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2.96 AVERAGE
2.96 AVERAGE
I had already given up reading Jane Austen fan fiction, for I can assign no more appropriate category to all of those sequels and prequels and b-grade mysteries and romances which capitalize on Austen's genius. And though I have been well-aware, too, of the inconsistent quality of James' 21st century works, I thought if I were to give another Austen-esque knockoff a try it would be this.
I ought to have left it alone; indeed, I wish I had never read it. It it not only a poor excuse for a mystery, James apparently could not contrive even so ridiculous and obvious a crime without rewriting Austen's beloved characters and needlessly rehashing Austen's novel (which insults the intelligence of her readers, who can be presumed to have at least passing familiarity with the work, as well as the characters themselves, for whom their recollections in every instance have precious little bearing on the situation at hand).
Forgive me - for if James can be allowed to publish such an ill-conceived, incoherent, vain and unilluminating novel, surely I can be allowed to let my own imagination run for a bit.
Darcy laid down his pen with satisfaction, having at last completed the tedious correspondence demanded by the estate's management. It was with much superior satisfaction that he then turned to observe his beautiful wife, whose eyes sparkled with amusement as she turned the pages of the book in her lap. "You have found a much more agreeable occupation for your evening," he commented as she allowed a laugh to escape her.
Elizabeth blushed, for she could only be ashamed to admit the foolish pursuit she had undertaken on this long and dull evening. "More entertaining, rather than agreeable," she confessed. She rose and carried the book to her husband's side, feeling that he might take less offense from the subject if softened by the nearness of her presence. "Read this," she said, pointing to a particularly long and painful passage.
He took it eagerly, happy to please her, but his face darkened to a frown as he skimmed the pages. "What on earth is this, Elizabeth? Is this... is this supposed to be about Pemberley?" he cried, turning to the title page in disbelief.
"It is," she answered with barely contained mirth. "But do you not recognize yourself, my love?" She turned to another passage, even as he met her amusement with a mistrustful glance.
He skimmed another page or two, his frown fixed more firmly in place as he gave closer attention to the words on the page. "I certainly do not recognize you. Have you nothing to say at all in this... story?"
She felt the censure in his voice, but having led him so far into conversation she would not suffer his disapproval for no purpose. "Precious little, which must show proof of its being fictional. I thought you would be amused to read such an unlikely imagination of us and our family."
Darcy scowled, but humored his wife by turning another page or two. "I suppose that anyone who might find interest in two pages' talk of Pemberley's candles would hardly be put off by an inaccurate portrayal of my character. Or yours, my dear." He snapped the volume shut and handed it back to Elizabeth. His sense and his judgment demanded some disappointment in his wife's choice of reading matter, but her lively expression made it impossible for him to voice it. He knew better than to try to correct her, and he had learned through repeated experience that her infrequent indulgence of the absurd often led more to the illumination of his faults than to hers. "Is there really nothing more than this in Pemberley's library to recommend itself to you?" he chided gently.
Elizabeth accepted the volume, resolved at once that she would not finish it. Her husband's disapproval alone would not sway her from a pursuit she truly enjoyed, but as he clearly did not take an equal enjoyment from the novel's folly, she could not enjoy the pursuit of this one so much if he did not share it with her. "I shall send it to my father," she decided. "This will surely entertain him while he awaits further correspondence from Mr. Collins."
With this sentiment, Darcy could share his wife's amusement. "Send it with my compliments. I would suggest you might send it directly to Mr. Collins, but..."
She gladly finished her husband's sentence for him. "... no, I would not wish to renew that correspondence, either."
I ought to have left it alone; indeed, I wish I had never read it. It it not only a poor excuse for a mystery, James apparently could not contrive even so ridiculous and obvious a crime without rewriting Austen's beloved characters and needlessly rehashing Austen's novel (which insults the intelligence of her readers, who can be presumed to have at least passing familiarity with the work, as well as the characters themselves, for whom their recollections in every instance have precious little bearing on the situation at hand).
Forgive me - for if James can be allowed to publish such an ill-conceived, incoherent, vain and unilluminating novel, surely I can be allowed to let my own imagination run for a bit.
Darcy laid down his pen with satisfaction, having at last completed the tedious correspondence demanded by the estate's management. It was with much superior satisfaction that he then turned to observe his beautiful wife, whose eyes sparkled with amusement as she turned the pages of the book in her lap. "You have found a much more agreeable occupation for your evening," he commented as she allowed a laugh to escape her.
Elizabeth blushed, for she could only be ashamed to admit the foolish pursuit she had undertaken on this long and dull evening. "More entertaining, rather than agreeable," she confessed. She rose and carried the book to her husband's side, feeling that he might take less offense from the subject if softened by the nearness of her presence. "Read this," she said, pointing to a particularly long and painful passage.
He took it eagerly, happy to please her, but his face darkened to a frown as he skimmed the pages. "What on earth is this, Elizabeth? Is this... is this supposed to be about Pemberley?" he cried, turning to the title page in disbelief.
"It is," she answered with barely contained mirth. "But do you not recognize yourself, my love?" She turned to another passage, even as he met her amusement with a mistrustful glance.
He skimmed another page or two, his frown fixed more firmly in place as he gave closer attention to the words on the page. "I certainly do not recognize you. Have you nothing to say at all in this... story?"
She felt the censure in his voice, but having led him so far into conversation she would not suffer his disapproval for no purpose. "Precious little, which must show proof of its being fictional. I thought you would be amused to read such an unlikely imagination of us and our family."
Darcy scowled, but humored his wife by turning another page or two. "I suppose that anyone who might find interest in two pages' talk of Pemberley's candles would hardly be put off by an inaccurate portrayal of my character. Or yours, my dear." He snapped the volume shut and handed it back to Elizabeth. His sense and his judgment demanded some disappointment in his wife's choice of reading matter, but her lively expression made it impossible for him to voice it. He knew better than to try to correct her, and he had learned through repeated experience that her infrequent indulgence of the absurd often led more to the illumination of his faults than to hers. "Is there really nothing more than this in Pemberley's library to recommend itself to you?" he chided gently.
Elizabeth accepted the volume, resolved at once that she would not finish it. Her husband's disapproval alone would not sway her from a pursuit she truly enjoyed, but as he clearly did not take an equal enjoyment from the novel's folly, she could not enjoy the pursuit of this one so much if he did not share it with her. "I shall send it to my father," she decided. "This will surely entertain him while he awaits further correspondence from Mr. Collins."
With this sentiment, Darcy could share his wife's amusement. "Send it with my compliments. I would suggest you might send it directly to Mr. Collins, but..."
She gladly finished her husband's sentence for him. "... no, I would not wish to renew that correspondence, either."
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
Well, I read the reviews. I was warned. This is not an exceptional book. The mystery is a little bland (and if they hung Wickham by mistake, it wouldn't have broken my heart) and I was not sold on the characterization of either Elizabeth or Darcy, but it was still not terrible. Just not great, as one might hope.
No matter how much I try, I just am not a Mystery reader....
This book was rather like a nice hug or a warm blanket. It felt wonderful to be swept inside the land of Jane Austen once again. I admit it is not the most exciting book I have ever read. But I enjoyed trying to work out the mystery of 'who done it' and I felt the story unravelled at exactly the right pace to keep it firmly in touch with Austens original.
This book was a bit slow in plot development (natural, I suppose, of murder trials at the time). Personally I felt it was immediately transparent who the murderer was, and I didn't agree with all the character changes the author decided to make. However, I do feel it successfully immersed me in the world of Jane Austen and I chuckled at the sly references to non P&P Austen characters such as Mrs. Knightly and Lord Elliot. Overall, if you like the macabre feeling of a murder mystery, this isn't a bad Austen fanfic, but be prepared for the characters to be a bit changed, and for the explanations at the end to be rather abrupt (as is common in the muster genre).
September (ok really, October 1st's) Book Club selection.
Forgot how much I like a mystery!! This was fun and James does an exceptional job writing in the style of Austen.
Forgot how much I like a mystery!! This was fun and James does an exceptional job writing in the style of Austen.
2.5 stars
I was so disappointed in this!
How did P.D. James make these characters boring and uninteresting????
I was so disappointed in this!
How did P.D. James make these characters boring and uninteresting????
I'd give it 2.5 stars if I could. it was really well written, but kind if boring - I was expecting more considering it is a "murder mystery." Still, it was a quick, easy read since it is pretty short