Confessions of an Unfaithful Author: The Shadow of Austen

I have a confession to make.

I’m cheating.

Yes, it’s true. I’ve written a non-JAFF novel, something that is not based on one of Jane Austen’s amazing works of fiction. Can you ever forgive me? I was asked to participate in a multi-author series of historical romances, and two original characters popped into my head and started nudging me to write their story. I know I’m not alone in this lapse; in fact, I’m in excellent company. But the guilt persists.

However, while my upcoming release isn’t JAFF (gasp), that doesn’t mean it’s not inspired, in many ways, by Austen and the constant  What-Ifs that dance through my mind every time I read one of her fabulous novels.

It’s difficult—much more so than I had expected—to avoid borrowing bits and pieces from Austen. Jane Austen was such a towering presence in the literary landscape of early 19^th-century England that escaping her shadow is all but impossible.

I am brought to mind of a quotation by the German composer Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), who felt he composed under the shadow of an earlier genius, Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827).

“To follow in Beethoven’s footsteps transcends one’s strength.”

This is so much how I feel about Austen. I would never dare to claim that any of my novels even approach the brilliance and profundity of hers (Brahms’ first symphony is often alluded to as Beethoven’s tenth), but she is there, blazing the way, her glowing footprints big and bright, their aura illuminating the wonderful world of Regency Romance.

I’ve written before about the universality of Austen’s characters. They are so very real, so fully fleshed out with strengths and flaws alike, that we feel we know them. And this is precisely why we love writing and reading stories about them, because they are so complete that an author can step into the characters’ heads and imagine what they would do if some part of the story changed. This is that elusive What-If that I love playing with so much.

But they also guide the way for original characters to step onto the stage, and comparisons are inevitable. How do you write about a poor cousin living with wealthy relatives without shades of Fanny Price flitting across the page? How do you contemplate the gallant beau without thinking of Mr Tilney or imagine the weary soldier without wondering what Colonel Brandon would do in that situation.

Can I write a sweet and lovely young lady without the influence of Jane Bennet, or have a smart military man stride across the scenery without seeing Colonel Fitzwilliam in his wake? I strive to make my characters their own unique and individual selves, but Austen’s shadow is long, and she influences us (or me, at any rate) even when we don’t specifically seek it.

Because her characters are such real people, they inhabit parts of our new creations, and hopefully, help them breathe and become real as well.

Again, Brahms and Beethoven slip into my thoughts. When a review commented to Brahms that one of his themes was very similar to something that Beethoven wrote, Brahms replied, “Of course it is. Everyone steals – the important thing is to do it brilliantly.”

I do not claim to be brilliant, but I do hope to do some justice to the genius that was Jane Austen.

So what of my new book? Not Austenesque, but definitely Austen-inspired, it is a tale of a poor cousin who charms a traumatized soldier with her music. Can you see Austen’s hand in the shaping of my characters? Take a look when this book is released on May 15 and let me know!

Here’s the blub for Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court, the second book in the new Noble Hearts Historical Romance series.

The year is 1813, and England is at war against Napoleon’s forces on the Continent.

Sophia Bradley is the poor cousin at Roslyn Court. Only her musical talents save her from being shunned by society for her parents’ sins. Still, she is comfortable and loved by her cousins, and is determined to be content living her life as a companion or other such respectable situation, for she knows she can never marry. How awkward it is, then, that the family’s houseguest is slipping into her thoughts and dreams in a most inconvenient way.

Troubled by nightmares and black moods after his traumatic experiences in the war, Major Isaac Hollimore would rather be anywhere but Roslyn Court, where he has journeyed to return the personal effects of his late friend to the lad’s family. Still, he finds comfort in Miss Bradley’s soothing voice and beautiful music, and finds himself most unwilling to leave.

As the two spend more time in each other’s company, a friendship begins to blossom, and then perhaps something more. But like Sophia, Isaac has determined that he can never marry, and the more time he spends with the sensible musician, the more he knows it will break his heart when he finally leaves.

Then Sophia’s aunt pulls Isaac into her own schemes and another suitor arrives in the neighbourhood, perfectly poised to claim Sophia’s hand. Will Isaac and Sophia let their chance at love drift away like the last notes of a mournful song, or will they write their own love song, their own refrain, at Roslyn Court?

***

And, to tempt you just a bit, here’s an excerpt:

Then something tickled Isaac’s ears. Music. Somebody had begun to play a pianoforte, and rather well, from what he heard.

He followed the sounds to the very end of the far passage, on the opposite side of the house to the family’s parlour, and let his fingers rest of the door. It was pulled closed but the catch had not engaged, and it swung open a crack under the soft pressure of his hand. Through the wedge of space, he could see the lower part of a lady’s skirts as she sat upon the bench, as well as her hands that caressed the keys of the instrument. Her face was not visible, but she played extremely well. It did not take a trained musician to recognise this. Her music was to the average parlour musician as Raphael was to the pencil scratches of a five-year old.

He did not know this piece of music that thundered up and down the keyboard in raging arpeggios and crashing chords. The melody, when it came, was unsettled and restless like him, never still, always shifting underneath even when it seemed calm, but it was somehow grounding as well. The turbulent waves of sound ought to have sent him back to those terrible moments that haunted his head when he closed his eyes, but instead, he found the controlled chaos steadying.

How strange and unexpected the effects of music! He stood there, unmoving, as the hidden musician finished the piece, and began another, equally unknown to him, this time slowly and haltingly. She was clearly unfamiliar with it as well.

Then, after an ill-placed note, she stopped and let out a most unladylike exclamation.

Isaac could not hold back a chortle at the sound of it, and the musician’s gasp in response was audible.

“Diane? Is that you? Leave me to learn my notes in peace.”

Isaac pushed the door open enough to step through into the room. A harp graced a spot near one window, near where a guitar and violincello leaned against a padded cabinet. Closer to the centre of the room, a beautiful pianoforte stood proudly before a collection of seats for listeners, and on the bench sat the one person he had not yet met.

This was the person half hidden in the shadows when he had arrived, the one who had not been present when he tried to show Henry’s drawings to the family. And, from what he had heard when she let out her oath of frustration, the owner of the calm voice that had led Isaac through the worst of his torment and up to his room on that awful day.

She leapt to her feet, surprise etched on her face.

“Forgive me, Major Hollimore. I did not know anybody was listening.”

“No apologies needed, madam. There is little anybody can say that would shock an old soldier.” A grin twisted her lips for a moment, before she schooled her expression once more. She stood there, silent.

“May I come in? I am no musician, but I know exceptional playing when I hear it. It is… it is most welcome.”

She blinked, seeming to recollect herself.

“Yes, yes, of course, Major. I am learning my notes still, so please do not expect perfection.”

“You belittle your abilities to please, Miss…”

She was young, no more than two or three and twenty, and wore no cap. She was no servant, then, nor a married woman. Miss… who was she?

She understood his question at once.

“Miss Bradley. Sophia Bradley. We have not yet been introduced. I did not wish to intrude on the family when you first spoke to them about poor Henry, and came in late. You were already looking quite ill.” She stopped. “Forgive me again. I seem to have a habit of telling you that you look dreadful.” The twist of a smile slipped through. “It was not intended that way.”

Isaac could not help his own grin from stealing across his face. The motion felt strange. How long had it been since he last smiled?

“I am not offended at all, Miss Bradley. Your kindness was most gratefully felt. But please—” he gestured to the pianoforte bench. “Do not let me stop your practising. I hope my presence will not bother you.”

He took a chair, off to the side where he would not disturb her, and she returned to her notes. She worked through several passages, repeating sections and mumbling to herself about fingerings and voicing, and then after having set this piece aside, began to play something else again. This one she clearly knew well. It was gentle and flowing, more a meditation of harmony and rippling sound than any tune he could find to hum. Dum-da-dummmm, dum-da-dummmm… The gentle rocking of the low notes under that hypnotic thrum was a balm, soothing his troubled soul where nothing else had succeeded for months.

***

The first book in the Noble Hearts Historical Romance series is out today, so do take a peek, especially if you enjoy different eras and locations for your stories.