Jo Baker's Longbourn: Or, Why You'll Never Feel the Same about Lizzie's Walk to Netherfield

Some of the most successful adaptations of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice have completely re-imagined the story and shown how it's relevant to a modern protagonist or set of circumstances. These adaptations--like Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones's Diary or Pemberley Digital's amazing web series, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries--don't try to mimic Austen's style, but use the plot and characters as a starting point to tell their own story. Less success adaptations, on the other hand, try too hard to stay "true" to Austen's voice and narrative and don't add anything new.

That's one of the reasons why I didn't enjoy P.D. James's Death Comes to Pemberley: James's writing felt uncharacteristically clumsy because she was trying so hard to sound like Austen, and she didn't seem to have anything to add. I finished that novel wondering why on earth James had felt she needed to write a sequel.

There's no question, on the other hand, about Jo Baker's Longbourn: it is an inspired re-imagining of P&P from the servants' point of view, and it tells its own story in its own voice. By telling the story from the servants' perspective, Baker gives a dispassionate view of the narrative: the servants are not swept up in the agonies of the romance, but rather focused on the amount of work that it produces. For example, after an opening sequence that illuminates the drudgery and physical discomfort of doing laundry by hand with harsh lye soaps, Lizzie's walk to Netherfield in the mud to check on Jane becomes less of an act of admirable disregard for convention than a heedless act that someone else will have to clean up after. I, for one, won't be able to read about all those walks to Meryton and elsewhere again without thinking of the servants' chapped hands.

Other aspects of the narrative look different through the servants' perspective, as well. Mrs. Bennet is still a foolish character, but Baker softens the caricature giving us a glimpse of Mrs. Hill's insight that Mr. Bennet's disregard for his wife has led to her hypochondria. Likewise, Mary's failure to attract Mr. Collins gets as much sympathetic narrative attention as Lizzie's from servants who notice her as much as the more glamorous sisters.

Apart from its re-imagining of Austen's novel, Longbourn has another, related story to tell about pleasure and desire. The tragedy for Sarah, the novel's protagonist, is that as a servant there is no space for her own interests or pleasures. Every hour of her day is claimed for someone else, and when she has her own concerns or desires, they must be squashed. When she asks Mr. Collins whether having interests of her own is wrong, he tells her that it is a question of domestic discipline and refers her to the housekeeper. Similarly, the story of Lydia's flight with Wickham becomes secondary to Sarah's own agonized need for information, but as a servant she's not even allowed to ask questions. In order to resolve Sarah's narrative, she has to leave Lizzie's love story entirely behind--and, in Baker's capable hands, that feels right.

Pets, Bosszillas, and a Little Romance: Andi Brown's Animal Cracker

Andi Brown's new novel Animal Cracker has many of the elements that have made chick lit such a successful genre: it is told with a light touch from the point of view of a smart, funny female protagonist navigating the twin minefields of a career and romance. The protagonist, Diane Salvi, has found a job doing what she loves (writing) for an organization that she cares about (a pet rescue non-profit), but her boss is a nightmare. He's self-centered, vulgar, and unwilling to exert himself unless there's something in it for him. Unsurprisingly, Diane's idealism quickly comes into conflict with her boss's selfishness. To make things worse, she's become romantically involved with her boss's son, despite the fact that he has many of the same annoying personality traits. Add to this mix a mystery that involves both her boss and her romantic interest, and this novel has many of the elements of a great beach read--or, maybe, Thanksgiving busiest-travel-day-of-the-year read.

At the same time, despite being a pretty fun read, this novel doesn't quite come together the way that it should. Transitions between sections are sometimes abrupt, leaving me to wonder if I had skipped a page by accident. Likewise, the direction that the narrative is taking doesn't come into focus as early as it might: it's not really clear until about the last third of the novel what the narrative's main thread is. It's clear from the beginning that there are problems at the pet rescue organization; it's clear that the boss is a problem; and it's also clear that the romantic entanglement will need working out. However, what's less clear until well into the novel is which of these elements is driving the narrative.  When the focus of the plot becomes clear, though, it is an absorbing read. However, despite Animal Cracker's strengths, I'm not sure all readers will have the patience to get there.

Catching Up, Part I: Emily Giffin's Something Borrowed

I clearly have a lot of catching up to do. In an earlier post, I talked about rediscovering what I liked about reading when I started reading Kindle books on my phone. Since then, I've discovered that I have been *way* out of the loop, pleasure reading-wise, and I'm trying to catch up. This week's catch up has been Emily Giffin's Something Borrowed, which came out in 2005 and --wow, how did I miss this?--was made into a movie with Kate Hudson.

The movie isn't particularly good, despite having a great cast, and feels flat, but the book is an absorbing read. Giffin draws you in right from the beginning with the tension between Rachel and Darcy. The jealousy that Rachel feels, as well as Darcy's characterization as self-centered and attention-seeking, is believable. Giffin offers a clear picture of how competitive "friendships" can be, and she hints at the insecurities behind Darcy's treatment of those around her. Giffin plants the possibility that Darcy's need to put Rachel down stems from her own sense of failure: she didn't get into Notre Dame, Ethan didn't choose Darcy over Rachel, etc.

At a certain point in the book, though, Rachel's anger toward Darcy becomes a little weird. It's not surprising, especially if Darcy has been using her as a way to make herself look better all these years, but it's not clear that book means for Rachel to seem as spiteful as she does. What I mean by that is that the logic of the novel seems entirely weighted toward supporting Rachel's side of the story, and Rachel gets the prize at the end as the ultimate validation. There doesn't seem to be an element of the story that questions Rachel's anger, only her passivity. And Darcy is ultimately shown in the most monstrous light possible, likewise validating all of Rachel's feelings. It feels a little one-dimensional in this way.

As for the infidelity plot, which many of the reviewers on Goodreads found unacceptable, I'm bothered less by it than many readers. I think that's because the story is about deciding not to make the wrong decision, rather than cheating once the decision has been made. Sure, Dex and Rachel should have been more honest with Darcy, but this particular fictional universe doesn't leave much space for that. It is striking that the movie tries very hard to mitigate Dex's waffling between Darcy and Rachel by creating a drama about his mother and about his wishing he pursued a different career. In the book, he took the unusual and decisive course of choosing not to pursue law and return to the business world. The movie Dex is much less in control of his own life.