Austenites, Please Step Forward: The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen
It is a truth universally acknowledged that there are only a handful of things in this world that are truly irresistible: Colin Firth in a cravat; a love story gone awry but with the promising outcome of a happily ever after; and a deliciously witty comedic scene a la Jane Austen.
Over the summer, a number of Austen-themed novels hit the store shelves: ever delightful and easily devoured in an afternoon or two by any real Pride & Prejudice fan who decided to harm her complexion by a day at the beach.
Undoubtedly, Mr. Darcy has captured the heart of every red-blooded wanna-be Elizabeth who dares calls herself a romantic (see: Colin Firth in a cravat), but where are those books for those fans of Mr. Knightley or Colonel Branden? Where are they to find their passionate read?
Look no further. Syrie James has satisfied us on every score…except that perhaps of a happily ever after. After all, anything titled: The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen, comes with the ready knowledge that this romp does not end with a wedding. At least not Jane’s wedding.
But whereas we know Romeo & Juliet doesn’t end happily, it isn’t any less a great love story—and Syrie weaves for us a very credible tale about a witty, budding authoress who upon touring with her brother, Henry, in Lyme, finds herself in a similar predicament as one of the heroines of her stories: that of being in danger of falling love with a captivating young man.
Mr. Ashford has all the dash of Colin Firth in a cravat with none of the awkward, introverted behavior. He is charming, friendly, trustworthy, and kind. Not only that, he is a mentor. He encourages Jane to pursue her dreams of becoming a published novelist—but he doesn’t mince words about what it truly takes to do so. During their discussion about it, his questions if she’s written anything lately makes Jane feel defensive. She turns all prickly:
“Writing is not an occupation which is easily picked up and accomplished on a whim.”
He went quiet for a moment, and then said, “I am not a writer, I admit. But in my experience, I have found that there is never a perfect time or place for anything. We can always find a reason to put off that which we aspire to do, or fear to do, until tomorrow, next week, next month, next year—until, in the end, we never accomplish any thing at all.” (127.)
Instantly shamed, she realizes he is right; that she has been allowing her fear to keep her from writing. She then confides her next fear to him: what if she can’t find a publisher? He has an answer for that as well.
“What does that matter? In the end, talent will win out. Do you want to be a published novelist?”
“It is all I have ever wanted.”
His eyes locked with mine, as a sudden breeze stirred the branches of the trees above us.
“Then a published novelist is what you shall be, Miss Jane Austen.” (128.)
Yes, that’s where I swooned as well.
But the hallmark of a wonderful novel isn’t just all the passages with the cravat-wearing, dishy-accented hero. Oh, no. There are moments of pure comic timing and hilarity that unravel before our eyes like scenes in a movie. And granted, much of these scenes are endearingly familiar. Clearly Syrie offers us the suggestion that perhaps Jane did indeed pull moments of her real life and put them into the stories we know and love.
It was delightful to find the similarities between Jane’s story and that funny and wryly true novel, Sense & Sensibility, but maybe that’s a prejudice of my own, being I find bits and pieces of my own novel uncomfortably familiar. I’m sure if any of my Mr. Ashfords ever read my novel (of which I have no fear: I’m pretty sure they can’t read), they too would be able to pick themselves out of the pages—and question me, wondering if the anger and passion displayed in print had any truth. It does. Why let all the melancholy and angst go to waste? Apparently Jane is as much a recycler like me.
In the end, I think this novel is about writing…and writers. The nature of how our secret selves are transformed into printed word; how all our experiences brought together are truly what makes great books. We should not live our lives in a turret, weaving from a mirror of life we’ve never tasted. Our voice and interpretation of these experiences everyone has had—these are what give something as universal, as repeatedly done as a love story a fresh and new understanding. It is a book of hope for writers–the last line says it all–but I can’t tell you because you really should read the book for yourself.
Syrie James captures all that is best and true about Jane Austen. You will find yourself caught and enchanted and praying for an ending that will not come. For die-hard Austenites, this is the book you’ve been waiting for; for those of you who do not mind a bittersweet ending, this one is sure to entrance; and for those of you wishing for knowledge of how to be a writer like Austen, well, you can find that, too.
Speak up, fair Austenites: have you had a chance to read Syrie’s lost tome of Jane’s most intimate thoughts? Have you been swept up in the hubbub of this season’s crop of Austen-like fare? Any favorites (or any that should be left behind)? Colin or Matthew–which one is the definitive Mr. Darcy? (I think we can tell who my vote will be for.)
Be sure to stop by Syrie’s website (www.SyrieJames.com) and say hello. I know she’d appreciate it!
