Today I'm thrilled to be welcoming Sally Smith O'Rourke, author of The Man Who Loved Jane Austen and Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen to Melissa's Midnight Musings. She's going to share her thoughts on Jane Austen and her work, and there will also be a giveaway!
Tomorrow is All Hallows Eve which will bring out monsters, ghouls, goblins and spirits. Scary, malevolent spirits but I’m going to talk about a much gentler spirit. A spirit who, even after two hundred years, still touches our hearts.
There is no evidence to indicate that Jane Austen ever participated in Halloween activities, although in the English countryside it was celebrated. No mention of the holiday appears in any of her letters, books or family memoires. There is no doubt, however as an avid reader, that she read the maudlin novels of the Georgian and Regency eras.
Two such novels are made reference to by Austen in Northinger Abbey. The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Castle of Wolfenbach. Both books featured orphaned heroines who were abused by their guardians and had to be saved heroically by the men they loved, who generally needed magic to help in the rescue.
Novels of Jane Austen’s time were mysterious horror stories filled with evil monsters; human and supernatural often forcing the need for occult measures. However none of the gothic romances of the era impacted Austen’s writing. Her ability to make everyday life entertaining was truly a gift and made her novels stand out among the dark stories of the day.
Jane let other pens swell on the guilt and misery in the world while she wrote about life in the English countryside. Not only did she write about the gentle and quiet life as it was but the way she thought it ought to be.
In Austen’s books the female protagonists are intelligent, strong women. All have a strong sense of self allowing independence seldom realized in life at the beginning of the 19th century. All of Jane’s heroines find men who love them for those qualities and not for the material things they might bring to a marriage. These were marriages of love and mutual respect. As it should be.
The men she wrote were even more unusual for the era because they did appreciate self-assured and principled women. One stands out among the rest and he is arguably the most romantic figure in English literature; Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice. He is a man who willingly looks into himself and is dissatisfied so works at changing his perceptions and attitudes for the sole purpose of bettering himself. Winning Elizabeth’s hand is a perk he did not expect.
Darcy is uncommon even in today’s society, but in Austen’s time it was virtually unheard of. Realizing that got me thinking about why she wrote the character in that way. Who was her inspiration? That was how The Man Who Loved Jane Austen came about. In discussions with my husband we decided he must have been a modern man who falls through a rip in time. We settled on the time traveler being a 21st century Virginia horse breeder. We began to write the story.
The Man Who Loved Jane Austen was a very personal project for us, Mike called it the ultimate Valentine because it came from the love we had for each other. When it was finished we had some printed and gave them as gifts to friends and family. A year later Mike died suddenly and my world came to a screeching halt.
One of the friends to whom we gave the book was an Englishman who showed it to a film producer he worked with and they optioned it and hired Mike and me to write the screenplay. When Mike died I assumed they would want to void the option agreement but instead they wanted me to write the screenplay. Alone.
Now, I had worked with Mike on several books but he was the writer in the family, not I. The producers were adamant, however, that I do the adaptation. I asked my step-daughter who, like her father is a writer, to write the screenplay but she insisted that I was perfectly capable of doing myself. Ultimately it was the first thing I ever wrote by myself. The film didn’t get made but being paid to write and having the people like it did give me a bit of confidence that I might be able to write alone. The film was never made. The experience did make me realize that I didn’t want the book to die with Mike. It was published in 2006.
It took several more years for me to actually build enough confidence to start the sequel. Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen is a continuation of the story in The Man Who Loved Jane Austen and is my first ‘all by myself’ novel.
Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen is a pastoral peek into Jane’s daily life in Regency England and at the same time delves into the complex nature of the man who is the embodiment of her Mr. Darcy.
Jane Austen was an intelligent woman with an unfailing faith in God. Her gentle spirit is what I celebrate today and hope she is smiling down from heaven for my trifling attempt to bring that spirit to life.
About the Books:
Was Mr. Darcy real? Is time travel really possible? For pragmatic Manhattan artist Eliza Knight the answer to both questions is absolutely, Yes! And Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley Farms, Virginia is the reason why!
His tale of love and romance in Regency England leaves Eliza in no doubt that Fitz Darcy is the embodiment of Jane Austen’s legendary hero. And she’s falling in love with him. But can the man who loved the inimitable Jane Austen ever love average, ordinary Eliza Knight?
Eliza’s doubts grow, perhaps out of proportion, when things start to happen in the quiet hamlet of Chawton, England; events that could change everything. Will the beloved author become the wedge that divides Fitz and Eliza or the tie that binds them?
An Excerpt from Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen:
Although the sun was fully up in the Virginia summer sky, it was not yet hot. Fitz found jumping exhilarating; the cool morning air caressing his face, and Lord Nelson, so strong and graceful, took all the jumps with no effort.
Heritage Week was over so things could get back to normal. He shrugged. Whatever normal is. He realized there was a very good chance that his normal was about to change radically. Eliza’s letter—the one she had found written to him from Jane—had ended his search for the truth of his Regency encounter. But Eliza did much more than give him the letter.
He had been merely surviving, not living, in the years since his mother’s death. He’d thrown himself into the business of Pemberley Farms to the exclusion of almost everything else. Eliza’s arrival had heralded an acute awareness of that fact. It was as though a light was suddenly shining so he could see the world around him. She made him want to live again. And she had given him the letter… Jane’s letter.
Fitz reined Lord Nelson to a walk as they entered the cool shade of the woods on the edge of his property.
Jane. He had spent more than three years seeking proof of his meeting with her and of her feelings for him. Almost as if he’d been transported again back to Chawton in 1810, the image of Jane’s sweet face flooded his mind. He thought back to that morning and his inauspicious entrance into Jane Austen’s life.
The combination of his head injury and the laudanum prescribed by Mr. Hudson, the Austen family physician, caused Darcy to slip in and out of consciousness. He tried to sit up, the effort making him dizzy.
Jane gently laid a hand on his chest. “Please, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Hudson wants you to remain still.”
Through a cotton mouth, his head spinning, Darcy asked, “Mr. Hudson?”
“The doctor,” Jane said. “You must rest now Mr. Darcy.” The American looked at her face. Her curiosity was palpable even in his drugged state. Unable to think clearly, never mind responding to questions he wasn’t sure he could answer, he closed his eyes completely and turned his head away.
Jane returned to her vanity table where she continued to write; a single candle and the flames in the fireplace her only light. Interrupted in her writing by a low murmur from Darcy, she took the candle and quietly approached the bed. He was tossing back and forth, his face flushed and contorted; he was speaking in quiet tones, a hodgepodge of words that meant nothing to her. He spoke what she could only suppose were the nonsensical ramblings of a sick brain; she attributed words like television and jet to his head injury and delirium. She placed her hand softly on his cheek and was distressed by the heat radiating from him. Using fresh linen soaked in water from the pitcher on her wash stand, Jane swabbed his face and neck, then laid it across his forehead. It seemed to calm him and she went back to her writing.
Each time he grew restless Jane stopped writing and went to the bed to refresh the linen with cool water. After three episodes in close succession she remained on the edge of the bed so she was at hand, and each time he started to toss and turn she would caress his face and neck with the cool, damp linen in hopes that it would, in time, reduce his fever.
She stayed there until Darcy’s features turned placid and he was breathing more evenly. He finally seemed to be sleeping comfortably. She laid her small, soft hand on his cheek. The fever was broken. She dropped the cloth into the basin. Stiff from sitting in one position for so long without support, she stood up and stretched. She was not particularly tired but needed to get some rest.
Quietly she crossed the wooden floor and slipped the small pages of writing she was working on into the drawer of the vanity, then took a nightgown from the closet next to the fireplace. Glancing back at the bed she stepped behind the screen.
He opened his eyes just enough to see her slender, full-breasted figure silhouetted on the muslin screen, back-lit by the remnants of the fire as the light fabric of her nightgown floated down to envelope her.
Jane stopped at the bed before making her way to Cassandra’s room for a few hours of sleep. As she stood over him he watched surreptitiously through the veil of his eyelashes. She leaned down and whispered, “Good night, Mr. Darcy,” almost brushing his lips with her own. In spite of his continuing laudanum haze, he could see that her eyes were filled with a tenderness that caused him to grab her hand as she straightened up; he didn’t want her to go.
Without opening his eyes or letting go of her hand he said, “Please don’t leave me.”
Unsure whether this was further evidence of the delirium or whether he was actually requesting her presence, she pulled her hand away. He did not move to take it again but said, “Please, stay.”
Cognizant of Mr. Hudson’s admonition of keeping the injured American calm and concerned her leaving might agitate him, Jane sat once again on the edge of the bed. Darcy smiled in the flickering flame of the dying fire. He said nothing more but gently took her hand. He did not relinquish it again until she rose to move to a chair by the side of the bed where she finally slept.
The movement woke him. His mind finally clear of drugs, he scanned the room in the dim, pre-dawn light. There were no electrical outlets or switches, no lamps, television or telephone, and the only clock appeared to be pendulum driven. Everyone he’d seen wore costumes similar to the ones people wore to the Rose Ball. Those things and the medical treatment he had received led him to the inexplicable conclusion that somehow he’d fallen into another time—a time when Jane Austen was alive.
And there she sat, serene in what had to be an uncomfortable position for sleep; his nurse, his savior and much prettier than she was depicted in the only portrait of her to survive to the twenty-first century. She was not the brazen hussy of Darcy family lore but a sweet and loving woman who took care of him without concern for her own safety or expecting anything in return. His mother would have said she was a true Christian.
As he watched her in the pale light of the dying embers his head started to throb as though a nail was being driven through it. He closed his eyes and blessed sleep overtook him.
Jane was an incredibly strong, intelligent, willful and virtuous woman who followed the propriety of the day… mostly. During the last three years he’d often wondered what might have happened between them if he’d been forced to stay in early nineteenth-century England. Of course with the way her brothers felt about him, he probably wouldn’t have seen her again.
If the circumstances had been different would he have married her? He could have been happy with her, he supposed, but over the years he’d come to realize that the love he felt for her was based on who she was, the awe in which he held her, caring for him when she certainly didn’t have to, loving him. Then again, did she love him? She had never said it and the letter Eliza had found and given him showed obvious affection but she urged him to find his true love. Apparently she didn’t think she was it. Had they ever loved each other or had it just been a fling across the ages?
He laughed. What difference did any of it make? Jane Austen had been dead for almost two hundred years. Still, the undisputed icon of witty English romance had kissed him whether she loved him or not. He still had to pinch himself to believe it had ever happened.
He had no such questions about Eliza. Everything felt right when he was with her. This was no fling. He had no idea where they were headed, but for the first time in years he was looking forward to the rest of his life. As long as Eliza was with him he didn’t care where they were headed.
Fitz and Lord Nelson crossed the bridge at a leisurely gait; the ground fog was burning off in the warm morning sun. Had it really been only two days since he and the great stallion were galloping across the bridge before the fog had lifted and run Eliza off the road and into a muddy drainage ditch? He hadn’t even realized she was there until it had happened. When he did, he brought Nelson to a stop and, without questioning who she was or why she was walking along a road on his property, he had lifted her onto Lord Nelson’s back and then swung up behind her. She was slightly light headed from the sudden fall, and once on the horse she had leaned against his chest and he’d had to control a strong desire to kiss the top of her head. He still didn’t understand how a complete stranger could make him feel that way, but he didn’t really care. From the first moment, being with her felt right and wonderful and that was all that mattered.
She had touched something in him that no one else ever had, including Jane, even before he knew her. At the Austen exhibit at the New York Public Library he had found himself staring at her. He laughed remembering that he had thought of her as a raven-haired beauty. Then two days ago she had come out of the fog and into his life.
He had told her his story about jumping through a rift in time and meeting Jane Austen. It had been very difficult at first, but once he started it tumbled out and had been a relief that he wasn’t carrying it around anymore. It was as though a weight had been lifted and this slight, feisty New Yorker had done the lifting. She had listened to him with an intensity that had made her a part of the story. She had been kind and compassionate—he had seen real grief when she asked him about leaving Jane—and she had given him the letter that answered his questions about whether he’d actually met Jane Austen and how Jane felt about him.
Jane would always hold a special place in his heart, but Eliza held his heart. Maybe it was too early to take it all for love, but it certainly felt the way he'd always thought love is supposed to feel.
Horse and rider stepped out from the cool canopy of the woods and into the warm summer sun. Spurring his favorite horse to a full gallop Fitz guided him over every fence and stream on their way back to the barn.
Connect With Sally Smith O'Rourke:
You can connect with Sally Smith O'Rourke via Facebook, Twitter, her website, or Goodreads. Also take a look at her other works in addition to her Jane Austen novels. All links are below:
And now, the giveaway!
What's up for grabs:
Sally has very generously offered 2 sets of books to 2 lucky winners! There will be one US winner and INTL winner. Each winner will receive a copy of The Man Who Loved Jane Austen and Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen in their choice of E-book or paperback!
This Giveaway is open INTERNATIONALLY
There is only one MANDATORY entry, but it's an easy one. Please make sure to do this entry otherwise all other entries are voided.
There is only one MANDATORY entry, but it's an easy one. Please make sure to do this entry otherwise all other entries are voided.
This giveaway will run until 12:01 EST on December 1, 2012
Winners will be notified by email and will have 48 hours to respond to their notification email before another winner is chosen.
You DO NOT have to be a follower of Melissa's Midnight Musings to enter. Anyone who does choose to follow is appreciated. :)
All entries will be verified, any false entries will be removed.
The author NOT Melissa's Midnight Musings is responsible for the sending of prizes to the winners.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
This giveaway is NOT associated, sponsored nor endorsed by Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, or any other social media site