In an early scene of my novel The Singer sisters, Rock singer Emma Cantor stands with her guitar in a sea of marijuana smoke and curses at an audience of college kids – using “fuck” as an adjective before almost every noun. Her curse words are so serious and frequent that I sometimes laugh when I read the scene out loud. I laugh because, while reading a novel whose plot involves casual sex, shady pill-prescribing doctors, extramarital affairs, lines of coke and the odd joint of explosives, I have to ask myself, “What would Jane think?”
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Jane is, of course, Jane Austen, whom I, like millions of readers, worship as a literary goddess, Jane Austen, whose six complete novels I refer to as “The Six” and whose plastic figure hangs above my desk.
I would die for Jane. A large portion of my bookshelves are overflowing with various special editions of her works. I have dressed up in Regency clothing for Jane, live-blogged Austen adaptations on Masterpiece Classic and yelled at the TV when it didn’t live up to her vision, read reams of literary criticism and “paraliterature” related to her work. In short, I consider “Janeite” to be one of the core components of my identity.
And although Jane Austen, who occasionally displayed stiff morals and a wicked sense of humor, might be surprised by my central references to sex, drugs and other bad behavior, and although the greatest love story in The Singer sisters Although her novel ends with a separation, while all her books end with a marriage, I still argue that she had a great influence on them. After all, Jane Austen was not as stuffy as people portray her: several of her novels feature behind-the-scenes seductions, unwanted pregnancies, and even duels.
But more importantly, on a craft and thematic level, is that she wrote the books about complicated female characters navigating a world that looks enticing but is dangerous. The more I think about my own writing and the form of my novel, the more I see her literary footprint on the pages.
Jane Austen was not as stiff as many claim: several of her novels feature backstage seductions, unwanted pregnancies and even duels.
For example, the opening of The Singer sisters is about a family sitting around the kitchen table discussing the economic prospects of their only daughter. Of course, they don’t say it like that – they’re just berating Emma for choosing to go on tour instead of going to an Ivy League university.
Emma believes her parents, middle-aged folk singers Judie Zingerman and Dave Cantor, are limiting her style. But her mother Judie is so strict and passionate about Emma’s decision that a family crisis ensues. When I wrote this scene, I had no conscious intention of imitating Austen, but there are obvious parallels that have crept in anyway; Austen’s novels often begin with concern for the daughters of the family in the form of their marriage prospects.
Austen’s matchmaking mothers, especially Mrs. Bennet in pride and Prejudiceare seen by many as pushy and even absurd in their attempts to secure wealthy husbands for their daughters, even though they are opposed to their romantic inclinations. At least, that is how I saw these fictional characters when I first read the six novels as a teenager.
But as time went on, as I grew older and kept returning to Austen’s work, I realized that they were… kind of right. Mrs. Bennet was the only person in the whole family who saw clearly, without any cloud of ego or desire, how impoverished her daughters’ lives would be if they didn’t marry someone with at least a little money. Her endless whining about how husbands meant survival, as well as her own insatiable need to get involved. \
(And conversely, Mr. Bennet is terrified that his daughters might end up in a loveless, unequal relationship like his. The failings of Austen’s parents weigh heavily on their children.)
As The Singer sisters finds its way into the world, I hope readers will realize that mother and daughter are right: Although Judie pushes Emma to be a vehicle for her own unfulfilled hopes, she deeply wants her child to be safe, to have a life that not to depend on a man alone, or on the fickle music industry that can be so cruel to so many female artists. Judie, who has spent her whole life searching for freedom and independence and never really found it, wants Emma to achieve the kind of freedom that comes from security, from having a Plan B.
Emma doesn’t understand this at all – and yes, her name happens to be the same as that of Austen’s notoriously twisted, short-sighted teenage heroine in the novel. Like Emma Woodhouse, who is characterized by her blinkers as “beautiful, clever and rich,” My Emma’s existence as a talented but underrated “Nepo baby” makes it difficult for her to put things in perspective.
The Singer sisters is the story of how Emma Cantor gains a new perspective, particularly on her mother’s life – from that moment of smoking weed and swearing, through a glamorous and then ugly interlude in LA, to her return home, older and wiser. While she doesn’t necessarily end up finding true love, as she might in an Austen novel, Emma does begin to listen to the people around her whose advice she ignored for years, and to realize her own potential.
The other common thread of the book is Judie’s second chance: Like Anne Elliot in convictionShe made a decision in her youth that she regrets and that has weakened her. Her path to redemption criss-crosses her daughter’s coming of age.
Jane Austen achieves her genius of characterization by presenting us with competing narratives within a narrative. My favorite example is the way she simultaneously lets us see that Emma Woodhouse is screwing everything up with her matchmaking attempts—while also showing us the delight of Emma’s view of the world: a view she can manipulate and make interesting and meaningful rather than boring and limited.
As readers, we love Emma Woodhouse and are simultaneously frustrated with her on every single page. Ultimately, this dual feeling comes from Austen’s ability to lightly criticize her characters while staying close to their perspective, and to endear them to us with her free indirect speech, where the narrator floats in and out of her protagonists’ subjectivity. This is Austen’s gift to two centuries of readers and to every writer who tries to achieve this perfect balance with their own characters.
EM Forster said of Austen’s “round” characters that they were real because, like us, they were both recognizable and a little bit unruly. We leave our fifth or sixth reading of conviction or pride and Prejudice I’m not entirely sure what motivates our heroines deep down – did Anne Elliot reject her childhood sweetheart, Captain Wentworth, because of her family’s interference, or because she was afraid to leave her aristocratic world and defy them?
Does Emma try to trap her friend Harriet because she wants to make the world a better place, or just to amuse herself? Does Elizabeth Bennet initially resent Darcy because she is a down-to-earth person and he is conceited, or because he told her she was not “beautiful enough” to dance with and hurt her vanity? Does she later fall in love with him because he is kind to her family, or because of his “beautiful estate” at Pemberley, of which she could be mistress? And is Darcy himself a malicious snob or profoundly inept at dealing with people?
We think we know, but we are not sure. Most likely it is both. Because to what extent our ego influences our morals and our decisions is a mystery even to us.
In The Singer sistersMost of my characters are actors, which makes them quite self-centered. But they also have a deep love for each other and for art and music; the interplay of these feelings creates the tension that drives the story forward.
The best rock stars and even Jane Austen know that it is good to have a touch of mystery in your personality.
Does Judie want to end Emma’s career because she is jealous of her daughter’s potential, or because she wants to protect and love her? Does Emma lash out at her mother because she is genuinely hurt by her, or because she is spoiled and vindictive? Or is it both?
As the best rock stars know, and as Jane Austen knew, it’s good to have a touch of mystery in your personality. When people start getting to know my own characters, I hope they’ll feel close to them, love them, and be frustrated by them. But I also hope they’ll end the book with a little pondering about who was really right in their arguments and fights, and what was wrong. Really motivated their decisions.
That way, my characters will leave the page with their readers and go out into the world. And if they can do that, even with just a few readers, I have Jane to thank.
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The Singer sisters by Sarah Seltzer is available through Flatiron.
