Books like What Matters in Jane Austen? Twenty Crucial Puzzles Solved — picked by fans

“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”

I read A Room of One’s Own after my divorce and having—for the first time in my entire life—a place that was mine alone to decorate as I pleased. While Virginia Woolf was speaking on the macro, sociological struggles that women were facing during that time (the early 20th century), her words resonated with me to the present day.

Likewise, while it might be easier now for a woman to open a bank account or attend college than it was in 1929, the struggle of having our stories told and our identities outside that of mother or wife celebrated is still prevalent. 

Gilbert and Gubar take the reader on an exhilarating ride through women’s literature from Jane Austen to Emily Dickinson. Women writers freed female characters from their stereotypes in novels written by men—angels and monsters, dull virgins, and evil temptresses—to become friends, or people I would choose for friends if only they were real. The book’s title alludes to the first Mrs. Rochester in Jane Eyre, a haunting specter of the thwarted woman author raging at her bars.

Figes argues that although women novelists did not directly challenge the rules of a patriarchal society, they challenged its assumptions by protesting the restrictions on women’s lives and severely criticizing the clergymen, enablers of the patriarchy. My favorite section of the book is her interpretation of the Gothic novels, which she calls the female equivalent of picaresque novels. Women, she points out, were not permitted to roam the world like Tom Jones, having adventures. Instead, these novels presented women, who, through no fault of their own, are imprisoned by evil men. Their adventures, as they find their way to safety in foreign lands, prove their courage and intelligence.

A best-selling novelist explains to a fictional niece why, under the shadow of the nuclear bomb we should bother with stuff written before the twentieth century, particularly with the romances of an old maid who never went anywhere. A skilled novelist herself, Weldon vividly depicts the horrors of Austen’s world that equal those of our age—famine, war, childbirth, and medical ignorance. Because she is a novelist, she is good at describing Austen’s mastery of turning social household irritations into art. As a special bonus, she recommends other novelists for readers to enjoy and aspiring novelists to learn from.

In Marriage Markets, June Carbone and Naomi Cahn, both law professors like Lynne Marie Kohm, examine how macroeconomic forces are transforming our most intimate and important spheres, and how working-class and lower-income families have paid the highest price.

Their book shows how the best-educated and most prosperous have the most stable families, while working-class families have seen the greatest increase in relationship instability because greater economic inequality has profoundly changed marriage markets.

The failure to see marriage as a market affected by supply and demand has obscured any meaningful analysis of the way that societal changes influence culture. But Jane Austen understood this principle very well.

I relish the intimacy of reading Austen’s private letters, and this is the best and most complete edition. Although her sister Cassandra notoriously burned many of her letters, the 160-or-so that survive offer plenty of unguarded moments to satisfy curiosity about her daily life.

In fact, I think Austen’s best lines are not from her novels but from her letters to Cassandra. For example, on the fashion for decorating bonnets, she quips “I cannot help thinking that it is more natural to have flowers grow out of the head than fruit.” And in a note about their garden: “I will not say that your Mulberry trees are dead, but I am afraid they are not alive.”  

John Wiltshire brings a perspective to Jane Austen’s novels that is old and new. I am in awe of how he can take a passage from one of her novels and dive deeply into it, finding worlds of meaning in the familiar text. He writes beautifully and eloquently about these hidden depths.

One of the unusual things about Wiltshire as a literary scholar is that he is also an expert on health and psychology. But he doesn’t psycho-analyze Austen or try to diagnose her at a distance: he uses words and phrases and even punctuation in the novels to look beneath the surface of the narrative at the moods and relationships they reveal.

Jane Austen was a clergyman’s daughter, and two of her brothers were clergymen. Her novels abound with clerical characters like the snobby Mr. Elton (Emma) and awkward Mr. Collins (Pride and Prejudice).

This lively book is essential for understanding how the life of a country parish and its resident clergy inspired Jane’s writing and impacted on her daily life. Her father’s and brother’s livings depended on a system of patronage; the value of such livings determined whether a clergyman was an eligible match or as poor as the proverbial church mouse.

Collins illustrates the background to Austen’s life with stories from the lives of contemporary clergymen like Parson James Woodforde. 

Ennui is a hidden gem of a novel. I admire the way it deftly weaves together personal lives and political histories on either side of the Irish Sea. I have come to feel strongly that the author, Maria Edgeworth, is unjustly overlooked by literary history in favour of Jane Austen. Yet Austen drew inspiration from her older contemporary. In this novel, Edgeworth draws on French words and ideas to tell the tale of an over-entitled English lounge lizard who is cured of his fashionable affliction—the ennui of the title—by his travels and travails in Ireland. The result is a cosmopolitan novel crackling with invention and implication.

I love this biography for its quirky materialist approach. Each chapter zooms in upon an object that survives from Austen’s lifetime (a shawl, a watercolor, an item of jewelry, a piece of furniture) and conjures an incident in Austen’s life from the details of that object.

In the end, I learned as much about the famous writer as from a traditional chronology, but the manner of getter there was more like an animated museum exhibition than a cradle-to-grave narrative.