The prevalance of Jane Austen's most famous couple in literature

 

The pulsating Mr Darcy

The prevalance of Jane Austen's most famous couple in literature
THE bicentenary of Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice" on January 28th celebrates one of fiction's most popular romantic couples. In a light-hearted attempt to measure the relative appeal of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy over the years, we have compared the number of times each is mentioned in books or journals published in Britain. Elizabeth Bennet, as the Jane Austen Society points out, is seen as "the world's sweetheart". This might explain the steady frequency with which her name is mentioned. The brooding Mr Darcy, however, did not fare well during the time of women's suffrage or second-wave feminism. But in the 1990s he bounced back, thanks to a BBC television series featuring Colin Firth in a wet shirt and Helen Fielding's "Bridget Jones's Diary" (the film adaptation of which also starred Mr Firth). Numerous literary adaptations have followed. The novel itself has been re-imagined as a murder mystery and a zombie invasion, while Mr Darcy is now the solo star of countless spin-offs. For romantics, the lines could also represent heartbeats: Elizabeth's simmering desire and Mr Darcy's ardent love fighting with his better judgment. Luckily for them, Austen liked happy endings.

 

書業

經典名著裝幀向《暮光之城》看齊

JULIE BOSMAN 報道 2012年07月27日

Patricia Wall/The New York Times

斯普雷特出版公司為經典文學設計的新封面：《簡·愛》、《傲慢與偏見》、《理智與情感》、《呼嘯山莊》。

青少年仍然在閱讀經典文學名著。他們只是不希望這些名著看起來，嗯，太過經典。
這也是出版商的理論，他們正把《愛瑪》(Emma)、《簡愛》(Jane Eyre)等名着重新設計換上嶄新封面：富有挑逗性、具有現代氣質的封面 使用大膽的緋紅色和石灰綠色等深淺變幻的色調，其目的很明確，就是要吸引閱讀《暮光之城》(Twilight)、《飢餓遊戲》 (The Hunger Games)等這一類青春文學長大的一代。
重新設計的經典文學名著時尚潮流，代替了傳統（也可解讀為：古板、無趣）經典書籍封面幾十年不變的風格，封面上那些穿着鑲褶邊衣服的女人們，再讓人 熟悉不過了。現在新版本的封面則是另一番調調：羅密歐一臉胡茬兒，穿着緊身無袖背心出現在企鵝出版社最新版《羅密歐與朱麗葉》 (Romeo and Juliet)的封皮上。
這樣的封面設計意在開發人氣不斷飆升且不斷增長的青春文學出版市場。近十年來，出版公司不斷向青少年圖書市場投入更多精力及資源，每年出版更多讀物。書店也紛紛仿效，開闢並擴大以青少年讀者為對象的圖書專區。
作家斯蒂芬妮·梅爾(Stephenie Meyer)的《暮光之城》系列小說轟動一時，隨即超自然浪漫愛情小說開始大行其道。最近幾年，《飢餓遊戲》三部曲的成功促使幾十種反烏托邦類型小說出版。
重新包裝設計的經典文學作品封面顯然受到《暮光之城》系列的啟發。同樣，哈珀·柯林斯(Harper Collins)出版集團也發行了新版《呼嘯山莊》(Wuthering Heights)，封面以單調的黑色為背景，放上一隻鮮紅玫瑰花的特寫，並賦上 一行題字：“貝拉和愛德華最愛的書”。批評者們嘲笑這樣的設計完全山寨《暮光之城》。（貝拉和愛德華是《暮光之城》系列的主人公——譯註。）
布拉姆·斯托克(Bram Stoker)的哥特式吸血鬼小說《德拉庫拉》(Dracula)由美國企鵝旗下海雀圖書(Puffin Books) 重新出版。小說封面中央飄浮着一個鬼氣森森的女人，銀灰色的頭髮在空中飛舞着。書名和作者名潦草地印在一大片血泊上，一道道紅色血水滴了下來。
“我們不想守株待兔，”海雀圖書董事長兼出版人愛琳·科瑞特(Eileen Kreit)說道：“我們時刻想着那些時髦的年輕讀者。我們希望能吸引更多青少年讀者，當他們把這些書拿在手裡時，會眼前一亮，重新認識這些老故事。”
這些年，青春版文學系列銷售強勁。柯林斯版本的《呼嘯山莊》自從2009年發行以來一共售出12.5萬冊，這個銷售數字斐然，使它一躍進入了暢銷書排行榜。
《傲慢與編見》(Pride and Prejudice)和《勸導》(Persuasion)這類書屬於公有領域圖書，可以由任何一家出版公司再版發行，書籍內容不能變，封面可以隨意設計。出版公司為了吸引青少年讀者，想盡辦法到處搜羅這種類型的公版圖書。
現在出版商正在努力，希望新版經典文學能在青少年讀者的書架上爭得一席之地。上周，曼哈頓一家巴諾(Barnes & Noble)書店 裡，在同一個展台上既能看到四部新版的簡·奧斯丁和勃朗特姐妹經典著作，也能看到更多的當代超自然愛情小說。（樓上成人區的書架上擺放着更多傳統版本圖 書。）
在紐約亨廷頓的Book Revue 書店裡，新版經典文學銷售極旺，這讓店主茱麗·克萊因(Julie Klein)感到很驚訝。
“說實話，我對這些經典文學的銷售真是沒底，”她說：“作為書商，我非常喜歡這些經典書籍，如果年輕人能買這些書來讀，那我更是高興。只要能吸引孩子們看這些書，我就很欣慰。”
三月份，斯特林出版公司(Sterling Publishing)旗下斯普雷特(Splinter)開始發行其“經典台詞”(Classic Lines)系列讀本。這套平裝經典文學系列使用法式勒口封面設計，封面上繪有精美水彩插圖，公司特別請來曼哈頓時裝插圖畫家莎拉·辛格 (Sara Singh)來做封面插圖。
辛格說，“我面臨的最大挑戰是如何吸引更多青少年閱讀這些經典文學”。談到她的設計時，她說：“我們希望讓封面看起來更時尚、更漂亮、顏色亮麗，配上手寫字體。”
此套從書的編輯阿萊·布蘭登(Alli Brydon)不希望在以青少年讀者為對象的封面中，使用太傳統的“維多利亞”或“古典”式設計。就如巴諾 公司出版的《簡·愛》，封面上，一個女人悲慟地望着遠方，她的皮膚調子微黃，幾乎和她身後牆壁的顏色一模一樣，黑色的大衣將她的頸部遮了起來。
“這種設計沒有表現簡的堅毅和勇敢，”負責“經典台詞”系列叢書的布蘭登說。這個系列推出的新版《簡·愛》，小說封面是用素描繪製的一位紫衣少女，主人公抬着下巴，看起來非常活潑。“很多舊式封面並沒有傳遞書中所要表達的女權主義思想。”
在傳統封面上，女主角看起來比實際年齡要大很多，而在新版封面更能準確反映女主角的真實年齡，如《傲慢與偏見》 (Pride and Prejudice)中的伊麗莎白·班納特(Elizabeth Bennet)就被描繪為一位與目標讀者同齡的少女，這樣對年輕讀者更有吸引力。
然而，還是有一些小讀者不喜歡新版經典名著。在舊金山港灣區擁有兩家直銷店的Book Passage書城裡，據店主伊萊恩·帕特西里(Elaine Petrocelli)介紹，重新設計的經典圖書銷售並不好。
“想閱讀《愛瑪》的孩子們會到成年區買書，”她說：“孩子們不想感覺自己被人操縱了。”
15歲的苔絲·賈格爾·威爾(Tess Jagger-Wells)住在加州聖拉非爾，現在讀高一，她說，《簡·愛》是她最喜歡的小說之一，她喜歡書中“迷人的”老時光——“幸福不是唾手可得，需要你耐心等待。”
對於《傲慢與偏見》這類經典文學，苔絲說她不喜歡現代版裝幀風格，她寧願選擇封面設計繁複、華麗的精裝版。
“在你的房間中擺上最具原始風貌的文學作品，並向你的朋友展示，這非常有趣，”苔絲說：“這是一種經典，人們希望珍視、希望它永存。新設計的封面使小說看起來只是一個庸俗的愛情故事。”

本文最初發表於2012年6月28日。

Lessons From Jane Austen

By MIRANDA SEYMOUR

Published: June 10, 2011

In 1990, William Deresiewicz was on his way to gaining a Ph.D. in English literature at Columbia University. Describing that time in the opening pages of his sharp, endearingly self-effacing new book, “A Jane Austen Education,” Deresiewicz explains that he faced one crucial obstacle. He loathed not just Jane Austen but the entire gang of 19th-century British novelists: Hardy, Dickens, Eliot . . . the lot.

Enlarge This Image

Illustration by Kelly Blair

A JANE AUSTEN EDUCATION

How Six Novels Taught Me About Love, Friendship, and the Things That Really Matter

By William Deresiewicz

255 pp. The Penguin Press. $25.95.

WHY JANE AUSTEN?

By Rachel M. Brownstein

320 pp. Columbia University Press. $29.50.

Related

Excerpt: ‘A Jane Austen Education’ (Google Books)

At 26, Deresiewicz wasn’t experiencing the hatred born of surfeit that Mark Twain described when he told a friend, “Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shinbone.” What Deresiewicz (who has considerable fun at the expense of his pompous younger self) was going through was the rebel phase in which Dostoyevsky rules Planet Gloom, that stage during which the best available image of marriage is a prison gate.
Sardonic students do not, as Deresiewicz points out, make suitable shrine-­tenders for a female novelist whose books, while short on wedding scenes, never skimp on proposals. Emma Bovary fulfilled all the young scholar’s expectations of literary culture at its finest; Emma Woodhouse left him cold. “Her life,” he lamented, “was impossibly narrow.” Her story, such as it was, “seemed to consist of nothing more than a lot of chitchat among a bunch of commonplace characters in a country village.” Hypochondriacal Mr. Woodhouse, garrulous Miss Bates — weren’t these just the sort of bores Deresiewicz had spent his college years struggling to avoid? Maybe, he describes himself conceding, the sole redeeming feature of smug Miss Woodhouse was that she seemed to share his distaste for the dull society of Highbury.
The state of outraged hostility is, of course, a setup. Many of Deresiewicz’s readers will already know him as the author of the widely admired “Jane Austen and the Romantic Poets.” One of the novelist’s most appreciative critics isn’t about to knock Austen off her plinth. Nevertheless, a profound truth lies embedded in Deresiewicz’s witty account of his early animosity. He applies that comic narrative device to her six completed novels. Considered so, each work reveals itself as a teaching tool in the painful journey toward becoming not only adult but (one of Austen’s key terms of praise for characters she wishes us to respect) useful.
The truth is that young readers don’t easily attach themselves to Austen. Mr. Darcy, “haughty as a Siamese cat” (in Deresiewicz’s delicious phrase), isn’t half as appealing on the page as Colin Firth stalking across the screen in Andrew Davies’s liberty-taking film. Seventeen-year-old Catherine Morland seems coltish and naïve to readers of her own age today, while Emma Woodhouse, all of 20, appears loud, vain and bossy. And who, at 27 or thereabouts, now feels sympathy for the meekness of Anne Elliot, a young woman who has allowed a monstrous father and a persuasive family friend to ruin her chances of happiness with the engaging Captain Wentworth?
Deresiewicz’s emphasis on Austen’s lack of appeal to young readers (of whom she was, in life, so fond) struck a chord. The memory still lingers of being taken to lunch by my father to meet a cultured man who might, it must have been hoped, exert a civilizing influence on a willful 20-year-old. We’d barely started on the appetizers before Jane Austen’s name came up. “I hate her,” I announced, brandishing my scorn as a badge of pride. Invited to offer reasons, I prattled on, much like Deresiewicz’s younger self, about her dreary characters: all so banal, so unimportant. Glancing up for admiration, I caught an odd expression on our guest’s face, something between amusement and disgust. I carried right on. It was another five years before I comprehended the shameless depths of my arrogance. I had matched Emma — at her worst.
It happens that Emma at her worst is the turning point in Deresiewicz’s account of his own conversion. The fictional scene that taught him to understand the subtlety of Austen’s manipulation of the reader was the picnic at which Emma, cocksure as ever, orders gentle Miss Bates to restrict her utterance of platitudes during the meal. (“Pardon me — but you will be limited as to number — only three at once.”) Miss Bates blushes painfully, and yet accepts the truth of Emma’s critique. The reader has no option but to admire, however grudgingly, such quiet humility.
Although he’s a shrewd critic of Austen’s work, Deresiewicz is less at ease when entering the genre of memoir. Girlfriends come and go; a controlling father is described without ever being quite brought to life; personal experiences of community in a Jewish youth movement are awkwardly yoked to the kindly naval group evoked by Austen in the Harville-Benwick household of “Persuasion.” Very occasionally, as in a startling passage that offers a real-life analogy to the socially ambitious Crawfords of “Mansfield Park,” a sentence leaps free of Deresiewicz’s selective recollections. “You guys are lunch meat now,” a friend’s rich wife advises both him and her husband. “Wait a few years — you’ll be sirloin steak.” Here, slicing up through the text like a knife blade, surfaces a statement to match Austen’s own scalpel-wielding.
Teaching became Deresiewicz’s chosen vocation. And Austen, he claims, taught him the difficult art of lecturing without being didactic, in just the way that Henry Tilney instructs a wide-eyed Catherine Morland — and that Austen herself lays down the law to her readers. (She is, beneath the glitter and wit, a stern moralist.)
Rachel M. Brownstein’s “Why Jane Austen?” offers a different approach. Excellent in her overview of Austen’s ascent of the Olympian literary slope, Brownstein speaks down to her readers from an equally dizzy height. Pity the “smart, eloquent and clubbable” former pupil Brownstein names and thanks for having, at the end of the term, “helpfully clarified things by telling me what I had been saying.” Ouch. Students, Brownstein loftily declares, are best introduced to Austen’s novels by being informed, for example, that the title “Mr. Knightley of Donwell Abbey” conceals the code words “knightly” and “donewell.” No indication is given that this formidable tutor would embrace the collaborative observations from her pupils that Deresiewicz has learned to welcome and enjoy.
Brownstein remains, however, a superb critic, seen at her best when illuminating Austen’s mastery of significant detail — a quality, she reminds us, Walter Scott was quick to discern and praise. Exasperated though I was when Brownstein remarked that partaking of the daily feasts at the Rockefeller Foundation’s Bellagio Center (an unattainable paradise for most hard-working writers) presented her with a “moral” obligation, I’d gladly forgive worse for the pleasure of learning how artfully Austen sows our mistrust of her nastier characters. (Haughty Sir Walter Elliot’s attachment to his face lotions provides one of Brownstein’s keenly plucked examples.)
I have, however, one suggestion. Brownstein, almost as socially obsessed as her elegant scapegoat of choice, Lionel Trilling, dithers over exactly where to place Austen. Snobs, she declares, without much evidence, are among the novelist’s firmest fans. But Austen belonged neither to the aristocracy nor to the rising middle class. There’s no need for her to be pigeon-holed, but if a place must be granted, how about “vicarage class” — for the position from which a parson’s clever daughter could observe the mannered comedy of all walks of life?

Miranda Seymour is the author, most recently, of “Chaplin’s Girl: The Life and Loves of Virginia Cherrill,” and a memoir, “Thrumpton Hall.”