She had wandered several blocks from home and found herself in Provenza’s, a pizzeria her friends frequented. She was using an ancient AfterNet terminal (in the back on a small table with a single chair) to search for reaction to Blake’s book. In the process, she visited austenonly.com, one of the popular blogs devoted to her. She had enjoyed her visits to the site in the past as it often featured objects that were known to her in life or told of her visits to Stoneleigh Abbey or even images of the booksellers she once frequented.
Unfortunately what she found there today was almost as upsetting as the news of Blake’s book.
The article in question was the most recent guest post by “an anonymous Austen scholar.”
Is Austen scholarship dead?
In all the excitement over the announcement that the AfterNet has certified someone as being the Jane Austen, I think it’s gone unnoticed that we may well be seeing the death of Austen scholarship, and I think that a very sad thing.
For in future when a question arises as to an incident in Miss Austen’s life, we need merely ask her the question and her answer will settle the matter. We need no longer scour the letters of Cassandra or Jane. We need no longer look at a registrar’s records to see who has been born or married or died on such and such a date. We need no longer search the periodicals of the day to see what news Miss Austen had just read. We can simply ask her.
And by asking her, we need no longer write our learned papers and await their publication in Persuasions. We need no longer await the hue and cry caused by promoting this theory or that and then defend those theories before graduate committees or on blogs and forums because any answer Miss Austen provides will be definitive.
I had never thought of this wrinkle. I’ve always dreamed of asking Jane Austen why she accepted Harris Bigg-Wither in the first place or who was the mystery man from Devon. But I never dreamed that knowing the answer would take all the fun out of it.
Sadly we may be reduced to nothing more than a fan base. Will the Annual General Meeting become the equivalent of a Star Trek convention where we line up behind a microphone to ask Miss Austen one inane question after another?
And I can’t see a way out of this dilemma. To ignore Jane Austen as a resource would be unimaginable, but with each answer another graduate student finds his thesis confirmed, denied or made irrelevant.
Of course I am thrilled beyond words that Jane—I mean Miss Austen, for now that she is among us it seem presumptuous to address her so informally—has regained her voice. To read her completed Sanditon is a joy I eagerly await, but I cannot help but mourn the loss of her heretofore essential unknowableness that allowed her to be my best friend. Previously I had no fear whether she was a conservative or a liberal, preferred dogs to cats or thought Benny Hill superior to Monty Python, but now I might learn that she doesn’t share my values and opinions. I may learn that she may think my writings about her an awful cheek and so inaccurate as to be laughable.
Or I can hope the wisdom she has acquired all these years has led her to a calm acceptance of our interest in her. Perhaps she will choose to keep her life a close secret, just as she did when she titled her first book “By a Lady.” But in this day and age of podcasts, blogs and a 24-hour news cycle, I think that unlikely.
Jane did not know what to think after reading this obviously heartfelt appeal. Her immediate reaction was to leave a comment saying that she had no intention of denying anyone who wanted to continue studying her life, but then realized that even leaving a comment might be construed as her trying to wield her influence.
She’d never given much thought that her very existence would threaten the industry that had evolved around her life and novels, and it also made her realize how far she had come from that author who had been content with anonymity.
In her lifetime, she did not want the notoriety associated with being a woman novelist, but at the same time she wanted the respect due her as an author. Had she lived longer, she would have had to reconcile those two desires. But over the long years of seeing first her fame decline and then slowly rise to heights she could never have imagined, she had come to accept herself as a famous author.
By now she’d already given several interviews and soon would be going on book tour and doubtless would be answering endless questions about her life and her writing. She had never given a thought that her answers might affect people who had made her life their life’s work.
And there were many misconceptions and fallacies about her life that she had fully intended to address. Some of the comments her brother Henry made after her death made her sound so good and simple a soul that she could hardly recognize herself. In fact, she would not care to know someone who “never uttered a silly or severe thought” or some such nonsense. Such a person would be entirely too dull. And to be said that she sought neither fame nor profit flew in the face of all those careful calculations she had entered into with Henry,1 down to the thickness of the paper and the size of the type, so that she might maximize her profits.
Am I to be kept in silence so the Jane Austen industry might continue unabated? Have I not the right to say what I want, to explain myself, my motives, my inspirations and my desires?
Jane suddenly realized that her opinions had suddenly gone the other way, from sympathy toward those who had built their careers around her and then anger that she should be cajoled into a meek silence.
She looked around her then. As always, the turmoil she felt went unnoticed by the lunchtime crowd in the pizzeria. She watched as the wait staff burst out through the swinging kitchen doors, almost hitting the table where the terminal and Jane sat alone.
Or so she thought, because when she glanced at the display she saw that not only was she not alone, but there was a request to chat, which she answered.
JaneAusten3 has entered the room
JaneAusten3 says:
Hello?
bobkirkendorf says:
Hi, just saw your username and I had to ask
JaneAusten3 says:
Pardon?
bobkirkendorf says:
OK, this seems silly now, but all the news about Jane Austen and this is NYC and I read she’s here working with Random House where I work and I was just wondering … is it you?
Jane stared at the question, wondering how to answer. She had not logged into the terminal anonymously or privately. Instead she was listed as JaneAusten3 for all the world—or at least this one other user—to see.
She was annoyed because Melody had finally convinced her of the need for discretion, especially if she had any hope of maintaining the privacy of her JaneAusten3 account.
bobkirkendorf says:
I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I’ve worked with enough authors over the years to learn not to gush
JaneAusten3 says:
No, there is no offense. Yes, I am that Jane Austen, although I would appreciate your discretion
As they were talking, Jane quickly Googled the man’s name and found that he did purport to work at Random House as an editorial assistant and that very surprisingly, he was living. She went back to the terminal’s list of users online and saw that he was directly connected to the terminal’s AfterNet field. The listing confirmed that he was living.
JaneAusten3 says:
Excuse me, you are in this restaurant?
bobkirkendorf says:
That’s me waving
Jane looked around and saw a man a few tables away waving his arm. He was a young man with close cut black hair, wearing the uniform of the young, urban male, middle class: baggy cargo shorts and a T-shirt proclaiming his preference for the New York Mets baseball club.
JaneAusten3 says:
How is it that you are using the terminal directly?
bobkirkendorf says:
Well, I’m one of those freaks who can read an AfterNet field with no problem. It’s very handy because I have a disembodied girlfriend. She’s the one who turned me on to you.
The man smi
led apologetically at his admission. She could see that his lips did not move during their conversation and he was not typing so there was no question of his communicating through speech recognition. He apparently could project his thoughts as easily as Mary.
JaneAusten3 says:
You should be an avatar. Wait, did you say your girlfriend is disembodied?
bobkirkendorf says:
I know, crazy right? How’s it going to work out? Do you hope to have children? How do you even know she’s a woman? That’s all my parents and friends can say. And I don’t know if it’s going to work out, but Karen’s … I’m sorry. I’m venting.
JaneAusten3 says:
There’s no need to apologize. Please, may I join you at your table?
bobkirkendorf says:
I would be honored.
Jane left her spot by the terminal and joined him, surprised at how weak the terminal’s field was at this distance. That he could still use the terminal was astounding.
She quickly learned the young man was one of the editorial assistants who read through the “slush pile” of unsolicited manuscripts. His girlfriend had recommended he read her novels and she found delightful his comments about them, especially Emma.
bobkirkendorf says:
I remember seeing Clueless on a movie date and I thought Emma was an airhead, so I was surprised when I read it that she’s not a materialistic valley girl. She’s just young is all, and we all think we know everything.
They talked about an hour until Bob realized he’d taken an hour and a half lunch. Jane jokingly promised to vouch for him if he was in trouble in exchange for his promise that he would keep her username a secret.
After he left, Jane remained for a time, thinking how much she enjoyed speaking with a fan. She realized, of course, that not every interaction would be as enjoyable. She did not give away much of herself; they mostly talked about his relationship with Karen. She wondered at the advisability of his forming an attachment with her, especially since he had met her online when he was seventeen, at the very dawn of the AfterNet, and Karen purported to be thirty-five years old when she died in 1960.
The maths was not that different from those of Knightley and Emma, of course, and apparently Karen had resided in the Kirkendorf home unbeknownst to Bob’s parents.
Jane had felt tempted to step into the role of maiden aunt and advise him of the dangers of such a relationship, but she had refrained, although she exchanged email addresses with him and might offer her advice in the future.
Finally she left the pizzeria, realizing that she was now late for her training with Mary and would have to hurry. Her time, however, had been well spent. Her conversation with her new friend made her realize that more than ever she felt very much a part of the twenty-first century and was not content to sit back while her life was the plaything of every scholar and voyeur with a publishing contract.
1 Henry Austen provided his sister with the money to publish Sense and Sensibility. They adjusted type size and line leading to reduce the number of printed pages, just like the publisher of this book chose 10.5 point type with 2.1 points of leading.
An open letter
Jane responds online
Dear friends,
Oh that salutation will not do at all, for I wish to address all my friends, critics, detractors, admirers, apologists and scholars of my works and life. I want you to know I appreciate that my “reappearance” has come as a surprise, if not a shock, to many.
During my time away, many have stepped in to keep my voice alive, so much so that almost two hundred years later, my name and my novels have greater currency now than during my corporeal existence. I am continually amazed that in this day of reality television, 24-hour news and science fiction blockbuster movies, there is still a desire to read of “three or four families in a country village.”1
But of course my “little bits of ivory”2—oh how I regret how twee3 that now sounds—have been enlarged to include zombies and vampires and my characters have even travelled through time and space.
And organizations such as the societies in my homeland and in North America have done much to make my stories more accessible, both by promoting my work and by providing the context of the world in which I lived and wrote. I am sometimes surprised by learning how clever I was, but I must protest that my understanding of the politics and economics of Regency England was rudimentary at best. I do, however, admit I had a subtext in my choice of characters, names, locations and behaviours that I am glad is still appreciated.
Movies and television have also done much to keep Elizabeth and Darcy and Emma and even poor Fanny relevant to the era in which they were created, often adding elements that I had never intended (or in some cases would never have approved of) and yet I understand the considerations of producers and directors and the arithmetic of box office and television ratings.
Scholars have also found my life and times of great interest, although why is a mystery. Perhaps by editing and withholding many of my letters, my sister Cassandra unknowingly contributed to making it a mystery and scholars find mysteries very tempting. That may explain efforts to bend my temperament and sympathies this way and that and often back and forth as theories are advanced to match current sensibilities, each generation understandably at odds with the interpretations of the previous.
Recently I’ve become aware that some scholars and authors are worried that “the real Jane Austen” might object to these speculations, biographies, pastiches, parodies, reboots and continuations, but despite my identity being certified by the AfterNet, I assure you I am no longer “the real Jane Austen”—or rather I am not that little travelled Regency author, unnamed during her lifetime who preferred the simple life of Hampshire. As I write this, I am in New York City in America and these words will appear on my blog and you will read them on your computer or your smartphone. I am about to embark on a book tour of the United Kingdom, Europe and the United States. So I cannot in all good conscience pretend that I speak for that Jane Austen of so long ago and I look forward to the next biography, the next continuation and the next movie.
That said, I do owe a debt to that Jane from so long ago and to the Austen name and the great and the good of my family and of my country. I cannot stand by if untruths or rumours can be corrected by me. And as much as modesty, propriety and my natural reserve permit, I will speak truthfully of my life when asked, even though it might cast my character in a bad light, destroy a thesis or contradict a biographer. I still claim ownership of my life, even though I am willing to share it.
Some may also worry that my presence means an end to Austen scholarship, thinking me the final arbiter of my own story, but I assure you, I am not. Two hundred years is too short a period to achieve true self-awareness and yet it is long enough that I have forgotten much. Remember that I was just a maiden aunt in a small corner of England and although I read widely and had some small knowledge of the larger world, I truly knew very little. In fact, it is surprising what I did not know … but that can be said of many.
I remain your humble and obedient servant,
Jane Austen
. . .
“What possessed you, Jane? Did you suddenly think I had too much time on my hands?”
Jane sat opposite her excited agent and Mr Pembroke from Random House. She had excused Mary from attending, not thinking it fair to make her avatar be the target of Melody’s predicted ire. Fortunately Mr Pembroke was there to calm Melody, reminding her that the other diners at the restaurant were observing her raised words. Jane, however, suspected Mr Pembroke was almost as concerned as Melody.
“I’m sure Jane just didn’t consider public reaction to her post.”
“Oh she knew, all right. That’s why she did it without asking me.”
“Am I to seek your permission first, Melody?” Jane asked, her voice coming over the speaker attached to Melody’s terminal. Mr Pembroke reached over to reduce the volume.
Melody said nothing
, perhaps wisely, but her silence made clear her opinion that Jane should have asked permission.
“No, I’m sure that’s not what Melody meant,” Mr Pembroke said. He smiled, as broadly and as affably as he could, which was considerable. He began to regret his suggestion of a dinner meeting. “But you have to understand … if we’d known what you were … if you had said something, we could …”
“Have stopped you from doing something so stupid,” Melody said. “Did you even think for one second …”
“Because I knew you would do your best to …”
“Melody, Jane, shut up!” Mr Pembroke said, in a loud stage whisper. He pointed to Melody and the invisible Jane in turn.
“You are obviously friends who have come to an impasse and it falls to me to make you realize you are still friends. First, Melody apologize to Jane for calling her actions stupid.”
“But I … yes, I apologize,” Melody said.
“Second, Jane, admit the reaction to your posting has caused far more controversy than you had intended.”
Oh very skilfully handled, Jane thought. He first gets us to admit what we cannot deny.
“Very well, I admit … there are wider … yes, I never thought it would cause so much trouble.”
This was an understatement. For most of the day, Jane’s reply at austenonly had occasioned mostly positive comments, but then some had decided that Jane was asking for a moratorium on further biographies. Predictably Jane had supporters who said that Jane had every right to defend her name against slander and soon the back and forth of postings spread to other Austen blogs. Jane’s actual words were soon lost in the tumult.
The controversy was also reported in the press, which had been closely watching how the most prominent disembodied author to date would handle the treacherous world of social media.
“Very good, Jane. Now Melody, admit that Jane’s original post was very balanced. I first read it and thought nothing very alarming about it.”
Jane, Actually Page 12
