My article about Jane Austen: Rise of a Genius is now live at the History Reclaimed website. It's an honour to have my contribution to the debate about the BBC shared at a site founded by so many eminent historians and academics. Below is additional material that I did not include in my article for reasons of length. 
  In an earlier post, I  decried a BBC documentary on Shakespeare that astonished me for the amount of misinformation it conveyed. Now it's time to clutch my pearls over the same treatment meted out to Jane Austen.  ​I didn’t see this documentary when it aired in the UK in May, but I recently found it on an online streaming service
     If you are in need of another eye-opening lecture on slavery, colonialism, empire, class prejudice and economic injustice, set to a soundtrack of driving violins, this is the program you've been looking for. If, however, you assumed a program called "Rise of a Genius" would offer an explication of Austen’s wit and her unique talents, you will be disappointed. You can get a sample of the mood of this program by viewing this preview here. 
   The BBC has given us many shows on Jane Austen over the years, on both radio and television, and if you stack these older programs up against this one, you will see  how respect for serious scholarship has been replaced with—whatever this is. If this is the best that the BBC could muster for Austen’s 250th birthday, then the BBC is a hollowed-out shell, a travesty of a mockery of a sham...

    ​You may have seen some news headlines about a fracas over in the UK over the institutional bias of the British Broadcasting Corporation, the BBC. Top BBC executives have resigned over allegations of bias in the news department. These documented examples of agenda-driven journalism indicate an abandonment of basic journalistic standards.
     Well, I’m here to say that something exceedingly strange and disappointing is going on in BBC Arts as well. Since I live in Canada, I don’t have access to all BBC channels, but I happened to watch an episode of the three-part docu-drama Shakespeare: Rise of a Genius (2023) when it aired on our local Knowledge Network Channel. So I’m late to this party, but I want to clutch my pearls anyway. 
    ​​   Shakespeare: Rise of a Genius is technically a documentary, or I suppose we could call it info-tainment--cultural education made entertaining and accessible for people who might not have much of a grounding in English history or literature. At least I think that must be the intended audience, judging by the elementary History 101 stuff the talking heads give us. The talking head segments are interspersed with re-enactments of Shakespeare’s life and times. The actor who plays Shakespeare elbows his way through the mucky, ribald, dangerous, streets of London with a helpful voice-over: “He was living at a time where everybody was just swimming in muck, sex, and you know, violence”.
    But keeping things simple is no excuse for the errors and the opinions dressed up as facts that are presented here. The same BBC that green-lit this production also gave us, for example, the radio program In Our Times, in which distinguished academics discussed all aspects of British and International culture. No institution in the world has more resources to draw on for a compelling and accurate portrait of Shakespeare than the BBC. I'm not saying this to sneer at the credentials of the diverse panel of "historians, actors and experts" who are the Shakespeare experts used in this docu-drama. I am self-taught myself and only recently acquired a Master's Degree (by research) in English Literature. But it's the BBC's responsibility to use basic research skills and fact check any of the assertions their talking heads make.

    Rebecca is one of 22 novels that may—or may not—have been written by the author of the 1809 novel The Woman of Colour, a book which has attracted a lot of academic interest in recent years. I’ve been entertaining myself by reading these novels to see if I can find similarities to The Woman of Colour.
   Rebecca, published in 1799, is one of the earliest in this chain of novels which stretches from 1795, with the historical novel The Duke of Clarence, to 1817 and The Revealer of Secrets. One similarity worth noting is that the father of Olivia Fairfield in The Woman of Colour, and the father of Rebecca Elton in this novel, both tell their daughters who they should marry in their last will and testament.
    I have a lot to say about Rebecca, even though it is a minor, third-rate novel. It earned only a brief literary snort from the London Review, which quoted a bit of dialogue: “Ah, Rebecca! How shall I part with you?” to which the reviewer answered: “Without a sigh!”
   Yes, the dialogue is often clichéd (and exceedingly florid to our modern tastes) and the narration is stilted. In that respect, we can contrast this authoress with Jane Austen. We can compare the themes and tropes of other novels of this era, and at some point, I’ll come back to it to discuss more similarities to The Woman of Colour, but not quite yet...

     In my previous post, I looked at two books for children, published by two different authors, both featuring a spoiled young West Indian heiress coming to England and correcting her behaviour after receiving judicious instruction from her host family. These two books are examples of a then-popular genre for children's books, which combined morally improving narratives with inset fables, scientific discourses, dialogue, and history lectures. As I mentioned, a book by Thomas Day, Sandford and Merton, was an outstandingly popular exemplar of this genre. 
​   According to scholar ​Peter Rowland, Sandford and Merton was published in three volumes in 1783, 1786 and 1789 and quickly gained such popularity that “the next instalment was eagerly and impatiently awaited by a legion of small readers.” The book was reprinted for over a hundred years but it is now largely forgotten.
     As Rowland describes the premise, "rebellious Tommy Merton, the spoilt son of a wealthy plantation owner from Jamaica, and his friend Harry Sandford, the poor but worthy son of a local farmer, are patiently educated by the Reverend Mr. Barlow... Master Tommy is brought, by precept and self-discovery, to see the error of this ways. A host of interpolated stories [are included], providing introductions to ancient history, astronomy, biology, science, exploration and geography” to which I would add the book includes moral fables in which kindness is always rewarded and cruelty is punished.
    Rowland points out that Thomas Day based Sandford and Merton on the educational philosophies of Jean-Jacques Rousseau; for example, Tommy’s tutor starts teaching him to read only after Tommy himself requests to be taught. Letting the child take the lead seems rather peculiar when we consider that it was routine to beat an education into boys at this time. Reverend Barlow is nothing like the typical switch-wielding schoolmaster, and many school boys must have wished they could have been educated along the lines depicted in Sandford and Merton.