“No, there’s nothing wrong with the post. But if she’d only …”
“Stop. Now Jane, is it possible that you forgot that one of the responsibilities of an agent is to represent and protect her client?”
As he said this, he lost his stern look of admonition and returned to his more natural avuncular manner. He again smiled so broadly and earnestly that Jane forgot her anger.
“Yes, I should have asked Melody’s … advice,” Jane said.
“Then let us leave rancour and blame behind us and move on to crafting a strategy to address the problem.”
Melody replied by nodding her head in agreement. “And I’m sorry I … your post wasn’t … I shouldn’t have …”
Jane knew this amounted to an abject apology from her friend and to stop her train of elliptical contrition, Jane said, “I hope you can quickly hire a publicist to repair the damage.”
Melody looked embarrassed and answered, “Actually I hired her two days ago. She starts tomorrow.”
“That is fortuitous timing,” Jane said. “I am sure she will be a great asset.”
Mr Pembroke looked to Melody and then to Jane’s empty chair, wondering what dynamic he was missing. He decided to ignore it, happy that he had reconciled the two friends and added, “I’m pretty sure this will die down shortly and then perhaps I could approach a few academics that might come to Jane’s defence. They might help explain that Jane doesn’t want a moratorium on Austen scholarship. There’s a Dr Davis in Chicago who’s writing a book right now. I’m sure we can count her on our side.”
1 In a letter to a relative, Austen offered this writing advice: “You are now collecting your people delightfully, getting them exactly into such a spot as is the delight of my life. Three or four families in a country village is the very thing to work on, and I hope you will do a great deal more, and make full use of them while they are so very favourably arranged.”
2 In a letter to a different relative, Austen wrote: “What should I do with your strong, manly, spirited sketches, full of variety and glow? How could I possibly join them on to the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush, as produces little effect after much labour?” Austen wrote on small pieces of paper, examples of which you can see at http://www.janeausten.ac.uk/.
3 Excessively or affectedly quaint, pretty, or sentimental
Shared interests
She looked fully capable of ripping most men in half
Courtney couldn’t get comfortable in his chair or quit his worry that he was in the wrong place. He’d told the taxi driver to take him to Jimmy’s Bar on 55th Street and the driver assured him he knew the place, but had deposited him at a nondescript looking building labelled Woodlawn Tap. Inside the almost empty bar it was dark and smelled of decades of cigarettes, fried foods and spilled beer. A large print of Nighthawks was by the entrance, several band posters adorned a small stage and a bartender had assured him he was in the right place and that he should sit anywhere.
He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants, tried to think good thoughts and took another sip of his rum and Coke. He’d been surprised when Davis had replied to his email and had suggested meeting. Fortunately the timing had worked out, he having just returned from England to meet with his agent, and could stop in Chicago on the way. He’d frankly given up hope of hearing from her, but obviously the news that he was very close to obtaining the letter must have persuaded her.
Then he saw her enter the bar and thought of the description of Liesl from Robertson Davies’ The Manticore. She was a large domineering sort of woman whom one might uncharitably describe as ugly. She had not that regularity or fineness of features or smoothness of complexion so admired in Austen novels. She was square jawed and her nose was bulbous and she looked fully capable of ripping most men in half. But in her elegant yet eccentric green tartan wool dress, she exuded confidence as she scanned the room looking for him. Her thick reddish hair that ended in a war club-like braid whipped about her head when she turned sharply at the sound of the bartender laughing at something on the television.
“Is Jimmy here today?” she asked the bartender. He looked over his shoulder at her and said, “Not today. He said he’d be in later.”
She nodded, asked for a club soda, and returned to her observation of the room. Her eyes locked on Courtney and he answered with a timid wave.
As she strode toward him Courtney stood, which caused her to break stride momentarily.
“Dr Davis?”
“Mr Blake,” she said, not feeling the need to confirm her identity.
He extended his hand, which she took in a firm, quick grip. She started to take her chair, but Courtney quickly pulled it out for her.
“Thank you,” she said in her husky voice.
He quickly took his seat and said, “No, thank you Dr Davis for agreeing to see me.”
“It’s no great favour, Mr Blake. I am understandably interested in meeting someone who’s written such a book.”
He looked at her to see whether her face betrayed any distaste at what he’d written but he saw nothing other than her dark brown eyes staring directly back at him. He wanted to look away to avoid their penetration but he held firm.
“Please call me Court. And ‘such a book’ is a noncommittal phrase,” he said. “I wonder if it masks a dislike or …”
“I do not mince words, Court. I dislike your book for the same reason I dislike any book that tries to re-evaluate Jane—or any historical figure for that matter—based on the pop psychology of the present day. You have to view people in the context of their times and so I detest your argument for the same reasons that I dislike attempts to cast Abraham Lincoln as gay, claims the pyramids could only have been built by aliens or doubts that Shakespeare wrote his plays.”
Courtney was taken aback by her blunt words and he realized he must be equally blunt to gain her respect.
“But it’s OK to cast Austen as a feminist or a social commentator? Let’s face it, Dr Davis, we’re both using Austen for our own purposes. I want to give Austen a sex life so I can sell books; you want to give Austen some noble purpose so she’s not just some sad spinster who writes romances without ever having had one. So let’s not pretend indignation, considering you asked me to meet you.”
Davis said nothing for a beat and then answered, “Point taken, Court. I admit I dismissed you when I received your first email. I thought you were exaggerating the threat posed by the person claiming to be Austen, but now …”
“You mean her challenge on austenonly?”
“Yes, I never expected …”
The bartender interrupted her reply. “Do you want food?” he asked from behind the bar.
“I recommend a Swiss burger,” she said to Courtney, “but the brats are good too.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “The burger, medium rare.”
“Two Swiss burgers,” she called out to the bartender, ignoring the cooking instructions.
“Where was I?” she asked. “Ah, the truth is that six months from now I will find myself in your position. I have a book ready for publication and although I will not be making your extraordinary claims, nevertheless I now have the prospect of having the subject of my research raise objections to what I have written. It’s very disconcerting.”
Courtney shifted uncomfortably when he realized his assumptions were incorrect. “I guess I’m confused. I thought you were on the committee that identified Austen. I would think that would give you some … that she might be indebted to you …”
But she was shaking her head no. “I was not a member of that committee, Court. I was not asked.”
“Oh, I presumed you were.”
She sighed. “You and everyone else. It’s very annoying. Everyone thinks I approve of …”
Courtney waited for her to finish the sentence and when he realized she wouldn’t, he asked, “And do you?”
“I have to respect my peers, whoever they were. They take their secrecy ve
ry seriously, I’m afraid.”
“So you have no idea how Austen proved her identity?”
She looked away from Courtney and to the two students nursing beers at the bar. “None at all, other than the rumours of her producing Sanditon from memory, but I presume there had to be some piece of concrete evidence. That’s why your most recent letter intrigued me.”
“I thought that was the reason you finally answered me.”
“It was intriguing. If you actually think you’ve found an Austen letter that Cassandra didn’t destroy then perhaps we can use it to …” Davis was reluctant to finish her sentence.
“To expose Austen as a fraud?” Courtney suggested. “Yeah, I thought of that. If I can find it and if we can prove it’s genuine and if we’re sure faux Austen has never seen it … It’s dangerous and it could backfire on us. If she doesn’t know what it says, we’ve exposed her and maybe made a lot of Janeites mad at us. If she does know the contents of the letter … well then it looks like we were attacking her.”
To hear Courtney elucidate the risks shook Davis, but then she thought of Austen’s reply to her posting at austenonly.
“Then we have to make sure we’re absolutely certain of the authenticity of the letter before we make it public. And after all, if Austen confirms the contents of the letter, then all we’ve done is strengthen her claim. We have to present this as the result of research and commitment to Austen studies.”
Courtney was a little surprised at how quickly his discovery of the letter—well, imminent discovery of the letter—had become a joint project, but he realized how important an ally Davis could be and he also wondered if Davis weren’t a little upset that she hadn’t been asked to be on that committee.
And finally, he realized that he now considered Davis quite attractive. And that she had never asked him to call her Alice.
VOLUME II
Titbits II
A God-shaped vacuum
RADIO FOUR TRANSCRIPT
BROADCAST: 8 JULY 2013
SHOW: ROOMFUL OF MONKEYS
PRODUCER: JONATHAN THACKER
ROGER HAWKINS: Good evening and welcome to Roomful of Monkeys, the show that tackles thought provoking questions in a way that makes them sound silly. I’m your moderator, Roger Hawkins and this week we’re going to examine the state of God since the discovery of the afterlife and we have some very exciting guests to discuss this topic. From the very popular show on state sponsored television we have that guest extraordinaire, comedian Stephen Fry. How often have you been on Idiotic Question, Stephen?
STEPHEN FRY: Every episode but one when I broke my arm, Roger, as you well know and thank you for reminding me of a painful injury. I understand you stand ready to substitute for me again?
HAWKINS: Just as soon as I can arrange it, Stephen … I mean should the need arise again. And from the world of science, we have physicist and presenter Dr. Brian Cox, just back from circling the globe in pursuit of one of the truly staggering questions of the universe, How many times can I get the BBC to fly me to Hawaii for a documentary about a theoretical particle that has nothing to do with Hawaii?
BRIAN COX: Oh but it has everything to do with it because dark matter is invisible to even the most powerful telescopes, one of which happens to be in Hawaii, and I needed three minutes of footage of me on a beach in Hawaii and two minutes of me talking to astronomers at the Keck Observatory.
HAWKINS: It’s all how you write the script then, which is why next week’s podcast will be direct from the Bahamas. And our final guest may seem an odd choice but she has had a long time—almost two hundred years—to ponder the question of God, the author of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, Miss Jane Austen.
JANE AUSTEN: I am delighted to appear on your show, although I wonder if the odds are against me. I think Dr Cox and Mr Fry are both on record as atheists.
COX: I’ve been persuaded to play devil’s advocate today, ma’am. Well the opposite, actually. You can think of me as an agnostic today.
AUSTEN: I still think that puts the onus on me. After two hundred years, you will expect something very clever of me, but I’m afraid all I can offer is that I think the “state of God” as you put it remains as it was before the discovery of the afterlife.
FRY: All you can expect from me are three things very dull indeed. And I am famously also on record as being a Janeite, nevertheless I have to question your remark. Isn’t two hundred years of the living hell that is the afterlife proof that God does not exist?
HAWKINS: Now hold on Stephen, you know that’s not our remit today. We’re here to talk about the state of God, that is, about the impression among the general public about God, not about the existence of a supernatural being.
FRY: I do apologize. Let me rephrase then. Has two hundred years of solitude not changed your opinions about God, Miss Austen? And can we not also assume the general public have changed their opinions?
AUSTEN: Of course the experience of dying and awakening to the reality of the afterlife shook my view of everything that I held dear, Mr Fry. But faith ultimately sustained me. I was never one to believe that God worked on a timetable understandable to us poor mortals … to say nothing of poor Bishop Usher who usually gets trotted out about now.
COX: I’ve been guilty about that. I suppose using him to discredit believers is almost as bad as comparing someone to Hitler. Mind you, there are still people who literally believe in the timetable of the Bible. Oh, and there I’ve gone and lost the argument.
HAWKINS: But back to the question of the general public’s view of God, and not to further question Miss Austen.
FRY: I admit God is still part of our society and probably will be for a long time. We still say we dial a phone even though no one’s put their finger in a phone dial for ages. So who knows how much longer we’re going to say “For God’s sake” or “Lord love a duck.” But I’m afraid the reality of the afterlife will all but kill any belief in the jiggery-pokery of heaven or an eternal reward.
AUSTEN: Mr Fry …
FRY: Please, my dear lady, call me Stephen.
AUSTEN: Stephen then, how can you believe the discovery of the afterlife explains anything? Professor Cox …
COX: Brian, please.
AUSTEN: And you may all call me Jane. Brian, can science explain how it is that I slipped my mortal coil and ended up on facebook, or how I can see X-rays or how I see in 360 degrees without eyes?
COX: I’m afraid not. Theories range from the soul being intelligent dark matter to … well the joke about “then a miracle happens” still seems appropriate. There are no credible explanations for the soul.
AUSTEN: Precisely. There still remains that God-shaped vacuum1 in the hearts of men, Stephen. With all the unanswered questions about the afterlife, doesn’t it make sense that many will choose to live their lives in accordance with their beliefs from before.
FRY: Oh, so you’ll throw Pascal’s wager2 at me, dear lady? I might remind you that many have thrown off this belt and braces caution, even in America, where the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life has shown that belief in God and religion has hit an all time low.
AUSTEN: Faith certainly has cycles, but I think the ‘reality’ of the afterlife only raises questions that can’t be answered.
FRY: Brian, help me out here. Surely science has shown there’s no reason to believe in God’s hand in the afterlife.
COX: What, you mean by introducing yet another mysterious particle/energy that is intelligent and that can’t be explained? Yes, we can measure an AfterNet field and even weigh what to all intents and purposes is a soul, but we can’t divine what makes Miss Austen’s intellect survive her death.
HAWKINS: Miss Austen, maybe you could relate—and I’m sorry for asking this because I know you’ve been asked many times to do this—your experience after dying?
AUSTEN: It is no imposition. The passage of time has softened the memory. Like most people before the discovery, I thought my condition was unique t
o me and I thought myself a ghost, which essentially affronted the very practical Anglican beliefs inherited from my father.
HAWKINS: You didn’t feel you were abandoned by God?
AUSTEN: No, not at all. I believe my recollection was that I attributed my situation to my own failings, not knowing of course that my fate was shared by all of humanity.
COX: Can we go back to being a ghost contradicting your father’s beliefs? He didn’t believe in ghosts?
AUSTEN: In a romantic way, of course he did. He even told me ghost stories, but he didn’t believe … no that’s not the right way to describe it. His was a practical faith and didn’t include what Stephen labelled the jiggery-pokery of the church. Miracles and the supernatural were part of Biblical times and apart from the miracle of birth and his many superstitions—which I think he invented to make him a more colourful character—he thought God worked in a … well, in a workmanlike manner. And ghosts, to his mind, would have been God showing off.
1 If Blaise Pascal didn’t say—“There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every man which cannot be filled by any created thing, but only by God, the Creator, made known through Jesus”—then he should have.
2 Pascal’s wager posits that humans all bet with their lives either that God exists or does not exist. Given the possibility that God actually does exist, a rational person should live as though God exists and seek to believe in God. If God does not actually exist, such a person will only have suffered a momentary (a lifetime’s worth) loss of pleasures and indulgences.
Deeper still
Jane’s fantasy expands
Jane waited as patiently as she could, but she was beginning to think Albert hadn’t received her message asking him to join her. She paced around the busy coffee shop in the West Village, having fled Melody’s apartment rather than risk displaying her anger in a cutting remark.
Jane, Actually Page 13
