Elisabeth Grace Foley

Historical Fiction Author

Qui Tacet Consentit: Silence, Convention, and Friendship in the Novels of Jane Austen

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Jane Austen’s novels are, in the present day, widely regarded as challenging or subverting the social conventions of her time. Based on the observations I’ve made during my current re-read of her complete works, I think this is only half true. Yes, Austen most definitely does take aim at customs and conventions that tend toward pettiness, insincerity, or injustice. But by and large, her novels are stories of learning to function healthily and happily within the framework of social norms. (I’ve got a lot more to say on that topic in a future post.)

And—surprise—despite a great deal of wisdom, she doesn’t necessarily get it right 100% of the time. There’s one point in particular where I wouldn’t agree with Austen’s reasoning; or perhaps more accurately her simple acceptance of a situation.

– plot spoilers from henceforth –

In our book club discussions, we’ve often returned to two seldom-noticed, extremely similar incidents in Austen’s novels. In Chapter 27 of Sense and Sensibility, Colonel Brandon—who, as we will later learn, already knows by this point that Willoughby has fathered an illegitimate child—chooses to remain silent and not to share this knowledge with the Dashwoods after he hears that Marianne and Willoughby are in all probability already engaged. And in Chapter 21 of Persuasion, Mrs. Smith remains silent regarding William Elliot’s true character as long as she believes he and Anne are engaged (or on the verge of being so), only revealing what she knows of him once she learns that there is, in fact, no engagement.

Is either of these instances of silence the action of a true friend?

“My dear,” was Mrs. Smith’s reply, “there was nothing else to be done. I considered your marrying him as certain, though he might not yet have made the offer, and I could no more speak the truth of him, than if he had been your husband. My heart bled for you, as I talked of happiness; and yet he is sensible, he is agreeable, and with such a woman as you, it was not absolutely hopeless. He was very unkind to his first wife. They were wretched together. But she was too ignorant and giddy for respect, and he had never loved her. I was willing to hope that you must fare better.”

Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a possibility of having been induced to marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of the misery which must have followed…And under such a supposition, which would have been most miserable, when time had disclosed all, too late?

It is worth noting that Anne’s reaction to her friend’s withholding of information is no stronger than “some surprise.” And when Elinor Dashwood finally does learn the truth about Willoughby from Colonel Brandon at a later date, she does not express surprise or indignation that he had not told her sooner. These circumstances, coupled with Mrs. Smith’s defense of her conduct (which Anne seems to accept), reveal an attitude toward the sacredness of a marriage engagement that I can only assume is the general societal attitude of the times. Here is one convention that holds a great deal of potential for misery—and ironically, it’s one that Austen doesn’t address or even seem to notice. [Read more…]

The Way of the Western: Finale

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In 1956, author Donald Hamilton (primarily known among Western fans for his “Ambush at Blanco Canyon,” which became the movie The Big Country) wrote in the introduction to an anthology of Western stories that he edited:

…The free-riding ranch girl and the saloon-busting free-for-all are part of our stock-in-trade; are we going to discard them in the interests of mere accuracy?…The Western reader expects to be entertained by a good yarn first of all. If it’s authentic, so much the better, but the average reader isn’t going to give a story much higher marks because something like it actually happened…

…Let’s not get too enamored of absolute historical accuracy, and for heaven’s sake let’s us not start thinking of ourselves self-consciously as great creative artists inheriting a grand literary tradition stemming direct from Owen Wister…Let’s remember that we also have an inheritance from Zane Grey and the Beadle and Adams dime novels which were lousy literature and stinking history, but which entertained millions—and who’s too proud to be an entertainer?

When I read that introduction (you can read it in full here), I think my reaction was the opposite of what Hamilton intended. My first thought was that the ensuing decades have proved his view to be a short-sighted one. As cheerfully well-intentioned as it was, I think that attitude espoused by writers has ended up helping to marginalize the very genre Hamilton set out to champion.

Reading his remarks a few weeks ago helped to crystallize a train of thought I’ve been following recently, which sort of brings me full circle back to the beginning of my blog series on the Western genre begun seven months ago. In my introductory post, I talked about how I used to think that the Western’s own popularity, leading to its eventual over-saturation with flimsy, historically-inaccurate, copycat “shoot-em-ups,” was one of the main things that resulted in its downfall. But my view on this altered: I came to believe that the decline of the Western was primarily an ideological infiltration, in which mid-20th-century values became more and more reflected in the new Western movies and books of those decades, until any sense of the culture and mores of the original West was gradually eaten away.

I took a look at some of the ways this happened in subsequent posts, mainly by comparing classic Western films to earlier Western literature. We looked at how the average American settler was frequently portrayed as a weak-willed coward compared to gunfighter “heroes”, and how superficial portrayals of historical “facts” leads to caricatures and skewed impressions. We saw how quasi-accurate film adaptations of books can twist or change their authors’ original themes or intentions, and how even choices of artistic style can affect viewers’ impressions of history.

Now, after reading the Hamilton piece—subsequent to having gotten a pretty comprehensive survey of the Western genre in the 20th century by reading the anthology A Century of Great Western Stories—I’m beginning to piece in the role that Western writers have played in all this. I believe the mass of inaccurate and clichéd Western stories did contribute to the genre’s problems, though by no means did they play the central part that I once thought. [Read more…]

Just Jane

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My youngest sister is doing a Jane Austen study for her senior year of high school, so my mother, both my sisters and I have seized the opportunity to all read the books together and hold our own discussion group. So far we are through Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion, and have had a number of fantastic deep discussions on them over afternoon tea.

We have learned, among other things, that when you drink tea out of teacups instead of mugs (and accompanied by real British biscuits), you can easily consume four or five cups almost without being aware that you’ve done it (not to mention consuming the whole box of biscuits).

But to be serious. I think the defining mark of a “great” book is that you can take something fresh away from it every time you re-read it. The book itself doesn’t change, but it has enough depth that when you return to it at different stages of your life, a different aspect of it makes an impression on you each time. Re-reading Jane Austen now, what strikes me most strongly is how much her books are about relationships between people. And not just romantic relationships, either. They explore the dynamics of close-knit families and fractured, distant ones; interactions with friends, neighbors, and difficult relatives, not to mention potential suitors. They highlight the nature of true friendship versus false, and the value of sincerity and honesty as opposed to hypocrisy; the true consideration involved in good manners; and—perhaps more by example than by intention—how propriety and respect for convention carried to extremes, however well-intentioned, can result in a lack of openness that is harmful to relationships.

And all this led me to a further thought. I have a feeling that, ironically, the modern-day popularity of all things Austen has actually obscured the very things that are best about her novels. While I’m very fond of several Austen film adaptations, they’re best as a supplement or companion to the books, not a replacement for them. (The 1995 version of Persuasion, for instance, while a lovely film, handles some subplots in a way that would be utterly confusing to someone who didn’t already have a knowledge of the book’s plot.) When you spend too much time in the atmosphere of Austen adaptations and mugs and coloring-books and t-shirts and paper dolls, you unconsciously get sucked into thinking of her in terms of balls and bonnets and bits of ivory—so that when you simply sit down and open one of the novels, it actually surprises you how strongly and forthrightly her characters think and speak on questions of right and wrong.

So if you want to fully appreciate Jane Austen, don’t just let the movies and the quotations on mugs and prints speak for her. Just sit down and open one of her books and read it. And if you have a cup of tea and a biscuit at hand and a good friend to discuss it with afterwards, so much the better.

photo by myself