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A review by sherwoodreads
The Real Jane Austen: A Life in Small Things by Paula Byrne
Not too long ago there was an uproar in Jane Austen circles at the discovery of a drawing that was labeled Jane Austen, depicting an upright woman of middle years whose face betrays illness. She is posed by a window, she has writing implements before her in a prominent place, and she wears what appears to be a spinster's cap. According to speculation going around, the author of this book was given the drawing by her husband, after which they both pushed hard to get it authenticated; some speculated that were this to be so, they could turn around and sell it for millions.
Knowing this, I circled this book warily. I'm already over the quick-for-cash Austen books, both fictional and non (the latter sometimes being pretty close to fiction in their wild surmises about the lacunae in Austen's sparse records), but the subtitle drew me to take a look.
I do think that this book could have used an editor who knows things Austen; I suspect publishers see "Jane Austen, oh good, it's almost as surefire as Harry Potter for a cash cow, ram it into publication!" But to write this one off as another hastily done Austen rip would be doing it a vast disservice.
In the opening pages, Byrne says that she is going to try to present Austen through the little details, the things Jane Austen left behind, and she sets out most assiduously to do just that. Where the book falls down is when she cannot resist telling us what Austen thought. The book is strongest when presenting the world that Jane Austen lived in, the signs of Jane left in objects, such as the amber crosses her brother brought back for her and Cassandra, in the family actions after a contested will, in furniture and others' letters and in the houses where she worked and stayed. A signed royalty check (on which, by the way, Jane spelled her last name "Austin" in usual haphazard-about-spelling eighteenth century fashion).
Byrne does a superlative job in presenting the literary side of the eighteenth century, especially with respect to the quick tumble of theater, both professional and private. And there is plenty of evidence that Austen eagerly participated in home theater, from her mother's annoyance at a shy cousin refusing to act in family productions to the bald list for auction of theater trappings stored in the Steventon barn.
Byrne engages thoroughly, and sympathetically, with two aspects of Jane Austen that get short shrift: her Christianity, and Lady Susan; it seems to me that more conservative scholars are fine with the first, but tiptoe past the second, whereas postmodern scholars whistle past the first, and use the second as evidence of her being "modern" in outlook.
The philosopher's stone seems to be the "rears and vices" pun that Austen puts in the mouth of Mary Crawford. I'm amazed at those who want to think that Jane Austen could possibly be ignorant about such things; this is a woman who had two brothers in the navy--whose letters make it clear she read the horrible case of a man put on trial, and executed, for sodomy. Whose character, Tom Bertram, is either gay or aro.
Byrne deals with that head on, gleaning details that Austen most certainly heard about, like the fact that the famous case was the result of a girl dressed as a boy on board a ship spying through a peephole at the accused. By reading the newspapers of the day, Byrne provides context for some of the glancing references in the letters. Shopping, imports, the cushions in private chapels, great estates, London and all its bewitching possibilities, the problematical notice of the Prince Regent and his obsequious secretary who had no ear for fiction, each are explored in fascinating detail.
We get a good look at Jane Austen through others' letters and diaries, including the contradictory quotes from Mary Russell Mitford, who really seems to have been poisonously jealous of Austen. (This subject needs further delving!) We see Jane Austen taking care of children, and entertaining them.
Where Byrne falls down, and falls hard, is when she cannot resist telling us what Austen thought. Like: Jane Austen had a phobia about childbirth. Excuse me? There is NO evidence of that. Quite the contrary. The letters betray a wary respect for the dangers of frequent pregnancies that were a part of the life of a married woman, but there is absolutely no evidence of a phobia about lying-in. There is equally no evidence that she turned down a young clergyman suitor because she fell in love with the sea (page 315). Or that she would not have been ashamed to be in the company of Mrs. Robinson or Madame de Stael. Or that she "sacrificed" her prospects of marriage in order to write. (308). Which, by the way, would obviate the phobia about lying-in, right? It's no sacrifice to stay away from the thing you are afraid of, is it?
Then there is the disingenuous (at best) comment on page 82 that Fanny Burney was the first to depict homely heroines, as in Cecelia [1796], "Without her, it would not have been possible for Jane Austen to reject the convention that a heroine must be beautiful." Jane Austen makes quite clear in the juvenilia (that Byrne describes quite engagingly) that she was already tossing eighteenth century fictional conventions out the window, that one being one of the first to go. Then there is the non-observant comment that Austen writes in third person narrative, when that should be omniscient, sometimes first person omniscient.
A judicious editing would have forced Byrne to correct or to justify these leaps more convincingly. But they are throwaway comments, in the main, leaving the bulk of the book full of family lore (and what a tangle of relations!), naval anecdote, depictions of Bath and London and life in the country, making it very well worth the read for the Austen lover who can never get enough.
As for the contested drawing, Byrne deals with that pretty gracefully, making her case but no absolute claim. She acknowledges the modern person's wish that this might be our clearest look into the face of the woman whose work changed literature.
Knowing this, I circled this book warily. I'm already over the quick-for-cash Austen books, both fictional and non (the latter sometimes being pretty close to fiction in their wild surmises about the lacunae in Austen's sparse records), but the subtitle drew me to take a look.
I do think that this book could have used an editor who knows things Austen; I suspect publishers see "Jane Austen, oh good, it's almost as surefire as Harry Potter for a cash cow, ram it into publication!" But to write this one off as another hastily done Austen rip would be doing it a vast disservice.
In the opening pages, Byrne says that she is going to try to present Austen through the little details, the things Jane Austen left behind, and she sets out most assiduously to do just that. Where the book falls down is when she cannot resist telling us what Austen thought. The book is strongest when presenting the world that Jane Austen lived in, the signs of Jane left in objects, such as the amber crosses her brother brought back for her and Cassandra, in the family actions after a contested will, in furniture and others' letters and in the houses where she worked and stayed. A signed royalty check (on which, by the way, Jane spelled her last name "Austin" in usual haphazard-about-spelling eighteenth century fashion).
Byrne does a superlative job in presenting the literary side of the eighteenth century, especially with respect to the quick tumble of theater, both professional and private. And there is plenty of evidence that Austen eagerly participated in home theater, from her mother's annoyance at a shy cousin refusing to act in family productions to the bald list for auction of theater trappings stored in the Steventon barn.
Byrne engages thoroughly, and sympathetically, with two aspects of Jane Austen that get short shrift: her Christianity, and Lady Susan; it seems to me that more conservative scholars are fine with the first, but tiptoe past the second, whereas postmodern scholars whistle past the first, and use the second as evidence of her being "modern" in outlook.
The philosopher's stone seems to be the "rears and vices" pun that Austen puts in the mouth of Mary Crawford. I'm amazed at those who want to think that Jane Austen could possibly be ignorant about such things; this is a woman who had two brothers in the navy--whose letters make it clear she read the horrible case of a man put on trial, and executed, for sodomy. Whose character, Tom Bertram, is either gay or aro.
Byrne deals with that head on, gleaning details that Austen most certainly heard about, like the fact that the famous case was the result of a girl dressed as a boy on board a ship spying through a peephole at the accused. By reading the newspapers of the day, Byrne provides context for some of the glancing references in the letters. Shopping, imports, the cushions in private chapels, great estates, London and all its bewitching possibilities, the problematical notice of the Prince Regent and his obsequious secretary who had no ear for fiction, each are explored in fascinating detail.
We get a good look at Jane Austen through others' letters and diaries, including the contradictory quotes from Mary Russell Mitford, who really seems to have been poisonously jealous of Austen. (This subject needs further delving!) We see Jane Austen taking care of children, and entertaining them.
Where Byrne falls down, and falls hard, is when she cannot resist telling us what Austen thought. Like: Jane Austen had a phobia about childbirth. Excuse me? There is NO evidence of that. Quite the contrary. The letters betray a wary respect for the dangers of frequent pregnancies that were a part of the life of a married woman, but there is absolutely no evidence of a phobia about lying-in. There is equally no evidence that she turned down a young clergyman suitor because she fell in love with the sea (page 315). Or that she would not have been ashamed to be in the company of Mrs. Robinson or Madame de Stael. Or that she "sacrificed" her prospects of marriage in order to write. (308). Which, by the way, would obviate the phobia about lying-in, right? It's no sacrifice to stay away from the thing you are afraid of, is it?
Then there is the disingenuous (at best) comment on page 82 that Fanny Burney was the first to depict homely heroines, as in Cecelia [1796], "Without her, it would not have been possible for Jane Austen to reject the convention that a heroine must be beautiful." Jane Austen makes quite clear in the juvenilia (that Byrne describes quite engagingly) that she was already tossing eighteenth century fictional conventions out the window, that one being one of the first to go. Then there is the non-observant comment that Austen writes in third person narrative, when that should be omniscient, sometimes first person omniscient.
A judicious editing would have forced Byrne to correct or to justify these leaps more convincingly. But they are throwaway comments, in the main, leaving the bulk of the book full of family lore (and what a tangle of relations!), naval anecdote, depictions of Bath and London and life in the country, making it very well worth the read for the Austen lover who can never get enough.
As for the contested drawing, Byrne deals with that pretty gracefully, making her case but no absolute claim. She acknowledges the modern person's wish that this might be our clearest look into the face of the woman whose work changed literature.