The Imitation Game - Guest Post by Jean Burnett
If it is true that there
are only seven basic plots in literature, it is inevitable that writers will
retell stories, give variations on those stories, dress them in different
clothes and, yes, ‘borrow’ characters from classic works. The Bible is a rich
source for any writer who may be stuck for a plot, while the Greek myths are
endlessly borrowed and rewritten.
I have been reading David
Almond’s splendid YA novel A Song for Ella Grey, which is a modern
re-telling of the Orpheus myth set in Northumberland. Orpheus is just as
convincing in this setting as in his original Mediterranean home, but of
course, Almond is a master story teller.
The Gods in Winter by Patricia Miles is another version
of this myth which I greatly enjoyed when I first read it. Like all good
children’s books, this one is can be appreciated by adults. As you will have
gathered, this particular myth is a favourite of mine.
Certain novels have
embedded themselves in the collective imagination to the extent that they are
rewritten for every generation. Bram Stoker’s Dracula is up there with
the Bible and Shakespeare as the most imitated and rewritten classic. The
eponymous vampire has been adapted for small children, lovesick teenagers,
ghoulish horror fans - and even for vegetarians
(a step too far in my opinion)!
This is my defence when I
am asked why I have joined the legion of Austen spin-off writers.
‘Can’t you think up your
own stories?’ I hear people saying. I always point out that I have only
borrowed one of the sublime Jane’s characters and taken her in a new direction.
The story is entirely my own. One of the mysteries of our time is the emergence
of hordes of Austen fans known as ‘Janeites.’ They have always existed but
their ranks have grown enormously, especially in North America. Cynics
attribute this to the film featuring Colin Firth in a wet shirt, but this
enthusiasm has triggered a deluge of what I like to call tribute novels.
Jane’s characters have
been idolised, zombiefied, vampirised - and possibly plagiarised, although it
is very difficult to plagiarise a great writer. I have avoided turning Mr Darcy
into a vampire, an alien or a sea monster, as some American writers have done.
I like to think that I have treated her characters with some respect. For this
reason I haven’t written a modern version of any of her novels. I am interested
in seeing how one of her characters might have developed during the 19th
century. This was a time when women’s lives were still very circumscribed and
opportunities for advancement usually lay through the boudoir.
Jane wrote about her
“inch of ivory,” an intense exploration of a small circle of people which
constituted her world. It is inconceivable that she could have written a novel
like War and Peace, despite her talent, because she would have had no
entree into that wider world.
When I write about
treating characters with respect I often hear the argument that this is just
fiction. If the character is not ‘real’ then anything goes and authors should
be free to do whatever they wish with them. In part I agree, but I still cannot
help wondering what Miss Austen would think about Darcy as an alien. Would she
spin in her grave or would she be excessively diverted? She had a wicked sense
of humour, so who knows? There is a subtle line between respecting an author’s
original character and being so respectful that the result is rather lifeless.
When PD James wrote Death Comes to Pemberley for TV, I believe she fell
into the latter camp. Even a great genre writer like James could miscalculate.
Finally, I must explain
why I chose a relatively minor Austen character to be my heroine. I had
originally thought of using Becky Sharpe from Vanity Fair, but by the
end of that book Becky had grown middle aged and matronly and retired to Bath.
I needed a heroine with some mileage in her as I had constructed a series of
books in my head that would take her from misspent youth to retirement
somewhere on the continent, where she could write her scandalous memoirs.
Lydia Bennet seemed to be
the perfect choice. Alone among her sisters she had made a bad start, eloping
at sixteen with the ne’er do well Wickham. It was bound to end in tears. Once I
had freed her from Wickham’s grasp - Waterloo was very convenient for that -
she was free to have adventures.
I hope Miss Austen would
have been excessively diverted; if not, I can only offer an abject apology.
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