October 2023 meeting: Punctuation and Jane Austen

Our October meeting was inspired by an article titled “Shouty Jane Austen? On the evolution of the exclamation mark” written by scholar and writer Florence Hazrat. This article, and an older one by Maev Kennedy, titled “Pride, prejudice and poor punctuation”, were shared in advance with members. Our homework was to think about the articles and Jane Austen’s use of punctuation. The topic was not to everyone’s taste, but for those who attended, it resulted in a stimulating meeting that produced more questions than it answered.

The “Shouty Jane” article, published in 2022, explores Austen’s punctuation, her use of the exclamation mark in particular, and the implications of editors “smoothing” Austen’s punctuation out. Kennedy’s article, however, was published in 2010 in the wake of Professor Kathryn Sutherland’s project which saw the publication online (and in print) of all known Austen manuscripts. It resulted in some commentators questioning Henry Austen’s claim that “everything came finished from her pen”. A fracas ensued with, as Kennedy writes, some arguing that the manuscripts undermined the prevailing image of Austen as “one of the most pristine stylists of all time”.

William Gifford, by John Hoppner (d. 1810), via Wikipedia

Scholars, for example, pointed to Austen publisher John Murray’s use of the editor Gifford who wrote of Mansfield Park:

I have read the Novel, and like it very much – I was sure, before I rec’d your letter, that the writer was the author of P. & Prejudice &c. […] It is very carelessly copied, though the handwriting is excellently plain, & there are many short omission which must be inserted. I will readily correct the proof for you, & may do it a little good here & there.

Despite his comment, it would appear that he made more extensive changes to the ms than is implied here.

Sutherland argued, however, that these manuscripts, do NOT make Austen “less of a genius”, that in fact, “it makes her more interesting, and a much more modern and innovative writer than had been thought”. She says that Austen’s “use of dashes, to heighten the emotional impact of what she’s writing is striking: you have to wait for Virginia Woolf to see anything comparable”.

So we had our own little look and think. A member suggested we start with the opening chapter of Persuasion (for which we don’t have a manuscript). Is the punctuation we see Austen’s? Probably not.

Hazrat shares two examples from Persuasion, one from the available ms and one from the published book, and says that the “sobriety and self-control exuded by the full stops and semicolon” in the published version “stand in stark contrast to the vitality of the original manuscript, with its capitalised words, emphatic underscorings, shoal of dashes and single bold exclamation mark”. The manuscript, she argues, shows an author “well versed in catching the rhythms of dialogue and speech, particularly of an emotionally stirred kind”. In the ms, in other words, Anne’s words are full of passion and feeling whereas the edited version is calm, controlled. These versions offer very different readings of Anne’s character.

We also looked at a short excerpt from the published Persuasion, shared by a member. Note the exclamation marks in Wentworth’s sharing of his fears with Anne:

to see your cousin close to you, conversing and smiling, and to feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties of the match! To consider it as the certain wish of every being who could hope to influence you! Even if your own feelings were reluctant or indifferent, to consider what powerful supports would be his!

We spent some time discussing Hazrat’s article, because her discussion of the “exclamation mark” and of the history of punctuation, generally, gave us much to think and talk about.

One member suggested that the Juvenilia – at least that edited by the Juvenilia Press – provides us with a good idea of Austen’s original punctuation. Christopher Weibe, who wrote the Note on Text for their edition of Love and freindship, discusses their editorial decisions. He says they had “opted for minimal editorial intervention” because “one purpose of publishing Austen‘s early writing is to provide a window on her formation as a writer”. Their edition, he says

is therefore closer to the manuscript than that of [Margaret] Doody and [Douglas] Murray, whose major intention was “to supply the reader “readily readable” text.

He goes on to argue that the paucity of manuscripts for Austen’s published novels “to illumine her techniques of composition and revision” gives greater importance to the Juvenilia, because “in them we can observe her writing, unmediated by the modalities of contemporary publishing practices”.

He also says that, regarding punctuation, they had left it as it is in the manuscript, following Chapman’s dictum that “to modernize is – in however small a degree – to falsify. Austen, they believe,

displays a jouissance in her punctuation that is very articulate: she is, in the manuscripts, outside the publishing industry’s “corrective”, and standardising influence. We have preserved her famous “freindships” and other eccentric spelling practices; we have reinstated a few words and phrases omitted by previous editors; and we have retained the ampersand symbol, since it conveys the impromptu feel of the novel in letters.

There is a similar (but unattributed) note on the text for Juvenilia Press’s publication of Austen’s Three mini-dramas (their title). They made a few changes, mostly relating to stage direction and presentation of the text as a play, but otherwise, they “made no changes to Austen’s punctuation, nor to her spelling or abbreviations”. This means that, unlike Chapman, they did not make compound words (such as turn “any thing” to “anything” in “The visit”), and they kept her underlinings of words, rather than italicising them as Chapman did.

According to the Juvenilia Press, Doody and Murray argue that ‘Austen only “sometimes uses the conventional system“ of punctuation’ which “can pose a challenge to the reader”, but they

consider that Austen’s flouting of convention is generally purposeful, and there is more to be lost and gained in regularising it.

Yes, our group generally concurred. As the member who brought these comments to the meeting said, Austen’s Juvenilia provide good examples of her often breathless, frequently dramatic, and always expressive prose, much of which is conveyed through dashes and exclamation marks.

Another member shared some thoughts from John Wiltshire who argues that Austen punctuates to reflect conversation. Austen uses dashes for Mr Knightley’s struggle with his conscience, for example, and these dashes, argues Wiltshire, are the cracks within which emotion lies. Her punctuation, in other words closely conveys feeling, emotion.

The evidence?

Overall, we were feeling that editors had suppressed Austen’s more expressive prose. However, one member shared Geoff Nunberg’s comments. He suggests that given we have no examples of the actual copy that Austen submitted to her publishers – “all that Sutherland or anybody else has to go on is the manuscripts for some teenage juvenilia and the rough drafts of some unfinished or discarded works” – we don’t know what cleaning up she’d done. He also argues that her inconsistencies were rather par for the time. We see the same things in the manuscripts of Byron, Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Jefferson.

Indeed, Nunberg argues that it’s anachronistic to see these features as wrong. He and Hazrat make clear that “correctness” in spelling and punctuation were only being established about this time. He says:

By the time Austen was writing, that rhythmic use of punctuation was yielding to the modern system based on syntax, which took the written language further from the intonations of speech. That’s the system that shows up in most of the early editions of her novels, and that’s more-or-less the one we use today.

But who supplied the punctuation in the novels? Was it Austen herself, or her publisher John Murray, or some nameless editor or compositor? Nobody knows. 

In the end, he argues, it doesn matter because:

What’s remarkable about Austen is the way that artistry shows up even in those ragged manuscripts. The punctuation may look slapdash or peculiar to modern eyes, but those complex sentence structures are always already there. 

Sutherland is also on record as saying that “the structure we all love is there”, that Austen’s artistry is still evident in these “ragged manuscripts”.

What did Jane think?

Well, in a word (or two), we don’t know. Nowhere in her surviving letters does she comment on what editors/publishers had done to her work. Was she concerned, or did they not do much to those final copies we haven’t seen? Was she just happy to be published, and didn’t mind what they did? Was she a woman writer accepting what the male editors/publishers told her?

We don’t know! We don’t know how much she changed her manuscript for the fair copy she gave to her publisher, and we don’t know what she thought about it all. The only fair copy known to be in existence is that for Lady Susan, which, being at the end of her Juvenilia period, doesn’t provide enough evidence of her mature practice. Whatever the story, though, we all agreed with Janet Todd that having these manuscripts online is a great resource.

So, it comes down to this: We understand that Lord Byron, the Brontës and others weren’t very clue-y about punctuation and were happy to be edited. Perhaps our Jane was too. Some of us didn’t like that possibility, preferring to think her expressive writing had been toned down against her will. Others of us weren’t so sure! Problem is, we’ll never know! (Says yours truly, liberally using the exclamation mark.)

Sources

Florence Hazrat, “Shouty Jane Austen? On the evolution of the exclamation mark”, Literary Review (paywalled), November 2022.

Maev Kennedy, “Pride, prejudice and poor punctuation“, The Guardian, 23 October 2010.

Geoff Nunberg, “Was Jane Austen edited? Does it matter?“, NPR, 17 November 2010.

Christopher Weibe, “Note on the text and acknowledgements” in Jane Austen’s Love and freindship, Juvenilia Press, 1995.

John Wiltshire, The hidden Jane Austen, Cambridge University Press, 2014.

November 2022 meeting: Dialogue and character in Austen

For November, our topic was to explore the way Jane Austen used dialogue (the language, tone, etc) to delineate her characters.

The member who suggested this idea was not present, but sent some introductory thoughts to start us off. Jane Austen, she said, saw her characters as ‘her children’. They were very real to her and, suggested our member, it’s likely that she heard them too. It follows, she believes, that Austen wrote their dialogue as she heard them speak. As a result, each character, being a distinct individual in her mind, naturally has their own rhythm, pace and emotional key. Even though they may be similar people, they are not the same.

This member also reminded us that Austen’s work was read aloud within the family and to guests. Pride & prejudice was first read aloud to Miss Benn very successfully, by Jane Austen herself. When Miss Benn visited again, Mrs Austen did the reading and Austen wrote ‘I beleive something must be attributed to my Mother’s too rapid way of getting on – and tho’ she perfectly understands the Characters herself, she cannot speak as they ought.’ 

Finally, said this member, Jane Austen’s knowledge of the theatre also influenced her handling of dialogue. You can easily enact her writing as it is, she said, it has an energy and life that feel spontaneous. 

Also by way of introduction, our member who researched Marianne Dashwood suggested that the private world of communication can be seen to offer “both linguistically and morally, the most unambiguous indication of people’s true identity.”

And now, a summary of our research and thoughts …

Mansfield Park

One member found an article which analysed the language, including dialogue, in Mansfield Park. To give us a flavour, she shared some of the ideas Moore presented about two of the characters, Mrs Norris and Fanny, but she recommended the whole article to us.

Mrs Norris, writes Moore, is “an angry, bitter, strong-willed character, deeply egocentric and limited” and this is conveyed through her language. Moore in fact suggests she is autistic (see our recent discussion on autism in Austen). Moore continues that “in a world in which women have less of a voice than men, she never stops talking”, but then, Moore sees Mrs Norris as “an honorary man”.

She holds forth noisily, and doesn’t listen – not even to herself, witness her admonitory words to Fanny: “I do … intreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion …”. (II.ch.5) She relentlessly turns conversations back to herself. She uses rhetorical questions: “Dear Lady Bertram! what am I fit for but solitude?” (I.ch.3) She is abrupt: “suppose you speak for tea.” (II.ch.1) She speaks for others: “and as for Edmund … I will answer for his being most happy to join the party. He can go on horseback, you know.” (I.ch.8)

… and so on.

Fanny is introduced to us, Moore writes, in “language of inferiority”. She is “delicate, damaged by dislocation, inarticulate” and so “adopts a defensive stance, reticence”. Austen achieves this characterisation, with, for example, “reported speech, that muffles her actual words”. Fanny is also often silent, and speaks through her body (“through blushes, sighs, tears, headaches, fatigue, a stitch in the side, pallor, trembling and insomnia”). She is also a listener. But there’s much more in the paper, including analysis of speech patterns. It’s well worth reading.

Sense and sensibility

A couple of members looked particularly at some characters in Sense and sensibility, Lucy Steele and Marianne.

Lucy Steele, said one, reveals her cunning through her dialogue. She “drops bombs and leaves the room”! Our member read Lucy’s speech to Eleanor about her secret engagement, demonstrating how she manages to make Elino promise something she’d rather not, while Eliot is struggling to make sense of what she is saying. She makes long speeches, indicative of little education (like Emma’s Miss Bates). She exposes her street cunning through words like “trusting you” and “upon your secrecy”. This is moral blackmail of Elinor who has no real confidante.

The other member looked at Marianne Dashwood, and noted that the scene in which Marianne fall and meets Willoughby is all reported, that is, there is no dialogue. When Willoughby leaves her, safely settled back at the cottage, he appears to be wonderful. Marianne, on the other hadn’t, often shows herself to be unkind, particularly in her comments on Col. Brandon: “he has no brilliancy, his feeling no ardour, his voice no expression.” She openly expresses herself, showing eagerness but no moderation. Her language tends to be declamatory and theatrical

She accuses Elinor of coldheartedness for not being effusive in her description of Edward, her use of terms like “esteem” and “liked”. By contrast is the declamatory style of her farewell of Norland, which reads almost like burlesque. Later, when she hears about Edward’s argument with her mother, she’s theatrical

Here Marianne, in an ecstacy of indignation, clapped her hands together, and cried, “Gracious God! can this be possible!”

She’s guilty of imprudence, such as her excitement about Willoughby’s horse offer – “I have not known him long indeed, but I am much better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the world, except yourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy… ” She is similarly imprudent in visiting Allenham alone with Willoughby, justifying herself again, after a little nod to Elinor’s reaction: “Perhaps, Elinor, it was rather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby wanted particularly to shew me the place; and it is a charming house I assure you.”

She doesn’t want to be “guided wholly by the opinion of other people” but she needs to learn to tamp her sensibility with her own moral code. By the end we have a changed Marianne, with a new moral character, revealed in a long, thoughtful confession, starting with:

My illness has made me think — It has given me leisure and calmness for serious recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past; I saw in my own behaviour since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me to the grave….

This is a different Marianne … and it shows in her language. Our member noted that authorial comments prepare us to see Marianne the way Austen wants us to, such as earlier in the novel, during Edward’s visit to the cottage, “Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt — but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed by his”.

General reflections

Other members looked at the topic more broadly. One based her thoughts on Mandal’s essay “Language” which talks about language in general rather than just dialogue, but he makes some relevant comments. He argues that Austen’s language represents a turning point in18th century literature. She recognised the comic possibilities of language, and the potential for language to be misused. He writes that “misapplication of linguistic conventions by Austen’s characters generate much of her ironic humour”, and cites, as an example, Henry Tilney’s discussion with Catherine Moreland about the uses of the word “nice”, and his understanding of the slippage of meaning. Mandal notes that Northanger Abbey consistently exposes ambiguity of language, particularly as used by Catherine and her tendency to hyperbole and repetition. Her language, and Marianne’s in Sense and sensibility, convey their ingenuousness. Mrs Elton’s “caro sposo”, on the other hand, conveys her moral vacuity. Lucy Steele and Isabella Thorpe, he argues, with examples, use language to hide their mercenary natures and grasping ambitions. Mandal continues in this vein, and is worth reading said our member.

Another member quoted John Mullan who suggests that “one of Austen’s greatest skills is the fashioning of appropriate habits of speech for her characters”. She then commented that when we think of Jane Austen’s characters and their speech, certain examples stand out, like Lydia with her “lord”, Mrs Elton’s “caro sposo”, and Miss Bates breathless run-on speaking, but what about the others, she asked?

Searching Pride and prejudice a little more deeply, she found Lydia’s slangy-y use of “lord” (eg “Lord, how I laughed”), but was surprised to find another character using “Lord”, Mrs Bennet. Her use is slightly more genteel (“Good Lord” and “Oh Lord”), but the usage confirms the behavioural connection between this mother and daughter, and subtly ensures we are not surprised that Lydia is Mrs Bennet’s favourite.

This member also found the Austen Said website, a data mining site that facilitates exploration of Austen’s patterns of diction. Laura White introduces what the site reveals and how it can be used. She says, for example, that in Pride and prejudice, the language used by the narrator, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy (in dialogue and FID/free indirect discourse) is more aligned with each other than with other characters. This alignment of Elizabeth and Darcy with the narrator confirms them as the voice of reason and integrity in the novel. However, data-mining also reveals, interestingly, that Mr Collins’ language is closer to theirs than Jane Bennet’s is. What could this mean? is it that he uses the same words, but in a different tone, something word-frequency data mining cannot so easily capture. So, our member proposed, when Mr Collins uses the same language, he uses it to different effect? Platitudinous? Pompous? Sycophantic? Again, this site warrants further investigation.

Another academic, Chi Luu, commenting on the film and television adaptations, says that in focusing on the subject matter and plots, the adaptations “forget that Jane Austen’s genius lies in how she uses language, not what she says but how she says it”. Clueless, she argues, is an exception. It’s “a surprisingly faithful adaptation of Emma set in Beverly Hills”, that “captures the same comical, ironic linguistic spirit of Jane Austen.” Luu says that the verbal tics we see in Clueless are also evident throughout Emma, such as Harriet Smith’s overuse of “you know” when she’s anxious:

. . . I found he was coming up towards me too—slowly you know, and as if he did not quite know what to do; and so he came and spoke, and I answered—and I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you know, one can’t tell how. . . .”

Notwithstanding John Mullan’s quote above, he in fact focuses on characters who don’t speak. Pride and prejudice, he argues, is full of dialogue and conversation, but there are exceptions. Georgiana Darcy is described as shy, and behaves shyly, never speaking. Similarly, Miss De Bourgh, with such a mother, never gets a word in and Austen tells us she “spoke very little”, which shows she’s under the thumb. She has little agency; she is privileged but is nothing.

Mullan continues through the novels, identifying numerous non-speaking characters like Mr Musgrove (in Persuasion) versus his loquacious wife, and Mr Benwick in the same novel. Mullan suggests that the joke is that while everyone says Mr Benwick is emotional, he in fact has no real expression of individual feeling or opinion. Indeed, he falls rapidly in love with Louisa!

In Emma, Mr Perry is the most quoted character in an Austen novel, but is never heard by us. Mullan suggests his silence mimics his wise practice, “his own canny reticence”. We also don’t hear Robert Martin, because, says Mullan, “Emma cannot allow truth or goodwill to enter her estimate. The silencing of both Robert Martin and one of his sisters, whom we also later meet, is a consequence of seeing the people and events of the novel so much through Emma’s eyes”. Mullan develops this idea, and concludes by saying that “the Martins as a family remain deprived of speech by the novel because Austen is wryly loyal to Emma’s determination that they be considered unworthy of her companion’s attention. Naturally, Austen is not following her heroine’s prejudices but exposing them.”

It’s clear that there is far more to this topic than we were able to explore in one meeting. It could be well worth returning to at a later date.

Sources

• Chi Luu, “Jane Austen’s subtly subversive linguistics“, JSTOR Daily, 12 December 2018
• Anthony Mandal, “Language” in Jane Austen in context, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005
• Serena Moore, “Inside the language of Mansfield Park“, JAS Annual Report (2104): 83-99
• John Mullan, What matters in Jane Austen?: Twenty crucial puzzles solved, London, Bloomsbury, 2012
• Laura White, “Background”, Austen said: Patterns of diction in Jane Austen’s novels (Website), University of Nebraska, Lincoln.

October 2022 meeting: Exploring myths in Austen’s life and work (2)

In October we continued our exploration of myths and mysteries in Austen’s life and work that we started in September (see report of that discussion.) In that first discussion we focused on Austen’s life, while this meeting, some members continued looking at Austen’s life while others looked at her work.

In Jane Austen’s life

… on Jane and her mother

One member commented on the challenging reality for Austen enthusiasts and scholars that the family “discombobulated” information about her, making it hard to know what really happened, such as with the Bigg-Wither proposal. Our member would have loved to discover more about that but in the absence of any useful evidence, she moved on to Jane’s relationship with her mother. If the portrait of Queen Elizabeth I in Jane’s History of England is based on her mother, what does that say? Why did her mother not visit Jane when she was dying?

Jane’s mother, Cassandra Leigh, was, our member said (referencing Austen biographer, Park Honan) disinclined to marry, but she needed to. She was 24 and her husband 33, and was ”short, fragile and pretty”.

Our member read all of Austen’s letters up to the move to Bath to glean what she could about Jane’s relationship with her mother. Mentions of her father tend to be about the farm and reading, but those about “my mother” always feature her health. She pointed us to: Letter 10 (1798) suggesting we “consider Lady Bertram” in its light; Letter 14 with “my mother … her bowels…complains of an asthma” (but her mother lived to 87); Letter 15 with “my mother’s spirits… a gouty swelling…”; and Letter 28 with its strong tone, “Left my mother…with strict orders to continue [very well]”. From Bath we have: Letter 33 “my mother” being well; Letter 36 she’s “very well”; and Letter 40 mentions the death of her father, and “my mother bears the shock very well”.

Our member’s conclusion was there there seems to be tension but anything more is speculation. She suggested though that Jane does constantly seem to need to placate her mother. Other members explored this relationship too, one suggesting that sister Cassandra was better at being sympathetic whereas Jane was probably judgemental.

… on Jane and Elizabeth Knight

One member focused particularly on Jane’s relationship with her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Knight, using Deirdre Le Faye’s A family record. Another also touched on this relationship. Elizabeth Bridges (1773-1808) married Edward Knight (Austen) in 1791, only to die aged 35 soon after the birth of her eleventh child. The wealthy Edward, who had inherited Godmersham Park from his adoptive parents, did not marry again.

Elizabeth and her sisters were all apparently graceful, brown-haired beauties, who had been educated in London, at the Ladies ‘Eton’, a boarding school in Queens Square, Bloomsbury, run exclusively for the daughters of the nobility and gentry. The academic content was minimal, with students learning little more than French, music and dancing. The main focus was social etiquette. Indeed, an old coach was kept to enable the girls to practise the art of getting in and out of it, modestly and elegantly. Jane’s story, “The Three Sisters” about quarrelling sisters who had never learned any good manners or social graces, was dedicated to Edward and burlesqued the matrimonial plans of the Bridges sisters.  

Le Faye also notes similarities between Elizabeth and Sense and Sensibility‘s Lady Middleton (who is given some credit for being a devoted mother, albeit inclined to spoil rather than discipline her children).

Le Faye quotes Anna Lefroy nee Austen (James’s daughter), on Elizabeth:

‘a very lovely woman, highly educated, though not, I imagine, of much natural talent. Her tastes were domestic, her affection strong, though exclusive, and her temper calculated to make Husband and children happy in their home.’ (p. 181)

Anna also wrote, shares Le Faye:

‘I have insinuated that of the two sisters Aunt Jane was generally the favourite with children, but with the young people of Godmersham it was not so. They liked her indeed as playfellow & as a teller of stories, but they were not really fond of her. I believe that their mother was not; at least that she very much preferred the elder sister. A little talent went a long way with the Bridges of that period, and much must have gone a long way too far.’ (p. 169)

As our other member who looked into this relationship suggested, Elizabeth probably found Jane satirical, and intellectually superior. Cassandra, she continued, was sympathetic to Elizabeth while Jane was not.

However, on Elizabeth’s death, whatever their lack of compatibility, Jane wrote ‘… We need not enter into a Panegyric on the Departed – but it is sweet to think of her great worth – of her solid principles, her true devotion, her excellence in every relation of Life  …’

… on other issues in Jane’s life

Other members:

• wondered why the family moved from Steventon so quickly after the father’s death. Jane fainted, we’re told. She wondered whether the issues included that with Cassandra and Jane getting older, there might be more prospects further afield.
• pondered the Bigg-Wither proposal, when Jane was 27. It was a good marriage proposal, and probably her last chance. Was she afraid of childbirth? Or not want to leave Cassandra with their mother? Or not feel she couldn’t marry first, before her sister (particularly given their mother’s statement that if Cassandra’s head were cut off Jane would want the same)? Or fear she wouldn’t be able to be a writer? Re her initially accepting the proposal, was it that she didn’t love him but was taken by surprise when he proposed so said yes without thinking? (Elizabeth Jenkins discusses this proposal.)
• considered Jane’s dislike of Bath. Living well in Bath depended on money, which Jane and her mother and sister didn’t have. Also Bath was, our member said, a place of snobbishness, hypocrisy, insincerity.
• raised the issue of Jane’s flirtation with Tom Lefroy. Why did he lead her on, if he knew he had to marry money, and could never marry her?

In the novels

Then we discussed various theories and ideas that have been put forward about Austen’s characters, such as whether Marianne was pregnant, but we didn’t spend time on all the ideas. However, here are some we discussed:

Did Lady Bertram have hyperthyroidism?

Author Eliza Shearer noted that Lady Bertram is the epitome of laziness and indolence, with her favourite activity being sitting on her favourite sofa, with some sewing on her lap and pug at her feet. But, she asked, “what if her laziness, which everyone took for a personality trait, was, in reality, a health issue?” She then teases out Lady Bertram’s behaviour and treatment through her own experience of the condition.

Where did Augusta Elton’s wealth come from?

A member found academic Akiko Takei’s article which discusses the source of wealth for Mr Suckling and Mrs Elton, through analysing the campaign against the slave trade. He suggests that Mr Suckling’s origin, family name (Suckling) and estate (Maple Grove) may provide some insight, and suggests that their money may very well have come directly or indirectly from the slave trade. Their presence in the novel, he argues, reflects Austen’s awareness of the new rich and social mobility.

Was Darcy was autistic?

As with the hyperthyroidism idea, many of the articles – and there are many – discussing the idea of Darcy being autistic came from people who identified themselves as being so. One of the first articles came from Phyllis Ferguson Bottomer who argued in 2007 that it “is not pride but subtle autism that is the major reason for Darcy’s frequent silences, awkward behaviour at social events”, that his “social awkwardness … frequent silences… or … seemingly selfish, unthinking behaviour” can be interpreted through autism. (She argues, in fact, that 8 characters in P&P are autistic – Mr Collins, Mr & Mrs Bennet, Anne and Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mary, Lydia and Darcy).

Shirley Dent, on the other hand, critiques idea of diagnosing characters, arguing that describing “alienation” in this way is a problem for both literature and autism. Feelings of alienation can be explored as a state of the moment, as something a character can struggle with, give into, change, or seek to understand. But autism, she argues, is not about character development. Seeing literature in this way becomes, then, “not an exercise in exploring estrangement but… something you are stuck with”.

The question to ask is: Does describing characters as autistic help us understand P&P more? Dent argues that it detracts from, rather than adds to, what the novel is trying to tell us. It prevents our seeing Darcy’s existential crisis.

There are, however, many proponents of the theory. Everly says that autism was identified in 20th century, but of course existed before it was described. She sees Darcy as “classic Aspie”. For example, he excuses his unsociable behaviour with “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as l often see done”. Another writer on the spectrum, Mette Harrison, lists 10 ways in which Darcy is autistic (comparing him to herself). The ways include impaired non-verbal communication; “difficulty parsing social manoeuvrability”; deficits in social reciprocity; need for familiar environment (eg he’s “all friendliness, no false pride at all” at Pemberley); and so on. Some long bows are drawn here to make Darcy fit the profile!

Meanwhile, Levin continues the discussion arguing that new novels are putting a positive spin on autism. She sees a new genre ”autism lit” or “aut lit”, with books like Curious incident of the dog in the night time, and the Rosie novels. But she also describes the trend for “retroactive diagnosis”, like Darcy, with proponents arguing that Austen doesn’t call him that simply because the term didn’t exist. However, she doesn’t jump on this bandwagon, saying that “calling Mr Darcy autistic is a way of granting status to people truly on the spectrum who don’t need your literary charity, thank you very much”.

Finally, there’s Dekel who says that Darcy’s behaviour, such as his refusal to dance in opening scene (”I detest it unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner”) has been interpreted by generations of readers as the excuse of a rich man who “reeks of class privilege and indifference to social inferiors”. But what, Dekel argues, if we take his discomfort with social situations, his inability to decipher social situations, at his word – “not have the talent … of conversing easily … cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns”. What if all this is a product of disability? What would it mean for the novel’s larger issues – women’s condition, class, pitfalls and triumphs of communication. And, what happens if we interpret a novelistic character through the lens of neurology over, or as well as, the lens of class and gender difference? What if we see Darcy’s behaviour as an organic condition rather than one of agency and choice?

Dekel argues Darcy can be interpreted in this way, and that diagnosis of a literary character can “raise awareness and hopefully greater acceptance of individuals on the autistic spectrum”. It could “propel readers to a greater sensitivity in their reading of character in both literature and life”. Novels can teach us about the spectrum. Seen this way P&P demonstrates “benefits of the autistic mind”. Austen, he says, coming out of the sensibility tradition, emphasises and celebrates ”Elizabeth’s impressive social-emotional range” but, Austen also “writes contra the sentimental tradition” and in doing this she “highlights the advantages of Darcy’s systematizing and non-reactionary nature”. Darcy is not deterred by her rejection. P&P, and novel at large, allows us to see the autistic brain in context.

Darcy, Dekel continues, receives a social, emotional education from Elizabeth. Dekel admits that Darcy himself explains his behaviour as nurture – his indulged, spoilt upbringing – not nature, but argues we shouldn’t fully accept this! He says we can read Austen as showing “how social privilege can serve as an enabler of some autistic behaviours”.

Is this too extra-textual? We can diagnose Darcy and use it the way Dekel describes, but was this Austen’s intention? This post-modern approach to the book didn’t sit comfortably with us. If Austen does not diagnose him, then her goal is surely to use him in other ways rather than as someone who has to overcome a medical condition.

We agreed that we prefer to start with the author’s purpose and not reinterpret a work through a vested interest. As one person suggested, for Austen, Darcy is a rich snob, a stock character out of fairytale, a rich man who learns to love. His progress through the novel shows how far he has come in developing his character.

Sources

• Mikhal Dekel, “Austen and autism” Reading brain, emotion and gender differences in Pride and prejudice”, Nineteenth-century Gender Studies, 10.3, Winter 2014.
• Shirley Dent, “Don’t diagnose fictional characters“, The Guardian, 4 April 2007
• Riana Everly, “Neurodiversity and Mr. Darcy”, Austen Authors, April 2021 [link broken]
• Alexandra Sabina Gaspar, “Austen’s autistic characters”, JASNA News (review of Phyllis Ferguson Bottomer’s book, So odd a mixture: Along the autistic spectrum in Pride and prejudice)
• Mette Harrison, “Is Mr Darcy autistic“, Mette Harrison, 20 April 2022
• Elizabeth Jenkins, Jane Austen: A biography, 1938
• Deirdre Le Faye, A Family Record, 2003
• Deirdre Le Faye, Jane Austen’s letters, 3rd ed. 1995
• Donna Levin, “Why your next favourite fictional protagonist might be on the autism spectrum“, Smithsonian Magazine, 24 May 2017
• Eliza Shearer, “Did Lady Bertram suffer from thyroid conditions“, Austen Authors, 23 July 2019
• Akiko Takei, “Analysing the source of wealth of Mr Suckling and Mrs Elton in Jane Austen’s Emma”, The Kyoto Conference on Arts, Media & Culture 2020 Official Conference Proceedings.

November 2017 meeting: on Helena Kelly’s Jane Austen: The secret radical

Prepared by member Jenny.

Helena Kelly, with her book Jane Austen: The secret radical, certainly proved provocative – and sometimes in ways she did not intend.

Her book provides excellent background material about the social context of Jane Austen’s times but there was a definite tendency to provide too much. The looseness of her arguments and the author’s readiness to beg the question were also provoking.

All this seems to be partly due to the style of her writing. Helena’s approach is engaging but also erratic. She intersperses a factual style with an imaginative one including a smattering of colloquialisms which infuriated some readers.

In many respects, Kelly seems to be following in the footsteps of earlier critics. Austen’s ironic writing skills were initially decoded by Alice Meynell in 1894, calling her a “mistress of derision.”

One hundred years after her death Reginald Farrer called Austen “the most merciless, though calmest, of iconoclasts.”

It was D.W.Harding, in 1939, who truly shocked Austen devotees with his essay: Regulated Hatred, An Aspect of the work of Jane Austen. He saw her as explicitly trying to change the social order but as preserving the dignity of her subjects without sacrificing her right to protest.

This book appears to have been rushed and the editing is poor. The author, herself, speaks of her “somewhat incoherent thoughts” being shaped, but sadly, in our opinion, insufficiently. Kelly fails to define what she means by “radical” and many of her arguments start with possible assertions followed by the same ideas, suddenly presented as fact. Repetition, at times, became tedious.

Her research was very thorough but needed to be “lopped and cropped”. While the topics of the pursuit of money and status predominate in Austen’s writing, Kelly sees each novel as focusing on particular aspects of these themes – primogeniture, snobbery, poverty and the navy.

The initial chapter about Northanger Abbey is packed with information about the political tenor of the times – approaching totalitarianism, it would appear. The elucidation of The Mysteries of Udolpho was impressive in its detail and very relevant in a reading of the adventures of the supposed heiress, Catherine. However, Anne Radcliffe herself states:

“When the mind begins to yield…trifles impress it with the force of convictions” 

Helena Kelly appears to fall into this very trap on many occasions, not just Catherine Morland. Kelly believes Catherine’s attempts to unlock the cabinet in her room to be a description of masturbation. She relates this idea to an incident in David Lodge’s Campus Trilogy, of 1975, in which a fictional American lecturer shocks his class by suggesting that Anne found the moment when Wentworth lifted the little Walter Musgrove from her back as being orgasmic. Surely this was a very strange source of inspiration for her book.

Some material about the connections between the church and slavery in Mansfield Park was new to us but Kelly provides too much detail about Norris and Clarkson. The idea of Fanny’s cross and chain symbolising the connection between the church and slavery, while appealing, seemed far-fetched.

We questioned whether Austen was trying to be a secret radical or whether she was simply a very keen observer of society who wrote naturally about serious matters.

Kelly, at times, seemed to be too dogmatic and even at times, contradictory. She makes outlandish claims concerning Harriet’s Smith’s parenthood. We were divided as to whether Sir Thomas Bertram was simply promoting Fanny’s confidence and cause when he praised her appearance or whether he was overly interested in her as a sexual object. We questioned too, whether Kelly’s interpretation of a “hug” bestowed upon Fanny by her father was more than friendly. Her interpretation of Edward Ferrars cutting the scissors case to pieces also seemed outrageous.

Jane Austen’s borrowings from other contemporary writers were enlightening, in particular, the comparison with Wollstonecroft, proving how being overtly radical at the time, was unwise.

It seems strange that a writer who is obviously such a voracious researcher fails to argue her point more clearly and coherently. She often leaves her reader to join the dots.

Kelly certainly succeeded in reversing some readers’ viewpoints and wanting to consider things they hadn’t thought of before. Jane Austen: The Secret Radical contains gems of information but fails to deliver a powerful conclusion.

Jane Austen was highly critical of the society in which she lived. She was concerned about the role of fathers and the way money ruled people’s behaviour. But she admired responsible landowners and the navy and she welcomed changes in the social class structure. Overall we were not convinced this made her a secret radical – more a profoundly political and skilful social critic. But everything would finally depend upon your interpretation of the words “secret radical”.

Reference:

Lee, Wendy Anne: Resituating “Regulated Hatred” D.W.Harding’s Jane Austen, ELH (English Literary History), 77 (2010), John Hopkins University Press.

Other business:

JASACT will celebrate Jane Austen’s birthday on December 16 with a lunch at 12 noon at Muse, in the East Hotel in Kingston.