…and stay off my wifi connection, because that junk is PROTECTED.”
You’ve probably heard by now: both the U.S. House and Senate are currently considering bills aimed at curbing media piracy on the Internet (SOPA in the Senate, PIPA in the House). Which: yay for curbing media piracy! Three cheers for copyright! Except…neither of these bills appears either effective or nuanced enough to get the job done without seriously impacting everyday, landlubber Internet users and the sites they frequent. It’s like searching for Mr. Wickham by nuking Scotland, and nobody likes that.
So, who’s affected? We’re affected. YOU, as readers, are affected. Austenacious is powered by WordPress, which, because of the treasure trove of user-generated content it hosts every hour of every day, is one of many sites likely to be censored by either bill. Likewise Facebook and Twitter.
What can you do? Read up. Contact your representative. Link on Facebook. Blog. Tweet. Tell your friends. Tell your family. Tell anybody who’s ever used Wikipedia that everlasting ignorance looms.
Make your voice heard, and we’ll see you again soon.
Probably.
My name is Miss Ball, and I’m a knitter.
(This is the part where you all chorus back, “Hi, Miss Ball.” Because we’re…addicts, I guess? Don’t you love where this is starting?)
It’s a rare day that one’s d
esire to knit constantly and one’s desire to blog about Jane Austen meet in a convenient location, but apparently that day has come: last fall, Interweave Press released Jane Austen Knits 2011, a collection of Austen-inspired patterns and gabbery, and now here I am, trying to type while considering the usable contents of my yarn stash. Congratulations, universe! You did it! Now: let’s all learn to knit and write simultaneously, because I cannot tell you how many hours of my life that would save.
The meeting of Janeiana and knitting is both natural and, I think, risky. It all comes down to two subsets of the population and one grand, defining question: What are you using this for? It’s one thing if you’re preparing for your local Regency costume ball, or stockpiling a collection of authentically old-fashioned knits, and a completely different thing if you’re just trying to incorporate a little English Country aesthetic into an otherwise modern wardrobe. Jane Austen Knits incorporates patterns for both populations, and does so rather seamlessly (…see w
hat I did there?); there are patterns imitating Regency clothing and patterns merely suggesting Regency clothing and themes, which means most knitters (and knitted-goods recipients) should be able to find something to enjoy. This, by the way, is no mean feat.
One thing we must address right away is the Austen-knitterly obsession with spencers—the long-sleeved, cropped jackets originated by men and soon adopted by Regency women—and shrugs, both of which tend to come up in Austenian knitting with a frequency somewhat in excess of the number of people who actually wear either of them. (No Austenian pattern collection would be complete without one, or eighty-seven, and yet: how many cropped jackets does a modern lady need?) (Answer: One. IF she wears a lot of strapless dresses.) Jane Austen Knits devotes six patterns (out of a total 36) to spencers and shrugs, which a) actually seems fairly reasonable, given the subject matter, and b) means five-sixths of the patterns in the collection are NOT spencers or shrugs. For this, I am grateful.
My favorite patterns are, I think, the ones not exactly meant for me–the stunning yet masculine An Aran for Frederick (worn in the magazine by, uh, an equally stunning yet masculine young man, not that this influences a lady of such fine character as myself) and the also-technically-for-men Fitz, a pair of mini-cabled mitts. For myself, I might choose the Chawton Mittens—the combination of the cameos and the graphic colorwork pattern behin
d them reminds me of something a hip person on the subway might wear. In a nice way! The colorwork and tailoring on both the Meryton Jacket (for ladies) and Mr. Knightley’s Vest (…and gents) come across as dapper, and possibly a smart challenge for an intermediate knitter. Further props to both the Northanger Abbey Hood and the Scarlet Capelet, which I think land firmly in the Very Regency camp, but which appeal to me anyway by being pretty and simple, if not practical for my life.
One further note: Whether or not you fall in love with any of the patterns, the non-pattern sections of Jane Austen Knits are absolutely worth a read—varied and evidently well-researched, they’re a lovely resource and a fascinating read for Austen fans, history buffs, fashion addicts, and fiberheads alike.
Jane Austen Knits is a smart, accessible collection of patterns both traditional and less so, for knitters who want to look like a Dashwood sister and knitters who just want to look like they’ve read Sense and Sensibility—both of which are fine options. It’s available in print or as a download from Interweave Press.
N.B.: Non-Ravelry links have been provided where possible; the Ravelry link to the entire collection (and all patterns inside) is here.
HAPPY NEW YEAR, AUSTENACIOUS FRIENDS!
So it’s 2012 all of a sudden, and you may be asking yourself: “Self, why make New Year’s resolutions when the world’s going to end in 331 days anyway?” Well, I’ll tell you: constant, grating reminders of our own shortcomings or no, there’s nothing wrong with welcoming another trip around the sun by trying to make things just a little more delightful. Or so we hear. In any case, if you haven’t already filled up your resolution dance card with blah blah blah lose weight and yadda yadda call your mother, we think Jane has some mighty good suggestions:
- Be a nicer person. Make it up with those crazy Bronte girls and their weirdo brother. Stop calling them “those crazy Bronte girls and their weirdo brother.”
- Less pride*; less prejudice; more Pride and Prejudice.
- More muddy hems! Exercise makes for fine eyes, or so we’re told.
- Handsome scoundrel boyfriends permissible ONLY when one is sure there’s a handsome non-scoundrel waiting in the wings.
- More letters to sisters. Or Sisters.
- Take Action Jane everywhere. Send photos.
Surely, readers, you must have additional advice on this front. What shall we do, or attempt, before the sun burns us all up, and just in time for Christmas?
*of the variety that goeth before a fall. Perfectly healthy self-congratulation is, after all, perfectly healthy.
Happy holidays, everybody! Keep warm, make merry, and we’ll see you in 2012.
Dear Jane,
Merry Christmas! I mean, Happy Hanukkah! I mean, happy birthday!
Oh, man, you must get that a lot. Four days before Hanukkah and nine days before Christmas? How’s a lady writer supposed to snag the spotlight for the big 2-3-6 when there’s a baby in a barn AND a chubby dude in a fur suit AND eight days of magic lamp oil to compete with?
To be fair, Christmas was a more reasonable affair in your time, having not yet been crazified by those wacky Victorians (but what were you thinking, picking currants out of flaming brandy with your bare hands?). So maybe it’s just us: we’re so busy trolling the mall, watching the mail, plopping kids on the laps of strangers with beards for photographic purposes, eating candy cane Joe-Joe’s, and generally making merry that birthdays just don’t register. Ask anyone born within two weeks of Christmas, in either direction, and they’ll sympathize: that nice present you got! Yeah, don’t expect another one. It’s not that we don’t care! It’s just that…well, you know. There’s a lot going on, and we may not have time to do the whole “celebratory Jane Austen canon re-read” in between trips to the attic to dig out our stockings. Sorry about that. May I interest you in a Joe-Joe? It has candy canes in the middle!
Anyway, I got you this fruitcake. Which, considering your cookbook, you’re probably super into. Sorry! I mean, you’re welcome!
With all affection and liquor-soaked baked goods,
Miss Ball
By-the-bye, as I must leave off being young, I find many douceurs in being a sort of chaperon, for I am put on the sofa near the fire, and can drink as much wine as I like.
I do wonder, though, about how society determined when someone transitioned from being a young lady in need of chaperoning to being an old maid who did the chaperoning. Sure, it was a different time and place, but there’s no reason to think that old maids or widows weren’t interested in some hanky panky with available (or unavailable *gasp*) men, too. People haven’t changed that much, even if the rules of social decorum have. I guess I should be grateful that whatever people make of my single state, at least I’m not required to bring an escort to watch over my every move.
Okay, internet, you can stop shouting now. We understand! There MAY—or may not—be a newly discovered portrait of Jane Austen living in the home of a Shakespeare scholar and his wife! It’s pretty different from the old one, thank goodness! We were going to have a nice chat about Jane and Feminist Ryan Gosling, or something, but we understand that this is The Thing this week. Ryan and his thoughts on gender can wait, gosh darn it, and the urgency of a three-hundred-year-old portrait just takes precedence.
I think the hullabaloo has less to do with the portrait’s historical significance, particular biographical importance, or any academic furor over it, and more to do with the portrait itself. The existing verified portrait of Jane, the so-called Cassandra portrait painted by her sister, is…well, it’s painted with a sister’s honesty, shall we say? This new one would, by comparison, definitely have been her dust-jacket photo—it’s completely believable in terms of having the same subject as the Cassandra portrait, but with all the benefits of a kind and skilled portrait artist, and without the possible effects of somebody who’s still pissed that you drank the last of the pulp-free orange juice at breakfast. As the Guardian so succinctly put it—and here I think they’re just saying what everybody else is thinking—Jane Austen wasn’t as ugly as people think. But the question is: Why do we care?
It seems to me that, for the most part, author sexiness is a moderately lucrative form of icing in today’s publishing market—a benefit, sure, but not an industry requirement. (And, might I add, thank goodness for that.) Nobody seems to obsess over the fact that Margaret Atwood’s had basically the same haircut for forty years, for example, and I think I could pick J.K. Rowling out of a lineup, if none of the decoys looked too much like her. I’m sitting here trying to think of a hot male author, and failing—not, I suspect, because they don’t exist, but because I read a lot of jacketless paperbacks. And yet the books sell, and we read, and everybody seems pretty happy.
So why do we want so badly for Jane to have been a fox? Much of the neurosis, I think, has to do with the stages set in her work; we want the woman who created all these winning romantic heroines to have the face of a winning romantic heroine. This is why the movie Becoming Jane exists: surely she was beautiful; surely she had a secret boyfriend who looked like James McAvoy; surely her life was a novel filled with affection and loving respect. Another theory is one I’m less sure about: that we want Jane to have been beautiful because identifying with a plain, single woman hits close to home in a subculture dominated by women and the issue of marriage. I see the trajectory of the argument; I also see the belittling underbelly of the argument. Heck, maybe we just want the poor woman to have a nice picture to put on her Facebook profile. Readers? What do you think?
Apparently we’re moving away from cursive handwriting. My immediate reaction was, “That’s just stupid.” I mean, seriously . . . who doesn’t write in cursive? Upon further thought, I realized that I’ve hardly been required to write out anything by hand—cursive or not—in many, many years. Though I did have a pop quiz in class this week, and admittedly my hand was pretty tired after writing out a two-page of essay. Also, I was mad at myself for not having a pencil. I’m so used to editing my words as I type that trying to get the words correct when pen hit the paper wasn’t easy. Words were crossed out, and my handwriting drifted into a disgraceful mess by the end of the quiz.
With computers, it’s more useful to have good typing skills. With smart phones, I suppose we’re better off working on our thumb-typing skills by breaking out video games to improve phalangeal dexterity. I think my initial reaction was more about the loss of something that seems so basic. How many generations does it take to unlearn how to read something that’s slightly different? If I try hard, I can read a medieval manuscript with its uncial or blackletter script. But it takes time to decipher the words. (And it would probably help if I knew Latin.)
I think I’m also reacting to the sense of loss I feel about the demise of letter writing. Lately I’ve been reading a book of Jane Austen’s letters. They feel like dozens of emails or texts rolled up into daily or weekly groups, so you get some sense of her daily life. But it’s so much more fun looking at Jane’s handwritten letters. There’s more personality. Her handwriting is a mess, and she admired others who wrote neatly. She wrote to her sister, Cassandra:
I took up your letter again to refresh me, being somewhat tired and was struck with the prettiness of the hand: it is really a very pretty hand now and then—so small and so neat! I wish I could get as much into a sheet of paper.
Not that I hold her chicken scratch against her. My handwriting is no picnic, particularly now that I don’t try to keep it consistent. I guess I sort of miss the idea of everyone being taught penmanship. I used to marvel at how my grandmother’s handwriting looked just like her sister’s. And my aunt’s handwriting is also similar to theirs. (They were all teachers . . . maybe that has something to do with it.) But I guess it really doesn’t matter whether or not kids are taught to write in cursive. I draw the line at grammar, though. I will defend the need for good grammar (and the serial comma) to the death!
Photo Credits: Handwriting image from New American Cursive; Medieval manuscript is in the public domain; Jane Austen’s letter from The Morgan Library & Museum
Is it just me, or are people diving into the holidays with extra gusto this year? More than one of my friends confessed, with a definite air of asking for forgiveness, to breaking out the tinsel and Bing Crosby before Thanksgiving. (They shall remain nameless…FOR NOW.) My day-job officemates hung lights before I even arrived at work on Monday, and keep them lit despite the specter of blowing various circuits in our electrically dubious building. I even realized earlier this week that, if I don’t cool it, I might be sick of my favorite Andy Williams rendition of “Do You Hear What I Hear?” before it’s actually time to hear what Andy hears. What is going on here? Is it because Nordstrom wouldn’t decorate early? Whatever it is, apparently we all need a little Christmas, right this very minute. (If the New Christy Minstrels just popped, fully formed, into your head…well, you’re welcome.)
If you’re feeling the Christmas spirit this first day of December, well, you’re in luck: get to know this pile of classic Austenacious Christmas cheer! And if you’re not yet in the groove, what are you waiting for? Pull your Action Jane off the shelf, turn up your preferred version of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” and consider the month ahead. After all, you only have twenty-five days to explode from holiday-induced stress/joy. Better get on it.
- Looking for the perfect gift for the Austenite in your life? Check out our 2011 Jane Austen gift guide! Still looking for some inspiration and maybe some Etsy stores to peruse? See previous gift guides here and here.
- Everything you can do, Jane can do better: Action Jane’s Christmas!
- There’s no combination like Jane, classic holiday ballet, and a short-story contest: Jane and Mrs. Fitzpatrick take on The Nutcracker.
- Looking for a Christmas craft with a Jane twist, or just need something to put on top of the tree? Make your Action Jane into a Christmas tree topper!
- For your holiday cheer and possibly a nice outing for the fire extinguisher: How to make plum pudding!
- From the English countryside to the north pole: Play the Letters to Santa game, Jane Austen style!
