Judging from her introduction to Jane Austen: The Secret Radical, it seems fair to say that Helena Kelly is not a fan of the forthcoming Jane Austen £10 note. The “idealised picture” chosen by the bank looks “far less grumpy” than the “unfinished sketch it’s based on”. The background is a stately home “where Jane didn’t live” and the selected quotation – “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading!” – is “spoken by a character who shortly afterwards yawns and throws her book aside”.
I also have mixed feelings about this banknote. It was not, as Kelly asserts, a simple matter of the Bank of England celebrating the bicentenary of Austen’s death. Rather, it was the culmination of a hard-fought campaign that I started when the bank announced that the only female historical figure on our banknotes was being replaced with Winston Churchill. And so when the bank produced this mocked-up note, part of me was delighted. We had won. But another part of me was, like Kelly, frustrated by yet another representation of Austen that fed the beast that enables presumably intelligent people to describe Austen with a straight face as “the 19th-century version of Barbara Cartland”.
It is this beast that Kelly tackles in a meticulously researched book that is, at its heart, a stern telling-off of us as readers. “We’re perfectly willing to accept that writers like Wordsworth were fully engaged with everything that was happening and to find the references in their work, even when they’re veiled or allusive,” she admonishes. “But we haven’t been willing to do that with Jane’s work.” With Austen, we do not skim further than the surface.
Sometimes, we don’t even skim as far as that, content to revel at the level of what Kelly calls “the unknown knowns – things we don’t actually know, but think we do.” The things we think we know about Austen based on countless twee tea towels and throbbing film adaptations, the things an audience member was presumably thinking of when she stood up at a Margaret Atwood event I attended recently and thanked the author for “saving me from having to read Jane Austen”. She hasn’t read Jane Austen. But she knows her, as indeed we all do.
Well, as Kelly says: “We know wrong.” We have to try a little harder. After all, in a letter to her sister Austen herself explains: “I do not write for such dull Elves As have not a great deal of Ingenuity themselves.”
Austen was writing at a time of intense political turmoil. Threats from abroad (wars with France and America; the French Revolution) made for a country on alert for threats from within, where “any criticism of the status quo was seen as disloyal and dangerous”. Britain became “more and more like a totalitarian state, with all the unpleasant habits totalitarian states acquire”. Habeas corpus was suspended; the meaning of treason was expanded to include “thinking, writing, printing, reading”. Kelly tells us of carpenters imprisoned for reciting doggerel and schoolmasters imprisoned for distributing leaflets. “There can hardly have been a thinking person in Britain who didn’t understand what was intended – to terrify writers and publishers into policing themselves.”
In this climate, where it “was expected that letters would be opened and read by the authorities [… and] that publishers would shy away from anything which challenged societal norms too openly”, conservative writers flourished, while most others of a radical bent responded by turning to nature (think pre-political career Wordsworth), or to the past and/or abroad (think the gothic novel). Austen was unique as a novelist of this period in writing “novels which were set more or less in the present day, and more or less in the real world”.
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