Jane Austen Addict Blog

Emma; or How Jane Austen Revealed My Inner Know-it-All

by Laurie Viera Rigler, author of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict (http://janeaustenaddict.com)

[This post continues my series of guest posts on About.com's Classic Literature Blog.]

Yes; I'll admit it. There have been times when I've acted a bit like Emma, the eponymous heroine of Jane Austen's novel. There have been times when I have, shall I say, ventured into the unsolicited advice department. Times when I've been so convinced of what I knew about others that no one could convince me my assumptions were absolutely wrong.

I haven't always seen myself in Emma. In fact, there was a time when I would have been offended at the very suggestion. After all, Emma is the heroine that Jane Austen said "no one but myself will much like." But the older I get and the more I re-read Austen's works, the more I begin to see myself not only as Elizabeth Bennet (and who doesn't want to see herself as "dearest, loveliest Elizabeth"?), but also as some of Austen's more flawed characters.

These "a-ha" experiences are high on the list of reasons why I love Austen. I have this theory that if you read her works enough times and really contemplate the life lessons therein, you can pretty much give up your psychotherapist. You can even reduce your library of self-help books to Austen's six novels. They are so much fun to read, so satisfying, so full of dramatic tension and hilarious commentary, that you hardly know you're getting a life lesson at all. Which is exactly how I like my life lessons delivered.

When we first meet Austen's heroine Emma Woodhouse, she is enjoying the "triumph" of what her truth-telling friend (and only critic) Mr. Knightley dismisses as Emma's "lucky guess." Said "lucky guess" is the marriage of Emma's dearest friend (and former governess) Miss Taylor.  Emma, however, gives herself more credit for the match than Mr. Knightley chooses to do. Emboldened by the success of her first foray into matchmaking, and lonely for the newly married Miss Taylor, Emma takes on a new project, Miss Harriet Smith. Determined to make over the trusting and subservient Harriet into Emma's own idea of perfection, Emma decides that Harriet's current romantic interest is too low on the social scale for her new friend. Emma, in all her social consequence and omniscience, will elevate Harriet on the social scale. Emma, in all her generous solicitude for the well-being of others, will bestow upon the vicar, Mr. Elton, the perfect wife. For he would be just the right man for Harriet.

Never mind that Mr. Elton has plans of his own and that the worshipping Harriet would follow wherever Emma leads. For Emma, those around her are pawns, and she their queen. Emma, of course, fancies herself a benevolent ruler. And thus she embarks on a series of misguided adventures into high-stakes meddling in the lives of others while having not the slightest doubt of her own sagacity. Challenged by no one but Mr. Knightley,  she willfully misreads and misinterprets everyone's actions. She is, in short, a character we might heartily dislike, were it not for the genius of her creator.

Austen's brilliance is about making us see the  universal humanity of all of her characters. Even if we cannot see ourselves in a particular character, we most certainly have known someone like that character. From the very beginning, we cannot truly dislike the high-handed, I-know-better-than-you Emma, for she has sacrificed her own domestic comfort to her best friend Miss Taylor's interests. Mr. Knightley may call the marriage of Miss Taylor to Mr. Weston a "lucky guess," but it was Emma who encouraged Mr. Weston to visit her friend, in hopes that he would eventually propose—and take that best friend away. Thus we see that under her meddling is a warm, affectionate heart. And we cannot truly dislike Emma because she patiently and without complaint—even to herself—ministers to the comfort of her hypochondriacal, self-centered, childlike father.

Most of all, we cannot truly dislike Emma because she becomes ensnared in her own machinations. And thus Mr. Knightley's wish that he "should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return " comes to pass.

(Be careful about what you wish on others, Mr. Knightley. It may just come back to kick you in the hindquarters.)

And that is all I shall say. If you have not read the book, I urge you to do so. You might just recognize that you, like Emma, find the idea of arranging someone else's life to be so much more appealing than looking at your own.

By the way, all of you who are jonesing for Austen since Masterpiece Theatre cruelly took a hiatus from its Complete Jane Austen extravaganza are in for a treat: the 1995 adaptation of Emma starring Kate Beckinsale. It airs on PBS in two parts, beginning Sunday, March 23. The Kate Beckinsale Emma is also available on DVD, as is its worthy companions, the splendid adaptation starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Amy Heckerling's contemporary take on Emma, the delightful Clueless.

Mansfield Park: Jane Austen's Most Controversial Novel

by Laurie Viera Rigler, author of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict (http://janeaustenaddict.com)

(This is yet another of my series of guest posts for About.com's Classic Literature blog.)

Discuss Mansfield Park in your book club, and your friends, like most readers, will tend to differ over a variety of points. The most typical one is this: Is the heroine, Fanny Price, a model of moral integrity, or a self-righteous prude? Is the marriage that ends the story (and Austen's stories always end with a marriage) between the right two people? And what's up with that part about the play?

The story begins when nine-year-old Fanny Price is taken from the home of her impoverished parents and moved to the estate of Mansfield Park to be brought up by rich relatives. This is no clear-cut Cinderella story, however. Although there are a couple of mildly wicked stepsisters (Fanny's cousins Maria and Julia) and a stand-in for a wicked stepmother in the form of her Aunt Norris, teenaged Fanny's central nemesis—and rival in love--is the saucy, sassy anti-heroine Mary Crawford.

The object of both Fanny's and Mary's affections is Fanny's cousin Edmund (I know, I know, but in Jane Austen's day one could marry one's cousin without anyone batting an eyelid). Edmund loves Fanny like a cousin, but he is in love with Mary.

Did you ever feel jealous of someone, and at the same time also felt you didn't have the right to be jealous? Fanny, being in an inferior position in the Mansfield Park family and unloved by her birth parents, has deeply rooted self-esteem issues. Mary, on the other hand, walks through life with a serious sense of entitlement. Shouldn't that be enough to put us squarely in the pro-Fanny camp?

Perhaps, but Fanny challenges us at every turn. For example, there is the famous section of the book in which Fanny disapproves of and refuses to participate in a play that her cousins and neighbors are putting on at home for their own amusement. For this part of the story to make the least bit of sense to a modern reader, one needs to understand that this particular choice of home theatricals would be the modern equivalent of a group of teenagers voting to have a wild, high-risk party in their strict parent's house while said parent was out of town.

Despite Fanny's balking at participating in said wild party, we cannot quite dismiss her as a buzz-killing Miss Perfect. After all, she is eaten up with jealousy for a great deal of the book, and as we all know, jealousy is not a pretty emotion. She is also not one to obey those in authority at all costs. In fact, she stands up to the biggest authority figure in her life by refusing to do what she knows in her heart would be wrong, and I'm not talking about acting in a play. (I'll say no more, lest I spoil the book for those who've yet to read it.)

If you've ever had an opinion that your friends considered uncool, and you stuck to it despite ridicule and pressure, you'll find a kindred spirit in Fanny Price, and you'll want her reward to be the man she loves. However, if you're still doing shots with your inner bad girl, you'll be rooting for Mary Crawford to win the object of her, and Fanny's, affections. (By the way, Austen scholar Emily Auerbach pointed out at one of the Jane Austen Society of North America's annual meetings, that several of Mary Crawford's lines of dialogue are astonishingly similar to lines from Jane Austen's own letters.)

To make things more interesting, some readers will want Fanny to be won by Mary's rakish, heartbreaker brother, Henry Crawford, who finds himself unaccountably in love for the first time in his life. Henry doesn't seem to stand a chance with Fanny, who is not only in love with another man, but also has watched in contempt and pity while Henry toyed with Fanny's cousins, the above-mentioned Maria and Julia. It's one big love triangle. Or square. Or heptagon.

Could there possibly be a better Austen novel for book clubs to chew on? And I haven't even touched on the theories about Mansfield Park's antislavery subtext.

In Mansfield Park, Jane Austen is clearly at the height of her storytelling mastery, deftly playing with reader loyalties and expectations while serving up the delicious social satire and suspenseful plotting that keep us coming back for more.

Nevertheless, Mansfield Park presents clear challenges to filmmakers who wish to adapt it, which is perhaps why director Patricia Rozema turned the heroine of her 1999 adaptation  into a synthesis of Fanny Price, Mary Crawford, and Jane Austen herself. As for the latest adaptation of Mansfield Park, which airs on PBS's Masterpiece Classic on Sunday, January 27, I am all anticipation. Let's see what the filmmakers have got up their sleeves this time.

Read more about Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict,  and surrender to your Austen addiction at http://janeaustenaddict.com.

Northanger Abbey: Austen’s Coming-of-age Story for All Ages

by Laurie Viera Rigler, author of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict (http://janeaustenaddict.com)

(This is part of a series of guest posts I am doing for About.com's Classic Literature blog.)

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."
            --Henry Tilney, in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey   

When Henry Tilney speaks these words in Austen’s funny and touching novel, Northanger Abbey, the story’s heroine, Catherine Morland, gets a serious crush. (Truth is, Henry had her at hello.) Still, Henry’s declaration is a bold one, for in Austen’s day novels were considered low art, especially if they were penned by a woman and consumed by women. Catherine favors the lowest of the low--scary Gothic novels written by women and featuring abduction, seduction, supernatural horror, and/or murder—the kind of novels that teens (and many an adult) could not get enough of.

Every era likes to marginalize certain forms of art. In Austen’s day, it was the novel (and not just the Gothic ones). Today, it might be graphic novels or romance or so-called "women’s fiction" or "chick lit" or science fiction or horror. Take your pick. Despite the snobbery, Jane Austen and her whole family were, in her own words, "great Novel-readers, & not ashamed of being so." Nevertheless, Northanger Abbey is a hilarious send-up of just the kind of horror-and-romance-fest that Catherine Morland—and Jane Austen—liked to read. The difference between the heroine and her creator is that Catherine Morland kept expecting real life to play out like one of her favorite novels, while Jane Austen thought real life had its own set of fascinating stories to tell.

Seventeen-year-old Catherine Morland’s story unfolds as she leaves home for the first time, bound for the fascinating city of Bath. She falls in love, is whisked off to the romantic-sounding estate of Northanger Abbey, witnesses betrayal and deception, suspects murder, and takes a dangerous journey alone. Ultimately, Catherine learns self-reliance in more ways than one. No t only does she cease to be, in her mother’s words, "a sad little shatter-brained creature," she also learns to distinguish between her own wild imaginings and her intuition, between fantasy and reality, between false friends and true.

Northanger Abbey is the perfect coming-of-age story, for it is in no way about giving up our youthful fancies and zest for living. Quite the opposite. Through Catherine’s innocent, exuberant embrace of what is fresh and novel (no pun intended), we the readers remember the first time we traveled to a new city, danced with the person who made us feel valued for who we are, or "learnt to love a hyacinth."

I can’t wait to see the latest adaptation of Northanger Abbey that airs on Masterpiece Theatre’s Complete Jane Austen Sunday, January 20.

 

I QUIT!

About two months ago I was obsessively checking my amazon.com sales ranking  (I'm told this is a common addiction among newly published authors and that sometimes said authors must be hauled off to rehab) when I came across a gem of a customer review, entitled "Austen Addict Needs Rehab." This title was not, in fact, as serendipitous as it appeared, as I discovered when I read the first two sentences:

Laurie Viera Rigler should resign her membership in the Jane Austen Society. I don't see how anyone who admires Austen's work could associate that great author's name with this tripe.

I happened to be in a fairly confident mood that day, and so I was able to laugh it off. After all, I knew when I was working on this book that should it ever be published, it was likely to arouse the ire of some and the approbation of others, Janeites being a particularly passionate bunch. And if I've learned anything from my years of reading Austen, it's the importance of laughing at myself.

So, aside from the absurdity of the reviewer's proclamation, how was I able to resist the temptation to take any of this personally? Glad you asked. I'd have to say that other external forces of a positive nature, such as finding out Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict debuted on the Los Angeles Times bestseller list and several good reviews made this call for my resignation from JASNA seem a trifle, even an amusing one.

Inevitably, all highs wear off. It could be that (a) you get a bad review. Or (b) you're having a hard time zipping up your jeans. Or (c) that cute guy who lives across the street didn't smile back at you. It doesn't matter, of course, that (a) the reviewer simply didn't enjoy your book but did enjoy making herself look clever at your expense. Haven't you ever done that in private conversation? The only difference is that newspaper reviewers get to be catty in public. It also doesn't matter that (b) you happen to be premenstrual AND ate pizza for the last three days, so of course your jeans are tight at the moment; and (c) that cute guy across the street wasn't wearing his glasses and didn't see you smile. In fact, he didn't even know that blurry blob across the street was you.

Nope, none of that matters whatsoever. By the time you've been through (a), (b), and (c) and who knows how many other imagined slights, you're ready for some more self-flagellation. Let's see--what would hit the spot? I know! Let's check our amazon.com ranking. No. This cannot be true. It just shot up 5,000 points in four hours?? How is that possible? Does my book really suck? Is it all over? Am I the biggest loser on the planet?

But wait, there's more: Surely the answer to the question of whether or not "L" must be stamped on my forehead awaits me in the review section of my book's buy page. Let me scroll down a bit and--NO--not another bad review. This one is so awful ("I chose this book for my book club pick. I was so NOT impressed that I am going to tell the other book club members not to waste their time") that I feel compelled to re-read the one that says I need to resign from JASNA.

And you know what? This time I'm not laughing.

I've thought about this descent at length, and I've come to the conclusion that something has to change. And you know what? It isn't my membership status in JASNA. In fact, since then I've become a life member.

No, what needs to change is me. My habits. My beliefs. Was I going to allow other people to determine my happiness based on something as inconsequential as whether they love or hate my work?
After all, is my book any better or worse than it was because of the good review? Or the bad review? Of course it isn't.

All I know is this: If I sit on the praise/criticism seesaw, I'm doomed to the inevitable down after going up. Anyone ever see a seesaw stand still with someone at the top?

I've decided to find my happiness elsewhere. I've also decided to stop making devil's bargains with myself. To wit: I am a master at all those "If only this happens, I'll be so happy" wishes. At first it starts out with: "If only I had an agent for my book, I'll be so happy." Well, I was/am. But then it turned into, "If only I get a publisher for my book, I'll be so happy." Then it's "If only the book gets a good review, I'll be so happy," and "If only it sells a lot of copies, I'll be so happy." Have I kept any of those promises? Only temporarily. All it takes to make the seesaw go down is the first bad review, drop in sales figures, too-tight jeans, or imagined slight from my neighbor.

So here's what I choose instead: I choose the happiness that comes when I practice gratitude for all the blessings in my life. I choose the happiness that comes when I'm giving a reading and my sole mission is to make the people who came to see me happy. I choose the happiness that comes when I delight in the pure joy of creating a strong scene or a funny moment. I choose the happiness that comes from whatever comes.

Failure, I've decided, is not an option.

May happiness be yours to keep.

My Guest Post on Book Club Girl

[You can read my guest post here or on Book Club Girl.  In any case, check out Book Club Girl, a  priceless resource for anyone who has a book group, wants to start a book group, or just loves to read. ]

Laurie Viera Rigler, author of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict, Reports from Her Visit to the Pulpwood Queens Book Group!

I was en route to Jefferson, Texas to give a reading of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict to the Pulpwood Queens Book Club when the flight attendant announced that he wasn't quite sure our landing gear was working. There probably wasn't anything to worry about, he said, though I later learned that the Shreveport Fire Department was out in full force to greet us just in case. Hands gripping the armrest, I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said, "Why did they have to tell us that?" She shrugged. And so I said some prayers and then went back to my book; I was reading Emma. If those last twenty  minutes of flight time were to be my last twenty minutes alive, I would go down reading Jane Austen. Sure enough, Austen took me out of myself, out of my fears, and into Highbury, where Emma danced with Mr. Knightley at the Crown. And before I knew it, the plane was safely on the ground.

Like the protagonist of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict , I use Austen as comfort, guidance, and a cure for a host of ills that come with modern living. Unlike her, I found myself transported not to Regency England, but to Beauty and the Book, the headquarters of the Pulpwood Queens, and the only beauty salon/bookstore in America. Their motto? "Where tiaras are mandatory and reading good books is the rule!" At Beauty and the Book, bookshelves lined with must-reads face racks of RedKen products, and stacks of the club's monthly picks are flanked by hairdryers. Tiaras and other rhinestone goodies are also on offer. One thing that struck me was the absence of gossip magazines, the typical reading fare of hair salons. Then again, there is nothing typical about Beauty and the Book. If you want to read while you're getting your hair done, there are plenty of choices, but they don't include accounts of celebrity divorce and who made a fashion faux pas on the red carpet.

At the meeting, book club members, most decked out in tiaras, some sporting the club's signature hot pink T-shirt, seat themselves in hairstyling chairs to tuck into fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and other Southern delights they've cooked specially for the occasion.  Kathy Patrick, the original Pulpwood Queen and author of the upcoming Pulpwood Queens' Tiara-Wearing, Book-Sharing Guide to Life, is the charismatic and benevolent ruler, making announcements, encouraging everyone to fill a plate and get comfy. This group is here to have fun, but first and foremost it is there to fulfill Kathy's mission, which is "to get the world reading."

And so the readings and discussions began. This month there were two selections, and so I not only got to read and discuss Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict, I got to meet Masha Hamilton and listen to her read from her wonderful novel, The Camel Bookmobile, as well as hear about the real Camel Book Drive she's launched as a result of writing her book.

When the last bite of chocolate pie had been consumed and the last of the tiara-wearing Queens filed out the door, Masha and I were in for yet another treat: hair tips from Kathy, who showed us some cool tricks for last-minute special looks. As I left this enchanted place, I wondered, What would Jane Austen think of Beauty and the Book and The Pulpwood Queens? I'm convinced she'd love them. For one, the Pulpwood Queens live up to what Anne Eliot said in Persuasion: "My idea of good company... is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation." The Queens are definitely my  idea of good company--truly a delightful group of women who were full of  questions and stimulating ideas. As for their Jefferson, Texas venue, I am reminded of the circulating libraries of Austen's day, often fashionable places where patrons could borrow books for a fee, and   which also sold jewelry and other trinkets. If they had offered hairstyling, too, they might have been nearly as perfect as Beauty and the Book.

Book Club Girl Here: Laurie, this sounds like it was great fun and I'm glad you got to meet Masha Hamilton too! I grabbed some photos from your site and here's a link to all the rest of them.

 

I was en route to Jefferson, Texas to give a reading of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict to the Pulpwood Queens Book Club when the flight attendant announced that he wasn't quite sure our landing gear was working. There probably wasn't anything to worry about, he said, though I later learned that the Shreveport Fire Department was out in full force to greet us just in case. Hands gripping the armrest, I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said, "Why did they have to tell us that?" She shrugged. And so I said some prayers and then went back to my book; I was reading Emma. If those last twenty  minutes of flight time were to be my last twenty minutes alive, I would go down reading Jane Austen. Sure enough, Austen took me out of myself, out of my fears, and into Highbury, where Emma danced with Mr. Knightley at the Crown. And before I knew it, the plane was safely on the ground.

Like the protagonist of Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict , I use Austen as comfort, guidance, and a cure for a host of ills that come with modern living. Unlike her, I found myself transported not to Regency England, but to Beauty and the Book, the headquarters of the Pulpwood Queens, and the only beauty salon/bookstore in America. Their motto? "Where tiaras are mandatory and reading good books is the rule!" At Beauty and the Book, bookshelves lined with must-reads face racks of RedKen products, and stacks of the club's monthly picks are flanked by hairdryers. Tiaras and other rhinestone goodies are also on offer. One thing that struck me was the absence of gossip magazines, the typical reading fare of hair salons. Then again, there is nothing typical about Beauty and the Book. If you want to read while you're getting your hair done, there are plenty of choices, but they don't include accounts of celebrity divorce and who made a fashion faux pas on the red carpet.

At the meeting, book club members, most decked out in tiaras, some sporting the club's signature hot pink T-shirt, seat themselves in hairstyling chairs to tuck into fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and other Southern delights they've cooked specially for the occasion.  Kathy Patrick, the original Pulpwood Queen and author of the upcoming Pulpwood Queens' Tiara-Wearing, Book-Sharing Guide to Life, is the charismatic and benevolent ruler, making announcements, encouraging everyone to fill a plate and get comfy. This group is here to have fun, but first and foremost it is there to fulfill Kathy's mission, which is "to get the world reading."

And so the readings and discussions began. This month there were two selections, and so I not only got to read and discuss Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict, I got to meet Masha Hamilton and listen to her read from her wonderful novel, The Camel Bookmobile, as well as hear about the real Camel Book Drive she's launched as a result of writing her book.

When the last bite of chocolate pie had been consumed and the last of the tiara-wearing Queens filed out the door, Masha and I were in for yet another treat: hair tips from Kathy, who showed us some cool tricks for last-minute special looks. As I left this enchanted place, I wondered, What would Jane Austen think of Beauty and the Book and The Pulpwood Queens? I'm convinced she'd love them. For one, the Pulpwood Queens live up to what Anne Eliot said in Persuasion: "My idea of good company... is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation." The Queens are definitely my  idea of good company--truly a delightful group of women who were full of  questions and stimulating ideas. As for their Jefferson, Texas venue, I am reminded of the circulating libraries of Austen's day, often fashionable places where patrons could borrow books for a fee, and   which also sold jewelry and other trinkets. If they had offered hairstyling, too, they might have been nearly as perfect as Beauty and the Book.

Book Club Girl Here: Laurie, this sounds like it was great fun and I'm glad you got to meet Masha Hamilton too! I grabbed some photos from your site and here's a link to all the rest of them.