Look who’s on the cover of Newsweek!
As Alert Janeite Lisa wrote when she sent us the link, Jane is “in the middle, next to Barak Obama, below Saddam Hussein Osama bin Laden and kitty corner from Jesus.” Front and center, Gentle Readers! Represent!
Unfortunately it’s another save-Jane-from-the-Janeites article.
It might seem all to the good that Austen is now one of those writers held up as a model by such nostalgics as Tom Wolfe: a novelist for everyone, dishing up literary intricacy and complexity for the scholars, a corking good read for the groundlings and a rebuke for the snobs. But it’s time to rescue Austen from her fans, lest the most adventurous and discerning readers pass her by. If you look at her books closely, you find them more bleak than charming: her characters are isolated within their own minds, trapped in tight spaces, forced to socialize daily with a small group of people they can never fully trust, including their own families. Not a one of her heroines ever shares everything with a true confidant—that is, up until the marriage we never see—and everybody has secrets and conflicting agendas. Courtship is deadly serious business: fail to find the right husband and you end up poor, or married to someone you can’t stand, or cast out of this iffy Eden for fornication or adultery, perhaps to die.
As Karen Joy Fowler wrote, “Surely no one else’s fans have been scolded so often for so long over the wrong-headed ways they love her. Even Austen herself has been appropriated for this project. She would be so ashamed of you, her fans are told. You’d embarrass her.” There are many ways to love Jane…as we have witnessed on this blog just the past few days. If you want to play in your particular corner of the Janeite fandom, embrace it with good humor. It’s when it starts getting taken too seriously that the problems begin, and that usually happens when big money is involved: for instance, a major Hollywood film.
Austen balances out that bleakness with wisdom, with humor, with romance, and above all with a deeply satisfying sense of form, analyzed by scholars and subliminally sensed by general readers. Entertainment, advertising, professional sports, the gossip industry, electro-gaming and the tsunamis of digital information seem calculated to obliterate that bleakness, or at least drown it out with noise. Literature, by contrast, tries to find what Samuel Beckett called “a form to accommodate the mess”—the pain and disorder of life inside and outside the mind. If admirers of Beckett, or whatever exemplar of High Seriousness or harsh edginess or meta-coolness you want to name, pass up Austen because of the prevalent notion that she’s a literary fashion accessory who can be cozied up to as “Jane” … well, what? The sky won’t fall, the books will survive, but the culture will ratchet down another notch, and the best readers will never know what they’re missing.
Oh, stop it. If anyone passes up reading Jane Austen’s novels because she’s too popular, well, it’s their loss. There are plenty of us who can balance an enjoyment of the trappings of modern Janeiteism and a serious interest in her novels. Don’t blame the Jane Austen fans for the excesses of popular culture, which cannot let a good thing lie but must seize upon it and beat it into submission. However, some of the collateral stuff is FUN–some of the movies are good, some of the pastiches are good, we love our dolls and action figure and graphic novel and LOLAustens. That doesn’t take a thing away from the novels themselves.












