Darcy & Wickham: Chapter 10

Darcy confronts Wickham in Chapter 10 of A Man of Few Words, a scene that is told--rather than shown --in the original text. Ah, the fun of the tribute where the author can SHOW stuff!

Laurence Olivier as Darcy

One thing I wanted to make absolutely clear in my version was Darcy's sense of responsibility over Wickham's "elopement" with Lydia. Jane Austen takes Darcy's responsibility for granted. More recent films and authors, on the other hand, often focus on the sacrificial aspect of Darcy's behavior. In the 1940 film with Laurence Olivier, Darcy does not act to stop the scandal until after it has already started to affect the Bennet girls. The implication is that he would be wiser not to get involved; only great love--and a desire to be the white knight--can excuse such reckless regard for his own good name.

While this is all very romantic, I don't believe it properly captures the truth of Darcy's character. As I've stated elsewhere, when Darcy goes after Lydia and Wickham, he is simply cleaning up his own mess. Although the police were slowly being established throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, they wouldn't become a full-fledged reality in London until 1829. Large landowners like Darcy conseqently bore substantial responsibility for the behavior of their neighbors. In addition to "policing" his tenants, Darcy would act as arbitrator regarding disputes. As Mr. B states in another context, "I was the god of my estates." Although an eighteenth century squire like Mr. B exercised more power than a landowner like Darcy, the cultural expectation--"He's the man"--still held sway in Darcy's era.

So Darcy isn't just being nice to Elizabeth. He is making up for an egregious failure on his part. He is responsible for Wickham's behavior. Wickham was the son of his father's steward; Wickham received an inheritance from Darcy's father; Darcy (properly) refused to give him more money: for all intents and purposes, Darcy's relationship with Wickham is closer to that of an attorney with a badly behaving client than a guy with a lousy childhood friend. And from the point of view of the early nineteenth century, that first relationship would have more meaning and impact than the latter.

Noblesse oblige was not a duty of the state; it was the duty of the individual home-owner.

As for romance, Darcy states the following in the original text:

"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you." 

This isn't romantic because Darcy is claiming that he only acted for Elizabeth's sake--that would place the poor woman under a staggering sense of obligation. It is romantic because Darcy casts a social obligation in romantic terms. It's the difference between saying, "Look what I did for you! Aren't you lucky that I love you?" and saying, "I did the right thing while thinking of you." The latter is way, way, way more romantic.

Versions of Jane Eyre: Jane & Rochester Forever

This is an earlier post that I recently referenced, so here it is again:

I've seen seven Jane Eyres, including a horrible 1934 version that bears so little resemblance to the actual story, you wonder why they bothered to keep the title.

The Orson Welles' version (1943) is, naturally, definitive, mostly because Orson Welles is Rochester. My biggest problem with this version is Joan Fontaine. She looks so thoroughly like the nice-girl-next-door, I never fully believe in her character's persona: a somewhat eccentric, 18-year-old whose passionate otherworldiness will attract Rochester despite his good intentions. While Orson Welles is growling and bettling his brows and running about in gorgeous (and well-fitted) dressing gowns, I keep expecting Joan Fontaine to say, "Oh, and when did you want your washing done, honey?"

Of the three movies (2011, Michael Fassbender as Rochester; 1997 Ciaran Hinds as Rochester; 1996, William Hurt as Rochester), I prefer William Hurt's Rochester, just because I like William Hurt. And I like Samuel West who plays Rivers in that version.

But both BBC series beat them all for several reasons.

BBC Series: 1983

The casting is excellent. It seems totally wrong at first. Timothy Dalton is a really handsome guy, and Rochester isn't supposed to be. He's supposed to be, well, Orson Welles: striking looks and dark glances and stocky broodiness. Yet Timothy Dalton pulls all that off through sheer, magnificent acting. He's not too pretty, despite being handsome, and he builds on that. He's also a very big guy. I tend to associate him with James Bond, which is a mistake. Bond is all sauve elegance. Dalton can hulk about with the best of them.

The actress (Zelah Clarke) who plays Jane is also excellent. She plays Jane as more matter-of-fact than she comes across in the book, but she also captures Jane's tapped-down passion. She is also perfect in appearance, being small, slight with a pair of gorgeous eyes and very fine features. She isn't really pretty but she isn't really not. The only snag is that despite her flawless skin and extremely youthful features, she's not 18. Everytime I see the movie, I try to pretend she's 18 for about 1/3 of the movie until I think, "She's got to be 30 at least." It's in her bearing and her voice. She moves and talks like an adult, not a somewhat gawky, if reserved, teenager.

But the series still works. Age is not as great an issue in Jane Eyre as class and oh, yeah, that crazy woman in the attic. I just give up thinking she's 18 and figure this is the story of two people in their 30s and hey, why not. Jane taught at Lorwood for another ten years, instead of two. In the end, the viewer ends up believing that these two odd people from very different backgrounds are soulmates, which is all that matters.

The second thing the 1983 series does right is the scene with the gypsy. The movie versions tend to excise this scene since it is so bizarre and seems so exploitative. Basically, the gypsy is Rochester trying to pump Jane for information. Yeah, it does sound weird, but it makes perfect sense if Rochester is done right. Dalton does Rochester right.

In most versions, Rochester is damped down (except in Orson Welles's version but really, the Orson Welles's version is all about Orson Welles; it isn't about Jane) or nicened up. But he can't be. He's a weird guy. Jane loves him because he's weird. She's weird too. They're weird together. In order for Rochester to make any sense, he has to be played as a disillusioned idealist who has decided to be a rake and is really, really bad at it. He wants desperately for Jane to meet him half-way in his plan to make her his lover. But she won't, being too young (this is where the youth quotient matters), too inexperienced and too much of an idealist herself. Which he knows. So he gives up and just lies to her. But the first half of the book (and movie) only make sense if Rochester comes off as uncertain of Jane and of himself, no matter how much he blusters. He's a man who is very cocky when he gets what he wants but is intensely unsure of himself up until that point. (Although he gets so cocky when he gets what he wants that he has to fall off a burning building and lose his sight before Jane will put up with him for the long-term.)

Lastly, the 1983 series does Rivers absolutely, magnificently right. Samuel West does Rivers as a somewhat overly serious but still appealing guy. Which is fine. But it also misses the whole point of Rivers. In the 1983 version, he is played by Andrew Bicknell who is a blond, tall, extremely handsome guy without a single hint of cuteness or prettiness. Thirty years earlier, he would have played the Nazi commander in every single British war movie. In other words, he's kind of scary. And he's supposed to be.

The point of Rivers is his contrast to Rochester. Rochester is cocky, insecure, brusque and kind of crazy. Rivers is utterly self-confident, logical and manipulative. With Rochester, Jane thrives. She argues, debates, threatens, talks back and eventually, makes her own decisions. With Rivers, Jane wilts. She nearly loses her self-will. And the point is clear: as William Hurt says in Accidental Tourist,

"It isn't how much you love someone. It's the kind of person you are when you're around them." 

With his virtue and his in-your-face idealism, Rivers ought to be right for Jane (plus he doesn't have a crazy wife), but he isn't, and she isn't willing to settle for ought-to-be right. Rochester, despite lying to her and pressuring her, is still someone Jane enjoys being with. This isn't some Harlequin Romance where the hero's passion excuses his behavior. This is Jane Eyre where the hero's character, in the long run, excuses his passion or, rather, disciplines it. He is Jane's friend, and she knows it, and for a novel written in 1847 that declaration of equal friendship is extraordinarily lovely. (Yeah, yeah, I'm a romantic.)

I review the 2006 series here.

B is for Books

Bach, Richard: I must have read/listened to Jonathan Livingston Seagull about twenty billion times as a young teen. I cannot imagine reading it now with any degree of even mild tolerance. Some things last from our youth. Some things just do not.

Baldwin, James: Not a favorite author but I do agree with numerous high school teachers who classify him as a great author. His writing is powerful. I still remember it although I don't think I've read anything of his in over fifteen years.

Balogh, Mary: Mary Balogh is a romance writer (PG-13/R). She tends more towards world romances where we watch the hero and heroine relate to many people rather than focus exclusively on their relationship to each other. I tend to prefer the latter type of romance to the former. She is a skilled writer; out of her books, I recommend First Comes Marriage.

Balzac, Honore de: I read Balzac for A-Z Book Review, Part 1. I gave him a positive review though I haven't read him since.

Bantock, Nick: I read the Griffin & Sabine books back when they first came out and enjoyed them. They are very clever, being basically pop-up books for adults. I get a big kick out of pop-up-play-with-your-reading books, but I do usually just go to the kids' section, so I can get the pop-up books that come with toys. I suppose Nick Bantock is a way for adults to do the same thing without feeling silly.

Barrie, J.M.: Yep, I found Peter and Wendy in the adult section! It is a rather unusual book, written after the famous play, and has a melancholy edge that is probably more respective of Barrie's view of the world than his fictionalized persona (that he helped create around himself). I wrote a short story about Peter Pan a number of years ago, and it was the book, not the play, that inspired me.

Barron, Stephanie: As a Jane Austen fan, I've tried very, very hard to like Stephanie Barron's mysteries with Jane Austen as detective. They aren't badly written and I don't remember having any problems with Barron's portrayal of Austen--though I might now that I've done more research on Austen. But the books don't grab me.

Barthelme, Donald: I read about two things by Donald Barthelme and didn't need to read anymore. He's very, very good at what he does. But his writing is kind of like Cubism as an Art Movement: needed to be done, was done exceedingly well by someone (Picasso), *big shrug*.

Beagle, Peter: Probably best known for The Last Unicorn, but I always rather liked A Fine and Private Place.

Bierce, Ambrose: Another high school-assigned author. His short story "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" is worth reading.

Borthwick, J.S.: A mystery writer. Her books are set in Maine! I quite enjoy them and get a kick out of the Maine references--although one of the most enjoyable, The Garden Plot, takes place on a European Garden Tour.

Bradbury, Ray: A true great although I rarely read him now-a-days. However, I must have read The Martian Chronicles a half dozen times when I was younger. I highly recommend it; in fact, I think I'll check it out the next time I'm at the library!

Bradley, Marion Zimmer: I have to mention Marion Zimmer Bradley, not because I am a fan of The Mists of Avalon--part of which I did read when I was younger--but because she gave me one of my first breaks as a writer. Her magazine accepted one of my first short stories (the very first was accepted by Space & Time).  I received and signed my acceptance letter about a month before she died; the story--"A Janitor's Closet"--was published in #47, and I was paid comparatively well for it. I've always had a fond place in my heart for MZB for giving me that opportunity.

Bronte, Charlotte: Jane Eyre is no hands-down one of my favorite novels ever! I've written about a couple of the television versions here.

Buck, Pearl: I read The Good Earth in high school. It isn't really my kind of read although it is extremely well-written. I think the woman is more interesting than the book. The author's link in this case is to her humanitarian organization rather than to a bibliography.

Darcy & Scandal: Chapter 9

Chapter 9 of A Man of Few Words is where Darcy learns of Lydia's "elopement" and does such a magnificent job of a man crawling into his cave, Elizabeth is convinced he intends to never see her again. 

Of course, Elizabeth's assumption is justified by her culture's social norms. Should Lydia's escapade with Wickham become known--and the Bennet daughters believe it is only a matter of time--their position in genteel society will be radically and materially altered (especially considering that their chances of marrying well were never all that great). Darcy, the Gardiners, and Mr. Bennet's object is to keep "the world" (i.e. the world of gentility) from learning about Lydia's actions before she and Wickham can get her married.

Bollywood Darcy & Elizabeth

Contemporary versions of Austen often have a problem translating this part of the story since contemporary social norms don't frown on sex before marriage. The entirely too long but immensely amusing Bollywood musical, Bride & Prejudice solves this problem by having Lydia be, well, fifteen. Trying to save her from undergoing statutory rape by a total creep makes a great deal of sense.

However, I also think that many contemporary writers do themselves a disservice. ANY group of people has its social protocals: things one is supposed to do; things one is supposed to say; acceptable ways to behave in order to get into the country club, the academic committee, the government project, the (insert organization here).

The difference, of course, is that although a woman today who doesn't get into the country club of her choice (sob sob) truly does have other options, the Bennet sisters don't much. As another of my characters says in an entirely different context:

Mr. B: Pamela was more concerned with her virginity than her rights. 

Leslie Quinn: I doubt she saw a difference. Holding out for a decent marriage was more or less her purpose in life. Rape would have ruined her forever.

Of course, marriage was not a woman's only purpose in life. Jane Austen herself chose not to marry. If she had married the man who proposed to her when she was 27, she would have been comfortably settled for the rest of her life (assuming she didn't die in childbirth). There is some debate over why she changed her mind (she accepted, then declined) from arguing that she was still in love with someone else, wouldn't marry without love, preferred to focus on her writing rather than running a household and was terrified of having children.

Whatever the reason, the "suitor" appears to have had very little in common with Jane in terms of interests or personality, and Austen was observant enough to know that while a marriage built on common interests without love may last, a marriage without at least common interests will rarely thrive (though it may survive). She and Harris Bigg-Wither had common friends, background, and culture. But they weren't friends. In such an environment, someone like Austen would wither.

Darcy's Possibly Happy Childhood: Chapter 8

I used Chapter 8 of A Man of Few Words to provide a little more information about Darcy's childhood.

Austen siblings are often extremely close: the

Tilney siblings all defend each other against their father.

Henry and Eleanor even protect their rakish brother, Frederick.

It is customary to give heroes and heroines difficult family relationships. After all, it is more dramatic! And, to be fair, a number of Austen's characters do have dysfunctional home lives: Anne Elliot, Henry Tilney, Edmund Bertram, and Elizabeth herself. On the other hand, Catherine Morland, the Musgroves, Elinor's immediate family, and Emma all have good relationships with their families.

Even those without good relationships rarely spend time agonizing over their family issues--not a lot of Freudians in this crowd!

Darcy is one of Austen's characters who had a very happy childhood. His own description goes as follows:

As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own.

In other words, Darcy's pride though partly the result of how he was raised is not in any way the result of poor treatment: neglect or abuse.

This raises an interesting problem: can too fond treatment actually hurt a child as much as poor treatment?

Setting that issue aside, the point is that Darcy is not damaged by his past.* Not only is his pride not the result of poor treatment; it isn't even the result of deliberate brainwashing: "Son, you are better than anyone else; don't you forget it!" Darcy's pride is actually much closer to that described by C.S. Lewis in The Screwtape Letters. In a letter to Wormwood, Screwtape suggests how to exacerbate (spiritual) pride:

[She has] a quite untrouble assumption that the outsiders who do not share [her beliefs] are really too stupid and ridiculous . . . it is not, in fact, very different from the conviction she would have felt at the age of ten that the kind of fish knives used in her father's house were the proper or normal or "real" kind, while those the neighboring families were "not real fish knives" at all. Now the element of ignorance and naivete in all this is large . . .

Screwtape then goes on to discuss how Wormwood can use this perspective to push the idea of the set or clique: us versus them.

The attraction of a clique or set to someone like Darcy is not the attraction of being superior to others ("We are so much more beautiful, successful, likable than you"), which is the Crawfords' type of pride in Mansfield Park. For Darcy the attraction lies in MY family, MY friends, MY people versus Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine, etc. etc. etc.

And people with happy childhoods know what it is like to have an "us."

*One reason I decided to write A Man of Few Words was the occasional P&P tribute that tried to give Darcy some type of youthful trauma. One tribute even went so far as to give Darcy youthful trauma involving Wickham; in this particular book, Wickham is painted as some kind of debauching bully at the age of 9 or 10, which characterization indicates a complete misreading of the original text. Wickham's duplicity is the farthest thing in the world from bullying and its intrinsic amorality does not take an obvious form. Darcy himself was a "young man" when he began to suspect Winkham--not a child. 

Why It Matters That Elizabeth Likes Pemberley: Chapter 7

Chapter 7 in A Man of Few Words is the Pemberley chapter--ah, yes, that part in the BBC series where Darcy goes swimming.

The Gardiners and Elizabeth admire the trout stream.

Unlike the ridiculous statues in the latest movie, I consider the BBC swimming scene plausible. It does not occur in the original text, and I did not use it in A Man of Few Words. What I did try to convey--as the BBC series conveys--is how comfortable Darcy is on his own property.

This is so in-line with his overall behavior that whether Austen was working off observation or pure instinct, she deserves major major kudos for understanding how someone Darcy could be stiff and uncommunicative at the assembly ball and downright friendly and outgoing on his home turf.

Austen uses the housekeeper and Pemberley's grounds to clarify this; the BBC series uses the housekeeper, the swimming, and Darcy wandering about Pemberley with his dogs. I used Darcy as landowner, the housekeeper, and my dad.

I've mentioned before that my dad, an introvert, is a prototype for Darcy. When Darcy and Elizabeth are waiting for the carriage to take her plus her aunt and uncle back to Lambton, my Darcy goes through the following:

"Would you like to step in?" Darcy asked, thinking he could show her the improvements he'd made to the flue in the drawing room fireplace, the latest expansion to the library. But she had already seen the house and declined. So Darcy stood beside her under the glowing summer sky and thought how marvelous it was that Elizabeth liked Pemberley.

Every time my mom reads the part about "show her the improvements," she busts out laughing.

After I wrote it, though, it did occur to me that I was making Darcy sound rather like Mr. Collins bragging about shelves in his closets; when Elizabeth visits Hunsford, Mr. Collins also shows off his house.

And then it occurred to me that Austen never makes mistakes. Darcy does show off Pemberley just as Mr. Collins shows off the parsonage. Is Austen making a statement about men generally or is she making the comparison to tell us more about Darcy?

I think she is telling us more about Darcy. Although Elizabeth is half-joking when she says that she began to fall in love with Darcy at Pemberley, she half-isn't. As many critics have pointed out, Pemberley is Darcy. Everything and everyone about Pemberley has thrived due to Darcy's involvement, his character.

Compare this to Mr. Collins who uses his house to illustrate not his good sense (which he doesn't have) or his wife's good sense (which he doesn't appreciate) but his relationship to Lady Catherine. He also wants to make Elizabeth feel bad for "what she had lost in refusing him."

On the other hand, Darcy--who has also been rejected by Elizabeth at this point--uses the opportunity to rebuild his relationship with Elizabeth. I used the word "show off" about Darcy above; it would be more accurate to say that Darcy puts his house/lands at the disposal of others. He suggests that Mr. Gardiner come and fish; he invites Elizabeth and the Gardiners in for refreshments; he eventually encourages Georgiana to invite them for dinner. Pemberley is a place of interest and ease; it also exists in its own right as an entity. It is not there simply to bolster up Darcy's ego, something Mr. Collins would not understand.

Darcy's Letter: Chapter 6

Chapter 6 of A Man of Few Words is THE chapter--the one in which Darcy writes the letter to Elizabeth explaining his behavior towards Jane and Wickham.


From the marvelous website

The Republic of Pemberley

Some literary analysts consider this action implausible. I have addressed in another post why I don't agree. To sum up, Darcy is using the letter to say what he would find almost impossible to say face-to-face. My argument is that it is easier for Darcy to write this letter than to go talk to Elizabeth (especially on such heated topics).

Writing the letter is also, for a man of this type, absolutely necessary. Darcy can handle the neighbors not thinking much of him; he doesn't really care. He can handle Wickham spreading lies about him; he cares but the alternative (telling everyone about Georgiana) is worse. He cannot handle a woman that he loves and respects thinking badly of him. So he writes the letter. 200 years later, he'd have written an email.

I used the chapter to convey the thought--and, okay, the angst--that Darcy puts into the letter. As he tells Bingley at the beginning of the book, Darcy takes letter-writing seriously; he wouldn't just scribbled down his thoughts (BTW, i ws thinking of u ) and immediately press send. The guy wrote several drafts--he was up all night.

But only all night. I read somewhere that Darcy couldn't have written the letter so "fast." Nonsense.The letter is approximately 2000 words long. If we give Darcy 25 words per minute, which is slightly lower than the average, the letter itself could take him about 1-1/2 hours. 

Keep in mind: Darcy is not inventing the letter. It may have taken Austen, his creator, longer than 1-1/2 hours to come up with the idea of the letter (maybe not). But Darcy already knows what he wants to say; what will keep him up all night is saying it in the best way. Speaking personally, I have typed well over 6000 words (70 wpm) in a single night when arguing about an issue about which I already had concrete, strong opinions (and most of my time was taken up in editing). Darcy may have trouble explaining himself in person; that does not mean that he would have trouble once pen hit paper; in fact, the original text makes clear that Darcy is a conscientious and consistent letter-writer. This isn't his first time writing a long letter; he knows the drill.

I postulate that the entire process could take Darcy between five to seven hours; that's writing the first (shorter) draft, ripping it up because it is too angry and doesn't make sense, writing another (longer) draft, editing that draft, proofreading it, then rewriting a clean draft (headed 8 a.m.). The writing itself will only take 4-1/2 hours, the last draft just over an hour; the rest of the time is Darcy pondering Elizabeth's words, getting lost in thought, etc. He hands over the final draft between 10-11 a.m. (Elizabeth goes out after breakfast, around 9:30, and walks about the park, then encounters Darcy.)

Regarding the letters = email analogy: once you start hunting for mentions of letters and letter-writing in Austen, it's amazing how often they crop up! Persuasion, of course, rests on a discussion of writing followed by Anne's reading of Wentworth's letter. In Pride & Prejudice, Mr. Collins is introduced through a letter; Jane's failure to contact Bingley in London is reported to Elizabeth through a letter; the revelation of Wickham's perfidy occurs in a letter. People are writing each other so often, it is rather like email.

Of course, Darcy would send a letter!

(Male?) Communication Through the Physical: Chapter 5

In Chapter 5 of A Man of Few Words, Darcy decides to propose to Elizabeth.

This is at Rosings. In Pride & Prejudice, almost all of this section is told entirely from Elizabeth's point of view. The reader is given little internal reason to suspect Darcy's growing affection.

However, Austen has given us plenty of external hints based on Darcy's physical behavior.

One of many 10-sentence conversations at the parsonage.

I recently read an appraisal of Persuasion which argues that it is the most physical of Austen's novels--that in this final novel, Austen was finally coming around to the Bronte way of thinking in which emotion and touch carry as much weight as objective judgment.

This is sort of true but mostly not. Austen was a consistent novelist both in her vision and in her themes. And the use of the physical is used to enormous effect in Pride & Prejudice.

Take, for example, these examples of Darcy's interest that Elizabeth misses (but the reader can catch):

• Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam come to see Elizabeth, etc. soon after their arrival at Rosings (Charlotte correctly surmises that they would not have come so quickly if not for Elizabeth's presence).
• Darcy watches Elizabeth while she is speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
• Darcy looks ashamed when Lady Catherine is rude to Elizabeth.
• Darcy leaves Lady Catherine to walk over to Elizabeth while she is playing.
• Darcy visits Elizabeth without the colonel (though he does expect Charlotte to be present).
• Darcy returns to the parsonage several times although "he frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice".
• Darcy keeps visiting the same part of the park as Elizabeth.

How deftly Austen indicates our hero and heroine's complete lack of understanding! From Darcy's point of view, he might as well be standing on a roof-top, screaming, "I'm totally 100% captivated by you!!" From Elizabeth's point of view, he's acting, well, kind of weird. 

They are both intelligent, well-meaning people. One surmises that after several years of marriage, Elizabeth will learn to appreciate Darcy sitting in the same room as her mother for more than 5 seconds as a sign of enormous affection. And that Darcy will learn to actually say that he thinks Elizabeth did a good job with her gifts to the servants rather than just looking appreciative.

A is for Authors

A few years ago, I read a new fiction author from every letter in the alphabet. This time around, I decided to report on which fiction authors from A-Z I've actually read!

Adams, Douglas: Although I've read and enjoyed the Hitchhiker series, I enjoy the Dirk Gently books more, especially The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul.

Aird, Catherine: A British mystery writer. These light reads are very pleasant although the earlier ones--which I prefer--are not always easy to track down. I recommend The Religious Body and Parting Breath as two of Aird's best.

Alcott, Louisa: Of course! However, the book I enjoyed as a youngster wasn't Little Women but Under the Lilacs. (In general, I am sticking to adult fiction; however, Louisa May Alcott falls under the genres of children, YA, and adult fiction--the latter for books like A Long Fatal Love Chase, which I have also read--so I went ahead and included her here.)

Allingham, Margery: Another British mystery writer. She created the detective, Campion. I confess that although I have read a few of Allingham's books, I never got into them like I did with books by other Golden Age mystery writers. The only one I can remember with any clarity is the one where Campion loses his memory: Traitor's Purse.

Anderson, Poul: Poul Anderson is the science-fiction writer I attempted to read for my A-Z Book Reviews. I failed.

Anthony, Piers: I was a big fan of Piers Anthony when I was a teen, meaning I read several of his Xanth books. However, I haven't read anything of his in years--probably due to my resistance to super-loooong fantasy/sci-fi series.

Alexander, Tasha: She writes the Lady Emily series. These are mystery/suspense books set in Victorian England. They're okay books, but I actually prefer Deanna Raybourn's Lady Julia Grey Series, which I'll discuss more when I get to "R". (Comparisons of this kind are unfair: Why not just enjoy both series?! But I find Alexander's writing a little too slow; I figure if I'm going to read a large, historical suspense novel, I might as well choose one that flows quickly. However, there is no reason not to just read both authors.)

Archer, Jeffrey: I have read exactly one book by Jeffrey Archer, and it is absolutely hilarious: Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less.


Asimov, Isaac: I'm a huge fan! I never got into the Foundation Series, but I LOVE the Robot books (I don't count them as a "series" since I've never read them that way--no continuity required). They are sci-fi mysteries--with robots! How great is that!!

Auel, Jean: I got in trouble for reading Auel in eleventh grade. I sat in the back of math class and read The Clan of the Cave Bear. I then started failing math. I then got moved to the front of the class and had to put the book away. Lesson learned: be more clever about reading fiction in the classroom. And don't fail tests.

The "Gentleman" is Darcy

Austen, Jane: Austen, of course, is a favorite! It was  reading an Austen tribute for the A-Z Book Reviews that got me interested in writing A Man of Few Words, my own tribute to Pride & Prejudice. I am currently working on a tribute to Persuasion which will hopefully be published this Spring (2013). I highly recommend the recent annotated versions of Persuasion, Pride & Prejudice, and Emma.

I'm sure there are more "As" but these are the ones I remember at the moment. "B"s will follow!

More Dancing Darcy: Chapter 4

In Chapter 4 of A Man of Few Words, Darcy and Elizabeth meet at the Netherfield Ball. This is the event where the Bennet Family thoroughly embarrasses itself.

Embarrassed Mr. Bennet at the Netherfield Ball.

In this chapter, I endeavored to clarify that the Bennet Family does indeed behave quite badly; during my revision of A Man of Few Words, I wrote "Why Darcy Is Often Justified" about his reaction to Mr. Collins's dreadful behavior at this ball. The genius of Jane Austen is that she creates events that can be interpreted in more than one way.

Take, for example, Darcy's interference in Bingley's life. Darcy is so appalled  by the Bennet Family's behavior at the ball that he maneuvers Bingley, who leaves for London the next morning, into staying away.

On the one hand, Darcy assuming that Jane will not be hurt by Bingley's abandonment and encouraging his friend to leave Netherfield immediatement is as officious and rude as anything Emma might do.

On the other hand, Darcy is trying to save Bingley from a breach of promise suit. For Frasier fans, Donny Douglas--Daphne's fiance--threatens to bring a breach of promise suit when she leaves him at the altar for Niles. Breach of promise suits are not that common in our modern age although they can be filed in some states.

The problem for Bingley is that what constitutes a "promise" from him is far more subtle than what constitutes a promise from men (and women) now-a-days. In Trollope's book The American Senator (1875),  the femme fatale Amanda desperately attempts to maneuver Lord Rufford into making a single compromising statement, anything that will enable her to say, "But you said you would marry me!" He is never trapped, partly because he is rather clueless and partly because he is well-protected by friends like Darcy.

Bingley is a much nicer bloke than Lord Rufford, and Jane certainly never goes as far as Amanda. But Darcy would still worry that Bingley's actions will be misinterpreted, especially after Mrs. Bennet actually claims that an engagement exists! In other words, Bingley simply paying more attention to Jane than to the other single women at the ball practically implies a proposal.

Darcy also knows his friend. Unlike Lord Rufford, Bingley would agree to an engagement--even if none existed--rather than hurt anyone's feelings. And Darcy honestly believes that Jane isn't interested in Bingley. Although Darcy never says so directly in Austen's account, he likely compares Jane disfavorably to Elizabeth. Why would Bingley want to marry this cold, seemingly passionless person when he could have lively, enchanting Elizabeth?!

Moreover, although marriage is always a big deal--then and now--a bad marriage based on a mistake was not something that anyone in the nineteenth century would be able to walk away from. As detailed in the fascinating book Mrs. Robinson's Disgrace, "easy" divorce did not become possible in Britain until the mid-1800s. "Easy" means that while a man could get a divorce based on his wife's proven infidelity, a wife could only get a divorce for infidelity and another form of abuse. The two-fold consequences of these requirements were (1) the divorce court press became an instant hit with Victorians; (2) historical romance novelists who claim that the Divorce Act was a feminist triumph should keep in mind that far more men sought divorces and got them than women. (On the other hand, not a few of the Court of Divorce judges were remarkably even-handed in their judgments.)