One of the things that bothered us about Becoming Jane was that it was so relentlessly dark and gloomy and depressing, seemingly as though the Austens were poor Dickensian characters with joyless lives. Jane Austen’s letters always gave us an impression of her family life as fun and boisterous, occasionally annoying (as are all families), but mostly close and loving; we would have liked less canoodling with roguish Irish boxers and more witty Austen repartée, though we know that’s asking a lot of Hollywood. Imagine, then, our enjoyment in Innocent Diversions, which was like spending 90 minutes or so with the Austens and some sympathetic friends, putting on a little evening entertainment for their family’s viewing pleasure.

The “diversion” is fast-paced and fun; the Austens are paying a Christmas visit at Manydown Park, home of the Bigg-Withers, and several of the group–Jane, her father, her sister, their niece Fanny, their brother Frank, their friends Elizabeth Heathcote (née Bigg), Catherine and Alethea Bigg (don’t call them “the Bigg Sisters!”), their brother Harris, Martha Lloyd, and Madame Lefroy–perform selections from Jane Austen’s juvenilia, including some of the silly plays (like “The Mystery”) and recitals of poems and short pieces such as “The Beautifull Cassandra.” Underlying these fluffy bits of amusing nonsense is a story arc of Jane Austen, on the cusp of published authordom (her book Susan has just been accepted for publication!) and the romantic torch carried by a certain gentleman of the party. The whole thing comes off rather like the Austen Family Variety Show, with one act following upon another in quick succession, the cast changing roles and throwing themselves into it with a spirit of hearty good fellowship.

Karen Eterovich, who originated the role in the first staging of Innocent Diversions in 1998, portrays Jane Austen as we have always imagined her: wise and witty, intelligent and self-aware; she knows that the pieces being presented are strictly meant for entertainment of a sympathetic audience. After one of the pieces, she says gamely, “That was…that was…what was that?” But at the same time she has a quiet self-confidence about her work, and giddily reports her first publication, and gently turns down Harris Bigg-Wither’s romantic advances. Jane knows she has other things to do with her life, and while she’s grateful for family support, she doesn’t need anyone else to validate her choices.

The rest of the cast is also very good, with an excellent feeling for the time period and an obvious pleasure with the work. Though it’s a very small theater, the cast and production is completely professional and runs like a well-oiled clock. One of the conceits of the piece is that the “audience” is, well, the audience; the actors often break the “fourth wall” and speak directly to us. It’s not as precious as it might sound; one truly feels wrapped up into this world, sitting quietly in the beautifully furnished Manydown drawing room and enjoying an evening amusement–indeed, an innocent diversion–among friends, friends who understand your jokes and will laugh with you as you laugh with them.

There is still time to catch this sweet, funny little play in its current run, and we think Janeites will be glad that they did. Innocent Diversions runs through December 16 at Theater Ten Ten in New York, and tickets are a very affordable $20.

Alert Janeite Lisa sent us this diatribe by Julia Braun Kessler in the California Literary Review, complaining! With many exclamation points! About how the recent popularity of Jane Austen has “killed” her! Jane Austen, that is!

Who’s to blame? You could say, the rout commenced decades ago. Oddly enough, it came from her avid readers, an avalanche of admirers, well-intentioned people, frenzied wooers, worshipers, and fawning fans. Their adoration, their awe, their banal veneration constructed a jerrybuilt palace of confusion around the novelist’s slender opus.

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.”

We found all this a bit heavily ironic coming from the authoress of a few Austen paraliterature titles, but to her credit, Ms. Kessler does disclose this partway through the article.

More than enough in all that to defeat any author, living or dead! Still, there are others to hammer nails into the coffin. These are the societies of her dedicated, would-be associates. Devotees, protectors, proprietors! Scribblers professing to know her intimately better than anyone in the world. They spew out articles year after year, tomes reviewing her life, her art, her love life or, lack of one. Lit-critters, onliners, footnoters, getting kicks and promotions at colleges and school in whatever country they produce such gems. Austenites, pop up and out, like the cat in the hat, now here, now there, now everywhere!

Or maybe we’re just being, you know, fans who like to write about their favorite author. Just a guess.

Proprietary too are such would-be experts! They fret and worry their goddess to shreds. They debate, dissect, cavil, quibble over each nuance or snub. HANDS OFF! to anyone they have not themselves certified, those self-appointed judges of what makes Jane run.

Um, isn’t that exactly what you are doing? At least here at AustenBlog, we don’t get snobby about such projects in general. We examine each on an individual basis and evaluate its quality individually. And sometimes our readers disagree with us. Shocking, but true.

How often need we be hit by that first line from Pride and Prejudice? Must we continue to suffer from the likes of: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a corned-beef sandwich on rye will be in want of a pickle!” (displayed in a Delicatessen window)

Well, we’re right there with you on that. It does get a little tired after a bit. Though we do like a nice garlicky dill pickle with our deli sandwich.

What about pausing for a generation of benign neglect? Who knows, but that her genius could shine through the murky din and reappear pure and delightful once more.

Guess she’s tired of writing paraliterature, then.