Upon its publication in 2008, Colleen McCullough's irreverent homage to Pride And Prejudice, The Independence Of Miss Mary Bennet, had Janeites/Austenites up in arms. One of the most ferociously aired objections was the unflattering depiction of Mr. Darcy (Fitz) and his disillusioned relationship with Elizabeth. In light of that uproar, it is arresting to note the relative acceptance of the derivative works that are saturating the market these days.
If anything, the current craze for mash-ups, sequels, and re-interpretations make McCullough’s perceived faux-pas seem an exercise in delicacy. Along with Emma And The Vampires, Pride And Prejudice And Zombies, Murder At Mansfield Park, The Phantom Of Pemberley, Jane And The Damned (in which, according to AAR’s review, Austen is "turned into a vampire, [...] kills French soldiers, and takes a lover") are a cohort of authors who romance every aspect of Austen’s creations in novels such as In The Arms Of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy’s Obsession, and A Darcy Christmas. (Heidenkind of the blog Truth, Beauty, Freedom, And Books makes a thought-provoking note about the current obsession with zombies in her latest post.)
Are zombies and murderers a less threatening contribution to the canon than a marital crisis? Perhaps, if Jane Austen is considered mainly in the current light of her iconic status in romantic literature. To me, her romantic couples are of lesser interest than her sharp-tongued observations about genteel society, which may explain why I leafed dispassionately through McCullough’s novel and feel no stirring of excitement at trying other authors’ romantic retellings.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, as written in Pride and Prejudice, for all his purportedly sterling qualities seems the most tedious of conversationalists. Has anyone else noticed that whenever he is mentioned in glowing terms on the Internet (outside academic circles), the discussion tends to segue into his screen appeal? Ask enthusiasts for their favourite Darcy quote from the book, and the reply is often either a blank or a scene from a film or series (Colin Firth rising from the pond). Frequently my impression is that people have fallen in love with the idea of Austen’s world rather than with her written words, and the screen portrayals of Darcy more than the figure in the novel.
In my case, as someone who was moved by the poignancy of Anne’s situation in Persuasion but whom Austen’s writing style strikes as airless, desiccated, and monotonous, screen interpretations have helped supply the imagery, emotional clues, passion, and freshness the novels lack for me. (I believe I have read them all, including some juvenilia, Lady Susan, and the fragments of Sanditon and The Watsons.) For example, the only time I have felt a sympathetic connection with Darcy was via Matthew MacFadyen’s interpretation in the 2005 film version: the actor brought a sensitivity and earnest intensity to the role that explained Darcy’s haughtiness in terms of diffidence rather than arrogance. It made me willing to re-read Pride And Prejudice. That is why, while on an artistic level it exasperates me beyond expression to see so many novelists rip off or re-imagine original characters instead of creating their own, the classic literature fan in me feels relaxed, pleased at the prominence the Brontës and Austen are enjoying.
Not all works that draw on romantic classics are complimentary, of course; The Independence Of Miss Mary Bennet was far from the first time a beloved classic's fictional creation had received less than venerable treatment. There is, notably, Jean Rhys’s now (deservedly, I think) classic Wide Sargasso Sea, which savages Edward Fairfax Rochester (Jane Eyre), and Mrs. De Winter and Rebecca’s Tale which, if (pained) memory serves, make mincemeat of Maxim de Winter (Rebecca).
As with Austen, the Brontës are beginning to receive trendy attention, too – see Jane Slayre, for example. The only surprising thing is that Emily and Anne Brontë have escaped the zombologists and vampirists so long; Anne's trenchant study of alcoholism and a disintegrating marriage in The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall (which has one of the strongest heroines of 19th century literature) made even the outspoken Charlotte nervous.
But in the current climate, I doubt the Brontës will ever come close to the general appeal of all things Austen. Popular culture seems overwhelmingly more at ease with the latter. For one thing, as much as I may think Darcy is dull on paper, he is certainly more easily romanticised than the colourful but perennially controversial Rochester. John Knightley (Emma) comes in dazzlingly shining armour whereas Wuthering Heights's Heathcliff (classic zombie material, surely) has alarmed critics and readers since his first appearance. And gossip and class barriers do allow for a very different kind of comedy than bigamy, alcoholism, maiming, and revenge.
Still, filmmakers do return to Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, trying to make sense in two hours or less of the former’s span from childhood to adulthood and the latter’s labyrinthine, multi-generational structure. The newest adaptation of Jane Eyre is set to premiere in the spring of 2011. To judge by the trailer (below), it seems fairly un-revolutionary in that it, too, despite the production site's mention of Rochester's "coldness" appears to soft-focus on the romance and its gothic qualities. So far, the version I have had least problems with is BBC’s 2006 mini-series. Not only did the longer length permit the inclusion of the Rivers family and Jane’s school experiences, but the cinematography and sets were beautiful and the chemistry between Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson brought out (with one (in)famous liberty) the sensual quality of the intensely physical attraction between Jane and Rochester that had gone primly missing from other adaptations. I do look cautiously forward to seeing how Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender interpret one of my favourite literary couples.
