Jane or James?
Like the hero(ine) of an Ed Wood
movie, P.D. James exhibits a split personality, alternating between a
creditable Austen persona and her familiar crime-writing persona,
throughout Death Comes to Pemberley. Things start well enough
with that all-important first sentence -- not, thank God, a truth
universally acknowledged, but rather: "It was generally agreed
by the female residents of Meryton that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet of
Longbourn had been fortunate in the disposal in marriage of four of
their five daughters." James goes on to summarize the plot of
Pride and Prejudice (hereinafter known as P&P),
which might seem unnecessary for any of her likely readers, except
that she does so from the point of view of the gossiping neighbors
who were convinced that Elizabeth Bennet not only married a man she
despised for his money, but that "Miss Lizzy had been determined
to capture Mr. Darcy from the moment of their first meeting."
This sly reframing of the bones of P&P approaches
brilliance, especially, of course, given that tantalizing hint of the
fourth marriage. All of this in the prologue, which boded very well
indeed.
Sadly, James reverts to her more
familiar crime writing. Of course, she keeps up a beautiful style
that strikes the right compromise between period and contemporary
language, echoing Austen in its elegance if not in its all-too-rare
glints of occasional irony. The sad fact is that James is not often
witty, certainly not in the constant, barely suppressed fashion that
Austen herself was. James gives most of her attention to plot, to
evidence, and to some extent to dark atmosphere, with the comic
relief confined to a couple of set pieces, such as a letter of
"condolence" from Lady Catherine de Bourgh and a scene at
the village church. Here she rises to Austen-ish heights ("A
brutal murder on one's own property...will inevitably produce a large
congregation, including some well-known invalids whose prolonged
indisposition had prohibited them from the rigours of church
attendance for many years."), but she abandons those heights
almost immediately and entirely.
One problem is that Death Comes to
Pemberley is mostly Darcy's book. James brings back Colonel
Fitzwilliam and, of course, that rake Wickham, apparently to give
Darcy an opportunity to reflect on, and perhaps atone for, the
negligent attitudes he showed in P&P. Altogether too much
time is spent rehashing P&P, with Darcy apologizing yet
again to Elizabeth for the infamous proposal and unfortunate letter.
Haven't they -- and we -- moved on? Worst of all, there is very
little of Elizabeth in Death Comes to Pemberley -- very little
of her wit, point of view, or the delightful dialogue we should
expect. Whole chunks of the book are (gasp) boring. That doesn't mean
that James and Austen fans won't find a lot to like in Death Comes
to Pemberley, and certainly they have to read it for themselves.
Mystery or not, I haven't been
particularly happy with any of the Austen sequels. The Mr. and Mrs. Darcy mysteries by
Carrie Bebris seem to me to be travesties, in which she has the
eminently sane and practical Elizabeth Bennet believing in magical
amulets and other supernatural silliness. Their merits, such as they
are, are the elaborate intertwining of all the Austen characters into
one universe (also hinted at by James, with a late, off-stage
appearance of the Knightleys of Highbury). For my money, the only
reasonable Austen substitute (aside from her collected letters, which
are frustrating to those of use who aren't Austen scholars) is the
series of mysteries by Stephanie Barron featuring Jane herself.
Barron leans heavily on the letters, sometimes paraphrasing or
reproducing whole passages (always acknowledged in footnotes).
Perhaps because of this, she comes very close to capturing Austen's
style and her attitude, with plenty of arch dialogue and ironic wit
running throughout. The mysteries themselves aren't always great;
they often border on espionage, especially the adventures featuring
the Gentleman Rogue, Lord Harold Trowbridge. His character is perhaps
the most egregious departure from reality in the series, although it
is nice to imagine Austen's life so full of romance and intrigue.
Nevertheless, I think Barron comes closest to Austen's style and
sensibility (there might be a title in there somewhere) of any of the
Austen imitators. I'm very glad the series continues in trade
paperbacks, with Jane and the Canterbury Tale published just
last summer (August 2011).
If, however, you're willing to take
Austen as your point of departure into a completely different world,
somewhere between Dickens and Dumas, check out the Sarah Tolerance
mysteries by Madeleine Robins, Point of Honor, Petty Treason, and
now The Sleeping Partner (published Fall 2011). These are
guilty pleasures that you will probably either love or hate,
featuring a sword-wielding, female "agent of inquiry" who
moves about Regency London in men's clothes and lives behind her
aunt's brothel. The first book, Point of Honor, begins with a
truth universally acknowledged, but there's little else of Austen
here. In fact, Miss Tolerance occupies an alternate Regency, with
changes in the royal lineage as well as widespread poverty and
degradation. (This invites comparison with Ellen Kushner's
Swordspoint, in which the Renaissance/eighteenth century
mashup evokes a wonderful fairy-tale quality, but Robins' reasons for
the alternate history are not as clear.) Critics continue to cite
Austen as part of the mix, however, perhaps because Austen made the
template for all Regency romances, especially those with smart,
independent heroines. If you love such heroines and are willing to
suspend disbelief for a fine ride, go for it. Dare I say it? I'd much
rather hang out in Robins' London than at James's Pemberley.
