Jane Austen on Imperfections and Sending Your Stories into the World
I am traveling and have a number of other deadlines over the next few weeks, so instead of a regular Jane Austen Writing Lesson, I will instead offer several thoughts on writing, inspired by two of Jane Austen’s letters.
Pride and Prejudice was published on January 28, 1813, and on the 29th Jane wrote a letter to her sister Cassandra, telling her that she had received a copy of her book:
I want to tell you that I have got my own darling child from London.
This book was her “darling child,” and she immediately began reading it aloud to a friend, a Miss B. who had dined with them.
She really does seem to admire Elizabeth. I must confess that I think her as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how I shall be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least, I do not know.
Like Austen, I am completely unable to tolerate people who dislike Elizabeth Bennet.
I really like what Austen writes next, about errors or shortfalls in her work:
There are a few typical errors; and a “said he,” or a “said she,” would sometimes make the dialogue more immediately clear; but “I do not write for such dull elves” as have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves. The second volume is shorter than I could wish, but the difference is not so much in reality as in look, there being a larger proportion of narrative in that part. I have lop’t and crop’t so successfully, however, that I imagine it must be rather shorter than “Sense and Sensibility” altogether.
I am currently working on proofreads of my second novel, and I have this overwhelming terror of having errors in the book (because there were a few errors that made it into the published version of my first novel). Yet even Jane Austen had to finish revising her novels and unleash them into the world, knowing that they were as good as she could make them at the time. Furthermore, if she had not left a few lines of dialogue unclear as to the speaker, modern scholars would lose out on all the fun they have debating about who to attribute those particular lines to.
In another letter penned the following week, Austen updated her sister after having read more of the novel aloud:
Upon the whole, however, I am quite vain enough and well satisfied enough.
May we all work to make our writing as good as we can possibly make it, and then may we be “well satisfied enough” to find joy in our work.
[Make sure to come back on August 4th—I’ll be back to my normal schedule of a new Jane Austen Writing Lesson every other Wednesday. Also, if you scroll down you can subscribe so you never miss a lesson!]
New Event: Katherine Cowley at the Provo City Library on July 21, 2021
Readers in Utah–I am coming your way!
I will be visiting the Provo City Library on July 21st at 7:00 p.m. The presentation will be focused on The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet. I’ll talk about writing and about the book, and I’ll lead an interactive letterlocking presentation, so you can learn traditional methods to make your letters secure, just as Mary Bennet does in the novel.
There will also be a Q&A and a book signing. (A local bookstore may have books at the event for sale–more word on that soon.)
If you are in Utah, I hope to see you there!
#38: Establish an Information Gap
In the last lesson, I talked about the importance of giving your character something to discover—this creates curiosity in the reader and a desire to continue reading the narrative. In order to establish this curiosity about discovery, writers create an information gap for both the characters and the readers. As George Loewenstein explained, an information gap is a gap “between what we know and what we want to know.”
But how, as writers, do we create this information gap? How do we make readers aware of the gap between what they know and what they want to know?
1. Establish an Information Gap by Using Character Anticipation
One of the simplest ways to establish an information gap is to show the characters anticipating something, in their thoughts and words and actions. If the characters desire to know something, then not only do readers learn about this desire, but they begin to develop this desire also.
In Emma, almost all the characters anticipate meeting Frank Churchill and learning what he is like, which creates an awareness of him for the reader, as well as a knowledge that we do not know his character. Coming to know him is established as something intrinsically interesting:
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit his father had been often talked of but never achieved.
2. Establish an Information Gap by Breaking a Pattern
The human brain relies on patterns to make sense of the world. The book Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Dies explains that our attention is drawn when a pattern is broken.
There are many “patterns” in Emma, and many of these are related to societal expectations. First, we expect that someone will meet there verbal and written commitments. Mr. Churchill commits to come to Highbury to visit his father, but then he does not. This breaks a pattern:
“Where is the young man?” said John Knightley. “Has he been here on this occasion—or has he not?”
“He has not been here yet,” replied Emma. “There was a strong expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately.”
There is also a societal expectation that someone will behave in a “proper manner” to family members. This respect and consideration would include visiting them, but Mr. Churchill does not visit.
Any time that a pattern is broken in a story, especially if it is a behavioral pattern, then it creates an information gap: we want to know why this pattern has been broken. Another famous example of breaking a pattern in Emma is when Jane Fairfax receives an unexpected gift from an undisclosed person of a pianoforte. People do not simply receive pianofortes from mysterious benefactors, then or today, and this breaking of a pattern immediately creates an information gap, a mystery that Emma is compelled to unravel.
Gif of Jane Fairfax playing the pianoforte in the 2020 film Emma.
3. Establish an Information Gap by Giving Consequence to Not Finding Out
There are endless things that a character might not know, but we only care about them as readers—they only become actual information gaps for readers—if there is a consequence to not finding out. There must be a reason the characters need to discover something. If there are not consequences to not discovering something, in other words, if the information gap has no stakes, then the character has no reason to fill the information gap, and the reader will not care whether or not they do.
In Emma, we like the character of Mr. Weston and we like his new wife, Mrs. Weston. They are good people, who mean a lot to Emma and to others in the community. And so we care that Mr. Weston’s son, Frank Churchill, refuses to visit.
Yet the stakes are not just for the Westons. Emma’s desire to come to know Mr. Churchill and his character relates to her own personal wants and desires. She is a matchmaker, and she has envisioned a match for herself:
Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma’s resolution of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested her. She had frequently thought—especially since his father’s marriage with Miss Taylor—that if she were to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character and condition. He seemed by this connexion between the families, quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that every body who knew them must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and though not meaning to be induced by him, or by any body else, to give up a situation which she believed more replete with good than any she could change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends’ imaginations.
Filling this information gap—coming to know Mr. Churchill and his character—has personal consequences for Emma and her future happiness.
4. Establish an Information Gap by Raising New Questions When Questions are Answered
There is a risk in creating something for your characters to discover: once they have discovered it, why should we keep reading? For big questions, when a question is answered, then a new question is often raised.
In Emma, Frank Churchill does ultimately come to Highbury. We meet him, we see him in front of us. Yet a new question is brought to the fore: what is Frank Churhill’s character? Yes, he has come, but is he the sort of man Emma has expected? Will he meet Emma’s matchmaking expectations and fall in love with her? How will he behavior to various parties now that he is in Highbury? Will there be a ball, and who will he dance with at the ball?
New questions about Frank Churchill are raised with every question that is answered, and in a sense, the larger question that was established before his arrival—what is Frank Churchill’s character?—is never clearly answered. It requires the full novel to answer that question, and each little detail is just one piece of the puzzle.
5. Establish an Information Gap by Revealing Key Information
While it is common to conceal information in order to create an information gap, the reverse can also be done. Revealing key information can actually create an information gap as we become curious about the consequences of this information. This is especially true when what is revealed has the potential to disrupt the forward path of the protagonist.
Austen’s novel Emma relies on concealing information, but her novel Mansfield Park reveals information in order to create a need for discovery.
In Mansfield Park, the main character, Fanny Price, has watched with disapproval as a new neighbor, Henry Crawford, flirts shamelessly with her cousins Maria and Julia, despite the fact that Maria is engaged. Then Maria weds and both her and Julia leave Mansfield Park, and Henry Crawford decides to turn his attentions to Fanny.
At this point, Austen could have created the information gap by simply continuing to show Fanny’s viewpoint. Through Fanny’s eyes, we would begin to see Henry’s attentions to Fanny, and we would wonder at the cause of them. We would wonder if he had changed on a fundamental level, and we would desire to know what both he and Fanny will choose to do as a result of these intentions.
Yet Austen does not follow this storytelling path. Instead, Austen reveals a huge piece of information before Henry begins to pay his attentions to Fanny. Austen provides the following scene between Henry Crawford and his sister Mary:
“And how do you think I mean to amuse myself, Mary, on the days that I do not hunt? I am grown too old to go out more than three times a week; but I have a plan for the intermediate days, and what do you think it is?”
“To walk and ride with me, to be sure.”
“Not exactly, though I shall be happy to do both, but that would be exercise only to my body, and I must take care of my mind. Besides, that would be all recreation and indulgence, without the wholesome alloy of labour, and I do not like to eat the bread of idleness. No, my plan is to make Fanny Price in love with me.”
“Fanny Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to be satisfied with her two cousins.”
“But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny Price, without making a small hole in Fanny Price’s heart.”
Providing this key information to the reader actually raises the stakes and raises our curiosity: we know that Mr. Crawford intends to make Fanny fall in love with him simply because he likes playing with women’s hearts and he wants to amuse himself.
We know from the start that his attentions are not genuine, which heightens the information gap because we feel a strong need for Fanny to discover this.
The other questions are still raised: Will Henry Crawford change? Will his affections become genuine? What will Henry Crawford and Fanny decide to do?
In this particular case, the key information is revealed to the reader but not to the protagonist, yet at times the key information which creates an information gap can be revealed to both the reader and to the protagonist.
In Conclusion
The five key techniques Jane Austen uses to create information gaps and a thirst for discovery are:
- Using character anticipation
- Breaking a pattern
- Giving consequence to not finding out
- Raising new questions when questions are answered
- Revealing key information
Each of these is a power tool to create a gap between what the reader and character know, and what the reader and character want to know. These five techniques can be used individually or in combination.
In the next lesson, I’ll talk about the four categories of things that a reader and a character might want to discover.
Exercise 1: Breaking a pattern
Write a brief scene which includes a number of people doing ordinary or expected things in a place (i.e. a grocery store, a sports game, or a family gathering). Quickly establish the normal pattern of behavior, and then have someone break the pattern.
Exercise 2: Set a timer for 5 or 10 minutes. During this time, make a list of as many events, secrets, characteristics, etc. as possible that be something that characters must discover. Once you’re done, categorize each item on the list as one of the following:
H: Information that, at first, should be hidden or only hinted at—the process of discovery is finding out this information.
R: Information that should be revealed early on to the reader and/or to the character. The information gap and the process of discovery comes from the implications of this revelation.
H or R: This information could work equally well as hidden information or revealed information, though doing so would change the direction of the story.
Exercise 3: Find a story where a character is actively trying to discover something and analyze it: When is the information gap set up? What techniques are used to establish the information gap? Are there multiple information gaps?
#37: Give Your Characters Something to Discover
In one of the famous scenes in Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy dance at Netherfield Ball. After Elizabeth asks him a series of questions, Mr. Darcy says:
“May I ask to what these questions tend?”
“Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. “I am trying to make it out.”
“And what is your success?”
She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”
Gif of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy dancing in the 2005 film Pride and Prejudice
Throughout Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth attempts to discover Mr. Darcy’s character, through conversations with him, conversations with others (including Mr. Wickham and Miss Bingley), and through observation of his behavior. In a sense, Mr. Darcy’s character is a mystery, and Elizabeth the detective.
While most of Jane Austen’s novels would not be considered mystery novels on the surface (with the exception of Northanger Abbey, which is a Gothic pastiche), every single Jane Austen novel contains mysteries, things big and small which the characters are attempting to discover. And whenever Austen’s characters are on the road to discovery, readers are hungry for discovery as well.
People in general—and readers especially—are curious, and this is why we like mysteries, this is why we like reading about the process of discovery.
Scientific research backs this up, particularly the theory called the information gap of curiosity.
The information gap theory of curiosity
An article in Wired magazine, “The Itch of Curiosity,” provides a good explanation of the information gap:
The information gap theory of curiosity…was first developed by George Loewenstein of Carnegie-Mellon in the early 90s. According to Loewenstein, curiosity is rather simple: It comes when we feel a gap ‘between what we know and what we want to know’. This gap has emotional consequences: it feels like a mental itch, a mosquito bite on the brain. We seek out new knowledge because we that’s how we scratch the itch.
Jane Austen constantly constructs information gaps which provoke the curiosity of readers and keep them turning the pages.
Sometimes these information gaps are small. For example, as Elizabeth arrives at Netherfield Ball, there are a series of information gaps:
- Where is Mr. Wickham?
- Is Mr. Wickham even going to attend the ball?
- What is Mr. Wickham’s real reason for staying away?
And then, the novel has larger information gaps, gaps that take a large portion of the narrative to answer:
- Who is right—Mr. Wickham or Mr. Darcy?
- And what should be done once that knowledge is obtained?
There is also a series of questions which invite discovery about Mr. Bingley:
- What will Mr. Bingley be like?
- Will Mr. Bingley be interested in one of the Bennet daughters?
- Why has Mr. Bingley left?
- Will Jane see Mr. Bingley in London?
- Will Jane and Mr. Bingley find happiness?
In his famous screenwriting book, Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting, Robert McKee writes, “Curiosity is the intellectual need to answer questions and close open patterns. Story plays to this universal desire by doing the opposite, posing questions and opening situations.”
Over the coming weeks, we’ll discuss different aspects of incorporating mystery and discovery into fiction of all genres and styles. By following Austen’s example, and creating possibilities for discovery, we can make our stories more compelling and pique readers’ curiosity.
*Note: There’s a great article by scholar Ellen R. Belton titled “Mystery Without Murder: The Detective Plots of Jane Austen.” Belton makes the argument that Austen’s novels are not simply using aspects of mystery and discovery, but are bona fide detective novels—the protagonists are “not investigating criminals, but potential marriage partners.”
Exercise 1: Rush write a short reflection on the following: What is something that makes you curious? When did you first become interested and why? What makes you want to find out more?
Exercise 2: Choose a published story that’s not in the mystery genre. Make a list of examples of information gaps, mysteries, and discoveries within the story.
Exercise 3: Write a scene about a character doing something that is ordinary or routine, such as taking the subway or drinking coffee. The catch? The scene must include an information gap—a mystery, something that must be discovered.
#36: Use the Setting as a Character
In the past few weeks, we’ve talked about a number of concepts related to setting:
- Using description to establish a setting
- Using a distinctive setting for major plot turns
- Using setting to complement or contrast emotion
- Using familiar and invisible settings
- Using unfamiliar settings
- Establishing the character of a setting
Now, for the final post on setting, I want to address one final topic:
Using the setting as a character
I’ve seen some writers claim that every well-written setting is a character, but to me, making this argument is problematic: if every setting is a character, then the words “setting” and “character” cease to be useful—their meanings are conflated and it is more difficult to talk about their very really differences.
In most stories, the setting is not a character. This is true for most of Jane Austen’s work: her settings are interesting and profound, they reflect the character’s emotional states and sometimes the themes of her stories, yet they aren’t characters. Her settings have character, they have flavor, they mean something to the characters, and they impact the plot, but still they are not characters.
One of the Oxford English Dictionary’s definitions is useful in terms of how we use the word “character” in regard to stories:
Character, noun: “A person portrayed in a work of fiction, a drama, a film, a comic strip, etc.; (also) a part played by an actor on the stage, in a film, etc., a role.”
Ultimately, a character is a person, and ultimately, a setting is not.
Yet sometimes, a setting does act the part of a character; sometimes, a setting acts with personhood.
For instance, in “man vs. nature” stories (which includes everything from disaster stories to smaller, more individual stories like Hatchet), the setting does act as a character—but not just any character; here the setting acts as an antagonist, often virulent, actively fighting against the protagonist and their goals.
Yet you don’t have a sinister, oppositional setting for the setting to act as a character in the story.
In order for a setting to be a character it must:
- Play an active part in the story; be an actor.
- Impact multiple plot points throughout the story.
- Carry a larger metaphorical role that is present throughout the narrative, not just in one particular scene or section.
- Be vibrant like a living organism, and have the potential for change.
- Receive the sort of attention from characters that is normally reserved for people.
- Not be a manifestation of a single character or a small group of characters. (For this reason, Rosings would not be a character, because while it is important, it is entirely defined by Lady Catherine de Bourgh.)
A clear example of Jane Austen using setting as a character is in her uncompleted novel Sanditon. Sanditon is a changing, growing sea town that is attempting to grow into a destination, and it acts as a character in the story.
A page from the manuscript of Sanditon
One of the characters, Mr. Parker, describes Sanditon:
“Sanditon itself—everybody has heard of Sanditon,–the favourite spot of all that are to be found along the coast of Sussex;–the most favoured by Nature, and promising to be the most chosen by man.”
He goes on to say:
“Nature had marked it out—had spoken in most intelligible characters—the finest, purest sea breeze on the coast—acknowledged to be so—excellent bathing—find hard sand—deep water ten yards from the shore—no mud—no weeds—no slimy rocks—never was there a place more palpably designed by Nature for the resort of the invalid—the very spot which thousands seemed in need of—the most desirable distance from London!”
The narrator comments:
Sanditon—the success of Sanditon as a small, fashionable bathing place was the object for which he seemed to live….Sanditon was a second wife and four children to him—hardly less dear—and certainly more engrossing.
Sanditon is in a moment of transformation—it is growing, and how it will grow and develop and effect its inhabitants and its visitors is still unclear. The old is being discarded and the new sought for. Mrs. Parker sees the things that have been lost, the things she misses, the advantages of the old Sanditon, while Mr. Parker sees breaking from the past as a good thing:
“And whose very snug-looking place is this?” said Charlotte, as in a sheltered dip within two miles of the sea, they passed close by a moderate-sized house, well fenced and planted, and rich in the garden, orchards and meadows which are the best embellishments of such a dwelling. “It seems to have as many comforts about it as Willingden.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Parker. “This is my old house—the house of my forefathers—the house where I and all my brothers and sisters were born and bred—and where my own three eldest children were born—where Mrs. Parker and I lived till within the last two years—till our new house was finished….
“One other hill brings us to Sanditon—modern Sanditon—a beautiful spot.—Our ancestors, you know, always built in a hole.—Here were we, pent down in this little contracted nook, without air or view, only one mile and three quarters from the noblest expanse of ocean between the South Foreland and the Land’s End, and without having the smallest advantage from it. You will not think I have made a bad exchange when we reach Trafalgar House—which, by the bye, I almost wish I had not named Trafalgar—for Waterloo is more the thing now.”
Yet while Mr. Parker is leading many of the efforts to transform Sanditon, it refuses to be defined by him. It is talked of constantly by others, from Lady Denham to Sir Edward, and many actors have a role in its future, and its future will impact the fates of dozens of characters.
Mr. Parker clings to the idea of Sanditon on a track of forward progress, he holds to his expectations for it:
“Civilization, civilization indeed!….Who would have expected such a sight as a shoemaker’s in old Sanditon!—This is new within the month.”
Yet he cannot control it; it refuses to mold to his desires; it is separate from himself and what he wants for it:
It was emptiness and tranquility on the Terrace, the cliffs, and the sands. The shops were deserted, the straw hats and pendant lace seemed left to their fate both within the house and without, and Mrs. Whitby at the library was sitting in her inner room reading one of her own novels, for want of employment.
It is a place of tension, where even its number and type of inhabitants are outside of anyone’s control:
Mr. Parker could not but feel that the list [of families] was not only without distinction, but less numerous than he had hoped.
Andrew Davies’ television series Sanditon continues Jane Austen’s unfinished story. In the first season, Davies does an excellent job of making Sanditon a character. We see its growing pains, the troubles of the workers, money problems, and, in the final episode of the season, what begins as a minor problem within the setting becomes a major problem for the entire community. In Davies’ adaptation, the setting is constantly an actor in the story and the lives of the other characters.
Exercise 1: Read the article Ten Books Where the Setting is a Character. Find another example of a setting that is also a character. What makes the setting a character? Why is it useful for the story to have this setting as a character?
Exercise 2: Set a timer for twenty or thirty minutes and begin writing a flash fiction story (less than 1000 words) where the setting is a character. You could use your time to outline and develop ideas or to rush write the beginning of the story. If you the like the direction of focus of the story, take additional time to finish writing and revising it.
Exercise 3: Choose three settings that you have experienced in real life (cities, buildings, outdoor regions, etc.) that would make good candidates for being a character in a story. Make a list of each of their distinguishing attributes, and then add a few notes for what it would take for these to not just be a really compelling, cool setting, but also a character in a story.
The Audiobook for The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet is Now Available!
I am so thrilled to announce that The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet is now available as an audiobook.
The book was produced by Dreamscape, and it is narrated by the incredible, award-winning British actor and audiobook narrator Alison Larkin. One of Larkin’s books is on Audible’s top ten list of Best Author Narrated Audiobooks, and she’s also won an Audiofile Earphones award. Not only that, but she has narrated the complete novels of Jane Austen. She is literally the perfect person to narrate my book.
I am absolutely in love with the audiobook–it’s better than I could have ever imagined. Larkin completely captures each of the characters, whether it’s Mary speaking, Kitty, Mr. Collins, or a newspaper article.
You can listen to a sample of The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet audiobook on Soundcloud.
Purchasing the Audiobook
The book is available through Audible. If you don’t have an Audible account, you can get a copy through Libro FM, Chirp Books, Google Play, or Apple Books. Here are the full links:
If you’d like physical CDs of the audiobook, they are currently being printed. You can preorder them on Amazon, Bookshop.org, Barnes and Noble, etc.
If you listen to your book, I would love to hear your thoughts on it!
