#113 Death Becomes Her
05/02/25 11:16
I was so happy to tuck into Miss Austen, because it’s exactly my jam, and I adore Keeley Hawes, who is beautiful and refined, but in a normal way. Actresses nowadays can look too perfect - flawless, ageless, which equates to freakish or just boring. Keeley’s keeping it real, and she’s married to Tom Wambsgans, which makes her even cooler. When she’s in something, you know it’s going to be classy, and this period drama hasn’t let me down.
Keeley plays Miss Austen – Cassandra, rather than Jane – the older sister, the one who didn’t write, and the one who lived into old age rather than perishing before her time. She’s mainly famous for burning most of Jane’s correspondence in what was either a literary crime, or a sisterly act of safeguarding.
This series starts with Cassandra’s privacy-dash to Kintbury, the home of family friends, to secure Jane’s letters and consign them to the fire, but not without reading them first and indulging in a good old reminisce. Thus we get a dual timeline – firstly, the middle-aged spinster Miss Austen attempting to manage the affairs of her bereaved young friend Isabella, and then the young Cassie’s doomed love affair, her sister’s burgeoning career, and the tremendous affection between them.
The casting is impeccable. In shows where different actors play the young and old versions of a character, it often becomes confusing to work out who is who, or jarring if the younger version is markedly different in appearance. But Synnøve Karlsen, playing the young Cassie, bears an astonishing resemblance to Keeley Hawes, and the action moves seamlessly between ‘past’ and ‘present’. Moreover, we have Jessica Hynes playing the odious Mary Austen, Cassie’s sister-in-law, a ruthless grifter who believes her husband, Jane’s brother, most deserves a biography, which should naturally be written by their son. Jane might get a mention, if she’s lucky – perhaps her correspondence might provide some colour in her illustrious brother’s life story? Gazing at Mary’s pursed, sanctimonious face, I was ready to burn Jane’s letters myself.
Patsy Ferran is a wonderful Jane, playing the great authoress with a winning mix of pertness and wisdom. The script is witty in Austenean fashion without being over-done, glimmers of Jane’s characters and storylines evident in her family, their acquaintances and domestic life. In short, it’s all beautifully done, with very sure hands at the tiller, but what I loved most is how sad it all is, a melancholy that drapes over everything like Holland covers. Everyone is dead, pretty much – the first episode begins with Isabella’s father Fulwar Fowle on his deathbed, and even though he’s subsequently shown to be a bellowing bully, it sets the tone. People die, all the time. Eliza, Fulwar’s wife, is dead. Cassie’s betrothed dies of yellow fever; their parents are no more; a woman in the village suffers from deadly diptheria; brothers are fighting wars. Illness, disease and death are ever-present, taking loved ones one by one.
I don’t know why I liked that so much. ‘Like’ isn’t the right word – I appreciated it, admired it; that acknowledgement of the spectre. In Austen’s works, the great fear is spinsterhood, condemning the poor defenceless woman to a life of obscurity and poverty. But Jane wasn’t scared of being single – she relished it, seemingly indifferent to potential suitors. No man could match her manuscript. However, death came for her aged 41, leaving Cassie bereft once again – another great love of her life, gone. Cassie robbed us of Jane’s letters, but death robbed us of Jane. What other works might she have produced, had she lived longer? Watching this, you get a sense of the terrible waste, senseless loss, in harsh times when even the most amiable, good-looking doctors could make little difference to the outcome.
The ones who stay behind get to shape the legacy, but they also have to endure the loss, left to pack up the house, clear up the mess. Cassandra may have been a bit cack-handed about it, but give the poor woman a break. Jane’s novels ended with happy-ever-afters, but Cassie didn’t get one and neither did her sister. The grief of it hangs heavy, despite the witty echo of Persuasion. That’s what I liked - that it made me sad, made me see the bleak reality behind the flippancy. Perhaps that’s what Jane’s letters revealed, and what Cassie wanted to censor.
It’s important to note that Miss Austen the TV series is based on the book of the same name by Gill Hornby. I haven’t read it but have ordered it because I’m keen to see if it shares that same strange desolation. I’m glad it took a novel to bring this story to life, initially. That is the power of books; they can resurrect the dead. Miss Austen burnt Jane’s letters because she knew her sister would live on anyway. Three hundred years later, here she is, on our shelves and on our telly. She’s still looking good.
Keeley plays Miss Austen – Cassandra, rather than Jane – the older sister, the one who didn’t write, and the one who lived into old age rather than perishing before her time. She’s mainly famous for burning most of Jane’s correspondence in what was either a literary crime, or a sisterly act of safeguarding.
This series starts with Cassandra’s privacy-dash to Kintbury, the home of family friends, to secure Jane’s letters and consign them to the fire, but not without reading them first and indulging in a good old reminisce. Thus we get a dual timeline – firstly, the middle-aged spinster Miss Austen attempting to manage the affairs of her bereaved young friend Isabella, and then the young Cassie’s doomed love affair, her sister’s burgeoning career, and the tremendous affection between them.
The casting is impeccable. In shows where different actors play the young and old versions of a character, it often becomes confusing to work out who is who, or jarring if the younger version is markedly different in appearance. But Synnøve Karlsen, playing the young Cassie, bears an astonishing resemblance to Keeley Hawes, and the action moves seamlessly between ‘past’ and ‘present’. Moreover, we have Jessica Hynes playing the odious Mary Austen, Cassie’s sister-in-law, a ruthless grifter who believes her husband, Jane’s brother, most deserves a biography, which should naturally be written by their son. Jane might get a mention, if she’s lucky – perhaps her correspondence might provide some colour in her illustrious brother’s life story? Gazing at Mary’s pursed, sanctimonious face, I was ready to burn Jane’s letters myself.
Patsy Ferran is a wonderful Jane, playing the great authoress with a winning mix of pertness and wisdom. The script is witty in Austenean fashion without being over-done, glimmers of Jane’s characters and storylines evident in her family, their acquaintances and domestic life. In short, it’s all beautifully done, with very sure hands at the tiller, but what I loved most is how sad it all is, a melancholy that drapes over everything like Holland covers. Everyone is dead, pretty much – the first episode begins with Isabella’s father Fulwar Fowle on his deathbed, and even though he’s subsequently shown to be a bellowing bully, it sets the tone. People die, all the time. Eliza, Fulwar’s wife, is dead. Cassie’s betrothed dies of yellow fever; their parents are no more; a woman in the village suffers from deadly diptheria; brothers are fighting wars. Illness, disease and death are ever-present, taking loved ones one by one.
I don’t know why I liked that so much. ‘Like’ isn’t the right word – I appreciated it, admired it; that acknowledgement of the spectre. In Austen’s works, the great fear is spinsterhood, condemning the poor defenceless woman to a life of obscurity and poverty. But Jane wasn’t scared of being single – she relished it, seemingly indifferent to potential suitors. No man could match her manuscript. However, death came for her aged 41, leaving Cassie bereft once again – another great love of her life, gone. Cassie robbed us of Jane’s letters, but death robbed us of Jane. What other works might she have produced, had she lived longer? Watching this, you get a sense of the terrible waste, senseless loss, in harsh times when even the most amiable, good-looking doctors could make little difference to the outcome.
The ones who stay behind get to shape the legacy, but they also have to endure the loss, left to pack up the house, clear up the mess. Cassandra may have been a bit cack-handed about it, but give the poor woman a break. Jane’s novels ended with happy-ever-afters, but Cassie didn’t get one and neither did her sister. The grief of it hangs heavy, despite the witty echo of Persuasion. That’s what I liked - that it made me sad, made me see the bleak reality behind the flippancy. Perhaps that’s what Jane’s letters revealed, and what Cassie wanted to censor.
It’s important to note that Miss Austen the TV series is based on the book of the same name by Gill Hornby. I haven’t read it but have ordered it because I’m keen to see if it shares that same strange desolation. I’m glad it took a novel to bring this story to life, initially. That is the power of books; they can resurrect the dead. Miss Austen burnt Jane’s letters because she knew her sister would live on anyway. Three hundred years later, here she is, on our shelves and on our telly. She’s still looking good.
- Miss Austen, 4 episodes, BBC One
