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See Jane ElopeWhy are we so obsessed with Jane Austen's love life?

Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy in Becoming Jane
Click image to expand.Why does Jane Austen's spinsterhood bug us so much? Austen, who published six timelessly great novels between 1811 and 1818, never married and never exhibited much of a romantic life. Nevertheless, the film Becoming Jane, which opens today, spins a yarn about the young novelist's sexual awakening, suggesting that an early experience of being loved and left was the true source of her artistry.

Becoming Jane is hardly the first fantasy about Austen's romantic life. In 1924 Rudyard Kipling, better known for The Jungle Book, wrote a poem titled "Jane's Marriage" that imagines Austen's ascension to heaven, where she confesses to the angels that her one unfulfilled wish during life was for "Love." (Celestial matchmakers, the angels swiftly find her a suitable consort.) And at least one modern Austen fan has gallantly offered to wed Austen himself, as if meaning to belatedly right a historical wrong. "Ours will be a tryst for the ages!" film studies professor Richard A. Blake announced in his 1996 review of the film Emma, not stopping to wonder whether Austen would accept his proposal. Why are so many of Austen's admirers eager to demonstrate that, even though she never made it to the altar where she regularly deposited her heroines, she really was marriage material?

The romance at the center of Becoming Jane is between a 20-year-old Austen and a real historical figure, Tom Lefroy, an impassioned but impoverished Irish law student whom she met in the winter of 1795-96. Screenwriters Kevin Hood and Sarah Williams arrange for this star-crossed pair to get tantalizingly close to the marriage bed. The film's penultimate sequence envisions Austen and Lefroy headed in a stagecoach toward a clandestine wedding in Gretna Green, Scotland—the 18th-century equivalent of Las Vegas. But long before they reach the border, Jane remembers that Tom's family relies on him for financial support and realizes that their imprudent elopement would ruin his prospects. She renounces her chance for romantic happiness and returns home to her family. And she determines henceforth to live by her pen. Flash-forward a decade and a half: We see Jane in spinsterly middle-age reading Pride and Prejudice aloud to Tom's daughter.

Becoming Jane is based on a chapter in Jon Spence's 2003 critical biography, Becoming Jane Austen. In the book, Spence does identify Tom Lefroy as the love of Austen's life and her relationship with him as the origin of her genius. But he never suggests that there was an aborted elopement (much less subsequent reading sessions with any of Lefroy's children). And he is careful, as the filmmakers are not, to clarify that in speculating about Austen's romantic experience he is reading between the lines of the family records and of the three rather opaque Austen letters that are his principal sources.

Other scholars have been more skeptical than Spence about whether this pair were ever "a couple." They see a flirtation that terminated without fuss when Tom ended his visit to relations in the Hampshire countryside where Jane lived and returned to the London law courts. True, when well on in years, Tom is reported to have answered yes to the question "Were you ever in love with Jane Austen?" "With a boyish love," he said. But at that point the old man might have been eager to play up his connection with the famous writer.

Austen wrote letters to her sister Cassandra in January 1796 that report on her interactions with Tom and express delight in his company. But while making these reports she also seems to be observing herself from the outside—presenting herself, with a certain cool mockery, as a heroine in one of the sentimental novels that in her teenaged writing she loved to parody. "Imagine to yourself," she writes, "everything most profligate and shocking in the way of dancing and sitting down together." In a second letter, written six days later, she declares: The "Day is come on which I am to flirt my last with Tom Lefroy. … My tears flow as I write, at the melancholy idea." It's worth noting that these sentences are all but buried amid chitchat about the weather and housekeeping. In a third letter, written two years later, Jane describes being "too proud to make any enquiries" about Lefroy, but the letter refers more directly to Jane's fondness for "ragout veal" than to her fondness for Tom.

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Deidre Lynch teaches at the University of Toronto and is the editor of Janeites: Austen's Disciples and Devotees and a co-editor of The Norton Anthology of English Literature.
Still from Becoming Jane by Colm Hogan © Miramax Film Corp. All rights reserved.
COMMENTS

Remarks from the Fray:

The most intriguing of the shadowy real-life romances in the Austen biography is related in Caroline Austen's memoirs of her aunt, about a young man whom the family met at the seaside on the south Devon coast west of Lyme, who was taken with Jane, who promised at parting that they should hear again from him, but all they heard was of his sudden death.

The date is vague (the Austens spent summers at the seaside after George Austen retired to Bath in 1800, Jane would have been in her late twenties), and there are no letters to support it (none of Jane's survive from 1801-04). And the story came to Caroline through Austen's sister Cassandra, and sounds suspiciously similar to Cassandra's own blighted romance (her fiancé died suddenly of yellow fever in the West Indies). A sea-breeze could blow the story away.

But both the locale near Lyme and Austen's advancing age suggest a connection to her last-written novel, Persuasion, which also raises the poignant theme of love that survives when all hope is gone. This is the story that, in spite of scholarly skepticism, I hope is true.

--drichter

(To reply, click here.)

I observe that, for some reasons, human beings love to think that their heroes are truly larger than life, and simultaneously humanize them so that these heroes are still somewhat within reach. Something like that.

In the case of Jane Austen, of course she had to have a fiery romance in her life.. with all those inspiring romance-heavy books she'd written. Must've been a larger-than-life romance. Yet, the romance was believed faltered.. because she needed that broken heart to be more mortal. She couldn't have had it all.

You see how that is a much more intriguing picture than a simple spinster with great imagination and impeccable writing skills.

My hunch tells me that Austen must've had some heart-wrenching love tragedy in her life, whether it was LeFroy or the mysterious sea captain or some other men we'd never know. I share birthday with her, and the mad Beethoven. Great love tragedies are something, that for some reason, not exactly an anomaly for people born on that day. My only hope is that, unlike my brethren, I'll get to walk the aisle once in my life.

--Miss Sassy Jakarta

(To reply, click here.)

If the creative process were merely the recycling of one's own life experiences, down to snippets of dialogue, there'd be a lot more great novels in the world than there are.

That being said, the parallel with Austen's fiction that dominates Becoming Jane is not the Elizabeth-Darcy romance but the relationship between Marianne Dashwood and Willoughby. A clever, perceptive and irresponsible young man charms an intelligent, strong minded and somewhat unconventional young woman by appealing to her intellect and her sense that she is superior to those around her. After leading her on and raising her expectations, he drops her because he must marry for money and she has none. Having done so, he reproaches himself, but the consequences for her are a good deal worse than for him. The movie makes Lefroy less of a cad than Willoughby and Austen less of a deceived victim than Marianne, but he skates and she is stuck.

Courtship in Austen is a blood sport, in which mistakes and failures have disastrous lifelong consequences. The aborted courtship in Becoming Jane is fiction, but it is a fiction consistent with Austen's eventual situation as a mordantly perceptive spinster commentator on the marriage market, whose happy endings sugar coat by no means sympathetic observations on the process.

The movie itself sugar coats Austen's career to suit modern concepts of female independence. She did not manage to live on her writings, earning a total of about 700 pounds, but remained dependent on her brothers for support from her father's death in 1806 until her own.

--jack_cerf

(To reply, click here.)

I don't understand why it would be necessary for Austen to have had similar experiences to those portrayed in her books in order to explain her genius. Is it so hard to accept that her books are wonderful because she had a great imagination and keen insight into the world in which she inhabited? To me, the movie seems almost like a stunt to get Austen fans into theaters. I'm not an Austen fangirl, but I can't imagine a true fan of the author would be particular thrilled with the movie.

--sydken

(To reply, click here.)

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