Bad Austen

by Peter Archer

  BAD

  Austen

  The Worst Stories Jane Never Wrote

  Edited by PETER ARCHER AND JENNIFER LAWLER

  DEDICATION

  For all the Jane Austen fans who’ve ever put a pen to paper—or even just thought about it.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The editors would like to thank all of the writers who played along and submitted their entries to BadAusten.com in the hopes of getting chosen to appear in this book. We had more fun at work than we’re supposed to as we sifted through these stories and shared our favorites.

  We’d also like to thank our panel of judges, Patrice Hannon, Carrie Bebris, and Gregory Bergman, for their involvement in picking the winning entry!

  Contents

  Introduction

  What is Bad Austen?

  The Winning Entry

  The Real Housewives of Bath-erly Hills

  PART 1

  The Books Jane Never Wrote

  Farthingale Junction

  An Unexpected Guest

  Hubris and Humiliation

  Absinthea Pillock’s charm School for Girls Whose Fathers can Afford Tuition

  The Horrors of Expectation

  Proper Order

  Insult and Insolence

  Finer endings

  Miss Dashwood Gets Down and Dirty

  The Perilous Plot at Pemberley

  Pride and Prejudice: The First Draft

  Christmas at Pemberley

  Meekness and Misery; or, The Sad Love Affair of Mary Bennet

  John & Rebeccah: A Tale of Love Midst the Stars

  Pride and Predictions

  Of Turbans, Partridges, and APPle Pie

  Foolishness and Folly

  In a More canine-Like Manner

  Pluck and Plumage

  Pride, Prejudice, and Revenge

  Emma interrupted

  Wild and Wanton Jane

  PART 2

  If Jane Could See Us Now

  Pemberley High

  Regency Matchmaking

  Through Kitties’ Eyes

  Sense & Circuitry: Cyberth 1813

  Fools and Folly

  Sarah and Katherine

  The Eldest, the Youngest & Matchmaker.com

  Samosas and Sensibility

  Destitute in Dubai

  Pursuit

  Caroline’s Humiliation Conga

  Willoughby’s Boogie Nights

  Black Ops Bennets

  Status and Social Networking

  Bennet Bridezillas

  Sass and Sexual Ambiguity

  Virtue and Voracity

  Pride and Paparazzi

  PART 3

  Superheroes, Vampires, and Pemberley, Oh, My!

  Bedside Manners

  Gone with the Pride

  Woman of Wonder

  Twilight at Northanger

  The Bennet Bunch

  Dead and Loving It

  Jersey Shore Does Brighton (or, If Jane Scripted Jersey Shore)

  The Weasleys Visit Netherfield Park

  Mr. Collins (Part i)

  Mr. Collins (Part 2)

  Leia: A Novel

  Two-Time and Twilight

  Tatooine Abby

  Index

  INTRODUCTION

  What Is Bad Austen?

  One afternoon, during a session of “We should publish a book on …,” our editors came up with the answer: Jane Austen. Who doesn’t love Jane Austen? But this had to be a special book. A book that hadn’t been done before. A book that would appeal to a lot of readers. A book that, in fact, made fun of Jane Austen. (She’s dead—she can’t sue us.)

  The thinking went thusly: “There is a Bad Hemingway contest. There is a Bad Faulkner contest. There’s even a Bad BulwerLytton contest! Why not a Bad Austen contest? Surely as bad as we can make Hemingway be, Austen can be made worse?”

  And so it was born, the Bad Austen Writing Contest, in which entrants turned their hands to penning scenes of a “classic” Jane Austen novel that never actually existed. We solicited Austen parodies on a blog (www.BadAusten.com) and collected the best into this book.

  What were the rules? They were simple:

  Sharpen your wit, let your imagination run wild, and write a scene (no longer than 800 words, please!).

  You are free to determine plot, characters, and setting.

  Our only requirement is that the style must parody Austen.

  Of course, we did have some legal mumbo jumbo as well, but that was basically it.

  We also gave some guidance about entering the contest: To enter, write a 500- to 800-word scene that is a parody of Jane Austen’s writing. Possible themes can include, but are not limited to: horror and the supernatural, sex, science fiction, fantasy, romance, and mystery. The scenes may use Austen’s characters or original characters created by you or drawn from real life (e.g., celebrities, sports figures, politicians, etc.). The scenes can parody themes, language, or characters and may be drawn from any of Austen’s novels.

  We found that many people saw the word sex and immediately got to work. So we have been reading about sex for weeks now, and as editors are unusually celibate creatures, this has led to some whining among the staff, and also some—well, that’s pure speculation, so never mind.

  Once we had read every single entry (some of them several times, with the door closed), we picked the one story we felt represented the pinnacle of bad Austen writing. It is probably best if we don’t go into detail regarding how this selection was accomplished; suffice it to say that the process involved some arm wrestling and a few heated words, but no long-term damage was sustained by any of the parties.

  We also picked the runner-up entrants to be published in this book, though admittedly this was a less rough-and-tumble enter- prise as they did not have to be ranked in any particular order (imagine the carnage if they had). All told, we’ve included more than fifty stories for your enjoyment.

  We saw that writers had submitted stories that split neatly into three categories (editors like categories): Austen-era entries, present-day entries, and mashups involving vampires (and sundry other creatures). This suggested to us a tripartite structure to the book (editors like parts). Thus, you will find that Part 1 contains stories that take place in the nineteenth century, Part 2 contains stories that take place in the present day, and Part 3 contains mashups of Austen and other beloved story lines.

  We hope you enjoy!

  The Winning Entry

  Our distinguished panel of judges selected the following story as the best of the best, or the worst of the bad, whichever. The lucky winner not only receives the glory of being selected as the winner but also gets some cold, hard cash. We know Austen would appreciate that.

  The Real Housewives of Bath-erly Hills

  STEPHANIE WARDROP

  Kyle Richards might quarrel with her, but Camille grammer could find no quarrel with herself.

  In her own surgically lifted eyes, Camille always deserved the best treatment because she never put up with any other—from women, at least—though it was beyond her how a former child actress like kyle could be so insolent in her wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation. But upon reflection, and after consulting with her makeup artist and three of her four nannies, she realized that only jealousy, that plague upon the feminine half of the populace, could explain kyle’s incivility, that and only a party could put relations to right, or at least educate kyle in respectable decorum.

  The first invitation went out to Lisa Vanderpump, well known for her wise management of a series of dining establishments in the spa towns of Cheltenham and Bath, as well as her equally wise semireplacement of her graying husband with a mini Pomeranian. (ken Vanderpump was no cad, certainly, but saddling a good lady with such an unfortunate
last name was almost unforgiveable.)

  Upon hearing Camille’s voice on the other end of the line, Lisa suppressed a shudder, then smiled as widely as the Botox would allow.

  “What a lovely idea,” she cooed as she waved away Cedric, her permanently shirtless permanent houseguest. “I am excessively diverted. But how has kyle affronted you this time, darling?”

  “I confess I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun,” Camille sighed as she looked out the window past the gardens below. “But I do recall her saying something about people only ‘tolerating’ me because of my famous actor husband, kelsey.”

  “Oh, Camille, darling, do not vex yourself over such a trifle!” Lisa cautioned with her usual good sense. “For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?” She recognized, after all, that it was not fair to expect Camille to feel how very much she was kyle’s inferior in talent and all the elegancies of mind. The very want of equality, Lisa reasoned, might prevent Camille’s perception of it.

  “Precisely why I thought a little pool party would be most agreeable! I know the sight of myself in a bikini never fails to raise my spirits—as well as those of most of the men around me,” she tittered behind her hand. “We’ll just get the girls together for a few drinks, a few hands of whist, and perhaps you will play the pianoforte?”

  “That is so thoughtful, Camille,” Lisa approved as she attempted to wrestle a miniature sombrero onto the tiny and recalcitrant head of her dog.

  “Well, Lisa, there is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves! It is not my nature.” Camille sighed at her own munificence.

  “Of course, dear. Cheers!”

  Camille next dialed the number of Adrienne Maloof, the most exotic and accomplished of her friends, who broke from her kickboxing routine to accept the call, however reluctantly. While certainly one of the more amiable members of society, Adrienne well knew that Camille grammer was the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with no settled provision of her own—though she would soon be eligible for a 50 million dollar alimony settlement due to her famous husband’s perfidy—and certainly had no respectable relations. granted, she had a little beauty and a little accomplishment as an MTV dancer and featured player in a few soft-core porn productions, but these honors led most of Adrienne’s set to view Camille with the disdain for the vulgar normally reserved for the Misses kardashian.

  “Oh, Camille,” Adrienne said rather hesitatingly. “Are you quite certain this is the soundest of plans? Angry people are not always wise, you know.” And Camille was, despite her affectless smile, one of the angriest people Adrienne knew. Surely this party would prove once more that vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief.

  Camille paused, sensing a polite and cowardly dodge in the offing. obviously, even the incomparable Ms. Maloof was not immune to that most pernicious of female maladies.

  “I have no wish to incommode you,” Camille assured her, “but do come.”

  Before returning to the kickboxing ring—and breaking her husband’s nose for a third time—Adrienne promised she would at least try to make the engagement, though privately she could foresee any number of fortuitous obstacles to this plan.

  PART 1

  The Books Jane Never Wrote

  Of the many entries we received in the Bad Austen contest, a fair number of them were set in Austen’s era, although we have our doubts as to whether events could have actually occurred as alleged in any of these stories. That reservation notwithstanding, here, for your amusement, are those stories set in Austen’s time that we felt sure you would enjoy.

  Farthingale Junction

  FREYA SWANSON

  Upon hearing the news, Miriam Cauldwell could scarcely believe that anyone could have mistaken Colonel Prickett for a pheasant. She could not think of two entities more dissimilar, and yet, someone within the hunting party had shot the Colonel dead upon his estate, Perfunctory Hall. The very idea that a man with so distinguished a military career could be killed by a neighbor who mistook him for a game bird was too abhorrent for words.

  “And the boy to whom it is entailed? What of him?” great Aunt Lavinia demanded of Mrs. Cauldwell, Miriam’s mother and her only niece.

  “The boy is a man; Colonel Prickett’s second cousin, a Mr. Samuel Farthingale.”

  “Yes? Well, what of him?”

  Miriam bemoaned the listing of Mr. Farthingale’s vital statistics, which everyone seemed to keep repeating for her benefit. The day before the accident, a man from London named after a petticoat would have been fodder for every person in _____shire.

  Sudden ownership of Perfunctory Hall, however, made him the most handsome man in creation. Unfortunately for Miriam, twenty years of age and still unmarried, Lavinia appeared to see Mr. Farthingale as her last great hope.

  “—and is a very successful businessman in his own right.”

  “What business is that, Mama?” Miriam asked, with no interest whatsoever in the answer.

  “He imports cloth, dear,” said Mrs. Cauldwell.

  “Cloth? Mr. Farthingale imports cloth?” cried Miriam. She could not believe it; Mr. Petticoat imported petticoats?

  “Ring the bell for tea, dear,” said Mrs. Cauldwell in such a tone as to assure her there would be no sort of merriment concerning the Colonel’s heir.

  The first opportunity for society to see Mr. Farthingale was at the funeral. He was pronounced a dignified mourner, and all the more handsome for looking so well in black. He was polite, if a little distant, but that was to be expected after a loss in the family. Most everyone in the county believed he would be married by Christmas. When Epiphany passed without a whisper of engagement, necessary measures were taken. Great Aunt Lavinia, dowager Empress of _____shire, would hold a ball at Hammerstone.

  Hammerstone was an imposing estate littered with medieval fortifications and the ghosts that supposedly haunted them and was therefore impossible to make inviting from the exterior. Upon entering, however, the foyer led to what everyone simply called “the junction.” It was here that medieval masonry gave way to neoclassical columns, and Lavinia’s well-appointed home truly began.

  It was a glorious ball, but Miriam was the only person truly enjoying the evening, for the most important guest had been delayed in London and would either be very late indeed, or not appear at all. Having at least temporarily escaped being paraded about like chattel, Miriam danced, and laughed, and was inadvertently quite charming. Lavinia looked upon it as a terrible waste; what was the point of being witty and gorgeous in front of married men and dour clergy? In the course of the evening, it became apparent that Lavinia had taken several glasses beyond prudence, resulting in her telling the Right Reverend Cummings that, yes, absolutely, their Lord and Savior would greatly enjoy a good novel.

  DID YOU KNOW?

  Jane Austen was born at home in the Steventon parsonage, Hampshire, England, on December 16, 1775, the seventh child of the Reverend George Austen and his wife, Cassandra (née Leigh). One more child would follow Jane three and a half years later—a boy. Jane would then have six brothers and just one sister, the beloved Cassandra. The large family lived on a clergyman’s small salary supplemented by earnings from the boys’ school run by Mr. and Mrs. Austen. The rectory was also a working farm, with fields of crops, a dairy, and a poultry yard.

  Miriam had greatly enjoyed that conversation and felt no remorse for quietly prodding her great-aunt further into the discussion at the time, for the Reverend was always a good sport and had a quick wit himself. After, however, it became clear there was no reining her in now she was begun, and poor Mr. Farthingale had thought it polite to put in an appearance, regardless of the lateness.

  “Oh, huzzah! He is come! Miriam! Where are you, child? He is come!” Lavinia did not wait and made straight for her unsuspecting guest.


  “Mr. Petticoat! We were afraid you would not come! How was London? Is your business complete? of course, it is—here you are. And in such a lovely vest! You are a handsome devil, Mr. Petticoat! Where is Miriam? You come with me, sir, we will find her!”

  By then she had hold of his sleeve and dragged him across the ballroom. Miriam slipped behind the musicians and made for the foyer before her overly enthusiastic great-aunt could embarrass the young man any further, but Lavinia spotted her and shouted across the room for all to hear, “Miriam! Stop at the junction! I’ll bring him to you!”

  Miriam could not respond, nor could she disobey, and dutifully waited, hiding behind a column.

  “Come, sir, this way!” Lavinia shouted as, sleeve in hand, she dragged him back across the ballroom.

  “Yes, um, perhaps I should greet the other guests?”

  “other guests, what? No, no, no, to the junction, my boy, Petticoat, junction!”

  An Unexpected Guest

  BRANDY HEINRICH

  Elizabeth was quietly reading at the feet of her sister Jane, who was working on a dainty piece of embroidery. The sisters had been retired to the drawing room in companionable silence for most of the morning, each deep in thought, reflecting on the events of the previous evening at the ball in Meryton. Jane was fondly thinking about the charming Mr. Bingley, while elizabeth’s thoughts weren’t quite so charitably inclined toward Mr. Darcy’s detestable behavior toward her. Their twin reverie was broken by the excited shouts of younger sisters Lydia and kitty, who bounded into the room accompanied by chants of “A visitor! We have a visitor!”

  kitty beamed and twirled her skirts while Lydia concentrated on fixing the satin ribbons in her hair. Jane, thinking that perhaps Mr. Bingley had come to call, quickly settled herself back on her settee in what she hoped was a beguiling pose. Mr. Bennet, roused from his study by his boisterous daughters, stalked into the room, trailed by his wife. Mrs. Bennet fussed at her younger daughters, prattling on unheeded about a Big Blue Box and a ridiculous cravat. “Really. I’ve never … so inelegant. And to come to call on a family of our society, dressed in such … untidy attire! What will the neighbors say?”