Jane Austen (2003)

If I am envious, Jane Austen was not, at least not in her letters or her other writing. She seems to be perfectly happy being single, middle class (or lower gentry, I suppose—I don’t understand the class gradations).

I think it is great that young women enjoy her writing still. Maybe because of the excellent films, but also because she still speaks to young women, in her clever, kind, engaging voice. How could one be anything but sensible about romance (but romantic as well) after reading her stories? We read them and wish that we had friends or sisters like that, and then we realize that we do.

What can I learn as a writer and as a woman from Jane Austen? That people around me are interesting, eccentric, different from each other and from my stereotypes and expectations. That accuracy and light and willingness to see detail create good art. That I should write what I’m interested in and what I know. Also that charity and clarity can go together and both are better for it—are transcended by the combination. That Jane was a genius, is my sister. That I am sister to all women, and to all men. (And eventually, auntie to them, perhaps).

Care with detail, caring about detail, is important for her type of art. She was probably more social than I am, more interested in society—but maybe not. I like to think that I am like her, but that may also be evidence of her genius, that everyone who reads her feels connected. The other thing I can learn is method. She wrote a little at a time when she was able, and didn’t impose her work on her household. She was not an artiste (nothing wrong with them, just not her or my style). She was both direct and disarming.