persuasion (austen)

I turned to Austen’s late novel in a bid to go back to a classic after wading through too many contemporary novels that seemed to be saying less than they pretended to. Austen has a sanctified status in the UK. A pioneer of the female novel, a subtle investigator of the human heart. Not to mention a fertile source of eminently commercial period drama.

The novel sets out a clear and predictable obstacle for Anne, its protagonist. Eight years after declining the proposal of her suitor, Wentworth, on the advice of friends and family, she finds herself still in love with him. When he returns to her circle after years abroad with the navy, Anne is convinced Wentworth has moved on, as well as harbouring resentment against her for having refused him. At the age of 27, she feels her best days are behind her, and has to come to terms with disappointment in love and life. Part of the problem with the novel is that Anne is so damned nice, whist the rest of her family are monsters. Austen mines this for both humour and moral judgement. Her father and two sisters are vain and selfish. Next to them, any normal individual would look good, but Anne is positively saintly. Beyond her lack of confidence, she never does anything wrong. There comes a point in the novel when we long for Anne to screw up in some way, but this never happens.

Which reflects the fact that, from the moment the novel moves with Anne to Bath, not a lot seems to occur at all. There’s a long chapter of exposition on the part of Anne’s friend to tie up a subplot regarding her cousin who seems intent on marrying her; a few set-piece moments where Anne and Wentworth cross before the final resolution of their story. But it all feels disarmingly pedestrian. The penultimate chapter contains Anne’s meditation on the difference between the sexes, which one imagines marries to Austen’s view, along with her wry observation that you can’t trust novels on the subject as the medium has been dominated by men. A delightfully arch observation, but this alone is insufficient to lend the novel any real sense of depth. It’s a strange experience to read a novel that has been so lauded, adapted and fetishised within British culture, only to find oneself reaching out for a branch of significance as one drifts away on its mellifluous tide. 

northanger abbey (jane austen)

What to make of Jane Austen? Why should she be such a mainstay of the canon?

There are various angles to the answering of these questions, and the first is to say it’s quite unfair to ask them on the back of reading Northanger Abbey, the first Austen I have read in over thirty years. At the same time, her influence on the culture is pervasive, both in terms of visibility as an author and a denominator of a certain British style. So taking this early, flawed novel as an exemplar, let’s see where we get to.

Northanger Abbey is in some ways most enjoyable because of its limitations as a novel. It is composed of two main sections. The first occurs in Bath, where Catherine, the youthful heroine, is introduced to a world of balls and society. The second occurs in Northanger Abbey itself, and this section is a pastiche of the Gothic novel which Austen notes was so popular at the time. It feels as though the author herself is having a lot of fun in the writing of this slight novel. She is not afraid to mock her heroine and society in general, but it is a gentle, affectionate mockery. This is a coming of age story, which at times has the flavour of an Eric Rohmer film. Catherine, Austen notes, is a little wiser by the end of the novel, but not much. She misinterprets her suitor’s passion, we are informed in an almost waspish aside by the author: “I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought.” Catherine’s learning, where it does occur, is in realising that the darker fantasies inspired by her Gothic reading are nothing but foolish fantasies. She must come to terms with mundanity of the life she has been given to lead, one which though banal is really quite idyllic. “To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen is to do pretty well”.

Austen lived in a house near my school in Winchester. There was a blue plaque there, and the tourists would stop by. I wouldn’t wonder if nearly half a century later, it hasn’t become even more popular, as her fame has grown with the multiple screen adaptations. In many ways, this part of the world was indeed, idyllic. The Georgian house might have been cold in winter but these houses are a splendid architectural design. The house is near the water meadows and the city, a lovely balance between nature and urban living. It is a kind of model which has become a paradigm in post-Thatcherite Britain. Northanger Abbey is set in Bath and near Salisbury, but these towns are very much in keeping with an idea that persists of perfect happiness if you are middle class Britons. Enough of society to keep you entertained, but also the joys of nature and the sense of possibly becoming a lord or lady of the manor. (Something Nicolson’s Arcadia touches on.) At the same time, this is a resolutely twee vision of South West England, a far cry from the land of Hardy for example, or the rural visions of Clare, Austen’s contemporary. There is no hint of politics or revolution, and the continent is a space of dark, threatening mystery, as embodied in the novels which distort Catherine’s healthy view of the world. Colonialism, which infiltrates the work of Charlotte Bronte or Thackery is not alluded to.

What we are left with is a safe, timid tale of middle class manners. Austen appeals precisely because the British, whilst they enjoy being titillated by gothic fantasies, are smart enough to untangle themselves from their pernicious threads. Northanger Abbey promises drama, and at one moment seems as though it might go down the path of Jane Eyre, but delivers something far more romantically convincing, an upbeat, feel good finale. Keep those scary visions at arm’s length, it whispers, and all your dreams might come true.