Point of Personal Privilege

Today, I muse about the Austenesque genre from the perspective of my ten years of publishing Austenesque fiction.

Our #Austenesque world is one of the older ones regarding variations of a popular author. The first identifiable Austenesque Variation, Sybil Brinton’s Old Friends and New Fancies, was published in 1913. This credible mash-up crossover brought Austen’s characters together to live within Jane Austen’s universe after their novels ended.

There was a void in Austenesque fiction throughout most of the 20th Century as the publishing industry saw little market for variations on an author who had been dead for 150 years. There were scattered releases in the 1980s and into the 90s.

Fandom was galvanized by the advent of the World Wide Web and message boards: finally, places for Janeites opened where they could gather and share their love for Austen and their own stories and ideas about more “Austen.” The 1995 television mini-series became the 350 cubic inch V-8 powerplant powering the forums. Readers wanted more Austen. Writers jumped in to offer their takes on the original Pride and Prejudice. Publishers began to come out of the woodwork (Sourcebooks, for instance) to take the best of the stories into the trad publishing world.

Jane Austen Fan Fiction was born. However, let us be clear, it was fan fiction focusing on one of the six books in Canon: Pride and Prejudice. That bias remained for thirty years. More on that later.

The web was great, but authors were limited to either releasing their work for free on forum sites in a sort of poetry slam style or aligning with a publisher—if they could get their MSS past the gatekeepers—focusing on brick-and-mortar bookstores. Again, though, the whims of the romance novel marketplace dictated distribution.

Then, in 2007, our friends from Seattle arrived with a Kindle. E-books suddenly became a “thing.” Along with that innovation came Kindle Direct Publishing, the vehicle to bring e-books to consumers. At first, Amazon was still locked into the traditional publisher model, little expecting authors to launch their own publishing businesses. Within a few years, though, the terrain changed.

The first wave of authors in the Austenesque world found their voices early on. Abigail Reynolds, Lory Lilian, and Regina Jeffers eschewed the fan fiction appellation. None were proponents of the tribute band mentality. From their earliest work, these pioneering giants took Austen as their genre but used their own voices to bring readers logical alternative stories to the ones Austen wrote.

Like Pissarro before the Impressionists, they created the foundations upon which Reynolds coined Pride and Prejudice Variation to accurately describe the work because it was more than a tribute band mentality. Lilian brought splashes of color and modern styling to the genre with her breakthrough Rainy Days. Jeffers promoted the genre with two popular blogs—Austen Authors, followed later by Always Austen—that became go-to spaces for readers looking to learn more about the world of Austen and the writings of their favorite authors. These blogs were a platform for later writers, the “youngsters” of the second wave, which began as self-publishing took hold in 2012-13.

I proudly belong to that cadre of excellent writers. The path that was so clearly blazed gives us the freedom to use Austen to express our authorial truths without duplicating her. In a 2018 Austen Authors blog, I posited Austenesque to describe what we do more accurately. Another author, Victoria Kincaid, succinctly defined the difference between JAFF and Austenesque.

JAFF hews closely to the confines of the original Austen story, while Austenesque fiction uses Austen as the beginning.

Thus, JAFF novels follow Austen, differing only in the essentials while following the original closely. Darcy insults Elizabeth at the assembly. Jane becomes ill at Netherfield. The Netherfield Ball is an embarrassment. Lydia runs off with Wickham. How Darcy and Elizabeth end up together is the axle upon which these stories tend to turn.    

Austenesque fiction uses Austen as source material. Lydia may wed Wickham, but he is redeemed by circumstance and her love. Darcy may insult Elizabeth, but it will be on the street before Covent Garden instead of the Meryton Assembly. Mrs. Bennet may be a sensible woman seeking to secure her daughter’s happiness or killed off altogether. Darcy and Elizabeth will end up together, but she may propose to him!

Authors can now look at Persuasion and Emma without fear of the criticism, ‘But nobody will read it if it’s not Pride and Prejudice.’ We have been permitted to be brave, step outside the Georgette Heyer/Barbara Cartland romance novel model, now nearly a century old, and write adventures, detective stories, and character studies.

I cannot exhaustively list all those who built upon the basis left for us by our foremothers. As I told my writing students, reading is for writers like film is for basketball players. You learn from your peers. Instead, I will highlight some of those writers whose work has shaped my journey which began with Miss Bennet’s First Christmas in 2015. While I have met some, I know more through their books.

L. Dawn King

Jan Hahn

Nicole Clarkston

Joana Starnes

Melanie Rachel

Victoria Kincaid

Summer Hanford and Renatta McMann

Shannon Winslow

Cassandra Leigh

Sue Barr

L.L. Diamond

Mark Brownlow

Beth Auron

Elaine Owen

Timothy Underwood

Maria Grace

Catherine Bilson

Laraba Kendig

Tiffany Thomas

There are many more. My work owes a profound debt of gratitude to these and the others.

Each of these writers, though, shares something. They use Austen as a starting point to create their own unique literary universes. My analysis of these authors shows me that they defy convention. They are not handcuffed by visual artifacts from the 1995 television series nor the 2005 motion picture.

Rather than confining the work to Austen’s five geographic settings, they write across the breadth of the British Isles and head into Continental Europe and across the ocean to the United States. They add or subtract characters to suit their storyline rather than being constrained by what Austen laid down. There will also be dragons and faeries, time travel, and political intrigue. The grit of the slums allows readers to experience the actual Regency world. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s war brings verity to the shadow hanging over Great Britain. Other shadows can be addressed—crime and punishment, slavery, and income inequity.

Love will still bloom, but it can happen in the servants’ quarters or a French farmhouse instead of the drawing room. They will be parties and balls…but also quiet dinners for two.

That is the beauty of Austenesque fiction: authors can play on a broad field. Readers are equally liberated to enjoy plot dynamics and character interactions that may be derived from Austen’s originals but are used in a twenty-first-century manner.

I look forward to seeing what established authors and new voices bring to our Austenesque World.

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https://mybook.to/GhostFlightPandPVar

Over the past several weeks, I have reviewed Ben Fife’s Ghost Flight: A World War II Pride and Prejudice Variation performance. This excerpt demonstrates the Austenesque style of writing a P&P Variation.

This excerpt from “Ghost Flight: A World War II Pride and Prejudice Variation” is ©2025 by Donald P. Jacobson. Reproduction is prohibited. Published in the United States of America.

Chapter Fifteen

La Ferme de la Boissière

The sounds of two aircraft buzzing the ridge above La Ferme drew Darcy outside into the chilly night air. Looking up, he felt rather than saw shadows flitting between him and the stars twinkling overhead. He could not see any activity on the height of land, but, given the sensitivity of such arrivals—lax security betrayed too many—this one seemed poised to go without a hitch. No lorries filled with Jerry infantry rumbled up the Chemin du Moulin. The Milice’s favored drop-nose Citroëns were likewise absent. Police whistle calls and the ripping sound of Schmeisser submachine guns did not disturb the damp west wind. Maxim and his men would collect their packages and fade into the countryside.

Earlier, the BBC Overseas Service began its evening news broadcast with its feature Frenchmen with messages for their countrymen. The rich voice had filled the airwaves with dozens of nonsensical phrases, repeating them twice. Some meant nothing and were filler designed to confuse Gestapo ears. But a few or many, planted by SOE, jumped out to resistants hunched over illegal radio sets throughout the occupied nation. Special messages were targeted at one network or another, while others addressed all.[i]

Tonight, March 3, Commandant Maxim received specific mail.

Jacques, le fermier, récolte des navets au printemps.

Jacques, the farmer, harvests turnips in the spring.

Maxim was ‘Jacques, the farmer’ because his father, the square-cut paysan Jacques Robard, grew up in Lorraine as the child of a family that scrabbled, backs bent, to turn their plot of ground limestone and loam into survival.[ii]

Listeners who were familiar with the code would understand that the Deauville-Lisieux Maquis had to prepare for an operation. In this case, they would not be off to blast a bridge. They would, instead, collect the tools needed to pave the way for the long-anticipated invasion: plastique, guns, ammunition, and agents—turnips—and the drop zone would be the high bald above Lisieux—labeled spring. Other open spaces scattered around the wooded hills were designated summer, autumn, and winter. Spring, though, was the most important and rarely used to keep it below the Germans’ horizon. It was long enough for Lysander operations. The agents and their radio sets were vital conduits to London.

Ten men departed La Ferme at a predetermined time while others took up positions along the road, guarding against any attempt to disrupt the proceedings.

Darcy’s hand snuck beneath his coat and wrapped the Colt’s grips as background noise shifted into something noticeable. Gravel crunched beneath tires bald after four years of Occupation as a truck carefully picked its way down the Chemin du Moulin. He relaxed and released the pistol, knowing none had gone up since the Maquis.

Despite his limitations, Will sprang into action, more in intent than reality. His rocking gait gave every impression of a sailor wending along a pitching deck. Jacques, ears as alert as Darcy’s, beat the farm’s master to the barn by a dozen steps and pulled the dowel securing the hasp. Locks would tell snooping fascists that the owner had something to hide. A lowly peg’s first duty was to keep the door closed against wind’s probing fingers. The wooden splinter also suggested that the most valuable contents were farm implements, new when the Bourbons returned to Paris after Waterloo. Theft prevention was not a high priority.

Jacques opened both doors while Darcy lit a dark lantern, opened the bullseye, and pointed the light’s pool against the back wall. The glimmer, invisible from above—the Nazis were right tartars about the blackout—and shielded from all but those directly in line, gave the camion a target and illuminated the buffer stop. Darcy hoped Maxim was at the wheel. He knew the sober commandant would be careful to preserve the transport, worth more than its weight in gold, and his big shed, still but a week-old inheritance.

Springs creaked as the vehicle gently turned off the Chemin and rolled into the broad mews. Darcy’s eyes, accustomed again to the yard’s gloom, picked out several figures seated in the box, arms holding the sideboards to stay upright.

Once the truck found safety behind closed doors, Darcy opened the lantern’s shutters and exclaimed when he saw a familiar face grinning at him from the passenger window. “Ri… Preacher! Welcome back to France! To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Fitzwilliam wagged an admonishing finger. “Now, dear Jeeves, our masters punched my ticket as soon as they realized your hosts might not understand your peculiar humor. Rather than endanger the alliance, I come as oil upon the waters to ensure Allied amity.”

Maxim’s men began using pitchforks to remove a hay pile in the barn’s corner. With the floor cleared, a trapdoor opened to reveal a black pit. A pulley and tackle rig helped the fighters drain cases from the truck bed into the cellar.

Will lifted an eyebrow at Maxim, who had joined them. “La Ferme is perfect as our intake armory. My soldiers will clean the cosmoline from the Stens and Enfields. We may have to boil some parts, especially if the, how do you say it, guh-unk has hardened. We are far enough from town that nobody will notice the unique aroma.” 

As work swirled around the truck, two diminutive shapes dropped off the tailgate, each reaching back to grab two suitcases. The women, as their bare legs and softer angles revealed, easily hefted the valises. However, one case, as evidenced by the lower carriage and locked elbows, was heavier than the other.

An inveterate gentleman, Darcy started toward one only to be restrained by his cousin’s hand. “Leave it,” Preacher hissed. “Your help is neither needed nor will it be appreciated. They are soldiers, and you must treat them as such.”

Neither woman was a primper trying to show flirty before the tall, eye-patched stranger. There were no fluttering eyelashes, although Will found a pair of rich chocolate orbs to be ones he might want batted at him. While both women showed a touch of cosmetics, their makeup was no more than what any Frenchwoman could create using ingredients like dried beetroot and arrowroot in her kitchen.

Pulling the other four away from the Maquis work party, Preacher began the introductions. “Allow me to introduce you to radio operator Agent Rose. This is just a way station for her. I will move her tomorrow to her destination. Since we had a fair idea that Lisieux was low on the Gestapo priority list, SOE decided to kill two birds with one Lysander.” Strained puns were Preacher’s stock in trade.

“Jeeves: allow me to introduce you to your radio operator, Madeline. Madeline, this is Jeeves, your circuit organizer. You must tell him what you require.”

Elizabeth stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Jeeves. Since we’re talking by lantern light, I assume we’re a bit rusticated. Would it be convenient if I temporarily use the truck’s six-volt to power up my set? I want to report in.”

Darcy felt his hackles rise as he took her hand. Was she suggesting conditions at his home were primitive, that he had no dependable electricity? He didn’t, but that was not the point. March in Normandy’s hills was warm compared to his reply. “I am sure that your instructors explained that SOE cannot drop agents into Versailles. Needs must, Agent Madeline, and we will find you a wall outlet at the proper time.

“Once Maxim’s men have finished unloading, one can remove the battery for you.”

Her brown eyes flashed dangerously. “No need, Mr. Jeeves. I can do the deed if someone can find me a spanner and a pair of work gloves—sulfuric acid is rough on the hands.”

Once the tool and gauntlets appeared, Madeline hurried off and removed the battery. She climbed into the loft with her antenna wire, serving up a view of a shapely calf appreciated by more than one man in the room. Rose assisted in making the connections. Then the young women huddled around the wireless, discovering it had exceeded Preacher’s expectations: every tube powered up. In short order, Madeline had coded her message and was tapping out her first transmission.

Fitzwilliam murmured to Darcy as they watched the two at work. “I thought wrecking a Dakota might have knocked sense into your thick Derbyshire skull. She is your circuit’s radio operator. You are thoroughly useless without her.

“On the other hand, if you vanished, we could put Madeline to work elsewhere, maybe with Hélène. She’s not that far away, although Denden will soon join her bunch. Mademoiselle Lopinat could hop a train and be below the Loire in a few hours.”

Madeline’s key clicks barely obscured Darcy’s grumble.

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[i] Perhaps the most famous of all messages, Les longs sanglots des violons… Emplissent mon cœur d’une langueur monotone.” “The long sobs of the violins… Fill my heart with a monotonous languor.” Spoke to Maquis across France, informing them that the invasion was underway and they needed to initiate their predetermined operations.

[ii] Robard appears in The Bennet Wardrobe Series, Volumes 2-5. However, his favorite role is supporting Lydia Wickham and the Countess in Volume 7.