Dear Non-Janeite Journalists of the World,

Please stop dragging Jane Austen’s name into every blessed thing you write!

We know she’s “hot” right now, really we do. She’s “hot” for us all the time, though, so we’re really not impressed by you throwing out her name like an uncoordinated five-year-old with a wiffle ball. There are times when it makes sense to have a comparison to Jane Austen’s time or her novels, and there are times when it just doesn’t; and then you don’t look smart or hip or with-it, you just look bloody clueless. And we all know what happens when the Editrix is forced to introduce one to a clue with extreme prejudice.

Take this, for instance: a perfectly fine article on Constantia wine. The unidentified author couldn’t just write about the wine’s piquant nose and full body, he or she just had to invoke poor Jane’s name in vain.

Constantia wines, for example, were written about by English novelist Jane Austen, served to Napoleon in exile on St Helena, enjoyed by French poet Baudelaire and were a feature of European hospitality amongst the nobility.

See that? “Written about” by Jane Austen. Want to know what she wrote about it?

In the drawing-room, whither she then repaired, she was soon joined by Mrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass, full of something, in her hand.

“My dear,” said she, entering, “I have just recollected that I have some of the finest old Constantia wine in the house that ever was tasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your sister. My poor husband! how fond he was of it! Whenever he had a touch of his old colicky gout, he said it did him more good than any thing else in the world. Do take it to your sister.”

That’s it! That’s all! That’s what they call “writing about it!” Invoking Jane Austen’s name because it gives the article some kind of cachet–or more likely gives the wine some cachet. Well, here’s a clue for you: a comment by a silly (if good-hearted) character pretending that a glass of wine will cure a broken heart in an overly-romantic girl doesn’t give it squat.

*smashes wine bottle with Cluebat of Janeite Righteousness*

And now we have a novel that has a character who wants to be a writer, so naturally she models herself after Jane Austen.

“But Editrix,” cries the Austensphere, “What’s wrong with that?”

Just READ it!

Harper plans to be the next Jane Austen or Sylvia Plath, and she’s going to write the Great American Novel.

Perhaps it’s the out-of-context thing again, but: Jane Austen or Sylvia Plath? What kind of juxtaposition is that, pray? It’s like an Eddie Izzard joke: “Cake or death?” (We bet Eddie Izzard is a Friend of Jane. He gets it.)

For that matter, what makes anyone think Jane Austen would ever write the Great American Novel? (Which has been written already and it’s The Great Gatsby so let’s all give it up already. kthxbye)

*beats silly comparison with Cluebat of Janeite Righteousness*

We guess it makes a little more sense to bring up Jane Austen in a discussion of property rights in cohabiting relationships, but we found this a bit jarring:

But marriage is about more than love, conjugality or spiritual union. Nine tenths of the historical literature dealing with marriage is about property. For all her romantic and feminine feeling for the marriage of true minds, Jane Austen has a keen sense about the role played by property in any match. She knew, instinctively, that property is a stabilising element in any betrothal, and increases people’s sense of responsibility to their society, and their sense of responsibility towards their descendants.

While we have no opinion whatsoever on British property laws, we feel we should point out that Jane Austen also disapproved of partners being left with no resources after the death (or other departure) of the property owner. Our advice: never use Jane Austen as your argument, because in most cases she can be claimed by both sides. That’s why we’re still reading her books 200 years after they were written, and why Janeites come from all backgrounds–because nearly everyone can identify with her work. As Karen Joy Fowler wrote in The Jane Austen Book Club, “Each of us has a private Austen.” By all means enjoy your private Austen, but remember: she doesn’t work for you, bubba.

*beats smug self-satisfaction with the Cluebat of Janeite Righteousness*

And really, haven’t we already gone over the whole Jane Austen/Victorian thing ad nauseam?

I’m not advocating a return to the Victorian days of Jane Austen’s novels, but casualness does have its limits.

Not that we’re against civility or anything, but one wonders if the author of the piece has read the Ballad of Poor Dick? Or been introduced to the ever-civil Mrs. Norris? John Thorpe? Fanny Dashwood? Augusta Elton? Or read that letter…you know the one, about the woman who chanced to look at her husband unawares? Oh, those crazy civil Victorians!

We are, however, not going to beat the author with the Cluebat, because he looks like a nice man and because he’s a lawyer and can sue our butt. We’ll just sprinkle a bit of Clue Dust in his general direction and hope for the best.

Perhaps it is the sleep deprivation, or perhaps the hot weather that has us in a constant state of inelegance that makes us cranky. Or maybe it’s just that the stupid, it burns us, precious. So, New Rule: Don’t talk about Jane Austen unless you can be reasonably certain of not falling afoul of the Cluebat.

It’s for your own good, you know.

Until next time, we remain,
your obedient servant,
The Editrix