Love and Friendship and Other Early Works Book

Jane Austen. You may have heard of her. She wrote a book called Pride and Prejudice, later made famous by dashing actor Colin Firth and his wet shirt. Many Americans still want her autograph and others ask questions as to whether she might be enjoyed by male readers, the answer to which may seriously cause me concerns regarding my sexual and gender identity.

Austen refuses to throw any Conan the Barbarian-like bones to her male readership, who are going to have to take it on trust that their penis won't fall off after perusal of these satirical delights, written for no-one but her family, who were appreciative enough to provide illustrations. I am sure they were also appreciative enough that their Jane was something of a genius and that these miniature works, whilst notably unpolished, moved from brilliant all-out satire on the literary conventions of the day (Love and Freindship, the volume's highlight, much obliged to the constant swoons and shocking multiple sudden deaths) through a notorious takedown of historical method (A History of England), towards the subtler novelistic style that she would perfect as an adult. Catharine comes to a crashing halt after 30 pages but as a first attempt shows a lot of style and finesse.

Reading this volume makes me weep for my teenage self who could barely construct a sentence, despite similar as-yet-still-unrealised ambition. It also makes me weep for the cult of Jane Austen who still think that mother of chick lit is something of an empowering label. One likes to imagine what Jane Austen would have said about the work of Stephanie Meyer or Jodi Piccoult, amongst close acquaintances. "A lot of fucking shite", or something a little more biting, I imagine.