What I read: Darcy's Passions by Regina
Jeffers
Darcy's Passions is the story of
Pride & Prejudice from Darcy's point of view (mostly). There are dozens of these books on the market (
including mine!). Part of the problem with writing an Austen tribute is the writing itself; part of the problem is the characterization of Darcy--which brings us back to the writing.
First, the writing: many tribute authors try to sound Austenian but end up sounding either ultra-modern or unsure. The 18th/19th century voice is terrifically difficult to pull off. The only contemporary writer who comes close is Susanna Clarke (
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell), and she is magnificent.
The best solution is to just write in a normal voice. I'm not saying Austen wrote in a "normal" voice—I personally think Austen's authorial voice was cultivated. But it was normal for
her. Jeffers' attempt at Austen is better than many, but the switch in viewpoint doesn't sound omniscient and humorous (as it does with Austen); it sounds confused. (With
A Man of Few Words, I stuck to limited third-person; I know when I'm out-mastered!)
Like in
A Man of Few Words, Darcy's Passions is added dialog/exposition to already existent text. Jeffers' additions paint Darcy as the typical Alpha romantic male. He is overwhelmed by Elizabeth. He is impressed by her wit and anxious to exchange witticisms with her. He despises Miss Bingley. He is confused when the text absolutely requires him to be confused. He is masterly and insightful all the rest of the time.
But Darcy as typical Alpha romantic male is
completely inconsistent with Austen's text. (To her credit, Jeffers
is one of the few tribute writers whose add-ons include Darcy's knowledge of land management.)
I personally go along with Phyllis Ferguson Bottomer's argument in
So Odd a Mixture that Darcy is borderline autistic. Her delineation of Darcy's character is one of the most accurate and delightful on record. She recognizes what few interpretations do: namely, Darcy is accused of pride in Hertfordshire for reasons that
have nothing to do with familial or class pride.
Most tributes to
Pride & Prejudice concentrate on Darcy's supposedly prideful thoughts, making him the standard aristocratic jerk; they fail to acknowledge, as my mother did long before Bottomer, that all of Darcy's problems in Hertfordshire stem from his
behavior, not from his beliefs about himself (which beliefs he never communicates to anyone but Elizabeth anyway). He is perceived as proud because he won't dance or talk, not because he boasts about his position or even because he gives anyone the "cut direct." He doesn't even cut poor Mr. Collins.
In other words, Darcy is accused of pride for the wrong reasons—and the accusations rest NOT on Darcy's sense of superior class (which he does, in fact, feel) but on Darcy's anti-social behavior. In other words, what Darcy thinks of as "pride" and what Hertfordshire and Elizabeth, to a degree, think of as "pride" is not the same thing. This results in the fascinating argument about their faults between Elizabeth and Darcy at Netherfield; they clash partly because they are talking about two different things. Elizabeth is quicker than Darcy at picking up on the communication gap, but, as Bottomer points out, Elizabeth continues to assume reasons for Darcy's behavior that are actually inaccurate; it doesn't occur to Elizabeth that Darcy is shy or uncomfortable. It did, however, occur to Austen, Colin Firth, my mom, and to Bottomer.
And me. Using this interpretation, I created my own version of
P&P from Darcy's point of view. In my version, I do NOT have Darcy perceive Elizabeth's positive attributes (or any of her attributes) right away. I argue instead that Darcy is clueless because, let's face it, so many people are.
To give Jeffers credit, her Darcy is kind of clueless; he thinks Elizabeth likes him because she is playful in her rejections: she flirts, ergo, she loves me! Still, Jeffers has Darcy deliberately provoking Elizabeth, so he can exchange witty repartee with her. I don't think this interpretation is in keeping with the original text. Darcy doesn't do repartee. His remarks are almost always literal and straightforward. Elizabeth's triumph is not that Darcy loves bantering with her, but that she so often provokes him into saying what he thinks; what he thinks isn't witty or covered with
savoir faire. Actually, most of the time, what he thinks is kind of rude.
2023: My tributes to Austen's texts now include
Persuadable, a tribute to
Persuasion told from the so-called villains' point of view. And
Catherine Morland & The Matchmaker, based on one of Austen's funniest books,
Northanger Abbey, told from the matchmaker's point of view.
Although I generally try to avoid Austen's omniscient voice, deeming it too much of a challenge, I decided to give it a try in the latest novel by having the narrator--or matchmaker--be a literal semi-omniscient god, the god of love in a god-controlled off-shoot of our universe.
The first chapter introduces the narrator. For this post, I present an Austen-inspired passage, namely Catherine and Henry's first meeting. Ven, the god of love, is speaking.
And I had someone for Catherine to meet: Paul Henry Thebley.
I spotted Catherine halfway through the evening, looking rather low-spirited. My guess: she was used to hometown social events where she knew everyone and could relax. At Aphrodisia, she was the “new girl” in the midst of cliques who had already spent several seasons together on the peninsula.
I don’t approve of cliques but some social behaviors are inevitable. Mrs. Allen, for one, was chattering away about how much she wished Catherine knew someone in the “crush.” Chatter. Chatter. Chatter. No action.
I got pulled away to resolve a question about engagement gifts. No, I don’t think an animal is suitable. Let’s avoid the implication of calculating dowries with livestock, shall we?
Issue resolved, I tracked down Paul Henry Thebley, a tallish twenty-two-year-old with aquiline features and thick dirty blond hair, the kind of guy who looks good in glasses. And Paul Henry is every self-conscious semi-intellectual young man since the beginning of time. He is perceptive and clever enough to be aware of his self-consciousness, so he takes refuge in irony. In my life in the other world, these were the guys who watched lots and lots of Monty Python.
And yeah, I was one of them.
I introduced him to Catherine as “Henry” (he prefers his middle name). She perked up. Henry bowed and immediately started making an ass of himself.
“I’m supposed to ask you the required meet-and-greet questions,” he told her and raised a single eyebrow. “Should I? Tell me, young lady, are you enjoying your time here? Have you been to all the temples? Did you offer a flower to Kouros? A poem to Apollo?”
Catherine responded eagerly. She stated that she was in good spirits. She hadn’t been to all the temples. What type of flowers should she offer? Did Apollo expect an original poem?
Henry isn’t much of an artist or writer. He moved on to the season’s calendar.
“No doubt you’ve been told which celebrations you absolutely must attend. And you’ll write about each of them in your journal, including a list of the people you’ve met. When you write about me, will you call me a goofball or simply a strange young man?”
Catherine assured him she wouldn’t write anything so unkind. Entirely guileless. She didn’t even mock his efforts at mockery, which is why I introduced them.
“Maybe I don’t keep a journal,” I heard Catherine say as I wandered away.
She was trying to be arch, bless her, and I gave her credit for continuing the conversation.
Henry, of course, insisted that she owned a pink, flower-covered journal with a lock. Despite the cliché, he was probably right.
I learned later that he managed to impress Mrs. Allen by complimenting not only her outfit but the outfit’s seamstress So Henry was in good form.
I want to go on record: Henry was not my first choice for a husband for Catherine.
I could easily claim, I knew they were perfect for each other from the beginning! Truth: I simply wanted Catherine to have a not-horrible time at Aphrodisia.
Still--I would never have introduced her to the Thorpes.
