Continuing Books Are Nice Week, Fortnight, Whatever, we have an excerpt from Northanger Abbey, in which we get our first full dose of the delight that is Mr. Tilney.

They made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and here fortune was more favourable to our heroine. The master of the ceremonies introduced to her a very gentlemanlike young man as a partner; — his name was Tilney. He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it. His address was good, and Catherine felt herself in high luck. There was little leisure for speaking while they danced; but when they were seated at tea, she found him as agreeable as she had already given him credit for being. He talked with fluency and spirit — and there was an archness and pleasantry in his manner which interested, though it was hardly understood by her. After chatting some time on such matters as naturally arose from the objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with — “I have hitherto been very remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a partner here; I have not yet asked you how long you have been in Bath; whether you were ever here before; whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, the theatre, and the concert; and how you like the place altogether. I have been very negligent — but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these particulars? If you are I will begin directly.”

“You need not give yourself that trouble, sir.”

“No trouble, I assure you, madam.” Then forming his features into a set smile, and affectedly softening his voice, he added, with a simpering air, “Have you been long in Bath, madam?”

“About a week, sir,” replied Catherine, trying not to laugh.

“Really!” with affected astonishment.

“Why should you be surprized, sir?”

“Why, indeed!” said he, in his natural tone. “But some emotion must appear to be raised by your reply, and surprize is more easily assumed, and not less reasonable than any other. — Now let us go on. Were you never here before, madam?”

“Never, sir.”

“Indeed! Have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms?”

“Yes, sir, I was there last Monday.”

“Have you been to the theatre?”

“Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday.”

“To the concert?”

“Yes, sir, on Wednesday.”

“And are you altogether pleased with Bath?”

“Yes — I like it very well.”

“Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again.” Catherine turned away her head, not knowing whether she might venture to laugh. “I see what you think of me,” said he gravely — “I shall make but a poor figure in your journal tomorrow.”

“My journal!”

“Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings — plain black shoes — appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense.”

“Indeed I shall say no such thing.”

“Shall I tell you what you ought to say?”

“If you please.”

“I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; had a great deal of conversation with him — seems a most extraordinary genius — hope I may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish you to say.”

You had us at nonsense, Henry. You had us at nonsense.

Add your favorite–copy and paste from the Molland’s e-text if you like.

Alert Janeite Victoria let us know that Andrew Davies is in Melbourne for the Melbourne Writers Festival and had a chat with The Age.

”I DON’T OBJECT TO THAT sort of slightly cartoonish description of me as ‘the man who sexed up the classics’,” says Andrew Davies blithely. We sit beside a desk strewn with books; the real centre of operations, source of scripts for half the television adaptations you can remember, is next door. At 71, Davies is rosy-faced and avuncular, but he certainly has quite a glint in his eye when we get on the subject of racy subtexts in the perfectly respectable books he has adapted. “I think that so often it is there, but people don’t recognise it, particularly in Jane Austen,” he says. “But I am certainly keen to bring it out.”

Isn’t it nice of him to reveal these hidden parts of Jane Austen for us? *rolls eyes* Actually, we think many readers DO recognize that there is sex (or more properly sexual tension) in Jane Austen, but we also understand it’s part of a much richer whole.

Our visual literacy, he argues, gives us different expectations from the readers of 19th-century novels. Even with Austen - “someone I admire to idolatry” - he will make up not only dialogue, but whole episodes illustrating something she may dismiss in a single, regal sentence. In Sense and Sensibility, for example, she signalled Eleanor and Edward’s destiny simply by stating that a “firm attachment” was clearly developing between them.

“And I can’t help feeling,” says Davies, “that that’s a bit of a cheat, you know. What sort of attachment? How did it happen?” Edward was shy, stilted and a bad reader of poetry; Davies, for one, could not see what Eleanor saw in him. “So really, we have to delve into those private scenes that Jane Austen doesn’t write, just so the audience can be convinced that this chap is interesting and nice enough to fall in love with. Otherwise the audience is going to be saying, ‘I don’t get it.”‘

It’s also quite possible that Jane Austen did it that way for a reason. But figuring that out is not really the job of the screen adapter, we suppose.

Thisisnottingham.co.uk has an article about the fellow bringing us the latest incarnation of The Great and All-Encompassing Darcy.

When asked about his role in relation to previous Darcy’s, Elliot said “I’m sort of contributing to a long line of heritage and I suppose for certain scenes, like the shot in the lake, it was worth seeing Colin Firth’s performance.

“But it’s not my job to worry about what he did 15 years ago. I just treat it like I treat every role.”

There is, we are informed by some of our Gentle Readers in the know, a lake scene in Lost in Austen.

But Jane Austen herself would not be proud of Elliot’s literary admission.

When asked which era he would most like to go back to if he could, he replied: “Probably the 70’s. Maybe some sort of porno book. I’d get a chest wig or something. I don’t read books ever so who knows?”

Forehead, meet desk.