Thoughts on Jane Austen by Marion of Green Pastures Christian Writers

This month, Marion shares some thoughts on the ever-inspiring Jane Austen.

The BBC’s decision to celebrate Jane Austen’s ‘250th birthday’ has been wonderful. Programmes have revealed the background to her writing and they've serialised several of their archived films, including Sense and Sensibility, Pride and prejudice and Emma. It sounded good to me. Especially the thought of Colin Firth’s Mr Darcey…

Life was very different when Jane was alive (December 1775 – July 1817). She was the seventh of eight children, having an older sister Cassandra and six brothers (James, George Charles, Francis, Henry and Edward). Her father, George, was an Anglican vicar and with her mother Cassandra they were a loyal, loving family who were part of the ‘landed gentry’. Having six brothers, Jane would have known all about inheritance laws. Her novels reflect the utter unfairness of the male-line system which dictated that when a father of daughters died, if his daughters were not married to a ‘suitable husband’ the bereft family would become homeless. Subsequently girls often ignored their feelings and accepted any proposal, because they didn’t want the family to be homeless.

In Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennet, or Lizzy as she liked to be known, was the oldest daughter: a strong character who would write every day. She longed to be an author, declaring that she could never marry because she loved writing more than she could love any man. Of course, letter-writing was the main source of communication in those days. A letter might be written in hopes of discovering whether he loves me, or loves me not. Then there would follow the tension of waiting every day for a reply. By letter, of course. How patient and accepting they were. And when we heard the sound of a horse and the ringing of the wonderful bell at the door, we were all on tenterhooks, longing for the answer to be as we wanted.

One glorious day, a package arrived. We weren’t privy to Lizzie unwrapping her post with trembling hands, but watched as she rushed into the room saying, ‘I’m an author! I’m an author! They’ve published me.’

So it had been for Jane Austen. It was 1811. The title was Sense and Sensibility and the book was credited as ‘By a lady’.

A mistake, surely?

Women couldn’t write books!

Or could they?!