A book that got a lot of attention last year was published by a 90-year-old Australian lady. What an accomplishment to acquire a doctorate AND become a mainstream published author at such an advanced age! The Jane Austen Remedy tells how Jane Austen helped its author, Ruth Wilson, find her own voice. I gather she is referring to a lifetime of subsuming herself in her roles of wife and mother. A fortuitous family inheritance, she said, enabled her to buy her own cottage in the country away from her husband of 50 years. Money changes everything, as the song goes.
     That reminds me of something I plan to explore in a future blog -- the absolute freedom and independence enjoyed by widows with money in Jane Austen's books. Sense and Sensibility, supposedly a subversive protest against the disempowerment of women, is chock-a-block with empowered women, most of whom abuse their power. It features two old ladies who use their wealth to tell the men in their life what to do--Mrs. Smith of Allenham, who cracks the whip over Willoughby, and Mrs. Ferrars, Edward's despotic mother. Mrs. Jennings also has wealth and complete independence but she is not a despot. Fanny Dashwood has her husband wrapped around her little finger.
   At any rate, The Jane Austen Remedy is about the author's personal relationship with the works of Jane Austen, and there is actually an entire sub-genre of books of this type.  I don't know of any author who has the honour of being the subject of so many books. I think many devoted Austen fans could wax lyrical on what she's meant to them.
       Most of these books I haven't read, some of them I have just sampled, but I list them for your interest....

    Often we describe an engrossing book as being "unputdownable." But sometimes you come across a book that you put down so you can think about what you just read. Then you pick it up again, and again. That's the way I enjoyed and lingered over Brenda S. Cox's new book Fashionable Goodness: Christianity in Jane Austen's England. And I know I will return to this book again in the future.
   Cox has thoughtfully, even ingeniously, designed her book for maximum clarity and ease of reference. It begins with a basic overview of the nuts and bolts, shall we say, of the Church of England in Austen's time. Don't know a rector from a vicar? Don't know what a curate does? What's an "advowson"? Cox explains these and other church-related terms in engaging and clear prose. (She also provides a handy glossary).
    Cox explains things that Austen's contemporary readers would have known all about: how a clergyman might get a "living," the role he played in society, and the basics of the Anglican church service. 
  Cox moves on to discuss the influence of the church more broadly, with frequent references to how Austen's Christian faith is reflected in her novels and in her private letters...

​    Elinor Dashwood might forgive the man she loves for not telling her he's already engaged to Lucy Steele, but modern academics are not prepared to let Edward Ferrars off the hook. They think he’s weak at best, deceitful at worst, and Dr. Helena Kelly thinks there is a Freudian connotation to his destruction of the “sheath” and the scissors in Chapter 48. 
   Like it or not, Edward Ferrars occupies the post of the hero for Sense and Sensibility. Flatly declaring that he is not a hero confuses and muddles the entire novel. Plenty of people are “meh” about the Colonel Brandon/Marianne pairing, and if we conclude that the guy who marries Elinor at the end is a wimp, a liar and a pervert, where does that leave the message of the book and where does that leave the reader?
    I thought you might be interested in knowing about Coraly, an 1819 novel whose hero is a blend of Edward Ferrars and Colonel Brandon. The heroine in this novel unquestionably is stronger than the hero, especially in her Spartan adherence to a rigid moral code. Yet, she loves the hero, he’s her guy, and they get married. So maybe our expectations for heroes are not quite the same as long 18th century expectations. Something to ponder...

    Chawton House, the center for early women's writing and former home of Jane Austen's wealthy brother, has made a number of obscure novels available for study on their website. You would think that scholars would fall on a novel entitled ​Yamboo, or, the North American Slave, like a duck on a June bug. But no, they are too busy poring over Mansfield Park. Too bad there are no actual enslaved persons in Mansfield Park and slavery is never discussed, let alone condemned.
   How about looking at an 1812 novel which actually has an enslaved person as the titular character? Yamboo's anti-slavery message is far more explicit than Mansfield Park and serves as yet another refutation of the notion that authors, particularly women authors, couldn't talk about slavery back then. 
     Leaving aside the literary merits of the book and focusing on its message, we can say this in favour of Yamboo:

• The novel strongly asserts the titular character’s humanity.
• It confronts the issues of racial as well as class prejudice.
• Yamboo is portrayed as having agency; that is, he acts and is not merely acted upon...