19th-century classics that would make good TV drama

Poldark series four. Victoria series two. The Crown season two. Adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, Les Misérables and Howard's End. No newly-scripted ensemble drama/family saga in the Downton mould in the offing that I've heard of - perhaps viewers like me, who failed to take The Halcyon to our hearts, are partly to blame, but even so. And no news of The Gilded Age, which Julian Fellowes is supposed to be scripting for American television. Hmmm.

As you may have gathered, I'm not all that excited about this "safety first" line-up of costume dramas, though I do enjoy watching Poldark, Victoria and The Crown. But instead of whining about the costume drama turnout as I usually do, I thought I'd be more constructive and actually give a few suggestions as to which novels would make good period telly. I'll not be broaching the Dombey and Son subject again, as I've already gone on about it here and here. And elsewhere.

Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens  I've never actually seen a TV adaptation of Barnaby Rudge, not even an old and dusty one. It must be ages since they did it. It's true, the novel has its faults, but they could easily be ironed out in an ace adaptation by, say, Andrew Davies (cut John Grueby, for one). There are many points in favour of Barnaby Rudge as a TV drama: an engaging title character, dramatic riot scenes, and an at least partly strong supporting cast including Maypole Hugh, Sim Tappertit, sharp-tounged Miss Miggs and the delightfully ignoble blind man Stagg. Not to mention Grip the raven (an animal trainer would be needed).

V for villain factor: High. This is the novel that includes Gashford and Sir John Chester - the latter even made my top ten male Dickens villains list. These are parts which I think top-notch British actors could do much with. Charles Dance could still work as Sir John, surely?

Armadale by Wilkie Collins Just about anything of what I've read by Collins would make great television - excepting perhaps Hide and Seek. I'll limit myself to mentioning the two books which I think are his best (apart from The Woman in White, which has been adapted, though not very well). Armadale takes a while to get going, but again this is something a skillful adapter would know how to deal with, plus watching the back-story acted out rather than narrated would be sure to add interest. It's a novel full of both incident and intrigue, and there are plenty of meaty parts as Collins knows how to take care of his secondary characters.

V for villain factor: No worthwhile male villains as I recall, but what a villainess! The flame-haired temptress Lydia Gwilt is so determined and intelligent she would be sure to appeal to male and female viewers alike - and you certainly can't say that for many femme fatales. One very likeable thing about her is that she remains completely unimpressed by the novel's ostensible hero, popular but dim-witted Allan Armadale, and instead falls head over heels for his loyal friend Midwinter, who is the far superior man. But Allan has the cash... What to do?

No name by Wilkie Collins  Anti-heroine Magdalen's efforts to regain the family inheritance she and her sister lost by unfortunate legal circumstances are another instance of exciting Collins plotting. She is wrong-headed and highly-strung to be sure, but needless to say a lot more interesting than her virtuous sister Norah. With new twists at every turn, this would make a thrilling mini-series, and whoever played Magdalen would have a show-case part which could bring her an award or two.

V for villain factor: It's not easy to say who counts as a villain, as you rather want Magdalen to succeed in her intrigues, though not at too high a cost for herself (and I don't think that's just me). The cousin who got the inheritance and whom she intends to ensnare, Michael Vanstone, I remember reminded me of the Disney cartoon version of Prince John in Robin Hood (it's been a while since I've read the book now). Not very impressive villain material then. Captain Wragge on the other hand, the swindler who helps Magdalen out and can be classified as either a high-prestige villain or a villain surrogate, is very entertaining, and his battle of wits against the equally intelligent Mrs Lecount, who tries to protect her master Vanstone from a woman she's convinced is up to no good, would surely be telly gold.

Villette or Shirley by Charlotte Brontë One is well-plotted, has an interesting setting and a memorable female antagonist. The other has two likeable heroines and a happy ending. Both have at least one worthwhile heroine love interest (irascible Paul Emanuel in Villette, somewhat Napoleonic mill owner Robert Moore in Shirley). If you could combine elements of these two novels, you'd have the perfect costume drama. As it is, it's hard to choose which one would work best on the small screen. My vote would, I think, go to Villette, as I remember it as being the better read. The heroine Lucy Snowe may not be a charmer, but she's not entirely without potential, and besides, they can't all be sunny, witty Lizzy Bennets. The ending poses more of a problem, but although Lucy almost certainly loses the love of her life she is successful professionally, so maybe it wouldn't have to be all bleak. One could do a "tomorrow is another day" spin on it.

V for villain factor: On the male front, zilch. Charlotte Brontë may give us brainy and interestingly flawed heroes as well as quite a lot of power play in the various love relationships, but there's a cost: she feels no need to introduce worthwhile male villains as other characters have already covered the cleverness and power-hungriness angle. And no, Brocklehurst still doesn't count. (Though wasn't there someone quite tasty in The Professor?) Madame Beck, the female antagonist mentioned above, is a great character, but the question is if she really counts as a villainess: she has nothing personal against Lucy, and when she opposes her you entirely see the Madame's point.

Lost Illusions by Honoré de Balzac or something else by Balzac, maybe? Colourful characters, attractive Parisian settings, lots of love entanglements, plotting that may sometimes surprise you, vivid language that would surely prove inspirational to an adapter - what's not to like? (All right, in this case, the appalling hero, or rather anti-hero, Lucien.) Not to mention...

V for villain factor: ... absolutely marvellous villains! The best in this novel are found in Lucien's provincial home: the two businessmen brothers Cointet, especially Boniface aka "the tall Cointet". He enlists the help of lawyer Petit-Claud (a good, solid minor villain) in order to pinch a valuable patent, and in return furthers his associate's career by arranging his marriage to the bastard daughter of a local nobleman. "She's so ugly", Petit-Claud complains. "Do you think you'd be allowed to have her if she was pretty?" Boniface coolly responds. There's a lot more in the same pleasingly cynical vein. Given that Balzac's villains can be so enjoyable, it's a wonder my interest in them never quite erupts into a long-lasting villain crush - with the exception of Frédéric de Nucingen, whom I did not fancy but felt a great deal of sympathy for in A Harlot High and Low, they are maybe somewhat lacking when it comes to leader of the pack appeal. But they're certainly good enough for a fictional villain fling.

Redemption Once Upon A Time style: villains do get happy endings (if they reform - kinda)

Well, where to begin? As regular readers may be aware, Once Upon a Time is my new series poison - displacing Downton up to the point where I almost don't care anymore if there's a film or not - and last week I finished watching the emotional rollercoaster that was season six. The series will return with season seven, but we're told it will be a "new adventure", and that season one to six can be viewed as an entity - viewers are able to sign off here if they please. So, no more wanton destruction of happy endings then, thankfully. Which is just as well, as season six - after an unpromising start - gathered momentum about half-way through and then delivered the most satisfying dénouement imaginable for everyone concerned. Yes, everyone (well, the series regulars anyway).

I make no apology for my obsession, since if ever there was a series designed to entrap villain-lovers like myself, it's this one. I could go on and on about it, but will limit myself for now to one theme - one relevant for the subject of villains and happy endings, namely redemption and how it's handled. At a later date, I will come back to my hopes and wishes for season seven. There's no space to go into the complicated premise of the series: my reflections on the first one-and-a-half seasons here will give you a general idea.  

In the case of Once Upon A Time, the common complaint of series viewers is actually true: the first season really was the best. Season two was almost equally good, though, and although season three had its longueurs, it also had some satisfying emotional pay-offs, plus the first three seasons as a whole form a near-perfect story arc, not least for the original villain duo. Regina Mills (Lana Parrilla), aka the Evil Queen from Snow White, was the main antagonist in season one: she had her own weighty reasons for hating Snow White that had nothing to do with which of them was fairest of them all, and her warfare against Snow, her prince David aka Charming (initially an ironic nickname given to him by his later loved one) and their daughter Emma was relentless. It was hard not to be impressed by all that passion, not to mention the cutting one-liners. Then there's my reigning villain crush (and not just mine, happily): Mr Gold, aka Rumplestiltskin - Rumple to his friends (if he had any), to his lovers, occasionally - confusingly - to his enemies, and to online commentators everywhere. If IMDB is to be believed, the part was expressly created for the Scottish actor Robert Carlyle, and boy does he make the most of it. Initially I preferred the more understated Gold to the outré fairy-tale version of Rumplestiltskin, but as I got used to the mannerisms of the latter I got to appreciate them equally. The trademark flippant callousness of fairy-tale Rumple can be just the tonic when Gold is having a hard time in the Storybrooke part of the plot, and besides he's such fun. So, to borrow an old tag line from a trailer of Dempsey and Makepeace: "He's mean, she's moody, together they're magnificent", and without this strong villain pairing (more than occasionally working against each other) I doubt the series would have been such a hit.

All of which meant that a "despair and die" ending for these two characters would hardly have satisfied the fans. Neither of them showed much inclination for reforming in season one - we gathered from their powerful back-stories that they hadn't always been bad, but also that if they were nicer in pre-dark magic days they were also completely miserable. In season two, however, both Regina and Gold came under pressure from their loved ones to mend their ways, and tried to do so - interestingly, though, they found it a hard slog and far from instantly rewarding, so progress was shaky to say the least. Season three nearly got them there, as redemption started to look as something worth striving for for its own sake, not just to please demanding sons/love interests. With a little tweaking - the removal of an unnecessary complication in Regina's love life, the inclusion of Gold's moving speech at his son's graveside from the first episode of season four - the perfect end point would have been reached in the season three finale.

But the show had to go on, and there's little you can do dramatically with a reformed villain. Cue Problematic Season Four, where Gold fell spectacularly off the redemption bandwagon and saw his happy ending unravel as a consequence, simply because the plot demanded it. There were great Gold/Rumple scenes in this season, but this villain magic certainly came with a price. As for Regina, she stayed on the road to reform - more or less - but it didn't do her much good plot-wise, and it took away some of her glamour from the days when she was wicked. This was even more apparent in the less harrowing but decidedly muddled season five, when she became almost dull. 

I had hoped that season six would manage to answer some of the questions thrown up by the previous five seasons on the subject of redemption in a convincing way. Like "change": it's not possible to have a personality transplant, so if you're a villain and happy to be one, how is reform even possible? Can someone who makes "change" a condition of their love be said to truly love you, or do they simply love the idea of what their wonderful rehabilitative powers could mould you into? And what's the point of redemption anyway, besides being the only way those bastard script-writers will give you a happy ending? The series makes many a compelling case for going dark, but it's less convincing when arguing for doing good: even (for the moment) reformed villains aren't much good at this. "Don't make the same mistakes I made" is the brunt of their argument. Why not? You had a blast, didn't you?

One concept touched upon in season two but never developed is to become "the best version" of oneself - which would mean that villains wouldn't have to change their personalities in order to better themselves, merely to give good qualities that they've always possessed a chance while toning down their crush-your-enemy's-heart-into-dust side. I'd have liked to have seen this reasoned out in season six, but I'll have to be content with the fact that they managed to get the redemption part of the story right in practice, even if there weren't many explanations attached to it. The villains are still recognisably themselves: Regina is still a sharp-tongued boss lady, and Gold still doesn't really care a button for anyone but his nearest and dearest. Elsewhere, Captain Hook (Emma's love interest) is still a hothead with a piratish swagger, and one senses that buried hatchets could in certain circumstances be unburied at a moment's notice. Regina's half-sister Zelena aka the Wicked Witch of the West won't be putting herself up for charity work anytime soon either. In different ways, though, they have distanced themselves from their villainous pasts and acknowledged that the way forward lies in another direction. And if that isn't enough to earn you a happy ending - along with keeping the show entertainingly on the road for six seasons - I don't know what is.

Why the idea of a new Pride and Prejudice adaptation is so provoking

They must be joking, right? A little while ago, BBC announced that they were going to do a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, and like - I suspect - at least 80% of the costume-drama viewing populace I reacted with profound scepticism. The Beeb completely nailed it last time they adapted P & P back in 1995 - the series, penned by costume drama supremo Andrew Davies and starring Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth as Elizabeth and Darcy, was an instant classic. I have even heard it referred to by die-hard Pride and Prejudice fans as "PP2". So why on earth, when they've already got it right, would the BBC consider doing another?

Well, it has been 22 years, hard as that is to swallow. I realise that adapters can't be expected to keep their mitts off certain classics indefinitely only because they've once been done well. And considering that we watch the same plays over and over again with new casts, why are things so different when it comes to TV and film adaptations of the same material, which will after all not be identical to each other? Why shouldn't there be twenty Oliver Twists, if there are twenty good Fagins to be had?

I think that part of the reason so many of us are irritated when TV channels or even film-makers churn out yet another version of a work that has already been done to death, and where there exists a near-flawless adaptation already, is that the budget for new period drama is bound to be limited. TV spokesmen don't tend to be over-fond of "bonnet dramas" anyway - the new P & P is already billed, absurdly, as less "bonnet-y" and more "dark" (honestly, what's next? A "dark" Winnie the Pooh?). They will tolerate a few of these dramas per year, but if one costume drama project goes ahead, it is safe to assume that it is at the expense of others that do not. And there are so many books that would make wonderful costume dramas, where adaptations have not been attempted for ages if ever. Dombey and Son is an example I keep coming back to: the 1983 adaptation is so creaky that, in spite of Paul Darrow's delectable Carker, I feel unable to recommend it to anyone but the most nerdy and patient Dickens nut. The most aggravating thing is that a Davies adaptation of this novel in the same vein as his Bleak House and Little Dorrit was actually commissioned, then axed (I have already whined about this at length). There are other examples of neglected adaptable novels, closer to Austen in genre, as mentioned in this Telegraph article (though I admit I couldn't get through Evelina myself). However, if a novel's title isn't already known to the public, then it's far less likely to make it to production. But a new Pride and Prejudice? That they can do.

Which leads us to another irritant: that it actually seems as if it's more likely that a novel will be adapted if a good film or TV version already exists, because then it will be more well-known - thanks to the already existing adaptation. I doubt that the 2002 Forsyte Saga TV series would have been made if hadn't been for the classic 1967 version with Eric Porter, or that they would have done a film of Brideshead Revisited if it hadn't been for the practically perfect TV series with Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews (especially as the film showed none of the understanding for its source material that was apparent in the TV version). It's a game of ever decreasing circles. And honestly, how do you think they came up with the idea of doing Poldark? Because the novels are so great? Somehow I doubt it - I may be underestimating their literary qualities, but I suspect the reason for the new Poldark TV series is - the old Poldark TV series.

Some novels can bear over-adapting better than others, because there are so many dimensions and perhaps previously neglected sub-plots to bring to light. I can't pretend I'm wildly excited about the prospect of yet another Les Misérables adaptation (by Davies - surely his time could be better used?), but at least there is a wealth of material there which couldn't be addressed at length in either the latest film versions or the musical, and the French TV version with Gérard Depardieu was frankly a bit hit and miss. But the plot of Pride and Prejudice isn't that complex, and the existing TV adaptation covered most aspects of it. True, Mrs Bennet could do with being less ridiculed, seeing as her fears of a penniless future for her daughters if they do not marry are entirely realistic. But we had a less caricatured Mrs B in the latest film, as in Lost in Austen which played around with the P & P plot... Yep, Darcy and company have already had a lot of outings.

The trend for British newly-scripted costume dramas seems to have stopped of late, and what with these unimaginative new projects on the go, I do wonder what the future will bring. Still, last time I was really despondent about period dramas, Downton showed up on the horizon, so no need to fret yet. Maybe the Yanks will come up with something juicy for us? I mean, if they can do other genres so well (and import Brits for the all-important villain parts)...

The negative virtues of Game of Thrones (first look)

All the hype finally got to me, and finally I felt I had to give Game of Thrones (the TV series, that is) a go. So, years after everyone else, I've now watched half of the first season - and I feel strangely pleased that it's not better.

I had a lot of acknowledged fears about Game of Thrones - that it would prove a complete waste of time, that it would be impossibly grim and gory or that I would be fool enough to fall for one of its universally hated villains. But one unacknowledged fear, that I only admitted to after it was done away with, was that it would actually turn out to be a masterpiece of a series, and unquestionably superior to Once Upon A Time quality-wise. I would then be in the same position as with Great Expectations vs David Copperfield or Upstairs Downstairs (the original series) vs Downton Abbey: I would have to admit through gritted teeth that the first alternative is better objectively speaking, while in my heart of hearts preferring the second alternative because of its more satisfying villain content.

Luckily, Game of Thrones isn't that great. The plotting is often clichéd, the characterisation (so far) crude and the dialogue heavy-footed. What's more, a comparison with Once isn't really a given - the two series may both belong to the fantasy genre, but they have little in common otherwise. Game of Thrones concentrates on political intrigues; yes, there be dragons (not that I've seen any yet), and probably magic too, but the fantasy trappings are peripheral to the story, and you get no fairy-tale vibes at all. GoT actually has more in common with slightly ponderous period dramas than with most fantasy yarns Ive seen. It's like The Tudors, but with made-up characters - which some would argue makes it exactly like The Tudors.

So, how does it hold up as a Tudor-esque drama in its own right? I find it has other negative virtues, apart from the important one of not being better than Once:

It's not orcs-vs-elves fantasy: I have some problems with the fantasy genre, which is why I haven't really read that many books belonging to it, though I'll gladly watch a film or TV programme with a fantasy theme. Fantasy so often ends up as a fairy-tale with all the fun somehow sucked out of it. I think the trouble may be that fantasy writers, in their eagerness to impose some sort of order and method into the lawless lands of fairy tales, oversimplify matters and divide their imagined world into good, beautiful magical creatures like elves and unicorns vs bad, ugly magical creatures like trolls and orcs. In the frequent battle scenes, it's not hard to spot which is the army supporting truth and light. This is a lot less interesting than fairy-tale figures, who tend to have their own agenda and aren't lined up in some larger, overblown fight of Good vs Evil. Some of them may be more mischievous than others, but there's no fail-safe rule as to whether you'll end up better or worse for encountering them. I bet the poor girl who was left coughing up toads as a punishment for being rude didn't think the fairy who cursed her was particularly "good".

All of which has absolutely nothing to do with Game of Thrones, and that's one of its advantages - it doesn't use the plot setup of The Lion, the Witch And the Wardrobe, Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings. Its protagonists are humans - not the most complex you'll encounter, true, but at least not impossibly noble harbingers of light or confusedly motivated minions of evil.

The characters aren't too engaging: In GoT, apparently, you have to be prepared for key characters being sliced and diced at a moment's notice. I've heard it argued that this is a big point in favour of the series: it adds real jeopardy to the scenarios played out. I can see where this argument is coming from. The fight scenes in The Musketeers would have been more exciting if there had been any chance that one of the Musketeers might actually cop it. Also, there are times, in my favourite TV programmes, where I've sighed a bit over "miracle saves" where characters who should be gone geese climb back from certain death or even come back from the dead because they're too popular to kill off (though sometimes, of course, this plot device feels completely justified...). To pick a fairly uncontroversial example, bringing Clara in Doctor Who back after she'd faced a suitably heroic and affecting death in "Face the Raven" was unnecessary in my book - we would have been able to handle the loss, and so would the Doctor.

Here's the thing, though. When you really, truly care about a character - when they may, in fact, be one of the main reasons you are watching a TV series in the first place - your first reaction to a random killing off of this character won't be "oh, what fresh and daring storytelling". It will be "sorry, what?!". Blood sacrifices are necessary sometimes in a TV series, for plot reasons or absconding actor reasons. But adding deaths simply to add "edginess" and a "who lives and who dies" factor? I don't know.

Happily, I don't much care whether the characters in GoT get sliced and diced or not. They're not interesting enough for that. Tyrion Lannister's likeable enough - you can see why he's a fan favourite, as he's what passes for a fully-rounded character in this story. But much of his appeal is down to Peter Dinklage's laid-back cynicism in the role, and even Dinklage struggles with a script that could have done with being a whole lot funnier. Other clever characters, like Lord "Littlefinger" Baelish and sort-of-spy-chief Varys, also lack a certain bite in their banter. Elsewhere, you see familiar tropes like The Noble Outsider Youth or The Girl Who Wants To Fight, Not To Marry. They're nice, I suppose, but if they get killed off, I won't be heartbroken.

The villains are decidedly not seductive: I would usually not count this as a virtue, but I have my reasons not to look for a new villain crush right now - I'm quite happy with the one I've got, thank you very much. And even if I were on the prowl, I would not like to fall prey to someone who risked making a "Top Ten Hated Characters in Television" list, which tends to be the case with GoT baddies.

No fear, though, because boy are the villains one-note so far. Prince Joffrey's a whiny brat who can be relied upon to behave in the most reprehensible way imaginable in any given scenario - because that's what his plot function is. A Draco Malfoy haircut can't save him, nor can comely Harry Lloyd save Viserys Targaryen from being anything else than the pathetic shit who pimps his sister to a savage war lord in order to get an army and then spends the rest of his time being spectacularly ungrateful. (Granted, the sister is tiresome.) True, I've not come across Charles Dance in armour yet - here's hoping he won't test my resolve.

I know all this is damning with faint praises, but I'll say this much for GoT: I enjoy it more than The Tudors or The White Queen. But guys, don't think we straight women viewers don't notice all those gratuitous brothel scenes and bare-chested lovelies. I'm not averse to objectifying myself - villain snogging scenes are always appreciated (though not in a GoT context) - but it hardly makes a series a grand work of art, now, does it?                  

Goodbye to a brainy male hero

Apologies for going down the doctorish road again, but I just can't wait until Peter Capaldi's last Christmas special (which we foreigners don't get to see until well into the new year anyway) before posting some final thoughts on the Capaldi era. Whatever adventure his Doctor is going on this Christmas together with the very first Doctor (with David Bradley taking over the William Hartnell role), it feels likely that the finale of series ten is where we say a proper goodbye to Number Twelve - the Christmas two-Doctor caper being more of a lap of honour.

This series delivered all the way through. Bill Potts (Pearl Mackie) continued to be a great companion, and comedian pro Matt Lucas managed to keep comic relief Nardole from becoming annoying - also, it was a nice touch that for all his apparent goofiness, he was actually more reasonable and responsible than the Doctor himself. Missy as played by Michelle Gomez was great entertainment value, as in series eight and nine, and even when she showed signs of being ready for redemption it wasn't too much or too soppy. Moffat latched on to the idea of two old friends with vastly different moral outlooks who for all that really wanted to find a way to save their friendship and ran with it. Adding another layer to this relationship, John Simm turned up again as the previous incarnation of The Master (I don't think it can be regarded as a spoiler anymore that The Master and Missy - short for The Mistress- are one and the same), who had no interest in reconciliation with the Doctor whatsoever. The dynamic between the two Masters, and between each of them and the Doctor, was a thrill to watch. And of course Capaldi was superlative throughout. Let's face it, whoever was going to succeed him would have suffered from the fact of not being Capaldi. More of this anon.

I know Steven Moffat's twisty plots can get on some people's nerves, and I do see their point. For all their cleverness, there are loose ends that never get properly tied up, and I have occasionally found Moffat too smart-alecky myself - with the overlong story-arcs for the Eleventh Doctor, for instance. But I'm really going to miss him. The finale of this series, World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls, was as gripping as ever, and full of the trademark witty dialogue which has the pleasing side-effect of making the viewer feel clever for appreciating it. (Not all of it was equally good though - that bacon sandwich conversation? For shame.) But once again, I wonder about the younger audience that Doctor Who is supposed to have. Are there any of them left? World Enough and Time was particularly grim, almost like a horror film at times. This is not what I'd consider family viewing - having said that, it works for me.

What's next, then? I must confess that the news that the new Doctor was going to be a woman did not leave me jumping for joy. However, the Master's sex change worked out all right, and I'm willing to give the Thirteenth Doctor a chance. I've not seen Jodie Whittaker in anything else that I can remember (she was in Cranford, apparently, but I don't recall her character), but judging by looks alone she's the right type for a female Time Lord - serene and intelligent-looking. Still, I can't help wondering why making the Doctor a woman was necessary. The thing is, there are plenty of engaging heroines in TV shows already, not least in Doctor Who. Strong women are all the rage, and they tend to have plenty of smarts as well. Brainy heroes, on the other hand, are harder to come by. The Doctor was one of the few who could measure up intelligence-wise with the average villain. When he tries to explain his attachment to Missy to Bill, he says that Missy is the only one who is even remotely like him. Turning the argument around, the Doctor is if not the only then one of the very few heroes I can think of who is even remotely like a villain - while at the same time trying to do the right thing. Those who claim that boys will lose a role model have a point; while far from perfect, the Doctor is a good male character who is also clever, which makes a nice change considering the more-brawny-than-brainy heroes you usually find enacted on your average playground.

Still, I'll let hero-fanciers worry about this. We villain-lovers will never be short of brainy characters to engage with. Come to the dark side: we still have clever, Scottish cookies.

More on the subject of modern-day Austen plots

True enough, Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld proved to be a good, reliable read that I was not tempted to give up on. This novel is part of a project in which modern authors recycle the plots from the novels of Jane Austen – Sittenfeld got the fan favourite Pride and Prejudice. When I first heard about this project, I thought it was a great idea, as was the related project to let modern authors re-imagine the plays by Shakespeare. Now, after having read two of the Austen-inspired books – Eligible and Val McDermid’s Northanger Abbey – as well as plenty of reviews about the other novels in the Austen and Shakespeare projects, I’m no longer that sure.

I did like Eligible, and greatly preferred it to the McDermid Northanger Abbey, but I found myself liking it the most when it didn’t follow Austen’s template. There were some welcome plot surprises which kept the story interesting. In the exposition-heavy first chapters, I was afraid that here would be another author attempting a somewhat Austenesque style – I think Lydia once accuses Liz (the Elizabeth character) of using long words to make her seem cleverer, and the same accusation can sometimes be levelled at the third-person narrator. Soon, though, the style loosens up, and the dialogue between the Bennet sisters is lively and modern (even grumpy Mary is funny). But if I enjoyed the parts of the novel that were the least like Austen best, then how important is the whole Austen conceit?

My argument for approving, in theory, of retellings of the works of famous authors is that their readers are often as familiar with these plots and characters as they are with myths, legends and fairy tales. If these classic stories can be retold to interesting effect – as they so often are – why shouldn’t the same be true of the equally classic stories we find in novels and plays by authors like Austen and Shakespeare? The problem is that tightly plotted, realistic novels like Austen’s leave less room for manoeuvre than a myth/legend/fairy tale. The characters don’t need to be fleshed out – they are already – and there are few blanks to fill in as regards the plot. What’s more, while it’s par for the course to change things around anyway you like in a story that is part of an oral tradition, in Austen’s case there is a “true” story that the modern adapter has to take account of. You can depict King Arthur in a hundred different ways: the same can’t really be said for Mrs Bennet. Authors in the Austen project are further hampered by the fact that they to a large extent keep the same names as in the original, so there can be no question of “filing off the serial numbers” and keeping the readers guessing as to which character is supposed to correspond to which in the original.

In Shakespeare’s case – and I’m reluctant to admit this as I grew up with and loved the Lamb siblings’ Tales from Shakespeare in a Swedish translation – the plots of his plays, which he mostly filched from elsewhere anyway, are rarely the issue. From what I gather from the reviews, the authors of the Shakespeare-inspired novels have had more leeway than the ones involved in the Austen project, but they don’t seem to have come up with that many fresh ideas for all that. What, Leontes in The Winter’s Tale acts like a jerk? Shylock in The Merchant of Venice is hard done by? You astound me.

Having said that, I do think there is room for entertaining and even thoughtprovoking retellings of the classics. But it’s a tricky balancing act to provide variations on a well-loved author’s themes while in some sense staying true to the spirit of the original. In the “set in modern days” retelling subgenre, Sittenfeld fares better than most, but though I liked it, it reinforced my impression that prequels, sequels and retellings from other characters’ point of view do – at least in theory – provide more scope for the author and more fun for the reader. That is, as long as they are done well.    

Becoming unstuck in novel reading – again

It seems that half the time when I blog about books, I write about the difficulty in finishing them rather than the books I actually have read through. Do other readers have the same problem? The book bloggers I’ve come across not only appear to read at an impressive rate, but also to finish the novels they’ve started as a matter of course. Since the spring, however, I’ve had several slightly depressing “I really don’t want to spend hundreds of more pages in these characters’ company” experiences.

First, it was a sort of crime story set in late 19th century New York. The settings were glamorous, the villain passably suave, if something of a gentleman gangster cliché, but after two hundred pages there was nothing to compel me to go on, as the protagonists – a well-to-do family who gets more and more involved with underworld activities due to their own stupid choices – did not interest me one jot. A little later, I started on Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which I might eventually get through, but not for a while. The Swedish translation is lively enough, but a little of this whimsy goes a long way: it’s awkward when a novel that would make a good lunch-time read during a working week is too bulky to lug to work (700 pages plus). Unlike with Kafka On The Shore, I don’t feel sufficienly drawn into a fascinating parallel world to want to spend hours of my precious summer holiday there. Then, there was the time-travel yarn in the vein of Jasper Fforde – complete with ballsy heroine – which was sadly not as good as anything by Jasper Fforde. I know that’s a pretty high standard to hold something up to, but it’s difficult to find the motivation to go on with something that is supposed to be light entertainment but which you don’t actually enjoy. I’d rather wait around for the real Thursday Next (where is she?).

A book I really must finish, as I’m already on page 426, is Anne O’Brien’s The King’s Concubine. And, well… It’s not bad. One quoted review calls it “better than Philippa Gregory”: I’d put it on the same level as Gregory novels I’ve read, but then I’ve not always been bowled over by those. The subject matter – Alice Perrers, a maligned mistress of the English king Edward III – sounds juicy enough. There’s a love interest with villainy attributes that jollies things along for a bit. But 620 pages? The rivalry between Alice and the king’s daughter-in-law Princess Joan, of which I had some hopes after a foreshadowing encounter between the two women when Alice was still a lowly novice in an Abbey, hasn’t really gone beyond petty court sniping yet. It doesn’t help that Edward III is the kind of chivalrous warrior king the English love, i.e. dull: not like his bruiser grandfather or his father of poker and unsuitable boyfriend fame. A plus when reading a novel about an historical figure you have no previous knowledge of is that you don’t know what will happen to him or her. The problem in Alice’s case is I don’t care that much. She rises from nothing, she’s ambitious, and a hard-headed businesswoman: the novel convinces me that she has a case. I just wish it hadn’t been such a lengthy one.

My own mood may be part of the problem here. The annual summer holiday is when you finally have time to relax hours on end with a book – which means that at least my expectations of a gripping summer read are sky high. Every page wasted on padding or less-than-thrilling exposition is deeply resented, as valuable holiday time ticks by. There’s also the fact that I’m on a bit of a daydreaming high at the moment. Daydreams are great when you have to wait in queues or perform the odd menial household task, but maybe they make it harder to engage in other alternative worlds: the ones you can reach by fiction. Perhaps the doors to other magical realms remain closed because I don’t push at them hard enough, being quite content to dwell in dream scenarios of my own.

Anyway, Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld is quite pleasant so far. If I finish that one, I might be in the right frame of mind to give Alice another try afterwards.