Some folks rejoice at the current spate of Jane Austen film adaptations because they find her novels impenetrable. But if Austen’s books are such a slog, why have they remained in print continuously for almost 200 years?

Jane Austen is still good in bed

Robert Murphy recently voiced his delight that modern folks can watch Austen novels on DVD, because we may be “loathe to slog through Austen’s almost-impenetrable prose.” (See “Jane Austen is ready for her close-up.”) Murphy finds Austen’s writing “archaic nearly to the point of requiring translation.” I wonder if he finds Austen’s prose inaccessible merely because it’s old-fashioned (if so, a poor reason to avoid it).

Of course not everyone loves Jane Austen’s novels. A friend of mine who is a former English teacher says she keeps Austen by her bed, because if she ever has trouble falling asleep, a few boring paragraphs of Pride and Prejudice will do the trick. But if Austen’s books are such a “slog,” why have they remained in print continuously for almost 200 years?

While Murphy disparages Austen’s prose, he praises the “highly entertaining character studies and narratives” that render an Austen DVD worthwhile. If it’s the plot and characters, and not the style of the telling, that makes Austen’s novels favorite film fodder, I wonder why these adaptations (be they low-budget TV miniseries from the 1980s or the gorgeous 2005 feature film starring Keira Knightley’s neck as Elizabeth Bennet) are always strikingly faithful not only to the events of the original narrative, but to Austen’s actual dialogue.

Find me a Pride and Prejudice adaptation from the last 30 years that doesn’t reproduce, almost verbatim, Mr. Collins’s proposal to Lizzy, Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s drawing-room pronouncements, or Lizzy and Darcy’s acid conversation upon their first dance. If Austen’s prose is “impenetrable,” why do screenwriters almost always leave it exactly as she wrote it?

Fooling Mr. Darcy

Murphy suggests that Austen’s novels translate so well to the screen because of their superficial narration: “Nearly everything Austen writes occurs on the surface,” he notes. “…Nowhere do you find inner torment or rapture expressed through a character’s thoughts.”

Yet Austen repeatedly contrasts inner and outer emotions, and the delicious torment of silently deciding what information you should tell and what you should not. Jane Bennet is not the less understood by the reader for her reserve, though that reserve might fool Mr. Darcy.

It’s also significant that Lizzy’s acceptance of Mr. Darcy’s true character is a complex internal process, most of which occurs while Darcy himself is not present to spar with her. So well are Lizzy’s feelings concealed that her father considers withholding his blessing on the marriage because he believes his daughter dislikes Darcy– but the reader is in no doubt of Lizzy’s true feelings.

Elinor’s silent suffering

Similarly, one of the most touching moments of Sense and Sensibility occurs when the impetuous Marianne realizes her steady sister Elinor has, in fact, been suffering over disappointed engagement hopes as acutely as Marianne has, but in a completely different way. Elinor’s suffering may be a revelation to Marianne, but Austen has led the reader to all the inner particulars of the turmoil Elinor is loathe to voice, even to a best-loved sister.

In fact, so much of the drama is internal that Austen’s novels must be challenging to adapt to the screen— not natural choices for film with plenty of surface action, as Murphy suggests.

Filming a story like Pride and Prejudice is further burdened by the fact that so many key plot points turn on the reading of a letter– Darcy’s exculpatory letter to Elizabeth, or Jane’s letter to Elizabeth on Lydia’s elopement. A perennially talented crop of actors emote so furiously upon writing and reading these missives that the opening of a letter feels like an explosive dramatic event.

Those dancing extras

I yearn to experience new Austen films which address the inevitable visual questions of Austen-based filmmaking: Are the actresses playing Charlotte Lucas and Mary Bennet really unattractive, or are they just dressed and coifed in a drab way? Is Mr. Wickham dark and dashing, or a blond, boyish charmer? And is there a special labor union for all those extras who dance in the background while Marianne confronts Willoughby, or while Lizzy and Darcy argue?

I share Robert Murphy’s glowing assessment of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, directed by Joe Wright from a screenplay by Deborah Moggach. While that film glosses over some characters and events for the sake of brevity, it’s beautifully set, with some of the best period detail I’ve ever seen in a P & P film, as well as riveting, intelligent portrayals of the iconic characters. And Moggach, like other Austen screenwriters before her, knows better than to tamper with most of the story’s classic dialogue.

If I were a screenwriter, I’m sure I couldn’t have done it any better. Like Lady Catherine, and probably like all devoted readers of Austen, had I ever learned how to turn a novel into film, I should have been “a great proficient.♦


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