'Sanditon', Jane Austen’s 1817 Final, Revealing Work

Author Sophia Alexander with Jane Austen's 'Sanditon'

The incomplete novel, Sanditon, should certainly pique our sympathy: Jane Austen mocks the hypochondriacs in it, then promptly dies from her own health condition before getting even halfway through drafting it. She wrote the beginning chapters from January through March of 1817 but was unable to complete the work, passing away in July at the fairly young age of 41 from what may have been the autoimmune condition SLE (systemic lupus erythematosus).

“Charlotte could perceive no symptoms of illness which she, in the boldness of her own good health, would not have undertaken to cure by putting out the fire, opening the window and disposing of the drops and the salts by means of one or the other.”

Oh, one shudders in sympathy for the impatience Jane must have felt with herself. 

In reflection, this may have contributed to her condition. It could be that Jane’s snarky pen, like her immune system, was more generally self-directed than is apparent or optimal. No doubt she meant to keep herself in line by chiding herself for her weaknesses. Given her intense romantic bent ('You pierce my heart', Jane!), she clearly had more than a touch of Marianne’s overwhelming emotions (in Sense & Sensibility). Perhaps she was afraid of acting as superior as Emma, of her pen hurting her loved ones (in Emma). Perhaps she was mocking her own contrivances for her characters as she depicted Mrs. Bennett’s ridiculousness about landing her daughters in good situations (in Pride and Prejudice). Oh, Jane… perhaps my blogs defending her characters were actually defending her from attacks upon herself!  I once stated that she could have stood to be a bit kinder... but apparently I should add 'to herself'! Well, lest I follow her example in being too harsh on myself, I'll give myself credit for acknowledging all the while that her pen was witty and brilliant, nonetheless.

Beyond that, regarding Sanditon’s unique qualities, the English seaside is more prominently displayed than ever, perhaps due to her ailments and its frequent medical recommendation for those in ill health. As Mr. Parker believes,

“no person…could be really in a state of secure and permanent health without spending at least six weeks by the sea every year.”

His ongoing excitement about developing a beach resort town garners empathy for this sort of optimistic entrepreneurship in a way novel-readers don’t often get to experience.

“…it was his mine, his lottery, his speculation and his hobby horse; his occupation, his hope and his futurity.”

Readers find themselves hoping right along with him that tourists actually will arrive to fill some of those vacant vacation homes he’s had built. It all matters so much to him!

His guest, Charlotte Heywood, is the protagonist. She's the sensible, bright young woman. The reader benefits from being in her shoes, observing the few families of this small Sanditon community in all their intrigues and ridiculousness. Charlotte has landed herself in this lovely beach town, right along with this colorful cast of characters, and one might guess at where some of it is going.

For instance, Sidney Parker seems the only viable love interest for Charlotte, and it took a while to get to him. Frankly, though, he’s a bit of a disappointment at our brief introduction. This may be key to why Jane stopped writing just here, particularly, needing to figure him out. He’s been described as witty, snarky, even mercurial, but then when the author at last presents him, just at the end of this unfinished manuscript, he seems merely a polite gentleman. It falls quite flat. And then her pen falls flat, literally.

Jane’s written herself into a corner, of sorts. As a writer, I sympathize. This man needs to both live up to the hype and still be tolerable, a worthy love interest. Not only is his presentation problematic from this craft perspective—as it can be a challenge to convincingly depict an amusing, savvy, clever fellow who also somehow manages to simultaneously surprise and delight the author (necessary to make it convincing)—but there’s another basic logistics issue: it’s even harder to swallow that he’s swoon-worthy after focusing for so long on how laughable each and every one of his four siblings is. It'd be a fine line now to make him banter playfully at all. He's hardly supposed to be a Mr. Knightley, though (from Emma). Yes, I know the light-hearted Frank Churchill was not actually Emma’s real love interest, but Jane must have realized here that she’d been describing Frank, to a degree…. when she actually reverted to a Mr. Knightley-sort again upon presenting him as fairly staid. Indeed, Jane might well have been flummoxed, as that's where the story ends. 

In Sanditon, Jane Austen has produced distinctive new characters in a memorable location. A sensible young woman tries to navigate the hypochondriacs around her, which might be perceived as Jane's contempt for her ailments. The manuscript even begins with an upset carriage which is damaged beyond immediate repair... which could represent Jane's physical body. Though I'd read Jane Austen's full set of six main novels when young, I've only now read this partial manuscript, and it will evermore color my reflections on her novels with notions of invalids at the foam-flecked grey shores of the English seaside.

Points of interest:

The Heywoods, ‘had their family been of reasonable limits’, could have afforded ‘better roads’. In fact, it’s their broken-up road that causes the Parkers’ carriage to overturn. Not so long ago, road maintenance was expected of the locals. I’ve seen in my own genealogical research where my 19^th-century ancestor was tasked by the local government, along with other young male residents, to repair their own nearby roads. (On a more amusing note, Jane concludes that the Haywoods also could have afforded ‘symptoms of the gout and a winter at Bath’.)

Sanditon has a circulating library, for which residents must purchase a subscription. Of particular interest is that this same library sells parasols, gloves, and brooches, among other trifles, apparently to raise funds to support itself.

Mr. Parker runs ‘bathing machines’ at the waterside—little huts for modesty, where women, especially, could enter and change into their swimwear, then either step down into the water or be lowered into it in relative privacy.

Arthur Parker, the hypochondriac brother, declares, “What?... Do you venture upon two dishes of strong green tea in one evening?”  This use of the term ‘dish’ stood out to me, recalling to mind that I recently heard the tea saucer is for pouring too-hot tea onto, to rapidly cool the beverage and then sip directly from it!  I have tried it since, and it works surprisingly well, though I'm still dubious about the etiquette that way. However, I presume the ‘dish’ referred to here is a teapot.

The ‘half mulatto’ young lady, Miss Lambe, was ‘beyond comparison the most important and precious, as she paid in proportion to her fortune’. Miss Lambe was of West Indian ancestry, and it’s rather nice to know that even before slavery was outlawed in the British Empire, that a young woman of mixed race might be treated quite well, if only due to her consequence from wealth.

Mr. Sidney Parker is driving his servant in the carriage, which caught me up for a moment!  Perhaps this was meant to show his lack of conformity, but I swiftly concluded that it only made sense, for any servants who weren’t coachmen would likely be unable to drive the coaches at all. Another eye-opener into Jane Austen’s time!

I'll conclude with Jane Austen shattering the fourth wall again, as I admired her doing in my blog of Northanger Abbey, though there it goes on for quite a while. Here, it’s just a couple of pert and glorious sentences:

“I make no apologies for my heroine’s vanity. If there are young ladies in the world at her time of life more dull of fancy and more careless of pleasing, I know them not and never wish to know them.”

Read more of my Jane Austen-focused blogs at the links below:

*Sense and Sensibility (1811)

*Pride and Prejudice (1813)

*Mansfield Park (1814)

*Emma (1816)

*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

*Persuasion (1818, posthumous)

*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)

*Juvenilia (written 1787-1793)

*Sanditon (written 1817)

 

The Six-Seven of 'Juvenilia' by Jane Austen

“Where…in the name of wonder… did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have been studying Novels I suspect.”

Author Sophia Alexander six-sevens
'Juvenilia' by Jane Austen

“But I plainly see that every thing is going to sixes and sevens.”

In Juvenilia I, II, & III, a youthful Jane Austen mocks the ridiculousness of human beings. The writing is almost fairytale-like, for all that there’s no obvious magic and many of the stories are epistolary (i.e. telling the stories through an exchange of letters). Written between 1787 and 1793 from ages 12 to 18, the collection amuses as it enlightens us about her early development as a writer. Quite a few tales are incomplete, which reflects upon how very not-plot-driven her stories are, really; one doesn’t feel desperate to know what happened, only sorry that the stories are over sooner than expected. So I do recommend the Juvenilia for committed Jane Austen fans who have a personal interest in her, but probably not in their entirety for anyone else.

Not so notably, the insubstantial “The History of England” in volume II briefly introduces initiates to some of the most famous monarchs of Great Britain via Jane’s silly and snarky pen. Her loyalty to Mary, Queen of Scots is endearing, even if her fervent disapproval of “that disgrace to humanity, that pest of society, Elizabeth” leaves one at a bit of a loss. Not sure how much of it she truly meant, though. She wasn’t even Catholic, for all that she hints that she is in the telling (assuming the next quote is merely humorous).

Jane’s “History” doesn’t approve of Queen Elizabeth’s father, King Henry VIII, either, as 

“nothing can be said in his vindication, but that his abolishing Religious Houses and leaving them to the ruinous depredations of time has been of infinite use to the landscape of England”.

Here’s an example of delightful silliness contained in a more typical story from Juvenilia:

“Mrs. Fitzroy did not approve of the match on account of the tender years of the young couple, Rebecca being but 36 & Captain Roger little more than 63. To remedy this objection, it was agreed that they should wait a little while till they were a good deal older.”

And after a while, 

“‘if you refuse to join their hands in 3 days time, this dagger which I enclose in my left shall be steeped in your heart’s blood.’… Such gentle and sweet persuasion could not fail of having the desired effect.”

Hitting closer to home, the character Laura complains of an entirely inadequate new acquaintance: 

“She staid but half an hour and neither in the Course of her Visit, confided to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide in her, any of Mine. You will easily imagine therefore my Dear Marianne that I could not feel any ardent affection or very sincere attachment.”

Laura shortly meets someone more pleasing in plump Sophia:

“We flew into each other’s arms and after having exchanged vows of mutual Friendship for the rest of our Lives, instantly unfolded to each other the most inward secrets of our Hearts.”

I laughed at recognizing myself there, as my own BFF is a Laura—who is now a counselor. What a perfect job that would have been for the character Laura, hmm?

Sophia urges Laura to run mad rather than to faint, and when I later realized that Jane Austen uses the term ‘distracted’ in the older sense of ‘maddened or deranged especially by grief or anxiety’, I had to nod, as this particular modern-day Sophia is all the time saying how distracted she gets.

For those who instead wish to avoid unwanted friendships, another Juvenilia character demonstrates how to answer in no uncertain terms when a nosy someone “challenge[s] you to accept the offer I make of my Confidence and Freindship (sic), in return to which I shall only ask for yours.”  Simply reply: 

“You are extremely obliging, Ma’am… but I am in no difficulty, no doubt, no uncertainty of situation in which any advice can be wanted. Whenever I am however… I shall know where to apply.”

Clarity is not Lady Williams’ forte, however. With vacillating certainty, she declares, 

“Remember it is all forgot.”

Henrietta continues the trend in another story when she protests, “say no more”, and shortly adds, “Pray go on.”

Very well, I will.

How intriguing it is that Jane Austen mentions curries in her Juvenilia not once, but twice. But after all, India was a British colony at the time, the British East India Company in full swing. Honestly, the notion of Jane Austen eating curries is nearly as surprising and welcome as when I read of Benjamin Franklin recommending tofu!  Both curry and tofu are delightful, especially taken together, as are the writings of both Jane and Ben.

On this food note, Jane Austen uses the expression ‘White as a Whipt syllabub’ more than once, and I was tickled to actually know what she’s referring to, as I’d previously run across a syllabub drink recipe in an old plantation receipt book; it promptly landed a role as the holiday beverage for a Christmas dinner scene in my own novel, Silk: Caroline’s Story. (By the way, receipt is the old term for recipe, useful to know if you’re reading Juvenilia.)

On a more prescient vein, perhaps, I was delighted with the following quotes, along with the similar one above, due to the popular Gen Alpha slang ‘six-seven’ (maybe unrelated, but did it actually derive from this old usage?):

Mrs. Percival “vehemently asserted that the whole nation would speedily be ruined, and everything… be at sixes and sevens.”

“Her behavior indeed is scandalous, and therefore I beg you will send your son away immediately, or everything will be at sixes and sevens.”

“I shall soon begin to think like my aunt that everything is going to sixes and sevens.” 

Indeed.

Read more of my Jane Austen-focused blogs at the links below:

*Sense and Sensibility (1811)

*Pride and Prejudice (1813)

*Mansfield Park (1814)

*Emma (1816)

*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

*Persuasion (1818, posthumous)

*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)

*Juvenilia (written 1787-1793)

*Sanditon (written 1817)

Musings on Jane Austen's Last Novel, 'Persuasion' (1818)

Note: contains SPOILERS

Jane Austen’s final published novel (as well as my last one to critique) was Persuasion, which came out in 1818, six months after her death. It’s a tale of regret and forgiveness—and of remorse, for all that our protagonist says, to my dismay, 

“I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement than I did even in giving it up, because I should have suffered in my conscience. I have now, as far as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, nothing to reproach myself with.”  

Yet Anne Elliot jilted poor Frederick Wentworth over eight years prior, at the advice of her mentor and her family! Ah well, perhaps the ‘now’ is key here, as she’s speaking at the story’s resolution, when such remorse is water under the bridge.

Author Sophia Alexander with
Persuasion by Jane Austen

The novel is also an exploration of flexibility vs. resoluteness. Wentworth disdains Anne for not having been more resolute in her love for him, but when the woman he’s wooing injures herself despite the warnings of others, 

“Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character; and whether it might not strike him that, like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and limits.”

This novel is not as immediately engaging as Austen’s others—I had to restart it more than once, and some time elapses before Anne’s lamentable romantic history is mentioned. After two or three chapters, however, Persuasion becomes comparable to Jane Austen’s other works.

Again I find myself defending the characters from Jane’s pen, convinced that they’re at least loosely based on her personal acquaintances and experiences. Their dialogue is so very realistic, yet Jane’s interpretation doesn’t always seem fair. In this case, it’s regarding Anne’s sisters. No, they’re not always considerate, and they do often overlook her. However, they’re overlooked, too! Even Anne doesn’t give them their due, only tolerating them—actually lamenting that she doesn’t have good relations to bring to the table if she marries!

Mary, the youngest, is the only one of the sisters to be married with children. This alone should raise her in standing in her family, yet it doesn’t seem to. In fact, her in-laws don’t even wish to grant her the precedence she’s entitled to, insisting she should give way.

Jane Austen mocks Mary’s own insistence on joining her self-centered but good-natured husband on his jaunts, as if she’s the selfish one for insisting on going; yet if she didn’t, she’d be regularly left behind, miserable and neglected at home. In fact, Mary is wondrously adaptable and magnanimous, quickly cheering once she’s on her way, not holding grudges about not being invited nor about apparently not being at all necessary to Charles Musgroves’—nor anyone else’s—happiness.

At least Charles seems not to overtly mind her presence, and allows her to tag along with him. But he once wanted to marry Anne, and even his mother regrets that Anne isn’t the mother of her only grandchildren!  Poor Mary.  Meanwhile, Mary at least makes Anne feel needed by asking her to come tend her when she’s unwell, and by sharing her woes.

Even though Anne does try to take care of her sister in a myriad of ways, she does it with a certain disdain, clearly regarding Mary as selfish, shallow, and incompetent. In reality, however, Mary is the only sister to have grandchildren (for either side of the family), and the only one who made a good, timely, comfortable marriage with an estate, thus by far the most ‘successful’ of them.

When Charles’ sister meets with an accident, it’s decided by the men that Anne should stay behind to tend her, but then Mary speaks up for herself, declaring that it should be she who stays with Louisa. In fact, she’s Louisa’s sister-in-law and spends time with Louisa almost daily, whereas Anne is merely the visiting relative. Of course Mary wants to stay with Louisa, whom she does very much care about. And after all, it isn’t Louisa asking for Anne. Yet Mary’s choice to stay with Louisa is the furthest thing from appreciated, represented as merely another selfish action.

As for Mary’s indispositions, Jane Austen seems to suggest they are inconsequential because they come and go so rapidly. Likely they are to a degree psychosomatic, and of course they’re a nuisance, but Mary deserves credit for not clinging to them. As Emerson says, ‘a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.’ Nope, as soon as Mary feels better, she’s up and ready to go.  This may make her laughable, but it keeps her from turning into an invalid.

My sympathy for the beautiful eldest sister, Elizabeth, revolves around her pragmatism. Whereas Anne is too idealistic to care about preserving their position in society, Elizabeth takes it on as her central duty. One might scoff at Elizabeth’s elitism, but Jane Austen wouldn’t be a novelist if she hadn’t had her education and books and leisure time to write. Anne reaps the benefits of those family members who work to retain their status, all the while maintaining such disdain for them. Remember, however, that Jane Austen never in all her novels makes much more than a peep against colonialism or slavery (see Mansfield Park’s blog), which suggests that her concerns are quite insular. In Persuasion, many of the naval officers of their acquaintance have made a fortune in the East Indies War—which concerned European powers, primarily, but had everything to do with colonialism, of which India returned vastly more wealth to Great Britain than all the other colonies did, combined. Jane expresses only unmitigating respect for the naval officers, ranking them of the very best sort.

Elizabeth, the eldest Elliot sibling, is approaching the spinster-ish age of thirty (when fertility declines precipitously), but she’s managed to retain her looks and her dignity while running Sir Walter’s household. Not just her looks and dignity, but the family’s.  Jane Austen dubiously tenders Elizabeth a morsel of credit (along with a chunk of contempt, saying, ‘it was a struggle between propriety and vanity, but vanity got the better’) in relating how Elizabeth figures out how to save face when unexpected company arises—company that hopes to be introduced to their noble kin in Bath. What the Elliots are trying not to make public is that Sir Walter is presently living under reduced circumstances, with a reduced staff, and so if Elizabeth offers the customary dinner invite, then they will feel a certain humiliation at not being properly staffed, their family standing sinking in the eyes of their aristocratic cousin, Lady Dalrymple. Elizabeth solves the dilemma. She cleverly invites them over for an informal evening: “that will be much better, that will be a novelty and a treat,” she decides, to her own relief.  Indeed, the author even acknowledges that cheery Mary (who wouldn’t have shown up in Bath at all if she hadn’t once again insisted on joining her husband) is completely satisfied at this invite.

Jane Austen’s qualms seem to relate to a desire for blatant honesty about one’s circumstances, an issue she raises in Sense & Sensibility, too. Apparently few behaviors are worse, to Jane’s mind, than misrepresenting oneself as richer than one is!  I suspect Jane’s pride makes her unwilling to ‘put on pretenses’, as she would see it—and figuring out how to save face is hardly what an honest, noble, staunch, forthright character does. So beneath her.

The reader feels sympathetic when Anne’s opinion about the family’s dire financial straits is not sought. However, when her opinion does come forth in favor of austerity measures that in no way preserve their social standing, it should be obvious why Elizabeth and Sir Walter did not initially seek her opinion.  They tolerate Anne, but the disdain has become mutual, and given Anne’s scorn for so much of what they do and value, it’s clear that the blame isn’t entirely on their side. Yet, maybe some of Anne’s intolerance for their uppity ways stems from their long-ago opposition to her engagement to the then-poor Wentworth; this might have been a helpful association, but her austerity suggestions were merely presented as strong morality.

Despite Captain Wentworth’s gripping admission near the end of the novel, ‘You pierce my soul,’ along with the rest of that beautiful letter and its touching honesty about his injured pride, there are a dearth of romantic moments between this central pair of star-crossed lovers. Indeed, from the beginning, he’s ignoring Anne and courting other women. Aside from reports of his monetary success and general good conduct, we’re shown little to fall in love with. Not only that, but for a ship’s captain, he seems remarkably uncertain when an emergency arises, and he’s more emotionally reactive than one would expect.  Even simply lingering on some of the distant romantic memories that must have existed could have helped.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but smile when she alludes to Wentworth’s having “not understood ‘the perfect excellence of the mind’ with which [another’s] could so ill bear a comparison, or the perfect unrivalled hold it possessed over his own.”

I'm smiling because I assume Jane Austen relates to her protagonist—and while I might critique Jane and hardly regard her as perfect, her high self-esteem was well-deserved, not far off the mark. Isn’t her writing exquisite? And hasn’t she had a near-unrivalled hold on minds, especially compared to other female authors?  She well deserves her accolades, even those indirectly delivered by herself at the end of her very last novel, Persuasion. After all, who can write them better?

*

Random points of interest:

• The name Charles shows up repeatedly in this novel, for different characters!  There are three Charles Musgroves (I, II, & III); Charles Hayter; and Charles Smith; there’s even a mention of King Charles II.  She may not have realized how often she repeated the name, especially since she was likely ill as she wrote this novel. The name Charles happened to belong to her younger brother Charles, who served in the navy, as did another brother. Her choice of the surname ‘Hayter’ piques the curiosity, too; Charles and his family seem quite nice throughout, though, so there’s no obvious embedded meaning.
• When young Charles Musgrove III has an accident, the apothecary is called. So apothecaries didn’t just stay in their dispensaries and laboratories, working as vendors, but went out making house calls for injured patients, serving as physicians—at least in Austen’s experience.
• Lady Russell has a door-bell!  Some Victorian doorbells resemble the round counter chimes rung to bring salesclerks, only they either have an outdoor handle to turn, or a pull knob, with the chime itself mounted inside the house. However, such as these may be too late for Austen’s time. In Europe, some palaces have inside rope pulls that ring bells in other parts of the house, so I imagine the front door-bells of Austen’s time may have had a pull-type rope like these, or perhaps one would simply clang a traditional bell mounted outside the door. (If you are familiar with what sort of doorbell she’d have had, please comment below!)
• Mr. Elliot, a widower, wears ‘crape round his hat’ for mourning. I wonder if there was veiling or if the crepe just wrapped about a diminutive hat itself, as I saw one example of, rather turbanish.
• One wonders if Jane Austen has deduced this about herself: “[She] thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.”
• This following quote seems a prescient nod to the English pop band Duran Duran; I don’t believe the Durands are mentioned again in the whole novel!: “The little Durands were there… with their mouths open to catch the music, like unfledged sparrows ready to be fed. They never miss a concert.”
• Anne is impressed by Mrs. Smith’s ability to be happy, despite her troubles. The following quote meshes with my own observations and experience: “A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply resolution, but here was something more; here was that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of herself, which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift of Heaven…”

Read more of my Jane Austen-focused blogs at the links below:

*Sense and Sensibility (1811)

*Pride and Prejudice (1813)

*Mansfield Park (1814)

*Emma (1816)

*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

*Persuasion (1818, posthumous)

*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)

*Juvenilia (written 1787-1793)

'Emma', Jane Austen's Finest Novel By Far

Emma (1816) is the most idealistic and enjoyable of Jane Austen’s novels, in my decided opinion. Emma Woodhouse is a sassy, classy, clever young protagonist who becomes truly penitent upon realizing her mistakes, her rudeness, and her presumptions. Nevertheless, to our relief, Emma Woodhouse retains enough charming impudence to quip near the end of the book:

“Oh, I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with any other.”

Few novels have such delightful dialogue, such perceptiveness into people’s characters. And though my heart sank a bit at the end, as I hadn’t remembered quite how classist even this novel of hers seems, I am reexamining that a bit here below.

Author Sophia Alexander with
Emma by Jane Austen on her well-loved e-reader

The following does contain spoilers:

First, a caveat: I’ve watched film adaptations of Emma, and Gwyneth Paltrow’s 1996 portrayal of Emma is indelible in my mind, despite her physical description hardly matching how Jane wrote Emma!  I have rewatched it more times than I’ve read the novel, so it does influence my view of this work. It’s exceptionally true to the sparkling wit in the story, and the filmmakers subdued less pleasant aspects, such as where at the end of the novel Emma realizes that she must let her friendship with Harriet fade, because Harriet is going to be a farmer’s wife, despite Harriet always having been the truest of friends to Emma.

  Meanwhile, it rankles that Emma plans to foster her friendship with the wealthy young man, Frank Churchill, who deceived everyone, including Emma, into thinking he was courting Emma. His soon-to-be wife, Jane Fairfax, actually spurned Emma’s belated attempts at friendship, but she, too, will be residing within Emma’s inner circle. In fact, Emma’s pivoted to regarding Frank as being like a dear brother. However I might tut, though, this adjustment for the sake of harmony is admirable, so I’m not saying that Emma should have sought retribution. Her affection for Frank had always been sincere, and there was much promise of good, enjoyable company for their future, rather than the sour dynamics so many would have wound up perpetuating. Emma’s grace and good sense win the day (and months and years ahead).

  Despite her plans to gradually withdraw from Harriet, there is much to learn from Emma. We could do worse than to emulate the delicacy and grace with which she deals with her Highbury community (a ‘populous village, almost amounting to a town’) and through life.  She winds up poised for a very comfortable future—and does her best to be kind to everyone affected. In fact, she’ll still be Harriet’s friend to a degree, even accompanying Harriet to her wedding.

  Perhaps Jane Austen is simply pointing out the obvious. By nature Emma and Harriet will begin moving in different circles. Harriet won’t be at the balls Emma goes to, and Emma won’t be at the barn-raisings. Remember that Emma’s initial efforts on Harriet’s behalf were largely meant to keep Harriet within her immediate circle. Now Jane Austen simply observes, “Harriet will be over there now, with those farmer folks, not over here with Emma.” Still, it seems to undervalue the deep, intrinsic value of a true friend, precious indeed; isn’t it worth going to some lengths to preserve such friendships? Yet perhaps Emma is simply adjusting (more gracefully than I think myself capable of doing) to how things simply are. In other words, she’s wisely planning not to overextend herself.

  I may not entirely buy into Jane’s worldview, but again, her wisdom as to the human condition is far from piddling. Regarding Mrs. Churchill of Enscombe, who was thrown off by her brother due to making an ‘unsuitable connexion’,

“She had resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother’s unreasonable anger.”

Indeed, throughout this novel, Mrs. Churchill is a sickly woman, dying by the end of the novel. Jane understands the complexity of the human condition. She knows the importance of family ties and connections to our mental and physical well-being, and I assume this character description was written in anticipation of Mrs. Churchill’s eventual demise.

  Emma teaches grace, poise, and adaptability—remorse, too—and consideration of other people’s feelings, including people of all classes. However, while Emma did have to live and function within her existing society, it’s lamentable that Jane Austen does not use the power of her pen to push boundaries whatsoever, maintaining a most conventional perspective on social classes and even slavery (implicit in Mansfield Park) during a time when many were demanding better. Yet in her own way, through creating such a kind-hearted, well-meaning character as Emma, who really does her best, Jane is setting a better-than-average example, isn’t she?  Every little shift towards kindness helps. Remember that conventional folks are reading and loving this novel, absorbing its messages, when they wouldn’t so much as bother with some socialist or abolitionist tract. Emma’s conventional devotion to her father is commendable and inspiring—and then the scenario involving Miss Bates (spinster daughter of Mrs. Bates, ‘a very old lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille’) humbles Emma, making her ashamed of not being kinder to Miss Bates, especially given her diminished circumstances.

  So I’ll posit that Emma is still a masterpiece that deserves to be widely read, as it’s not only entertaining but teaches poise, grace, and kindness to the less fortunate. Well done, Jane!

*Here are a few quotations that I found interesting and/or amusing:

In speaking of expensive schools that we might liken to so many of today’s ever-more-costly universities, Jane describes them as being “where young ladies for enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity.” Not entirely wrong, for all that they give tremendous value, too. Doesn’t that expression, ‘screwed out of’ sound so modern?

Regarding Emma’s sister’s children who lived in London: “all the holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children”.  Not only do I find the frequent autumn (brr!) sea-bathing in the early 19^th century of interest, but it brings to mind the dire lack of sanitation systems in crowded London at that time, so awful that Mr. Woodhouse’s assertion, “Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be,” was not at all baseless. Cholera was rampant there, actually.

Emma’s father says, excusing himself, “We invalids think we are privileged people.” Indeed, Emma has to accommodate to her father’s limitations, wisely realizing that he isn’t very flexible, most of all in his restrictive opinions. She nonetheless loves him unreservedly, much as we love Jane Austen herself.

Read my blogs about Jane Austen's other novels at the links below:

*Sense and Sensibility (1811)

*Pride and Prejudice (1813)

*Mansfield Park (1814)

*Emma (1816)

*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

*Persuasion (1818, posthumous)

*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)

In Defense of Mrs. Bennet in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

author Sophia Alexander with her aged hardcover of
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen

In my grand re-read of Jane Austen’s works for her 250^th birthday tomorrow, I began with Pride and Prejudice, having inherited a hardcover nearly as old as my parents. Originally published in 1796 under the title First Impressions when Jane was just 21, it was later rereleased, after much revision, in 1813 in its present title and form.  This novel boasts her delightfully famous opening line:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

Perhaps the most generally beloved of Jane Austen’s works, it ranks, for me, only behind Emma and Sense and Sensibility. To a lesser degree than Emma, characters realize the error of their ways—that Lydia doesn’t do so is actually charming, a pleasant relief from all the soul-searching—and it’s likewise chock-full of sharp exchanges and witty banter. However, while Jane Austen is consistent in her character depictions, I’ll admit that I once more find myself at odds with her, this time regarding her assessment of Mrs. Bennet… and I have an intriguing revelation to share about Mr. Darcy.

Since I failed to write up my blog earlier this year, when I read it, I’ve just listened to the audiobook as well, which I found to be excellent. This signifies because Jane Austen via audiobook seems almost preferable to her written books; as I read the novel, I'd found myself saying, “This is practically a script!” Jane doesn’t waste a lot of time on senses and metaphors and all such. Nope, she sets the stage and then she’s straight to the heart of the matter, the interpersonal dynamics.

Beware of Spoilers:

Alright, I'll begin with these by defending Mrs. Bennet. But first let us excuse Jane on account of her youth; it's only natural that she might not, at the age of 21, intuitively grasp the wisdom of Mrs. Bennet's behaviors. Also, let's give Jane a modicum of credit for her end-of-book disapproval of droll Mr. Bennet for his contempt of his wife. For that instant, it seems that Jane doesn’t actually see Mrs. Bennet as quite as silly as Elizabeth believes her to be—for all that this notion is at odds with the entire rest of the novel. Still, it indicates that Austen must have had at least one pang of remorse for her treatment of Mrs. Bennet throughout the book.

The fact is that Mrs. Bennet only ever thinks of her daughters’ futures, wanting them to be as comfortable and happy as possible—especially as she knows there are no provisions for them after the eventual demise of Mr. Bennet, given the entail that will give away his estate to a male relative. Elizabeth, however, is continually disgusted by her mother’s overt efforts to further good matches, even doing her best to counter her mother’s efforts, such as when she marches straight back into the drawing room where Mrs. Bennet has with some difficulty contrived to leave Miss Jane Bennet (the eldest daughter) alone with her suitor, Mr. Bingley. Thankfully, Elizabeth is too late. He’s already spoken to Jane, and they are engaged. So Mrs. Bennet succeeded in the end after all, despite Elizabeth. And given that Jane Austen herself never married, I'm guessing she was far too much like Elizabeth Bennet in contriving not to further along relationships. No doubt she never seemed overeager in her life.

At some level, I suspect Jane realizes this, for all that she refuses to give Mrs. Bennet proper credit. (In fact, she sometimes blames Mrs. Bennet’s behavior for driving off suitors.) But it’s also Mrs. Bennet who promptly adapts and forgives Lydia in the end, saving their familial relations with her; as ridiculous as Austen depicts Mrs. Bennet to be in that scenario, the elder girls have to convince their father to forgive, too. One might argue that Mrs. Bennet shouldn’t forgive so easily, that a bad example is being set by Lydia for her sisters—and I do find that a valid concern—but perhaps modeling the prioritization of harmonious family relationships is a superior lesson. After all, Mrs. Bennet’s daughters might one day also have to deal with their own foolish children in similarly compromising circumstances.

Okay, so now for the Mr. Darcy revelation—it’s not an original thought of my own, but something I came across on a YouTube video some months ago. An earnest young woman who professed to be 'on the spectrum', having written up a school paper about Jane Austen’s male protagonists likewise neurodivergent, wanted to share this broadly. Her idea was that it would be such great representation to show that some of the all-time most iconic fictional male love interests actually had autistic traits. I heard this with some impatience, but her words stayed with me, and upon re-listening to Mr. Darcy’s unpleasant behavior and Elizabeth’s straightforward initial dislike of him, I grudgingly have to admit that she seems correct! (Mr. Knightley from Emma may likewise be neurodivergent, if not as obviously.)

On that note, I did find the book version different from the film version in that there were no early sparks of attraction. Actually, Elizabeth and everybody else in her community truly dislike Mr. Darcy upon first acquaintance, despite Elizabeth later admitting he’s one of the handsomest men she’s ever met—remember that Jane originally titled the novel First Impressions, so this is getting to the heart of the matter. Mr. Darcy is often awkward, rude, and silent. That said, it’s later endearing how he takes to heart Elizabeth’s critique of him and tries to make amends.

Please note that ‘silly’ Mrs. Bennet also has quite the aversion to Mr. Darcy, despite his wealth, until Elizabeth becomes engaged to him, at which time Mrs. Bennet swiftly adapts, seeing all the benefits of the attachment. In fact, her disapprobation of Mr. Darcy stemmed from his former rudeness to Elizabeth, so again... she’s a woman of sound mind and wise principles entirely centered around ensuring her daughters' well-being, for all that she receives little credit and is even scorned. Truly, without Mrs. Bennet's interventions, the romances in Pride and Prejudice may never have occurred at all, and then where would they all have been? 

Let me conclude, as I tend to do, with sidenotes:

I’m tickled by the different pace of life in the early 19^th century. When Elizabeth Bennet visits her friend for a six-week stay, the lady at the nearby estate tries to convince her it’s ridiculous not to stay for at least eight weeks. Things are so quiet there that it’s an event when someone merely passes by the house. Seems rather snoopy, but how intriguing that they find others’ comings-and-goings of such interest! While they know more about each other, however, they simultaneously seem more reserved in their behavior, more contained. But those aren’t necessarily related, as such reserved behavior is classic for well-to-do Brits (Elizabeth Bennet actually considers herself fairly poor, but they do have servants).

Speaking of societal level, middle-class young ladies seem generally expected to know how to play the piano. The heroines of these old novels are rarely virtuosos; they just sing and play sweetly. Perhaps when I first read this novel in high school, I realized how out of place I'd have been in that society without piano skills whatsoever, as shortly after that, I did start playing piano, content with just a few basic skills. I can't quite otherwise comprehend why I was so complacent about achieving mediocrity! (Yet as to the wisdom of early musical training, Socrates asserted that without it, one can never achieve the same level of grace, and I do believe this to be true. In fact, the Greeks trained their children musically on a broad scale, whereas the Romans didn’t tend to do so; this seems pertinent because I find Greek sculpture is often more generally artistic than Roman sculpture—long-lasting evidence of superior grace?)

To conclude, here is a saved personal anecdote written about a year or so ago that relates back to the people-watching:

This little studio is so bright, with such clean windows that I have been gazing out of them as I suppose my ancestresses used to do. The little old ladies in Germany would watch us walking by their windows, too. And Granny totally knew who had been by her Main Street house. She spent much of her time on her screened-in porch, shelling beans and peas or cracking pecans while keeping tabs on the neighborhood. I’d been baffled by it, even mildly scornful, but here I am today, just staring out the window absently, then with more interest as people walk by. Jane Austen's characters aren't sheepish in the least about noticing passersby, about speculating where they are going, etc., and I suppose I'm no different at heart. Just a little while ago, a thin woman walked by with a chubby boy and their dogs, setting me to wondering whether she was actually walking the boy as much as the dogs. Just wow, such nosiness, but seems it's in our bones!

Read my blogs about Jane Austen's other novels at the links below:

*Sense and Sensibility (1811)

*Pride and Prejudice (1813)

*Mansfield Park (1814)

*Emma (1816)

*Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

*Persuasion (1818, posthumous)

*Lady Susan (1871, posthumous)

RIP Sophie Kinsella, beloved Shopaholic author

Sophie Kinsella, author

Today would have been Sophie Kinsella's 56th birthday, had she not passed away on Monday from a glioblastoma that has been affecting her these past three years, at least. I loved listening to her audiobooks as I did chores, as she has a lively, blithe sort of humor that hits the spot for me. 

I once created a mural of some of my inspirational writers and artists surrounding me in which Sophie is directly under my own picture, symbolizing how she was shoring me up with her humor. It hangs in my study. I'll admit that when I tried to actually read her novels in print, I didn't find them nearly as engaging as the audiobooks, perhaps as the plots aren't particularly intricate, so I decided that the hilarity is better heard than read.  Still, she cheered me through some rough patches, and I have a huge soft spot for this wonderful author.  My favorite of her books is actually Twenties Girl, and I enjoyed Remember Me a lot, too, but the first couple of Shopaholic novels, especially, are the ones that put me in stitches. The content of some of her newer works didn't appeal to me as much, so I haven't stayed up to date on her writing, but here's something I wrote back in 2009: 

"...[I've been] inspired by the book of a new favorite author, Sophie Kinsella.  I LOVE SOPHIE KINSELLA!!!  She's a fabulous, wonderful author with an amazing ability to inspire with her ridiculous, lighthearted situations.  She is a wonderful Sagittarius, as are many of my very favorite people (though ironically, NONE of my immediate family members are Sag).
 
I am on my third Kinsella book, which is her original Confessions of a Shopaholic. Becky Bloomwood is a lovable character with a penchant for getting herself into scrapes. Her life is a roller coaster of highs and lows, and, though it does seem a bit shallow, she inspires by constantly letting insurmountable troubles fall away in her unbelievable optimism! This story encourages us to Try, Try Again! It's also a boon for our egos, as our own faults seem less severe after making so many allowances for Becky's!
 
I actually identified a bit with Becky when I would feel her horrible, mortifying lows and wallow in them just a tad, only to feel myself lifting out of those lows way before I expected to when she would bounce back with her cheery, perky, optimistic attitude.  You just can't resist laughing at her...and knowing that she's right!  No sense in wallowing!
 
I have watched small children instantaneously jump from tantrum to cheery play, and I've often been quite relieved that they don't have the self-consciousness to resist that jump.  Truly, I think many of us are attached to our troubles out of a sense of congruity.  If we're devastated tonight, then it would be terribly shallow to be bright and perky tomorrow--and it would somehow negate the authenticity of our feelings, goes the logic.
 
Yes, I did feel disconcerted at times by Becky's ability to bounce back and not dwell on her troubles, but I also felt inspired.  We create our lives, and a big part of that is trying to achieve our goals.  Clinging to negative emotions or situations makes our life about those, instead of a balance of highs and lows.  Perhaps we should just aim to fully experience them as quickly as possible and then we're off to experience the next high with full enjoyment. 
 
I suppose that's part of the attraction of the book for me.  Becky DID experience those lows.  She berated herself, felt extreme humiliation, fully realized and experienced the drama of the situation.  Utterly satisfactory wallowing and wailing!  Her indomitable spirits surged back, though, unfailingly. She did acknowledge her likeness to a child at one point, when she commented "like a child on Christmas morning...well, okay, like ME on Christmas morning."

Children have a certain wisdom in their unaffected simplicity in dealing with trials.  We MUST bounce back in order to enjoy our lives, because we ALL have problems.  So in this sense, Happiness is dependent on letting go of our attachments, much as the Buddhists tell us.  I would say the attachments to our troubles are some of the first attachments we need to eliminate....

...[So, Sophie Kinsella is currently my new favorite author of the moment], but it just occurred to me last night the coincidence that I'd set up my 'Mii' character on our 'Wii' with the name Sophii... and with the birthday of 12/12 (the 180 degree opposite birthday of mine, for my Mii alterego). Anyhow, Sophie Kinsella's birthday happens to be December 12th! Isn't that almost uncanny that I picked the same name and birthday of my next favorite author, before I'd even heard of her?"

'Louise Juliane, Electress Palatine, and Her Times' by Fanny Elizabeth Bunnett

Author Sophia Alexander with her copy of Louise Juliane's Biography

I was grateful to discover this 1862 English-language biography of Louise Juliane (1576-1644), great-grandmother of King George I of England. She was the daughter of William the Silent, mother of the ‘Winter King’, and grandmother of Sophia of Hanover.  I was grateful, that is, to find this rather unique source of information, but I wouldn’t recommend it as a source of entertainment. Not only is the information dry, but it should be taken with a few large salt crystals. The author makes many lofty assumptions about the people she’s writing about, assuming they’re all as devout as the author no doubt aspires to be. All that said, I still very much appreciate the overview of Louise Juliane’s life--along with Bunnett's brief historical and political summations of the Protestant powerhouses with which Louise Juliane associated.

Since Sophia of Hanover features prominently in some of my current writing, Louise Juliane has been of some interest to me, having raised three of Sophia of Hanover’s siblings, Karl Ludwig (later Elector Palatine), Princess Elizabeth (a brilliant philosopher, friend to Descartes, and later ruling abbess of a small, independent territory), and soldier Maurice, for a goodly portion of their childhood. Her strict, modest Calvinist values were quite different from her more exuberant, royal daughter-in-law’s: Elizabeth Stuart had more panache as the ‘queen of hearts’, having been raised Anglican as the daughter of King James I of England; she was even queen of Bohemia before the Thirty Years War sent her and her family to The Hague as refugees. 

In contrast to the exuberant Stuart court, Louise Juliane’s own natal family had been strictly religious, perhaps severely so. Her mother, Charlotte de Bourbon et Montpensier, had been raised several years in the abbey of Jouarre. She’d died while Louise Juliane was still young, and so Louise Juliane was raised in the Netherlands by her stepmother, Louise de Coligny, after her father, a prince of Orange who championed the Protestant cause, was assassinated. After Louise Juliane’s marriage to Frederick IV, Elector Palatine, she resided in Heidelberg and thereabouts, but in her older age she lived in Berlin with her married daughter, the electress of Brandenburg, which is where Louise Juliane raised the three Palatine grandchildren mentioned above (until they left to join their mother in The Hague, though Princess Elizabeth of the Palatinate did later return to Berlin for a time in her adulthood).

Bunnett provides wonderful quotes from letters, which are my favorite part of the biography. Louise Juliane's mother, Charlotte de Bourbon, tells her own mother-in-law, “My eldest girl, Louise Juliane, says that you will love her the best, because she has the happiness of bearing your name.” Louise Juliane’s personality could be glimpsed, despite Bunnett’s religious filter, when the new widow said: “I feel as though I had given small proof of my sorrow by still living, if I dare to say so, against my will. Nevertheless, I place my hand upon my lips that I may not transgress the limits of moderation and irritate God still further, as He has appeared to be, by a fresh blow upon my eldest son [Frederick V, later the ‘Winter King’], who has been at death’s door from small-pox, the severity of the sickness taking away almost all hope from those who were near him. In this has God shewn me what He could still do to me.”

Perhaps it simply reflects the Calvinist theory of predestination, but more than once she is found saying things along these lines, including this that she sent to King James I/VI: “Having heard from my son of the great affliction which it has pleased God to send your majesty and your people by the unexpected death of the late prince of Wales…”  She seems to hold God accountable for every affliction that befalls her or anyone else, even while hedging that we don’t know his reasons, that we aren’t so wise as him, and it must be for the best.

Her sense of guilt about surviving her husband reflects, perhaps, on her own young mother dying—they claim of grief—when Louise Juliane was barely six. Charlotte de Bourbon died only days after William the Silent was shot in the head by an assassin, an injury from which he actually recovered. I speculate that his counselors may have suspected her of colluding with the Catholics, given her Catholic background, and you can take it from there… but that doesn't seem to be what Louise Juliane thought. Louise Juliane's own letters reflect only strict Calvinist doctrine—though I suppose she could have been wary of irritating any suspicious, flammable ministers who might be reading her letters and could contemplate taking out their fury on the surviving wife, as perhaps had happened to her own mother. Whatever the case, her mother’s death must have left quite an impression on Louise Juliane as a girl, as she herself fell incredibly ill when her father actually was assassinated two years later. Everyone worried for the girl's life for weeks—which leads me to think that at the time she actually did believe that her thirty-five-year-old mother had simply died of grief—and thus this impressionable, devout daughter was doing her best to follow suit.

Despite reading this biography in full, I still am not sure I have a solid sense of Louise Juliane, the woman who was mother-in-law to the Winter Queen.  The author is sure that Louise Juliane had infinite patience and wisdom, and it does seem that her letters were discreet--so discreet as to be a bit dull, for the most part. 

Louise Juliane's sense of prudence can be seen when she advises her son against accepting the crown of Prague. He didn't listen, unfortunately. This affront to the Holy Roman Emperor was pivotal in setting off the Thirty Years War, in which nearly half the German population was decimated in certain regions. However, there are assertions that Louise Juliane was antagonistic towards her daughter-in-law, and my curiosity is not yet satisfied on this score. Maybe I will learn a little more about her character if I ever manage to get through some of her correspondence with her younger sisters. It's in French, which I know a little of, and so hope to one day muddle through it.

Bunnett's biography of Louise Juliane is recommended for anyone who has a personal interest in Louise Juliane or her direct family members--and also for those who are trying to develop a better understanding of the Thirty Years War, of the history of Germany, or of the family roots of the kings and queens of England past King George I. Though the subject of the biography is female, the broader history is standard and male-oriented.

(I'm publishing this blog on what would be Louise Juliane's 449th birthday.  She was born on 31 March 1576 in Delft.)