Articles on Spinoff Books in the Centre

[stella]

Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters first thought as a romantic gesture on the part and to have gone on the premise of Quirks other venture Pride and Prejudice I was sadly disappointed. Though it did offer as well clips of real Austen dialogue you are relentlessly distracted by graphically described events which you need Jacque Cousteau to decipher. I had hoped that the difference would be minimal and of good humours but I fail to see it.

As every charateristic moment thought classical pages were torn out and replace by yet another person or story unrelated to the original storyline. Not to mention the obvious errors of the writer some most intentional and others a bit ridiculous. I had hoped for a depiction of a romantic tale of beauty and the beast turned by sea creatures almost every couple of pages devouring previously unheard of characters. I am not sure Mr. Winters is interested in promoting Jane at all and making it very hard to get into the story with constant gestures of unheard of improprieties. I found it very hard to try and carry on and keep my sense of humour in this book my only solace were the very scarce and thin moments where real Austen dialogue was used. I thought Pride and Prejudice and Zombies mirrored after the Colin Firth version found it surprisingly funny. In this version of classic novel spoof found myself either grossed out or again reaching for my dictionary.

I am not sure I like Mr. Winters brand of humour as I found this spoof not funny at all even though it is modelled after 2007 version of S&S. I am not sure where or why they cut the London society and altered beyond recognition and introduction of underwater sea travel in 1837 sense and sensibility was written before and published in 1811 so not possible to have even remotest chance of happening for undersea worlds. As I know this is spoofed fiction but at least put some accuracy into it.
Having a lot of my loved characters torn to shreds and no real romantic resolution towards the end left me very disappointed as in the words of Knightley said to Emma Woodhouse "Very badly done" I would have demanded a rewrite.

Stella




1. Marianne, who had become involved in an effort to pick her teeth with the newly ejected catfish bone, smiled.


2. Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry he was that she had taken a situation at such a distance as to prevent his help in removing her furniture from Norland. He really felt conscientiously vexed on this occasion, and all the more so when the furniture was sent round by water, meaning that its likelihood of actually arriving at their new residence was exceedingly dim

----Somewhere after this passage they referred to John Dashwood as Mrs. Dashwood's son-in-law which is not true as Fanny Ferrars is not Mrs. Dashwood's daughter. He is her step son her late husbans son of an earlier marriage. Of which Marianne and Elinor and Margaret are his half sisters.


But their cottage was small and compact--in comparison to Norwood, it was small indeed! It sat perched atop a rugged granite ridge, some forty feet above the waterline, with a rickety wooden stairwell leading from the front door to a small, creaking dock.

--Norland is not Norwood


Marianne's pianoforte was unpacked and properly disposed of; Elinor unpacked her set of thirteen driftwood knives and was pleased to hear from the servants that flotsam was in plentiful supply along the island's shores.


---Marianne did not have a pianforte or any piano until later on when Brandon bought her one.

But his greatest prize was the island maiden Kukaphahora, now Lady Middleton, a six-foot-two-inch, jewel-bedecked princess of a tribe indigenous to a far-flung atoll.
Lady Middleton's mother was referred to as "Mrs. Jennings," simply because Sir John thought it amusing; her real name was some fourteen or more syllables in length, containing a series of consonant strings impregnable by the English tongue. She was an elderly widow who talked a great deal; her dialogue was peppered with bits of her inscrutable native language, accompanied by a wide supplementary vocabulary of winks, nudges, and suggestive hand gestures. Before dinner was over she had said many witty things on the subjects of lovers and husbands and hoped laughingly that the Dashwood sisters had not left their hearts (or possibly their genitalia--the relevant hand gesture was not entirely clear) behind them in Sussex.

--Don't even ask me why he decided this venomous attack on Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings making them ridiculous tribal characters who constantly poison their guests with disgusting food.

Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, suffered from a cruel affliction, the likes of which the Dashwood sisters had heard of, but never seen firsthand. He bore a set of long, squishy tentacles protruding grotesquely from his face, writhing this way and that, like hideous living facial hair of slime green.

--Ok, I can understand this one but as I mentioned there is no good ending in this for Brandon as much as I would have liked.



"five and thirty and seventeen had better not have anything to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, and, say, visually impaired somehow, I should not think Colonel Brandon's being five and thirty any objection to his marrying her!'

--Even with tentacles it is insulting that this would be said as only a blind person would accept Brandon in his affliction a quote of poor taste


"Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with no other companion than Mr.Willoughby and his French orangutan."

--Need I ask why as they already mechanically changed him so why the need for an orangitan even a french one? why not something else like African or not bother as it bears no sense or sensibility on this story.

[stella]

I was unsure what this but was about as again I thought it might be as I would wish a book about Jane Austen going after the descendants of Egerton her original publishers. Instead we find her owning a bookshop in upstate NewYork. With her uncannily like assistant likeness of Cassandra her sister and cat Tom after 234 years after her death staged by Jane herself. An unlikely vampire whom it not really like the Jane Austen we know and love. If not far away from the Jane we know in a parallel universe Ford brings back the animosity of Bronte and an unlikely foe of a poet and writer whom I won't give away but you will be surprised if you make it through this book.
Jane reprises herself as Jane Fairfax one of her characters from Emma I didn't see why but I suppose if you must pick one. It was going smoothly along and could partake in the charade of vampirism until Ford did the unthinkable as we all know Jane was a fan of the clergy as her father and brothers were one that this terrible scene had Jane making a victim of a vicar.
I shook my head in distaste as Jane even if she were a vampire would never attack the church let alone live in a small town NewYork. Later we come to some borrowing from Anne Rice novels using New Orleans as a backdrop and guess who comes into the picture a person most think is Jane's sworn enemy about as likely as Jane knowing Jack the Ripper. The only amusing thing in this book is the comraderie of Lucy the fated sidekick of Jane and the mysterious vampire poet and writer you will be surprised to meet. Using the modernity of the poet even for his time to coincide with the characters makes him seem almost Barnabas like less than Vlad the Impaler you would assume he was. I was disappointed at the end by the predictability of whom Jane would end up with well I will let you judge for yourselves whether an alternative ending would have been more appropriate. Given the fact that another one of these is on it's way leaves the open ended threat of another Jane Austen, Vampire leaves me saying "Come on really? You have to be joking!"

On the some part mistakes aside I did like the strange love hate relationship between Jane and her maker and the sisterly companion of Lucy but at times some of what was thrown in was not really necessary but glad unlike others like S&S and Sea Monsters too much was merged in it was hard to read. It was only the opening comment which was originally Jane's and some snippits though very fine threads of the story of Jane seemed to come into view.

Not really an original novel I think as it takes so many other ideas from other authors it seems like the sort of thing a author does when they want to get in on the game as he blatantly describes other authors doing it. Simply explaining that they are in it for the money and not to complement Jane Austen at all. If Mr. Ford had read her novels in entirety and her letters as I have he certainly would not have written the story in this form.

Added to this comment is clips of the Constance novel said to be written by Jane Fairfax aka Jane Austen just for a laugh to see what Ford thinks is a Jane Austen novel.

Stella

[stella]

Straight from the book here they are in order of page numbers not appearance they are decidedly short but let's see what you think. As I have to do these in two parts due to length restrictions here is part one:

Stella


She stole glances at the other girls dresses, comparing them to her own. They all looked so lovely, moving about the room like butterflies riding warm summer breezes. She however, was a moth, drab and inconspicuous as she sat in the corner, wearing a hole in the velvet of the sofa as revenge for her invisibility.

Page 11



She told herself she detested parties. In particular she was weary of the exchange of frivolous gossip that masqueraded as sophisticated conversation. What did she care about Emilia Rothman's new dress, and what of interest could be found in the whispered debates regarding the handsomeness of Arthur Pott's recently acquired moustache?

Page 17



She looked at the box, not daring to hope thatinside of it were the pens and paper she had requested as her Christmas gift. Constance knew her parents thougth her request fanciful, and she feared that her mother and father-- not out of cruelty or disapproval, but simply because they could not conceive their daughter wanting to commit herself to the life of an artist-- might have instead purchased for her hair ribbons, paper dolls or yet another china kitten.

Page 25



That Jonathan Brut had a scandalous past she had absolutely no doubt. His reputation as a scoundrel was common knowledge not only in London, but also in the sleepy towns and villages far beyond that city's busting streets. It was said that he had been the ruin of a score of women--maidens married alike--one of whom reportedly killed herself with poison whe he ended their affair. It was for precisely these reasons that Constance had chosen him.

Page 71


As the gardener turned away and walked in the direction of the potting shed, something slipped from his pocket. Constance stepped forward and took it up, surprised to find that it was a copy of Milton's Paradise Regained prettily bound in green leather. It was clearly much read and as she turned the pages Constance found herself wondering if perhaps Charles Barrowman's thougths encompassed more than just the removal of hedgehogs and the planting of hydrangeas.

Page 78


London was unlike Glenheath as a peacock was unlike a wren. It swelled with life, boastful and proud. The colours were brighter, the smells richer, the sounds more cacophonous. Even the dogs seemed filled with purpose, trotting beside their masters as if they too were on their way to conduct importsnt business or attend the opera.

Page 80

What kind of writer did she want to be? She had never considered the question. Now that is had been asked, she found that what she wanted was to tell the stories of women. Not women whose primary interest in life was marriage, but women like herself, who watned more than just a husband.

Page 87


She accepted the grape from Jonathan, parting her lips and allowing him to place it gently in her mouth. When she bit into the flesh burst open and her tongue was bathed in sweetness. She raised her fingers to her mouth and covered it as she chewed the fruit. She did not want Jonathan to see her enjoyment so plainly, as if he had come into the room at the very moment she had stepped naled from the bath.

Page 97

She had promised herself that she would not fall in love with him. Experience--not love --was her objective. She reminded herself that a worldy woman should be able to distinguish between the two. Yet she could not pretend that Jonathan was not simultaneously everything she disliked and everything she desired in a man. Despite what she knew of him, she found herself wishing he would take her in his arms.

Page 102

Mrs. Eleanor Burnham regarded Constance icily. "You should be commended on your successful entry into our company" she said " It isn't often that a young woman of your rises above it." "I wonder if that is indeed the case," COnstance replied smiling sweetly. "Or perhaps it is not I who have risen but you who have fallen"

Page 115


She had not expected him to be in attendance at the party. Yet when she entered the drawing room she saw him seated on a sofa in the intimate proximity to Barbara Wexley. He whispered into her ear. The girl giggled and tapped him lightly on the knee, to which Jonathan reacted with feigned hurt, turning his gaze towards the doorway. Seeing Constance standing there, he smiled mockingly, and she felt her heart burn with hatred for him.

Page 127


She longed to show the poems to Charles. She wanted to hear him read them aloud, and ached to know his opinion of them. Yet the thougth of disclosing her passions to him and risking the possibility that he might laugh at her was worse even than having him turn away in disgust at learning of her involvement with Jonathan Brut.

Page 139




She and Charles were returning from the picnic by the river. She was wearing the crown he'd woven for her out of the daisies, and she carried her shoes in her hand. Despite her hat the sun ahd pinked her cheek, but Charles, accustomed to hours spent in the gardens, had grown even more brown. He reached out and took her hand, and for a moment she was perfectly happy. Then a shadow fell across the path, and she looked up to see Jonathan standing in her way.

Page 143


"You knew what you wanted when you came here," Jonathan said. "We both knew what you wanted. Yet now you hate me for giving it to you? that strikes me as most ungrateful"

Page 159

To be a writer, she thought, must be the most wonderful things in the world, if for no other reason than that one's characters would have to do exactly as they were told. Unlike flesh-and-blood men, they were not likely to behave in contrary ways, forever leaving one perplexed and unsettled, never knowing quite what they were thinking.

Page 167

Her cheeks burned with fury as she fled the room. What Johnathan had proposed was unthinkable. She could never accept such an arrangement, not even to protect Charles from harm. She cursed her vanity. She cursed herself too, for allowing Charles into her heart. By doing so she had perhaps doomed them both.

Page 181

She looked out into the garden. There, by the rose bushes, sttod a figure of a man. He looked up at the window, unmoving. Was it Charles? She tried to make out his feature, but the rain obscured them. She ran down the stairs and through the kitchen door. Her feet slipped on the wet grass as she made her way to the back of the house. But when she reached the garden, the man was gone. A single red rose lay in teh place where he had stood.

Page 193

She closed her eyes. His arms went around her, pulling her close. His fingers stroked her hair. She resisted only a moment. the she opened her eyes and looked into his face. As he kissed her, she imagined it was Charles mouth covering hers.

[stella]

Page 203

Shw wondered if there really was such a thing as atonement. Would Charles, if he knew who she really was, forgive her?

Page 207

Seeing Jonathan talking to young Minerva Jones-Lipton, Constance felt herself inclined to rush to the girl and rush her out of harm's way. As the girl prattled on, Jonathan regarded her intently, his dark eyes sparkling. It called to mind a hawk watching an oblivious field mouse, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down and snatch it up in it's talons.

Page 227

Charles touched her cheek, " You're like the thrush," he said " It is not the loudest. It does not have the brightest plumage. But it's song is the most beautiful. Beautiful enough to break your heart"

Page 246

The cottage was small and plain, but it had a lovely garden and a pond. It would do very well. She imagined herself sitting in the small study, looking out at the flowers and writng for hours at a time. "With persistance and six month's time," she told herself. "You will complete your first novel."

Page 278

She sometimeswoke from these dreams fevered and disoriented, as if during the night some phantom had come into her room, filling her lungs with fiendish breath that poisoned her mind.
In the first momnets of consciousness she pulled against the sheets twined about her and called out for rescue. But in the empty house her voice went unheard.
page 293


She looked at the page before her. Line after line of words written in her hand covered the creamy paper. It had take the better part of the fire, she read them to herself. They were fine words, filled with meaning and beauty, and they brought her story to a most satisfying conclusion.

Page 356


Charles arrived at the cottage in October, after the first hard frost had brought death to the last of the apples and the few leaves clinging stubbornly to the trees had withered. He came on a bright, cold afternoon, carrying a small suitcase and his favourite ginger tom in a wicker basket. Constance, returning from a walk to the pond to see if the bank ducks had finished building their nest, saw him standing near the front door. But instead of running to him at once she stood very still for a long moment, admiring the way the sunlight dappled his hair.

Page 372

That night she read to Charles for the first time, stumbling over the words, then finding her footing and continuing on, anxious yet elated. All the while she watched his face for any reaction. When finallu she saw him smile, she felt that her heart might burst with joy.

Page 374

Jonathan's appearance, although not completely unexpected, was nevertheless a shock. After so many months wihtout a word, she had gradually allowed herself to believe that perhaps he had moved on to another amusment. Now she realised that she ought have known better. He would never let her go. Never. Not one or the other of them was dead.


Page 399





"Can you say honestly that you haven't thought of me?" Jonathan asked taking her hand. "Have you not missed our conversations? Have you not missed my kiss?" She looked into his face, trying to say that she had not, but the words had died in her mouth.

Page 403

Constance drew away from him. His kiss stung her as much as if it had been his hand slapping her cheek. More painful even than that was the realization that she wanted him to kiss her again.

Page 411

Jonathan, lying on the ground with his lip bloodied, glared up at Charles, who towered over him, hands knotted in fists. The look in Charles's eyes was murderous, and for a moment Constance feared that he would kill Jonathan. Instead, he spat into the dirt near Jonathan's head. "Go." he said "Don't trouble us again."


When she finished telling him what she had so long kept hidden, she looked up, her eyes wet with tears. "Can you ever forgive me?" she asked. He knelt and took her hand. "Forgive you?" he replied "For what? For having a foolish heart?" Who amongst us doesn't?"



Page 431


She pressed her head against Charles's chest. His heart lay beneath her cheek, every beat a reminder of his presence. She matched her breathing with his until they became one body, sharing blood and breath.

Page 433