How "Jane of Austin" Helped This Elinor Connect With Marianne Dashwood

A review of a modernized Austen novel that updates the story with humor and charm.

I can’t say I ever really got Jane Austen’s most passionate heroine.

I read Sense and Sensibility as an eager ninth-grader, nerdy and awkward and unsure of who I was and where I belonged. In Elinor Dashwood, the older sister and the embodiment of sense — practicality, patience, reserve of feeling — I liked to think I could see myself. But though I sympathized with and rooted for Marianne Dashwood, the tempestuous and clever and unmoderated heroine who brings “sensibility” to life, I couldn’t truly identify with her. I wanted her to have a happy ending, but I felt very little of the “kindred spirit” that Anne Shirley — another literary heroine of great passion and depth — might have called Marianne.

Then I read Hillary Manton Lodge’s modern retelling of Sense and Sensibility, and I found a new appreciation for Marianne’s impulsive warmth and single-minded determination.

Jane of Austin: A Novel of Sweet Tea and Sensibility, an inspirational romance set in the U.S. in the 2010’s — not the English countryside in the 1810's — revamps the original Dashwood sisters (Elinor, Marianne, and the underdeveloped Margaret) as the plucky Woodward girls (Celia, Jane, and much-younger Margot). Uprooted from their comfortable life by their mostly-absent father’s business scandals, the sisters start a tea shop in San Francisco as the two oldest assume guardianship of Margot, the youngest. But in a flash forward that spans a single chapter, the new life in San Francisco comes to an abrupt end with the death of their generous landlord, and the Woodwards are forced to start over again in Austin, Texas, reluctantly relying on the Southern hospitality of their mother’s cousin Ian. As they struggle to get their lives and their business back on track, Celia is quietly coping with the mysterious end of a long-term relationship, and Jane unexpectedly falls for a handsome, flashy musician who helps them out of a tight spot on the side of the road — literally. But if you’ve read the original Sense and Sensibility, you’ll suspect immediately that the charismatic Sean Willis is not at all who he seems…

Here’s the thing.

I don’t tend to care for contemporary Christian fiction (a large percentage of what I’ve tried has been fluffy, boring, and poorly written). I definitely don’t feel a connection with good ol’ boy country-and-Western cowboy boot romance. I’m not a fan of iced sweet tea — I’m one of the some who like it hot. And, as a devoted Jane Austen reader, I often give modern “re-imaginings” of her work a wide berth.

But I picked up Jane of Austin at the library after getting to know the author on social media (and figuring I’d better see what it was about since Hillary Lodge is such a nice person), and boy, am I glad I did.

Jane of Austin gets off to a slightly slow start, but it has a lot to live up to and Lodge takes the original material seriously, particularly where character development and personal growth are concerned. The characters she has created are not simply carbon copies of Austen’s masterpieces (an impossible feat anyway) transplanted to a new time and place, but realistic people who echo the original brilliance while bringing a fresh perspective to the characters I thought I knew.

I’ll be honest — I would have appreciated more depth and development in Celia Woodward, the Elinor Dashwood character. Elinor is near and dear to my heart, but I realize much of that love stems from the fact that Elinor is unquestionably the protagonist of S&S. The majority of the story is told from her perspective, which may contribute to my lack of connection with Marianne, who gets very little POV. Jane of Austin, however, centers on Jane Woodward, the Marianne character, and I found myself grateful for it before many chapters had elapsed.

Jane Woodward is passionate about music and tea — not necessarily together — and it is her grit, energy, and creativity that fuel the Woodward sisters’ Valencia Tea Company. She is a little bit neurotic, in a way that could be annoying (and probably would be to a certain extent, if I knew her in real life) but Lodge writes about her so deftly that she managed to charm me immediately. She has clearly defined ideas about good tea (no microwaving or sugar-scooping allowed!) and good company, and she does not hesitate to make them known. When she dislikes someone, she holds doggedly to that first impression, but when she makes up her mind to like a person, she sees only the best and brightest parts of them.

Of course, this practice of never loving — or loathing — by halves has its downsides. If you’ve read the original novel or seen the 1995 film with Kate Winslet and Alan Rickman, you’ll know that Marianne/Jane’s downfall comes from loving not too wisely and all too well. The man she thinks is a Dreamy McDreamface turns out to be a scoundrel and a cad (translated into a modern setting quite seamlessly with Lodge’s skillful plotting) and his betrayal (which I, smugly, have always assumed that I would have seen coming, were I in her shoes) plunges her into the depths of despair. I knew all this would happen in Lodge’s retelling, but as I read it anew, for the first time I truly felt the pain of Marianne/Jane’s heartbreak and cringed at the knowledge that I might have made similar choices in the same situation. Seeing Marianne brought to life (well, on the page) as Jane in a world I recognized gave me a greater sympathy for a character I thought I already knew.

This is the power of a story that transcends time, and the power of a writer who knows how to take the best elements of a classic story and transform them into something fresh and unexpected for the readers of a new generation. One of the reasons I sometimes balk at retellings of classic literature is because I resent the implication that the original is somehow lacking for modern readers. A classic is a book that retains its appeal over time, because it tells a story that remains relevant no matter the era. Sense and Sensibility, my favorite Austen novel, is one of these classics that will forever hold my heart — what it has to say about the truth of the human experience will never grow old for me.

Yet I thought my years of re-readings had exhausted what S&S had to say to me. Jane of Austin showed me that that was not the case. This new spin on an old favorite has both delighted me as a first-time reader and given me a reason to return to the cherished original with a renewed perspective — and a greater sympathy for a character whom I didn’t fully understand before.

As I eagerly anticipate the upcoming TV adaptation (had to shoehorn a mention of that in here somewhere!), I shall give Jane of Austin 4.5 stars out of 5. I withhold half a star because of some stilted sections of dialogue, and because one romance did not develop in a way that I felt satisfactory. I don’t wish to spoil anything, however, so if you really want to know what I’m talking about you may request further details in the comments (and if you do not want to know, then refrain from reading the comments). I will throw in a particularly kind word for Nina, who was such a lovable recreation of the nosy, obnoxiously good-hearted Mrs. Jennings that I found myself wishing I could hang out with her in real life.

And I cannot close without a special mention of one of my very favorite dryly humorous lines from S&S —

“How does dear, dear Norland look?” cried Marianne.

“Dear, dear Norland,” said Elinor, “probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year; the woods and walks thickly covered with dead leaves.”

“Oh,” cried Marianne, “with what transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season, the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as possible from the sight.”

“It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead leaves.”

-chapter 16

Is this little quip beautifully reborn in a different context in Jane of Austin? I would leave that for you to guess and to find out for yourself — although the mere fact of my bringing it up ought to tell you that yes, it is. And it made me laugh out loud. Perfection. Brilliance. Chef’s kiss.

I only regret that I never actually enjoyed a fragrant cup of loose-leaf tea while reading this enchanting novel. Just another reason for a re-read, I suppose.

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This post (originally published at The Book Cafe in 2022) is a part of The Summer of Jane Austen, a literary-inspired endeavor that will (I hope) fuel both a journey of the mind and my own journey to the Jane Austen Society of North America’s Annual General Meeting. More here.