The Idea of Austen

 

Books and stories find us at the right time – whether to be written or read. This year, I am enjoying a backwards relationship with Jane Austen, and I am having a marvellous time discovering her. Of course, I knew about her for years. I’ve learnt about her in school. I took her existence for granted – she is one of the classics. I didn’t question how remarkable it was for a woman of her time to become a writer, or why there weren’t more women writers. For a long time, I was shaped by the view of the world that it was men who did, created, and invented things, and that was that; only sometimes, there would be a woman who would somehow manage to be almost as good as the men. How little did I know.

Therefore, when I was going through the phase in my life when I was reading classics, I did try to read one of Jane Austen’s books. It was Emma. And I didn’t like it. It didn’t grab my attention. I thought it was just a love story, that all of her books were love stories, and that it wasn’t for me. Did the women have nothing better to worry about than men? I liked to read about more than just relationships. In my twenties, I didn’t have the patience and understanding that I have now. I didn’t understand how much women needed to have the right relationship – I was a young woman travelling the world, doing as I pleased, not thinking about how recent and unusual such a privilege was. So, Emma was lying at the back of the bookshelf ever since, and I never returned to her.

Then, I watched the film Emma, the one with Gwyneth Paltrow, and it only confirmed that it wasn’t for me. I simply didn’t get it. I didn’t get many films with Gwyneth Paltrow (Shakespeare in Love was definitely not worth an Oscar for her, especially not in the year that Elizabeth with Cate Blanchett was nominated), but I still put the blame at Jane Austen’s door – it was a story about people going around and talking too much about relationships.

I was resolute that I wouldn’t be reading Jane Austen’s books and wouldn’t have to bother watching any adaptations. Yes, she is great, but not for me.

So, this year, when there has been so much talk about Jane Austen and her big anniversaries, I thought I would just let it go by. But then, I had nothing to watch. And the Pride and Prejudice TV series was on the BBC iPlayer, and I heard it mentioned so many times that I wanted to know what the references (and fuss) were about. I watched it and it was good. Not my favourite story, but good and interesting. I thought that I may as well watch the other adaptations and then not have to read any of them, but know the storylines and understand what people are talking about when mentioning plots and characters. With my child starting secondary school, it was good to brush up on things that would eventually be encountered in the curriculum.

I’d seen the TV adaptations of Pride and Prejudice as well as the movie because Alan Rickman is simply great in anything. I’d also watched everything else on the BBC that was on offer. Some older adaptations like Persuasion and a very weirdly made Northanger Abbey, which I had to finish out of sheer dedication, but am very thankful that it wasn’t the first one to start, because I would never have gotten into Austen if it had been. Also, I finally know what Emma is about; the TV adaptation had done a much better job at keeping me watching and staying curious, although the character of Emma is indeed hard to like.

While at it, I also watched the lovely new series of Miss Austen and got a little more knowledge of the background and perhaps sources of inspiration. Then, I thought that I was done with Austen. But I got the bug already.

I was happy to find a documentary Jane Austen: Rise of a Genius and it was fascinating to learn all the details. Thanks to my age and experience, I have already been more sensitive to the plight of women through the ages (and now, of course) and have a better understanding of their obsession with marriage and social standing. Women in Jane Austen’s time had so few options and freedoms, and many of the things that would annoy me years ago were now making perfect sense because I get it, I understand it better.

But learning about Jane and her willpower, combined with the luck that the man in her life – her father – was supportive and encouraging of her being a writer, was what made me fall in love with her. Learning about her trying to make it on the market and facing refusals simply because she wasn’t known, didn’t have any connections, and was an outsider, was a reminder of the publishing world today, where connections and marketability are so very similarly important as back then. A struggling writer must like another struggling writer.

During that time, I’d also noticed that our local theatre was showing Pride and Prejudice this spring. Of course, I had to go and see it. And it was marvellous. Funny and enjoyable. The whole day, for me, which I’d spent in town by myself, was like being out on a date with Jane Austen.

So, I finished the documentary, wondered what would have happened if Jane Austen weren’t so ill, and then I went and ordered her complete works and am happy to read them, helped by them being so well incorporated into the story of her life in the documentary. The books she had written were shaped by her experiences, just like most of the books we read and write. That is why I think that I have a backwards relationship with Jane Austen. Most things I really like, I find the book first and then see the adaptation on TV or film.

I can report that Northanger Abbey, as a book, is good. Now I’m enjoying Pride and Prejudice, and again, I’m looking forward to the evenings when I can have a bit of reading time. I have gone full circle. I now consider Jane Austen as an author very much for me, I am proud to know her and happy to read her.

About Reading

 

Children aren’t reading for pleasure, says research. An unwelcome finding for a writer and a parent. The tween in our house is generally frustrated by parents who aren’t giving in to trends and refuse to provide her with a smartphone. Everybody has one. That’s the thing.

In a few years, we have been conditioned into thinking that we must be constantly connected. We don’t question it. Or, we do, but a little too late.

Perhaps I am one of the lucky ones. I have always been suspicious of fads and fashions. Not an easy consumer. I have been frustrated for years by people dumbed down by their ‘smart’ phones. Suddenly, the devices are glued to their hands. They are the first to be answered and acknowledged, deeming face-to-face conversation less important. They are the first and last thing users want to see each day (and most hours in between). They ought to confirm what is true. People experience things through them. They no longer look at what is happening in front of them, instead, they film it, watch it through the screen, and unless it is uploaded to their social sites immediately, it doesn’t really matter. So, they must chase more, better, crazier, and shinier content to keep up with their feed.

It was obvious that reading would suffer. Instead of getting lost in a book, you can scroll till the battery dies.

For years, I have been having a deteriorating relationship with Husband. He is no longer pretending to be interested in reading. He makes it clear that communication in his online groups takes precedence over conversation with me. When out and about, he will show me what his mates are up to instead of simply being in the moment, watching the little things that happen around us. Of course, he also has to update people on his endeavours. He no longer takes pictures of me because he wants to capture a moment. Throughout our child’s life, he has never been with her without a phone in hand or in a pocket, ready to use. When I don’t like it, I am reprimanded – am I denying potential updates for Grandpa?

I still don’t believe that communication must be constant and updates instant. I also don’t appreciate having hundreds of snaps dumped on me; expected to react to them immediately. I still look up things in books, they are my favourite point of reference. Of course, I google things, we all do. But for in-depth research, I like to read up on things. I use cookbooks and reference books, I like to buy guidebooks for new places I am visiting even though I do research and bookings online. When I want to truly learn and understand something, a book is the thing to use. The information gained through the internet is helpful but somehow superficial. When I travel or go somewhere interesting, I don’t want to be glued to a screen while standing in a place I’ve come to see. I also bring a digital camera. Sure, smartphone cameras are now often superior. Doesn’t mean I have to see the world through it. People I know don’t need to know where I am at this very moment. I’ll let them know when I talk to them. Or not – most of the time, it won’t matter to them.

I have been reading to my child since the very beginning. I have been giving her books every Christmas and birthday. I have been visiting libraries. I still help her to source and reserve books. I miss reading time. We still occasionally do read together, but, after twelve years, the bedtime ritual is changing.

However, books have a big role in our lives. So, perhaps, my child is privileged. She sees people reading around her. She has not only story books but also reference books and enjoys reading them, some are picked up very often. When I want to support an interest, I look up books about it. We have books on dogs and cat breeds and how to care for them, books on common birds, trees, and insect, we have books on history and geography, and, of course, the wizarding world. We have books I used to enjoy as a child and new books we’ve found together.

A few weeks ago, I was out with my child and we spotted an unusual, interesting bird. We watched it closely while we could (we were lucky, this one was quite a show-off). Later, we went through our book and found out what it was (a nuthatch). A few weeks later, on a walk with friends, Husband downloaded an app that identifies birds by sound. Immediately, the kids got hold of their or their parent’s phones and tried to find more birds, wandering around, phone in hands, interested but looking at a screen, ignoring the nature around them. I was a little sad. Yes, I didn’t identify all the birds around me while I was observing the noisy and interesting nuthatch. But I could also tell that I was surrounded by the usual mix of blackbirds, tits, pigeons, and robins. And I was fully present during my interaction with that little bird. The app is good when you hear but don’t see the bird in question, but, isn’t just listening and looking around more than enough?

A few evenings ago, my daughter took Anne of Green Gables from the library shelf and got into reading. We have been reading this book on and off together. I’d bought it years back when I was compiling books that I wanted to introduce to my daughter. I got a big book that has all of Anne’s stories together, it is big and bulky. The story got its spell on me again. Daughter also admitted that it was good. With end-of-year exams and sports clubs, we have been slower in reading and not always reading together. But, eventually, my daughter found her way to the book again and is reading it without my prompts or assistance on most evenings. Perhaps not all is lost. Perhaps when a child knows that a good story is there, the child will eventually tire of YouTube and will reach for the book. Just as with interesting birds, I just have to be patient and ready for a surprise.

Antisocial Socials

 Dear Readers and Writers,

I have been quite busy and didn't go on my Threads for a long time. I didn't even look through the feed, simply dedicating the little spare time I have to other things (I have read some awesome books, though). In the last few weeks, I have been trying to return to Threads and give it another try, hoping that this time my enthusiasm would last a little longer.

However, I am unable to access the account. I keep getting locked out, sent back via Instagram, notified about unusual activity, prompted to change a password, over and over again. Threads won’t let me go in at all and Instagram only sends me through changes of passwords, retrieval of security code, then a new sign-in and a prompt to change password. Annoying. There has been no unusual activity, dear overlords of internet wisdom, because there has been no activity! Nothing. I am not dead, but I didn't need you - hard to believe, I know. Of course, one can’t contact anyone to ask and the so-called help pages are very unhelpful. Not even an annoying chatbot to vent to. Oh well.

Is it a sign? A message that I should give up on my futile attempts? I am very obviously unable to make friends in real or online life. I very clearly don't care – it doesn’t change my life at all. The only reason that I am trying to be active in the writing community is because I like it. This year, NaNoWriMo is closing down. Amazon is being boycotted, and, also, using our hard-worked-for manuscripts for AI learning (allegedly). I don't know any writers in real life. While I am now braver and might consider a writing group, I am also working and therefore don't have much time to dedicate to such an activity. What to do?

I won't stop writing. No way. But how do I show up my books and make them read by people unrelated to me? How do I sell books without a massive (I think I reached 35 followers after almost two years on Threads!) online following? Most readers of independent authors are other independent authors. I can’t find out about books from people I followed because I didn’t plan to leave, so I didn’t make a list. We all hope that what we have written will be talked about and that reviews and word of mouth will help us make it. Hard work. How can I participate when I’m not able to take part?

Some people are good at talking themselves up, connecting with others, having general chit-chat, and sending updates. I will probably never reach the state of online native. When I see something interesting, I don't have the impulse to snap and update. Phones annoy me. I don't have it on me all the time. Yes, I am weird, I know.

So, I may simply give up on trying and see what else I can do. Perhaps there are more of 'analogue' authors like me out there? Perhaps I will find my niche? Or, in one last push, I may try the last option: Bluesky. Threads worked out better and nicer than Twitter. Maybe the uphill trend will continue. Who knows, the participants there might tolerate quiet people better.

Wish me luck. I shall update my profiles for a new contact. Or print 1000 paperbacks and open a stall at the next church fair near you. No AI will find me there.

The Joy of Being Alone

I am haunted by the scene from the movie Maria, where Maria Callas – played by Angelina Jolie – walks near the Eiffel Tower and the crowd around her comes together and breaks into an aria from Verdi’s Il Trovatore. The whole movie was beautiful and sad, but this scene keeps coming back. A few days ago, I’d heard the aria again, in a different setting, and ever since then, I have an earworm. It could be worse, this one is at least very sophisticated.

Given that I’d more or less stopped listening to music and listen to spoken word radio all day every day, it is a little bit unusual to look up music on YouTube, search for CDs and print out lyrics. Instead of keeping with current music trends, I am going well back. At least I know that I don’t have a mid-life crisis, I guess. But I have an urge to learn the lyrics.

Going to the cinema the weekend before last had been a special occasion. It was my first solo trip in many years. I used to go regularly in my twenties. I wouldn’t think twice about it. Every week, I would look up the schedule, consult my shifts, and write down dates and times. I kept up with new movies and caught up on some good classics. It didn’t even occur to me that I was quite unusual in going alone. Instead, I always had a very good time. When I travelled a lot, catching up on movies was my favourite part of time between trips. I even wrote letters to magazines about movies, got a few ‘star letters’ prizes, and dreamt about being a film critic. I suppose that if it was happening now, I would have a movie-related blog, active login for IMDb, and my socials would be full of movie links.

When I’d moved in with my now husband, we went to the cinema together, but it wasn’t the same. I was working shifts and we lived far from the city, so, it was a major trip. Besides, our tastes were very different. I still remember our heated fights in Blockbusters on Friday evenings. When he made the choices, I had to watch some drivel. When I made the choice, I ended up watching alone – no problem for me. Eventually, I was again going to the cinema by myself, safe in the knowledge that it was better for the both of us, remembering the time, earlier on in our relationship, when he made a massive scene because I forced him to sit through a foreign language movie with subtitles that were not in English. I had asked him in advance, had given him the option to go and do his own thing, he had insisted on being an enlightened best boyfriend in the world, had sat through the movie (that I enjoyed) and then, on the way home, he had thrown a massive tantrum about my selfishness. How dare I not put him first? Considering the amount of time that I had stood around waiting for him, sat around waiting for him, and sat through dinners, parties, and occasions, I thought it was quite rich, but, of course, waiting for him was always okay... It is always about the man, isn’t it?

After the conundrum of low income, motherhood, pandemics, housewifing, and back-to-working, my only visits to the cinema were for family movies. And they were great. It was nice showing my child what an adventure a visit to the cinema is.

But now, with some freedom, transport, and income, I can once again go and see what I want when I can (when I want is probably no longer an option, but that’s fine). Seeing the trailer for Maria, I knew that it was meant to be seen on a big screen. And the showing times in the local cinema were good, I had a Saturday off, the family was sorted, so, I went out by myself. What a treat. We are always meant to be in a group or with a family, it is assumed that it means that we are having a good time. No advert promoting a leisure activity shows people on their own having the best time ever. But ask any mother and she will hopefully admit that having only yourself to look after and please is the real treat. Yes, sometimes it is having a bath and lying down with a good book, but, sometimes, taking yourself on a date with yourself is the best thing you can do.

I took the bus and looked at the familiar streets from a different angle. I brought a book to read. I bought a glass of wine in the bar. And I went to see the movie. The small room filled with women. No man was interested. There was definitely a vibe. Look at us, I thought, we do manage to treat ourselves sometimes.

The movie was beautiful. And sad. And, once again, it showed that men come into our lives and don’t make them better. Instead, we change, accommodate, and care. The movie reminded me that I used to like music. I will listen to it again. Perhaps I will dance again—when was the last time I danced? But, most definitely, I will take myself out on a movie date sometime soon. I think I have already picked up the next movie to see!