Longbourn, by Jo Baker

I think this blog has established that I’m a fan of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.  I’ve read it multiple times, as well as some of the books that it’s inspired in recent years (see here, and here).  So when I saw my latest read at Chapters, I was intrigued.  Longbourn, by Jo Baker, tells the story of Pride and Prejudice from the servants’ point of view; think Downton Abbey meets Austen. 

Longbourn is, principally, the story of three of the domestic staff of the Bennett family; Mrs. Hill the cook/housekeeper, Sarah the first housemaid, and John Smith the footman (who Baker notes is introduced once in the original text as the deliverer of a message to Jane from Bingley).  From the small crumbs of the staff that Austen sprinkled through her great homage to Georgian domesticity, Baker created a complementary plot and back stories for these almost invisible, and yet incredibly crucial, people in the Bennett household.

When I picked up this book, I thought of it as simply an interesting way to tell the love story that is so well known to me.  However, I quickly realized this wasn’t Baker’s purpose.  I’ll give you an example of what I mean; one of the most indelible moments in Elizabeth and Darcy’s love story is when she appears at Netherfield Hall with her petticoats with at least six inches of mud running up the hem.  It’s at that moment that Darcy recognizes Elizabeth’s vitality and kindness, and starts to fall in love with her.  That’s all well and good, but what about those petticoats?!  For a family with five girls on a limited income, they can’t just be replaced!  Oh no, it’s Sarah’s job, with her cracked and rough hands and the homemade lye soap she boiled, to make them wearable again.  

And the hits keep coming!  Kind, considerate Jane?  Barely notices Sarah or has a care for James’ role in the household.  The kind and gregarious Bingley?  He becomes a lot less desirable as a husband when you realize that his fortune, so coveted by the mamas of Merriton, comes from the sugar/slave trade.  And Mr. Bennett, in not wanting to hear his wife complain about Mr. Collins’ arrival doesn’t tell her about it until the morning of the day he’s expected; great for him, but what about Mrs. Hill?  She’s got to get a guest room ready, and then feed the man who will eventually decide her fate at Longbourn – Mr. Bennett left her no time to prepare!  In Baker’s telling of the story, the Bennetts sit on the periphery of the lives that those below-stairs are living; their actions necessarily dictate what the staff do day-to-day, but they and their concerns are removed from the personal live and concerns of the staff.  It’s an interesting dynamic.

Plot is one thing, but what about the characters and writing style?  Baker gave herself the task of creating characters and plots that run in the background of one of the most beloved pieces of English literature.  And she did a great job.  It’s clear Baker lived with Austen’s works for years, as her history is spot on and her character profiles match what you would expect for an early 19^th century household staff.  Mrs. Hill, Sarah and James, who trade the focus of the narration between them, are all dynamic characters with back stories that are fleshed out, believable, and which make them into engaging characters.  And Baker’s talent isn’t limited to the characters.  Her writing style also reflects a great comfort and familiarity with the world of Austen; her tone, pace and tenor match with Austen’s almost pitch perfectly.  It’s almost as is Pride and Prejudice and Longbourn could be considered to be parts one and two of the same story, written by the same author.

So, final verdict?  In a world that is increasingly being bombarded with works of fiction inspired by Pride and Prejudice, Longbourn seems to be a wonderful addition to the pack.  Leave aside your stories about Darcy, or Miss Darcy, or the married Mrs. Darcy, and instead focus your attention on those whose lives are lived to make the genteel and matrimonially-obsessed characters of Austen’s works possible.  I would definitely recommend this book to Austen fans out there.

Wives and Daughters, by Elizabeth Gaskell



There is nothing more satisfying to an intrepid reader such as myself than picking up a brick of a book, and working your way through it.  To me, reading is as much a tactile event as a mental event, and my last read, Wives and Daughters, by Elizabeth Gaskell, is certainly a satisfying read in terms of heft, but not much else…

Wives and Daughters is the story of Molly Gibson and the intimates in her life.  Set in Regency England (think Jane Austen’s time-period), Molly is the daughter of the physician that services her village and the surrounding areas.  Molly’s mother died when she was very young, and so she was raised by her father and the long-term domestic staff he employed.  As she grows older, Mr. Gibson realizes he’s woefully inadequately prepared to raise a young woman, and so marries the former governess of the local Earl’s household.  The story of Wives and Daughters revolves around Molly’s relationship with the new Mrs. Gibson, her friendships with the other town’s people, her relationship with her new step-sister (Cynthia), and the new sisters’ quest for love.

In a lot of ways, this book was an enjoyable read because it reminded me of the things that I love in Jane Austen’s work.  The dialogue was quick-moving, the characters were a hodge-podge of the sympathetic and ridiculous, and the daily lives of Regency women were dynamically presented.  And yet, this is a big book that could have used some judicious editing; while all the pieces come together, as I was reading it, I was wondering why Gaskell was taking so long in telling her story.

And the telling of that story wasn’t what I expected.  For a book entitled Wives and Daughters, one would expect the plot to revolve around how the woman in the story interact with the paternalistic figure(s) in the book.  To a certain extent, that dynamic existed, but it was overshadowed by the relationships between the women; a much better title would have been “Mothers and Sisters.”  But I suppose that goes to the era in which Gaskell was writing – as the wife of a Reverend in Victorian England, she brought her world view to bear on how she interpreted her own work.  It’s something of a shame, really.

Other than these flaws in the back-ground noise of the book, I found the characters to be dynamic, the book’s a fast read (despite the social moralizing), and the plot is interesting.  My one complaint about the book is the ending – it leaves the reader hanging; Gaskell could have taken another 20 pages to round-up all her loose ends, but instead she leaves the story unsatisfyingly unfinished.

So, finally verdict?  I’m not entirely sure.  I enjoyed reading the book, but in retrospect (and after writing this review), I’m wondering why I enjoyed it so much.  I know I’m interested in reading more of Gaskell’s works, so that’s something.  But would I recommend this one?  If you’re a die-hard fan of Jane Austen, then yes – I think you’ll enjoy this book.  If you’re looking for a satisfying read in terms of tactile experience (which all die-hard readers enjoy occasionally, I think), then yes – this one would be for you.  But if you’re looking for a light-hearted romp through Regency England, then no – I would pass on this one.  

Northanger Abbey, by Jane Austen

Fun fact: even though I live in downtown Ottawa (the national capital of Canada), I hate going to Parliament Hill for the Canada Day celebrations on July 1^st.  It’s usually too hot, too crowded, and the government department that plans the show on the Hill is apparently either high or grossly out of touch with the average Canadian.  So, in light of all this, I’ve developed my own Canada Day tradition; I generally read until 6pm-ish, then I’ll watch the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice.  Having just recently read P&P, I was inspired to pick up another Austen work, and settled on Northanger Abbey.

Northanger Abbey is the story of Catherine Morland.  Catherine, as might be expected from an Austen work, is a young woman on the look out for a husband she could love.  After accompanying a family friend to Bath, Catherine becomes fast friends with Isabelle and is introduced to her brother John; Bath is also where Catherine meets Mr. Tilney, and almost immediately falls in love.  However, John (who’s kind of a douche.  No, wait, he’s a douche), fancies himself as the prime contender for the roll of Catherine’s husband, and does what he can to upset the Catherine/Tilney apple cart.  In the mean time, Isabelle has fallen in love with James, Catherine’s brother, and accepts his proposal.  All this happens at Bath, but the climax and most of the dénouement of the novel happens at Northanger Abbey, the Tilney family home, where Catherine is invited to visit as Tilney’s sister’s friend.  It’s an Austen novel, so I’m sure you can guess the end, but there’s a minor twist in the climax of the story, so I won’t say any more here.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that this work had more of Austen’s innate sense of humour than my last Austen read, Mansfield Park.  Right off the bat, Austen opens with a tong-in-cheek assessment of her main character.  This frank and humourous bent continues throughout the entire work as Austen continues to introduce her other characters, who are in fact archetypes in the Austen/Georgian world; we have the pompous (John), the well-meaning (James), the dastardly character (Captain Tilney), and the true gentleman (Mr. Tilney), just to name a few.  Austen’s pen at once lambasts her characters and yet makes them all highly engaging, if not endearing.

While Austen is busy harpooning her characters, she’s also busy doing the same to herself as the author.  There are numerous passages where Austen mocks the contemporary novelist; this can distract from the plot, but it’s also quite telling of her own assessment of her chosen profession.  During my last year of undergrad, I wrote a seminar paper of the gender-dynamics of the Victorian author (of which Austen doesn’t quite fit, admittedly, with the time frame), and many of the complains and observations that Austen makes with her own words were supported with the research; novels were considered trite ways to pass time for uninformed women, novels gave women un-reasonable expectations of every-day life, and most damning of all, novels created in women an impression of the men in their lives that just weren’t reasonable.  Austen plays on all these criticisms with her characters, while also addressing them head-on.

So, final verdict.  Read this book.  It’s one of the few works that Austen left to the world, and it embodies so much of the classic Austen world-view that it’s worth the read.  While I’ve yet to find an Austen book that lives up to the Pride and Prejudice of it all, Northanger Abbey is a close second with its wit, characters, and self-awareness.  

Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen

I sometimes feel, as an educated woman, that my degree(s) came with an imperative to love Jane Austen’s works.  And, in certain cases, I do – Pride and Prejudice is amazing, Emma is pretty good, and the first half of Sense and Sensibility (that I read before life got in the way and I got distracted) has it’s charms.  So can someone please tell me where Mansfield Park fits into the larger Austen of it all?

Mansfield Park hits all the same notes of the rest of Austen’s works – it shines a light on society’s hypocrisy, it’s basis is an uncomfortable love story, and its has (at moments) an innate sense of humour that is all Austen.  But unlike her other works, Mansfield Park feels like a puzzle that was put together all wrong.

A word on plot: Fanny Price is born to one of three sisters, but the sister who married beneath her station and proceeded to have too many children to comfortably support; in order to help, Fanny’s aunts encourage her mother to send Fanny to live with them at Mansfield Park, the typical English country estate.  Fanny goes, and finds a prickly existence waiting for her – being in the unenviable position of a dependent, Fanny doesn’t seem to fit in either above or below stairs, and yet her aunts treat her as both an unwelcome burden and a domestic.  The rest of the family reflects, to some degree, this dynamic.  The exception is Edmund (and later his father), who takes Fanny under his wing and helps her adjust to her new family life.  The plot of Mansfield Park takes place at the time when Fanny’s two female cousins are looking for husbands, and new (and town-ified) visitors come to the area.  What ensues is the usual Austen back and forth between all parties as they try to sort out their feelings for each other and find a path forward that they can live with.

All of this exposition had so much promise.  I fully expected Fanny to be another Elizabeth Bennett (or even Emma) who, in a take-no-prisoners kind of way, was going to run the table and settle her own affairs to her satisfaction and no one else’s.  Fanny, however, is closer to milquetoast than a Bennett.  She is withdrawing, expects no better than how she is treated, and refuses to acknowledge even her own feelings in order to find an actionable way forward.  If anything, the typical Austen heroine is embodied in Mary Crawford, the vicar’s sister-in-law who visits the area; and yet, Miss Crawford is viewed by the reasonable elements in the story (Fanny and Edmund) as being too forward, too quick to speak, and too insensitive.  I suppose this could be said about Bennett and Emma, but that was part of their charm when contrasted against the stuffy, Georgian society they lived in.

In the end, I felt to emotional connection to Fanny – I didn’t care if she got the man of her dreams in the end, or if she sunk into obscurity as her social position seemed to dictate.  Where we do get a glimpse of the Austen I love so much in her other books is in the resolution of the fate of the other characters; there is a healthy dose of comeuppance, some redemption, and a bit of obscurity thrown in.  I found the conclusions of the stories of everyone but Fanny to be more interesting than that of the main character.

More than just my issues with the character/plot development is the writing style in Mansfield Park.  It is so slow in comparison to other works in the Austen catalogue; it feels like the first half-dozen chapters or so are given over the describing exposition, and describing it in such a way that drags.  This is a common issue I have with a lot of the ‘classical’ works, but had never before encountered in an Austen work.

I realize that there are probably English/Women’s Studies/History grad-students out there who can give me chapter and verse on why Mansfield Park is either the best or the worst or the outlier in Austen’s catalogue.  And that’s all well and good.  But coming to this novel as the casual (and not as an academic) reader, it doesn’t matter all that much to me – these are my impressions, and they are what they are.  So, final verdict?  If you want to read an Austen work, there are so many other, more engaging works to choose from; don’t saddle yourself with Mansfield Park.

Death Comes to Pemberley, by P.D. James



I love living in Ottawa, the national capital of Canada.  It’s a big city, but it’s not so big that you wander around downtown feeling lost all the time; it’s small enough that you can run into people you know regularly in the hotspots (like the Market and Elgin Street); and it has all the amenities you could want (theater, shopping, sky diving – okay, so I don’t use the last one, but I know you can do it hereabouts).  The one thing I don’t like about living in Ottawa is Canada Day.  The heat, the crowds, and the progressively ridiculous stage-shows on the Hill make the day a hassle to me.  About five years ago, I figured out how to avoid the whole affair: hunker-down in my apartment with the six-hour British version of Pride and Prejudice, staring Collin Firth as Mr. Darcy.  Suddenly, Canada Day has become something I enjoy every year again…. So, needless to say, July puts me in the mood for some more P&P, which meant that Death Comes to Pemberley, by P.D. James, was a no-brainer reading choice.

Death Comes to Pemberley falls into that category of ‘fan-fiction,’ but without all the homo-eroticism that is so popular on-line.  Rather, it picks up the story of Elizabeth and Darcy six years after their marriage.  While preparing for the annual ball at Pemberley, they get a shocking visitor: Lydia Bennett, who is in hysterics and claiming that her husband, Wickham, and long-time friend, Denny have been murdered.  Out into the night goes Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to find the gentlemen in question.  The rest of the tale reads like the murder-mysteries that we all know and love.  The plot is interesting and true to the spirit of the original Austen work.

Of course, with a cast of characters that everyone who picks up this book is already going to know, James doesn’t have a lot of wiggle room in changing them up.  I think she holds true to the characters that Austen originally wrote; you can hear Jane’s goodness, Lydia’s selfishness, and Georgiana’s quiet strength in this work.  However, Colonel Fitzwilliam has become something of a sour puss.  Moreover, the reader spends very little time with Elizabeth in this book.  The trade-off to this is getting to hear Darcy’s voice more.  If you go back and re-read the original Pride and Prejudice, you realize the Darcy’s role is very minor (he and Elizabeth can’t be together for more than two or three weeks out of the entire work) – but James has written quite a lot on his personality and actions.  Luckily, it’s believable and (I think) true to Austen’s character development.

However… this book drags on and on and on… I’m of the opinion that if you’re going to use a well-loved piece of the literary zeitgeist as your backdrop, you sure as shit better tap into the original author’s style and voice.  Oddly enough, James seems to do this – you can hear Austen in the prose; where James falls short is in the exposition – it takes forever to get anywhere with the story, something Austen avoided.  Some judicious editing could have brought this book in under 200 pages.  I’m of the firm opinion that the last 50 pages or so could be dropped completely, the information imparted elsewhere, and the reader allowed to explore other books had James ended her own in a timely manner.

So, final verdict?  I would say read this book if you’re a big Austen fan.  If your not, take a pass.  If you consider this a sequel to Pride and Prejudice, it’s satisfying to see what has become of the characters.  If, however, you’re looking for a murder-mystery, Death Comes to Pemberley is not going to be my first choice for a recommendation.  While the characters are solid and the basis for the plot is intriguing, it’s far too full of chaff to make it an exciting read.  While death might have come to Pemberley, this reader wishes the editor’s pen had come to James.