I think, in reading Pride and Prejudice, that one of my favorite characters is also one of the most—if not the most—ignored. Poor Kitty Bennet spends most of the novel as basically an afterthought: she’s not as flighty as Lydia and not as didactic as Mary, and all anybody remembers about her is her (not-on-purpose) cough. (This is true to the point where I had completely forgotten who even plays her in the 2005 version; IMDB reminds me that it is, in fact, a not-yet-famous Carey Mulligan!) It’s a tough life, being Kitty, but I think Jane made it that way on purpose, for two reasons:
I like Kitty because she represents the phases that we all go through—the ways in which we’re susceptible to other people. The truth is, Kitty’s not a very strong personality, and she follows Lydia’s ridiculous example without a fight, or even (and I think this is generous) very much thought. But don’t we all do this (not me, of course; I’m talking about the rest of you!)? Don’t we (I mean you) find, in hindsight, times where we weren’t ourselves, or when we did things that we’d never have thought of on our own—all because somebody else looked like they were having fun? I like that Jane includes this subtle socio-personal detail among all the prideful and prejudicial behavior going on. Not everybody, it seems, is either Elizabeth Bennet-smart or Mrs. Bennet-vapid one hundred percent of the time. I like that Kitty’s a regular girl going through a slightly obnoxious period in her life. Just like 80s bangs and wearing leggings as pants, right? We’ve all been there.
I also like Kitty because she represents the ways in which people can grow up and change—Mary will probably always love a good truism, and Lydia’s unlikely to come to her senses anytime soon, but I always like to think that Kitty’s going to turn out okay. With Lydia gone, even the end of the novel feels like she’s coming out of some sort of fog of silliness (she will, of course, now be left at home with Mary and Mrs. Bennet, but one hopes Mr. Bennet will reach out to his second-youngest daughter as a potential island of sense). In an odd, side-plot kind of way, it’s thrilling! For probably the first time since Lydia arrived on the scene, drama-queening it up ostensibly from the womb, Kitty’s on her own—it’s the end of a small, subtle character arc, but we’re assured that things will continue in a positive manner. That Jane! She sure does know people.
And that is why, although one of the most important novels in the English language is packed with memorable and intelligent (though flawed) characters, I have a soft spot for one slightly obnoxious teenage girl—I hope that one day she’ll become one of them.
Hello, lovely readers! Please come out and support us and reading at the West Hollywood Book Fair on September 26! We will be in hanging in booth B5, chatting up Austeneers, zombie fans, and even Brontëites. We’ll also be premiering our premiere film, working title A Truth Universally Acknowledged. You may remember that we shot this at WonderCon, but production has been, um, delayed . . . to make you that much more excited . . . not because we got busy or anything . . . . Anyway, it will be so satisfying to have real data on this question at last! Bringing science to Austen, that’s us.
In the vein of films about books (has that been done at all?), check out the Book Fair’s awesome PSA on reading! Too bad they couldn’t fit Jane in, but maybe next time.
Photo credit: Used by permission from the West Hollywood Book Fair.
Okay, people. Let’s talk about civilized.
We, as Jane fans, get called civilized all the time. ALL the TIME. It’s in the news (to the extent that Janedom is in the news); it’s on the Web; it gets tossed around in casual conversation like it’s nothing. And, of course, it’s only right. If anybody is civilized, we are civilized.
Take this quotation from an old New York Times article on the appeal of Jane (circa 1995, so interestingly pre-Austenmania):
“The company of women is so droll,” [interviewee Barbara Stewart] said. “We get so satiric when we get going. That’s what reading her is like: being with great women. Like a great, great lunch. Life is so tawdry and rude and coarse, and this is so civilized.”
Well, sure. Jane was nothing but civilized, right? I mean, everybody in her novels wears those pretty and definitely un-boobalicious Empire-waist dresses, and then drinks tea! And the ladies are always smart and well-intentioned, and the men are never skeeves or sexual predators! And, nobody ever thinks of making catty comments, veiled or otherwise, about anybody else! Nor does anybody deserve said catty comments, ever! Clearly.
And the ladies of Austenacious, well. Let me tell you: we are the souls of civilization. No rudeness or coarse language, gluttony or sloth or envy here. Of COURSE we don’t talk about Colin Firth’s hindquarters, or anybody else’s! What do you think, we were raised in a barn? We are ladies, and we lunch, and our meetings feature more pearls than an oyster boat. And makeup. Always, always makeup. You can tell, of course, because of the courtly nature of Austenacious itself. Nothing but brawling and Boob Aprons and manly reading porn and men in showers here!
So, really, it’s just nice to be recognized, don’t you think? And now, let’s meet in the drawing room for some—ahem—wholesome entertainment. We’ll bring the tea.
Recently I’ve been pondering this quote from Northanger Abbey, which is surprising full of clothes.
It would be mortifying to the feelings of many ladies, could they be made to understand how little the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new in their attire; how little it is biased by the texture of their muslin, and how unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness towards the spotted, the sprigged, the mull, or the jackonet. Woman is fine for her own satisfaction alone. No man will admire her the more, no woman will like her the better for it. Neatness and fashion are enough for the former, and a something of shabbiness or impropriety will be most endearing to the latter.
Do women like their friends to look shabby, worse than them? Obviously, women these days fall on a broad spectrum of caring about their appearance, but I think the more a woman cares about her appearance, the more she cares about her friends’ appearances, and the more she wants them to look fashionable (whether goth, moth, preppy, etc), so as not to embarrass her. I think wanting to look better than your friends is on a different axis altogether, one more to do with self-confidence and all that. We probably need a graph or a Venn diagram to settle the question, and an Internet quiz you can take. Maybe later.
Having come to that conclusion, I think Jane Austen was there ahead of me, and she was talking about a frivolous b-word like Isabella Thorpe, and not any of us. Oh no. We are nice girls, and not being as innocent as Catherine Morland, we know quite well what men want to see in our clothes. Jane Austen, for all her delicacy, is perfectly clear about it, and so is Mrs. Bennet of all people. I present to you, in fact, what Mr. Wickham was no doubt thinking when Lydia “tucked a little lace.” Note, this is NOT safe for work!
Today we lucky ladies at Austenacious have the golden opportunity to bring you an exclusive interview actor/writer/producer/personal heroine Emma Thompson, whose Oscar-winning screenplay for Sense and Sensibility and general sense of brilliance has made her an icon for smart girls everywhere. We sat down at Austenacious Studios for a brief chat:
Emma Thompson: Hello! I’m Emma Thompson.
Austenacious: ….
ET: Hello? I’m Emma Thomp—Hey! What are you doing on the floor?
A: Nothing.
ET: Are you trying to kiss my feet?
A: No.
ET: Yes, you are. Stop that.
A: They smell like roses after the rain.
ET: Get up.
A: Right. Let’s see. Ah, yes: In 1995, you wrote an Oscar-winning screenplay of Sense and Sensibility, as well as portraying the sensible Elinor Dashwood in the film. Can you tell us about your relationship with that character?
ET: Oh, yes, well, I’d always felt that as a woman who processes things quite intellectually, that Elinor is still quite capable of having an emotional life, and so—
A: —of course. You bawled your eyes out. It makes so much sense.
ET: Yes, and—
A: —was it you-know-who?
ET: Excuse me?
A: You-know-who. He Who Shall Not Be Named.
ET: I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.
A: Your ex? Does all the Shakespeare? To work out his pain over losing you?
ET: Ah, Kenneth.
A: Sssh! Beware the Death Eaters!
ET: That’s Ralph Fiennes. You’ve got it all wrong.
A: No, that’s just a coincidence. We called him that before the movies! Honest! What we’re saying is that he’s stupid. Stupidity is the point.
ET: ….okay, though Voldemort is in fact not stupid. I—I thought we were here to talk about Austen?
A: Who?
ET: Jane Austen?
A: Oh. Right. Say, what made you decide to grow your hair out?
ET: [Sighs] Well, I got tired of the idea that a woman of a certain age should have short hair, and I thought I’d challenge the the social norms surrounding middle age and sexuality—
A: That is so brave.
ET: —and also I was starting to be indistinguishable from Hugh Grant, at first glance.
A: No!
ET: Yes.
A: Well, yes. But wasn’t it all part of Operation: How Hughie Got His Groove Back?
ET: I’m not familiar with that particular operation.
A: We thought it was philanthropy on your part.
ET: Getting back to the subject, I was so proud to have worked with him on Sense and Sensibility. I’ve always loved Edward Ferrars, and I thought Hugh brought such a believable sensitivity to the role.
A: Sure, whatever, but tell me: when you and Helen Mirren have sleepovers, do you dress up your Oscars?
ET: That is totally not your business.
A: We’re just saying: We would. Of course, neither of you have really braid-able hair, so that‘s out the window…
ET: I have to go now.
A: But wait! I haven’t given you my resume yet!
ET: Is that my bodyguard at the door?
A: We could do this every day!
ET: We really couldn’t.
A: Don’t you need a personal pencil sharpener? Award-polisher? Sycophant?
ET: Goodbye.
A: Wait! Someone told me the other day that I look just like Hugh Grant, too! I know you can’t resist a good cause!
Note: This interview is entirely a work of fiction, and is in no way meant to reflect on Ms. Thompson. In fact, it would probably be better for everybody if it also did not reflect quite so strongly on the staff of Austenacious.
Sometimes the answers are even better—in comic value, if not in orthographic correctness—than the questions.
(Sure, she could have been. Hooray for honest questions?)
(Oh, Yahoo! Answers, why can’t I quit you?)
We have spoken before about Jane Austen’s individualistic punctuation. Many of us feel that Austen’s incessant dashes, and other weird habits were ebullient—that we’d like to be as free as she was, even if our ever-copyediting hearts might tidy things up a little bit for other people.
Now there is a fracas afoot regarding Austen’s punctuation! Word on the street is that two chapters of the original manuscript for Persuasion will be on view at the British Library from November 12 to April 3 as part of the Evolving English exhibit. (Hey everyone, field trip!) Well, there has been back and forth about Miss Austen and her punctuation. Here’s Roger Walshe, curator of the exhibit:
Austen hardly punctuates at all, so what you get is a much more urgent form of language which becomes more restrained when it is edited. There tends to be an awful lot of clauses and sub-clauses. There is the odd comma, but they aren’t always in the most rational places. There are no paragraphs. It’s like she’s telling a story rather than writing one. The amazing thing is that there are so few corrections. You can imagine her thinking through a scene and then rushing to write it down. That’s possibly why the dialogue works so well, and why [film adaptations] are so successful.There is a real sense of urgency – more so than the slightly more restrained form you get from the novels.
This has led to snide comments about people’s comma usage and spirited rebuttals about artistic license (which take a comment of Walshe’s quite out of context). I’m kind of expecting that we’ll next see something about Jane Austen being the foremother of lolspeak and generally informal writing habits online, like abbreviations and the elongation of words to suggest tones of voice. (I feel impossibly elderly writing that, but wtf, i can roflol all night looooonnngggg. Righhhhtttt.)
All I’m saying is, I love to see a good comma fracas, and especially one where Our Girl Jane takes center stage! People getting passionate about language, that’s what we need! I hardly even care what they say—it just does my heart good—. With extra dashes!—
Fangirls, prepare yourselves: there’s a new and potentially fascinating interdisciplinary star on the horizon. I was browsing the finance papers today, as one does, and came across this interview in Capital—you know, where we get all our Austen news—with playwright/finance reporter Felipe Ossa regarding his new play Monetizing Emma, recently premiered at the New York Fringe Festival. And now I’m feeling a yen for the stage.
The titular Emma here isn’t, incidentally, our Miss Woodhouse—rather, she’s a high-school student, an investment for a bank hoping to cash in on her future success in this rhythmically Austenian speculative econ drama. Which, just so you know, is totally our new favorite genre. It’s Austen meets Wall Street…FROM THE FUTURE! We approve.
In a refreshing turn of events, Ossa’s take on Austen isn’t about plot or character—this is no monsters-optional, chronologically challenged Pride and Prejudice reboot. Like many playwrights, he’s a words guy, and he’s taking Jane’s prose and holding it up to a whole new light. As noted in the article:
“I had no idea how to mimic Austen until I drove to Montreal in ’06, a seven-hour drive, and I listened to Persuasion on tape, and I think it was Diana Rigg who was narrating. And I completely understood how beautiful Austen’s rhythms are. And I started to hear the monologue in my head. Not the words but the rhythm, the syntax. That was a pivotal point: This stuff is exciting! I was thinking about Janeites who would recite Austen or reenact Austen.”
So clearly, what we have our hands here is a man of discerning tastes. Persuasion and Diana Rigg? Presumably, Anne Eliott fighting crime in go-go boots, with the kind of verbal specificity that’s so satisfying on the stage? I think Ossa is our kind of man. (Perhaps we should ask him about his mutton chops.)
So, readers, check him out—and let the Austenacious Drama Club meetup plans begin.
This week, world-wandering elder brother Mr. Ball has hung up his top hat and arrived at the family country house for a much-deserved furlough from the competitive world of international diplomacy. The whole clan is sequestered away, in fact, for a period of long carriage rides, late-night Whist (aka Scrabble), and the kind of family togetherness that only a trip to the country can bring, for better or for worse.
As any young lady returned to her family after a season away will find, there’s something about suddenly having parents and an elder brother very present that makes one’s role in life perfectly clear: come hell or high water or long periods of living independently, little sisterhood is forever.
As far as Jane goes, I think I’m doing all right. So far, I’m pleased to report that I have not yet run off to Scotland or to the seashore with any older men, only to need rescuing/marrying at gunpoint, nor have I injured myself and fallen head-over-heels for any dreamy scoundrels on horseback. I haven’t played the pianoforte in an inappropriate manner. I haven’t become “often a little unwell,” nor have I become (more so than usual) “always thinking a great deal of my own complaints”. There may have been a little bit of running wild—of which the Morlands surely approve—but have we mentioned we’re at the country house? Who do you think I am, Mary Bennet?
On the other hand, my brother hasn’t bought me any pianofortes, nor has he leapt up to defend my honor. To be fair, though, he hasn’t forced me out of my ancestral home and into a pauper’s cottage, either.
I say we’re even…as long as he lets me call shotgun on the way home.
Mariella Frostrup over at The Guardian recently wrote this in an advice column:
Despite achieving a position in the modern world where we are not only self-supporting but also increasingly outshining the men, we act like a gaggle of competitive girls whose most important goal is how blokes view us. Female-to-female behaviour hasn’t evolved much since Jane Austen’s day and the sad result is we continue to fail to provide sisterhood.
The rest of the column is similarly depressing. Mariella does suggest that the 40-something woman who feels life is slipping out of her grasp should age gracefully while at the same time make a noise, and “Rage, rage, rage when they attempt to turn out the light.” Sounds like a plan to me.
What about this talk of lack of sisterhood, now and in Jane Austen? Surely Jane and Cassandra Austen themselves are in the Sisterhood Hall of Fame? And Jane wrote about all sorts of sisters. Here’s Lizzie and Jane Bennet: “. . . do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?” Not the words of someone who’s putting a bloke above a sister. Elinor and Marianne are another loving pair of sisters, though it’s true that Marianne does put her romantic notions above Elinor’s feelings sometimes. But isn’t that her great failing, what Jane Austen is warning us against? It’s also true that there’s some unpleasant sisters in the books. Maria and Julia Bertram certainly get into a catfight over Henry Crawford in Mansfield Park, and, more chillingly, Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and Mrs. Price take their separation from each other with perfect calm. As with the Elliot sisters in Persuasion, Austen seems to assume that there’s no reason that sisters would hang together, if circumstances or temperament didn’t allow it. And it’s true that we see very little genuine womanly friendship in Austen: Lizzie and Charlotte Lucas and Catherine Morland and Eleanor Tilney are the only examples I can think of. I guess it would make sense when getting a husband was like getting a job that you mightn’t be very nice to the competition, especially in a limited pool. So, I concede, Austen was pretty cynical about the whole sisterhood thing.
But what about now? Miss Osborne, Miss Ball, and I don’t have any sisters. We came together as Beloved Sisters through a shared love of Jane Austen, eating, and talking smack. So we can’t comment on the modern state of sisterhood between actual sisters. But between women in general? I think it’s a pretty mixed bag. I personally haven’t seen much catfight action, have you? And also, isn’t it a bit sexist to assume that women should get along all the time? As if men do!
OK, obviously it’d be nice if we all got along. As it says in our header, Jane will keep us together. This may be terribly ironic, considering the above, but I suggest we try it. Send loving thoughts to all those of your acquaintance, even if there are few people you really love, and still fewer of whom you think well. It’s either that or back to the meat market, apparently.
