Regency lite, or Jane fix part II

It's not a secret that I've got a thing for Jane Austen's books (witness the links at right, or previous posts), but I haven't really gotten into reading any other Regency-era influenced social comedies. One name that kept popping up as a tolerable readalike author is Georgette Heyer, the historical novelist whose works usually end up in the romance section along with the ripped bodice covers of Christina Dodd, Kathleen Woodiwiss and the like. But since I've often mentioned Heyer's name when pressed for books like Austen's, I thought I might determine if her books leaned more towards the heaving bosoms of the romance novel, or if she captured the same battle of social customs as Austen.

Happily, Heyer gets the point behind Austen's novels: namely, her social satire. On the flip side, however, she has none of the subtlety that makes Austen's six novels so great. I randomly chose Cotillion from 1953, roughly from the middle of Heyer's writing career (she died in 1974). The elements of the story are fairly simple: a heroine of reduced circumstances stands to inherit a fortune from a querulous adopted grandfather--with the stipulation that she marry one of said grandfather's nephews in order to receive the money. The plucky heroine here is Kitty Charing, raised in general isolation by a governess overly fond of the romantic poets. Kitty is not in any mood to marry any of her potential suitors, except one: the rakish Jack. But when Jack doesn't show to claim Kitty's hand, she latches onto a plan: enter a sham betrothal with Freddy, the least objectionable of her choices, and get to London to work her charms on Jack. Once in London, a series of misunderstandings, pompous characters and secret engagements ensures that everyone gets exactly what they deserve.

There are scenes in ballrooms, social gaffes, clandestine meetings in shrubberies--basically everything that a Janeite would be familiar with. Heyer lampoons much of the musty social pretentiousness of the day (a Mr. Collins type would find many kindred spirits here). But here it all comes over very heavy handed. Part of this is due to the clumsy dialogue. The men use so much jargon are so preoccupied with their own preening, that it's hard to appreciate even the hero of the story. With the exception of Kitty, all the characters come across as very flat--and Kitty can't be called very deep either. The plot also takes awhile to get going, which makes the lack of well-drawn characters problematic at the beginning. I had to push to get through the first 50 pages.

Heyer has been praised for her attention to historical detail, and she does create a believeable world (Kitty and Freddy's reluctant tour of London? Classic). And I was grinning at various points throughout the story, as Heyer heightened the absurdity. By the end, I was enjoying myself, even if I had to skim over some of the more annoying bluster from some of the more unfortunate characters. Die-hard romantics might not be satisfied--there's no Darcy in a wet shirt moment or swoony letters from Wentworth. (In all honesty, the mental image I was getting of the hero was not so much Colin Firth but more Bertie Wooster). Would I recommend Heyer again? Yes, I think I would, in spite of the clunky dialogue. It's not quite on the same footing as Austen, but at least it's in the same orbit.

What would Jane say?, or Jane fix part I

Let's first off say what Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict is not. It is not serious literature. It is not for those readers who cannot abide serious holes in a plot, or even a plot thicker than a razor's edge. It will not appeal to anyone with a deep aversion to ballroom scenes, clandestine meetings in shrubberies, and polite conversation complimented by meaningful glances over tea and scones. It will make little sense if you haven't read Jane Austen's novels.

Wanting something to read over my own version of tea and scones, I picked up Laurie Viera Rigler's chick lit homage to Jane Austen. Given the current mania for anything Austen, Rigler's slight novel joins a crowded field, and other than is gimmicky plot device, there's really not a whole lot to set it apart from the pack. The premise, in short, consists of dropping current day Angelino and self-described Austen addict Courtney Stone into the realm of one Jane Mansfield, spinster, and inhabitant of 1813 Regency England. Or rather, Courtney is dropped into the body of Jane, automatically taking on some of Jane's memories and abilities. Courtney, not surprisingly, objects to the situation, as much due to the rather lax standards in bodily cleanliness as to the pushy mother who decides Courtney/Jane must marry the local catch. But something in a previous life tells her that this Mr. Edgeworth is not to be trusted. And some portions of Jane's exisance seem beyond Courtney's grasp--such as the odd behavior towards her of a young footman.

For anyone who has read an Austen novel (or likelier, seen a movie), the ending probably won't come as a surprise. But the whole plot comes off as preposterous--it is never explained why Courtney ended up where she did or how, or even more intriguing, what became of the original Jane Mansfield. There are some many places where Rigler could have added more tension to the plot, but she entirely foregoes any deviation from bland formula (even down to the obligatory mention of Colin Firth in knee breeches). Rigler does take a stab at deeper meaning by bringing up the tensions between serving class and ruling class (something never brought up in the novels and largely glossed over in the films). But even this promising lead is dropped.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Bottom line, Confessions is meant to be fun for dedicated Janeites. It's not too hard convince the addict to indulge in more of their favored drug, but there won't be much to remember after this particular little binge.

Fiction as accessory.

If accolades for fiction were handed out based solely on title or premise, Patricia Marx's first novel Him Her Him Again The End of Him would stand a good chance of raking in the awards. Marx's title is one of the wittist ones I've seen, and that snazzy cover begs to be shown off at your local trendy coffee spot. In fact, Him Her would make great reading for quick lunch hours or coffee breaks, as Marx's slight novel works best in small doses.

Him Her opens with our unnamed protagonist, a throughly neurotic graduate student currently trying to avoid doing her dissertation at Cambridge University. In the midst her studies appears the erudite, uptight psychological philospher Eugene, who quickly sweeps our heroine off her feet with his musings on Newton and sweet nothings that she pretends to understand. No sooner does she commit to this towering intellect than she discovers that he has run off with a Hellenistic studies major to the Dalmatian coast. More irked than heartbroken, she finds a way to get even with him, and--well, from the title you can fairly easily figure out the end.

Him Her is something of a satire of chick lit, but like that genre, the plot is terribly thin. At times I was really pushing myself to get through to the end, waiting to see if the plot would kick in. Marx's strongest writing came with the portrayal of 'Her' work at a lesser-known New York-based comedy show 'Taped But Proud,' where some of her best one-liners were delivered. But what plot there is seems only there for the delivery of such lines, leading Him Her to sound more like a worn SNL sketch or a plumped up humorous short story rather than novel material. Having read and enjoyed some of Marx's work in The New Yorker, Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, I know she can write well for articles. As a novel, Him Her Him Again The End of Him has its moments, but even for light reading, it doesn't quite live up to its promise.

On the beach (Miami, that is).

Summer is the most forgiving season: you can wander about outdoors barefoot, drink another beer safe in the knowledge you'll simply sweat out the alcohol, and indulge in reading equally lasting in nature. Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez's latest novel, Make Him Look Good, is a prime example of the summer read, light in substance and not terribly trying on the mind.

Valdes-Rodriguqez's novel, fittingly, takes place in and around Miami Beach, a locale not known for its substantive culture. The plot revolves around the 'him' of the title, Latin pop sensation Ricky Biscayne and the women in his life: Milan, the deeply enamored secretary of the Las Ricky Chickies fan club; Jasminka, Ricky's Serbian supermodel wife; Irene, the firefighter who has good reason to hate Ricky's guts, and Jill Sanchez, a very poorly disguised caricature of a particular pop star, among others. However, the task of making Ricky look good is increasingly difficult, until Ricky finally gets the ending that he deserves.

Valdes-Rodriguez moves the narrative between different characters in the plot, sometimes in first person, sometimes in third, which can lead to some confusion over just who's talking when. It also leads to some rather laughable point-of-view choices--I had a hard time buying the supernatural powers of a particular cat. Valdes-Rodriguez also struggles somewhat with her characterization. Along with the Sanchez character (which, to be fair, could be passed off as satire), few characters really achieve any sort of depth, especially the men. This in turn plays into a predictable plot, an unfortunate tendency of one character to lapse into valley-girl speak...

Still, I did chuckle at a few of Valdes-Rodriguez's plot twists, and her portrayal of the insanity that is the pop music industry provides some biting satire. Overlooking the flaws, Make Him Look Good might satisfy some beach readers--there are plenty of plot turns, even if you can see them coming a mile off. The novel's strongest aspect is the vivid recreation of Miami's diverse culture, especially that of its Cuban and Latino populations. For those looking for an easygoing beach read, Make Him Look Good provides suitable effervescent entertainment; those seeking something a bit more substantive might wish to pass.