The lost Austen
In literature as in life, this year is all about overshadowed siblings striking out on their own — in the world of Jane Austen, at least. Gill Hornby’s book Miss Austen (due in April) imagines what life was like for her beloved sister Cassandra; while Janice Hadlow has put Mary Bennet centre stage in her first novel, The Other Bennet Sister (out in March).
I’ve always felt sympathy for one of Jane Austen’s brothers. James, the so-called writer of the family, was not the author’s confidant like Cassandra, not her favourite brother, not even the most professionally distinguished. He was, like Mary, outdone by his siblings on almost every count.
As the eldest, clergyman James should have enjoyed the distinction of being head of the family. Yet he spent a lifetime waiting for an inheritance from his mother’s family that never came, while his brother Edward — having been adopted by other, wealthy relatives — joined the landed gentry, enjoying an annual income to rival Mr. Darcy’s. Edward not only outranked James, but largely assumed the mantle of patriarchal responsibility, providing a house for his mother and sisters in their hour of need. And romantically, too, James lost out to a brother. Both he and Henry courted their cousin Eliza, who eventually gave her heart to the younger, livelier man.
But it’s on account of his literary ambitions that I really sympathize with James. Ten years older than Jane, he had a gift for light, humorous verse with which he was impressing the family before she even picked up a pen. By the time she was seven, he was composing prologues for the amusement of friends and family who took part in the Austens’ home theatricals. This took a professional turn when he launched a weekly periodical, The Loiterer, for which he wrote much of the content.
The paper certainly inspired Austen; many writers have pointed to similarities between its satirical essays and her juvenilia. Quite possibly he did offer her a first taste of publication: One number contains a letter from the outspoken “Sophia Sentiment,” who might well be a teenage Jane.
The Loiterer folded after a year, owing — according to James — to the shortlist of subscribers and long bill of the publishers. He never sought publication again.
Of course, a young man had to earn his living. But a literary career was by no means incompatible with the one for which he’d been trained: the church. Perhaps the ascendancy of his sister’s star introduced a competitive element to writing that he disliked. Maybe disillusionment just took over, as life got in the way of his dreams: married at 27, he was widowed by 30 with a young daughter to provide for.
But whatever he felt about ceding his writer’s crown, James appears to have been outwardly gracious. After the publication of Sense and Sensibility, he surprised the debut author with a congratulatory poem. “Oh then, gentle Lady!” he urged her, “continue to write.”
So, too, did he. The lively humour that characterizes his essays for The Loiterer and his prologues shines through in the funny verses written for his children (particularly his Address to Tyger, the rectory cat), while his more serious poetry is personal, tender and reflective.
Perhaps he might have achieved more if he hadn’t had such a talented sister hot on his heels. But then, can any family of siblings ever break free from comparison?