environmental

Jane Ryan nkren at customer.jp.nec.com
Sun Sep 3 11:42:42 PDT 2006


Yet by some strange force they were allcompelled when they wrote, to write novels.
Theimagination falters under the enormous strain.
To begin with, I ran my eye up and down the page. Mary is tampering with the expected sequence.
The smoothgliding of sentence after sentence was interrupted.
James is the sort ofman I most detest, one says. When thus alone I not unfrequently heard Grace Pooles laugh. Lady Dudley, sitting indiamonds among the midges of a Scottish moor, might serve forfrontispiece.
She was unhanding herself as they say in the old plays.
She will not beable to use half of them in a book of this size. To Jane Austen there was somethingdiscreditable in writing PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.
It was the flaw in the centre that had rotted them. Yet by some strange force they were allcompelled when they wrote, to write novels.
I refuse to allow you, Beadle though you are, to turn me off the grass. Which of the two it is I cannotbe sure until she has faced herself with a situation. She wasadmitting that she was only a woman, or protesting that she was asgood as a man. It is useless to goto the great men writers for help, however much one may go to them forpleasure. Her wits were turned with solitude andfreedom. Lady Dudley, sitting indiamonds among the midges of a Scottish moor, might serve forfrontispiece. We come to town and rub shoulders with ordinary people in thestreets.
To Jane Austen there was somethingdiscreditable in writing PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.
In both burnt the same passion for poetry and both are disfigured anddeformed by the same causes. So I tried a sentence or two on my tongue.
Still it would beeasier to write prose and fiction there than to write poetry or a play.
For it is the poetry that is still denied outlet. This is not so true of thenineteenth-century novelists, of course.
It was a sentencethat was unsuited for a womans use.
And I went on to ponder how a woman nowadays would write a poetictragedy in five acts. First she broke thesentence; now she has broken the sequence.
One must have been something of a firebrand to say to oneself,Oh, but they cant buy literature too. Success prompts toexertion; and habit facilitates success. And these valuesare inevitably transferred from life to fiction.
And for the most part, of course, novels do come to grief somewhere.
She wasadmitting that she was only a woman, or protesting that she was asgood as a man. But this is all dubious gossip and, says MrMurry, uninteresting. Only Jane Austen did it and Emily Brontë. 
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