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This paper explores the narrative techniques used by Jane Austen, particularly in her six major novels and juvenilia. It examines how Austen's unique approaches to storytelling, such as the use of 'dissolve' transitions and narrative withholding, contribute to a complex understanding of knowledge and communication in her works. By highlighting the strangeness of her fiction and its departure from contemporary norms, the analysis reveals Austen's deep engagement with themes of human cognition and relational dynamics.
Sensibilities (Volume 64), 2022
Thinking about Austen’s self-awareness as an author leads to chicken-and-egg questions about how she absorbed influences and transformed them into literature. This makes for interesting speculation. What plays did she attend? What did she read? What was in her father’s library? What was discussed when families and neighbours gathered around the fireplace at night? Austen was a storyteller who influenced how the literary arts developed. She is often compared with another storyteller, Shakespeare, who influenced how the dramatic arts developed. Both have been studied, down the generations, as explorers of character and motivation, the power of dialogue and indirect speech, the nature of love, the embodiment of social mores, the heroine’s capacity for self-awareness—her ability to change and grow—and the human condition. He wrote plays. She wrote novels. These are different forms of representational art, art that represents aspects of reality in ways that have lifelikeness (verisimilitude). Jane wrote juvenilia during her teenage years. She saved her juvenilia in three notebooks titled Volume the First, Volume the Second, and Volume the Third, to form a three-volume novel. Jane was proud of her juvenilia. This was unusual. Juvenilia are often associated with naivety, and few authors wish to be thought naïve. For example, Fanny Burney famously destroyed her juvenilia on her fifteenth birthday, as a rite of passage. Critics are ambivalent about Jane’s juvenilia. Chapman talked them down, as detracting from her stature as a mature novelist. Chesterton took a more positive view of their exuberant, offbeat, raucous comedy, calling them Rabelaisian and Dickensian, with echoes of Gargantua and Pickwick. They describe behaviours she could not write about as an adult, like biting off fingers. As this precocious but talented young woman entered adulthood, she had to adopt a mature literary persona. So, do her novels conform to a theory of mimesis, a theory of art imitating nature or life?
2020
Jane Austen’s letters contain few insights into her practice or philosophy as a writer. A series of letters in 1814 to her niece Anna offer comments and advice on the ongoing novel which this budding author has sent her aunt for feedback, but these are mainly of a practical nature, concerning such matters as names, titles and etiquette (‘And when Mr Portman is first brought in, he wd not be introduced as the Honble—That distinction is never mentioned at such times;—at least I beleive not’). The majority of the letters which survive are concerned with day-to-day, rather than literary or intellectual, concerns. Jane’s letters to her sister Cassandra in particular are full of commonplace gossip between sisters, which could strike a modern reader as trivial, even frivolous. Their structure and style are, as many critics have noticed, akin to the spontaneity and rapidity of speech. In the novels such breathless letters are frequently a sign of negligent behaviour, even moral weakness. Ho...
ABO: Interactive Journal for Women in the Arts, 1640-1830, 2018
Lit: Literature Interpretation Theory, 2022
Recent scholarship has brought late twentieth-and early twenty-first-century critical theory to bear upon Jane Austen. Sydney Miller and Devoney Looser read Austen and her afterlife alongside Susan Sontag's essay "Notes on 'Camp'" (1964). They agree that modern Austen mash-ups and kitsch reproductions reveal the "campiness," or sheer frivolity, of the Austen originals, as theorized by Sontag. Matthew Taylor ("Beholding the Beholder's Eye"; "Sensibility's Double Take"), in turn, applies generative anthropology and mimetic theory to the novels, in particular René Girard's premise of "two audiences," while my own work has read Austen and her afterlife through theories of performance and performativity, such as Judith Butler's, and through Jack Halberstam's notion of gaga feminism (Cano, "Austen and Shakespeare"; Jane Austen and Performance; "Jane Goes Gaga"). Such a growing trend has begun to complement more traditional, and still prevalent, historicist approaches to Austen, allowing us to see Austen anew by highlighting little-noticed aspects of her fiction (camp sensibility, mimetic tendencies, the absence of an original "performance"). Yet what remains largely missing among these various theoretical enquiries is a psychoanalytic reading of the novels that investigates the unconscious of the text and the existential challenges it poses to writer, characters, and readers. 1 In this essay, I bring Austen's first published novel, Sense and Sensibility, into conversation with French linguist and psychoanalyst Julia Kristeva, one of Sontag's and Girard's contemporaries and still a prominent and prolific figure in the Western intellectual landscape. Not surprising, given the novel's rootedness in eighteenth-century notions of sentimentality, most studies of Sense and Sensibility have been historically inflected. Marvin Mudrick's now classic assessment, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery, regards Sense and Sensibility as a condemnation of excessive feeling and a parody of the novel of sensibility, as its title suggests already (62, 90). Another classic, Deidre Lynch's The Economy of Character, reads the Dashwood sisters in relation to the flowering commercial modernity
In recent years, a large number of books and articles on Jane Austen have been published, in which various aspects of her works and the stories told in them are analyzed. Many of these studies focus on extraliterary aspects, or delve into only some elements of the plots of this author's novels, the issues that are treated, or their social impact. These studies can be of great interest and add a relevant perspective to understanding the novels of Austen. However, to have a global vision of the work of this author, it is necessary to analyze the most literary aspects of Austen's writings in detail. In this article, we will study how Jane Austen used language, some of the most frequent resources, and the strategies she employed to provoke different effects on readers through the choice of certain words and syntactic structures.
This essay examines the focalization of Jane Austen's Persuasion and argues that the ear (and not the eye) of Austen's heroine, Anne Elliot, primarily guides the novel's narration. Furthermore, this essay revises conceptualizations of Anne "as a listener" by tracing the parallel changes in Anne's relationship to sound and the development of her character. Listening does not define Anne's character; instead, changes in Anne's character define how Anne listens. Anne's aural attention shifts as she transforms from a passive auditor to an involuntary commentator, an evaluative analyst, and, at the novel's close, a creator of sound and story.
Psychoanalytic Study of The Child, 1989
JANE AUSTEN WAS AN ASTUTE OBSERVER OF HUMAN NATURE. HER BEST known novel, Pride and Prejudice, has as a major theme the process of psychological change. I will compare Austen's depiction with the psychoanalytic process to help identify universal features of how people change. This approach can be seen as the inverse of that of Spence (1982), who suggests that psychoanalysis can be understood as a process in which analyst and patient strive to interpret the "text" of the analytic dialogue in the manner of literary criticism. As they develop their romantic bond, the novel's lovers, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, move from one psychological position to another. They each have some difficulties; they encounter traits and attitudes in themselves that prevent their development. To become partners each must change. This change does not occur in isolation; one serves as a foil for the other, like parent and child or patient and therapist. In psychoanalysis we observe and participate in a powerful and change-inducing experience. Analysts differ significantly in their opinions about how change comes about (
Eighteenth-Century Fiction, 2000
Journée d'étude : Agrégation d'anglais 2007, 2006
This study of Pride and Prejudice shows that nature plays less of a role in Jane Austen’s novel than it does in Joe Wright’s adaptation, mainly because the novelist inherited from the 18th century a liking for accurate descriptions of the faults and foibles of human nature, while she tended to reserve references to the natural world around her for discussions on, or illustrations of, the aesthetic debates of her time. Like Charlotte Brontë a few readers may have been put off by this intellectualized vision of Nature but by and large this has not prevented more recent readers from enjoying the novel, partly because time has covered it with a Romantic patina that Austen did not intend, and partly because they are not aware of, or choose to ignore, Austen’s stronger preoccupations and concentrate instead on her knack for comedy and satire, and her subtle powers of observation. This is something which George Lewes seems to have anticipated. Indeed, in an essay on Jane Austen published in 1859, that is to say four years after Charlotte Brontë died, Lewes compares the strengths and limitations of these two women novelists. He agrees with Brontë that Austen’s scope is limited but the remarkable Brontë, he explains, was too passionate and devoid of humor to find pleasure in the other woman’s work or to understand her true greatness. As Lewes puts it his essay: "Miss Austen has nothing fervid in her works. She is not capable of producing a profound agitation in the mind. In many respects this is a limitation of her powers, a deduction from her claims. But while other writers have had more power over the emotions, more vivid imaginations, deeper sensibilities, deeper insight, and more of what is properly called invention, no novelist has approached her in what we may style the “economy of art,” by which is meant the easy adaptation of means to ends, with no aid from extraneous or superfluous elements." The “economy of art” which Lewes sees as Austen’s characteristic may indeed be the sign of her greatness, and the reason for her ongoing popularity. In literature less can be more, and Austen’s readers have proven that they are more than happy to fill in the gaps.
The Routledge Companion to Gender and Affect, 2023
Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal On-line, 2010
2009
Jane Austen and her Readers, 17861945 is a study of the history of reading Jane Austens novels. It discusses Austens own ideas about books and readers, the uses she makes of her reading, and the aspects of her style that are related to the ways in which she has been read. The volume considers the role of editions and criticism in directing readers responses, and presents and analyses a variety of source material related to the ordinary readers who read Austens works between 1786 and 1945.
Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal, 2007
She spoke then, on being so entreated. -What did she say? -Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does.
Fiction and Drama, 2017
In the middle decades of the last century close reading was the reigning literary practice; literary criticism based on that practice goes largely unread now. But, against the grain of the times, close reading had an interestingly “wised up” return in the 1970s and seems now, against the grain of new times, on the cusp of a second return. These returns are “wised up” in the sense that experiences, knowledge, and attitudes collected in the intervening years inform the new close attention given to a text. Jane Austen’s novels were the beneficiaries of illuminating new close readings in the 1970s, readings that address the question of the relation between morality and style, a question that is gaining prominence again in the current “ethical turn” of art, politics, and culture. In their different ways both Stuart Tave and Susan Morgan define the practice and depiction of morality in Austen’s work, and both books deserve to be taken down from library shelves and to be read anew. More recently, against the trend of historicist readings of her work, Austen’s style has received close and thrilling attention from D. A. Miller. His analysis centers on how Austen’s style of narration achieves impersonality to the extent that Austen, with all she knows to say about men, women, and marriage, presents herself—God-like, Neuter—as out of bounds of the reality she narrates. Like any God’s, this style only makes the morality that she rules herself out of absolute. I trace these two returns to close reading with special focus on Mansfield Park, the novel that, long ago, Kingsley Amis condemned as an “immoral book” that could not be saved by the “invigorating coldness” of Jane Austen’s style. This judgment brings up that double question of the curious entanglement of morality and style in Austen’s novel, the question so brilliantly addressed by Tave, Morgan, and Miller.
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