The Murder of Mr. Wickham

 

I bought this a few years ago on a lark, thinking to pair something contemporary to Jane Austen July reading. But on reading the back cover I noted that it was, supposedly, a continuation of Emma, a title I’d not yet read. I set it aside, thinking I ought to have greater familiarity with those characters before this; and, let’s be honest, if this were truly a continuation of Emma, albeit a murder mystery, as hinted by the title, I expected there to be a whole lot of spoilers within it concerning the original, spoilers I’d rather not be party to.

How could there be spoilers concerning a 200-year-old book, one asks, one that has a number of screen and television adaptations? Well, I might opine that screen adaptations aren’t always entirely faithful to their source material; and, let’s face facts, after watching thousands of films and tv shows over the course of my life, not everything sticks. So, I set Claudia Gray’s 2022 novel aside for a spell.

To be honest, after last year’s reading of P.D. James’ Death Comes to Pemberley, I wasn’t expecting much. I’d long since come to the conclusion that, published author or not, whomever might hazard an homage to classical works, fan-fiction is fan-fiction. It’s someone’s desire to live in the world of their favourite characters.

I was rather shocked to discover that Claudia Gray (Amy Vincent, but I will continue to refer to her as her pen name, here) is very much one of those authors, and not in a way I might have expected. She has written a whole host of Star Wars novels. Seven, in fact. She is also a prolific fantasy writer, too. Luckily, I did not know this when I purchased this book, or else I may not have done. All prejudices included, I’m sure I would not have done. In my experience, fan-fiction, even that published by publishing houses, is not high-brow. It’s usually only tolerably proficient as literature, in my opinion. You may have a differing view, but I find that publishing houses understand that fans don’t particularly care how poetic the prose may be; indeed, fans prefer that the tale be cinematic, exciting, not layered with theme, nuance, and especially not with devices like unreliable narration. Fans want immersion. They want to live in that world. I’m pleased, then, that I did not know her past publishing history. That said, I wholly expected The Murder of Mr. Wickham to be an immersive experience for Janeites. (Yes, that is the term.) It is just that. So, if I’m not a fan of immersive fan-fiction, then why bother? Simply, I like murder mysteries. I don’t read them often, but I’d a stint when I read Ellery Queen Magazine, alongside Sci-fi pulp mags. Thus, why not? I’m game for a murder mystery set, unexpectedly, in Jane Austen’s Georgian world.

This does not say that something like The Murder of Mr. Wickham is ever going to become a literary classic. It is not Jane Austen. It lacks her biting wit. Her long exacting prose. Her slight of hand in expressing social commentary, when such a thing was not something a respectable lady was invited to do, especially in mixed company; and perhaps not even when not. But, as it turns out, Claudia Gray’s The Murder of Mr. Wickham is a tolerable pastiche of Jane Austen. In its favour it is modern as well: in its prose, social comment, in character depiction; and in its being up front in what it is: an homage to Jane Austen. Claudia Gray channels Jane Austen’s books well, in such a way as one need not have read Jane Austen’s works to appreciate her story (and Jane’s, as well).

I might add that while this is indeed a murder mystery, it is not an Agatha Christie mystery. Then again, perhaps it is. Agatha focussed a great deal on character. But, where Agatha focussed a great deal of energy on the actual murder investigation, Claudia Gray leans more on its characters histories. And there are a lot of characters in The Murder of Mr. Wickham. Those characters are not just drawn from Emma, either. Some are her own creation, the son of George Knightley and Emma Woodhouse of Emma , for instance, and the daughter of Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland of Northanger Abbey, who, it turns out, are the protagonists of all of Claudia Gray’s Mr. Darcy and Miss Tilney Mystery Series, four thus far.

Claudia Gray has taken some liberties: her book is not entirely true to Jane Austen’s books. Her story is a mishmash of the books and the movies. Colonel Brandon’s given name is never given in Sense and Sensibility, itself, but presented as Christopher in the 1995 film. There are other deviations, as well, some greater than others. Colonel Brandon’s ward in the book, for instance, was Eliza Williams; in the film Eliza was Colonel Brandon’s first love, and it was her illegitimate daughter Beth that was his ward. Claudia Gray uses the film’s plot devices and not the book’s; perhaps because, in this day and age, more people are familiar with the film than the book.

I mentioned that Claudia wove a number of Jane Austen’s characters into her story. Those were not only from Emma, Pride and Prejudice, and Sense and Sensibility, as already noted, but also Persuasion, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. She has made a judgement call on when each of those books take place, in regards to Wickham.

The books were published as follows:

·       Sense and Sensibility (1811, probably set between 1792 and 1797)

·       Pride and Prejudice (1813, set in the early 19th century)

·       Mansfield Park (1814)

·       Emma (1816)

·       Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)

·       Persuasion (1818, posthumous)

None are specifically anchored in time, although dedicated Janeites might be able to suggest, with evidence from the texts, when each either does or possibly takes place. Claudia sets them as follows:

·       Pride and Prejudice (1797-1798)

·       Northanger Abbey (1800)

·       Emma (1803-1804)

·       Persuasion (1814-1815)

·       Mansfield Park (1816)

·       Sense and Sensibility (1818-1819)

Claudia sets out her reasons for this in the introduction. Regardless her reasons for the changes she makes, most concerning how they are connected to the eponymous Mr. Wickham, the story holds together well, in my opinion. The characters are stronger than in Death Comes to Pemberley, smarter, more emotional, more thoughtful, altogether more realistic. Honestly, I found Claudia’s story more entertaining than P.D. James’.

What is more poignant here, to me anyway, is that, although this is a murder mystery, it is altogether more a Jane Austen novel than it is an Agatha Christie one. Which is to say that a great deal of this story concerns itself with how Claudia imagines how these beloved characters’ lives unfold following the plots of their original stories – as it concerns the dastardly doings of the nefarious Mr. Wickham.

Which is kind of what’s it’s all about.

 

Death Comes to Pemberley

 

Jane Austen’s works are quite beloved, so beloved by some, that certain writers and readers alike just can’t get enough of them, even though her oeuvre have been exhausted for centuries. There were only six novels, after all (seven if you count Lady Susan), two others left unfinished, a host of Juvenilia, and poems, prayers, and letters. That’s not a lot, but she died young, only 41 years old.

Now considered one of English Literature’s greatest writers, it only stands to reason that more than a few people lament she had not published as many novels as Stephen King. Then again, it is, possibly, that want for more that has risen Jane so high in our imagination. P.D. James is one such person who did so wish. This comes as a bit of a surprise, given her fame as a mystery writer. But what one writes and what one reads and loves need not be the same. That may be a good thing. To read what one writes might haunt her, with bits of other crime novels creeping into her own, unexpectedly.

P.D. James has only written two novels (as far as I’m aware) that are not crime fiction. The first was Children of Men (1992), a rather chilling near-future SF novel, the other Death Comes to Pemberley (2011).

Death Comes to Pemberley is a continuation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, set six years after its events. It’s a pastiche, but also a Georgian mystery novel. (Excepting her Children of Men, it would appear that her apple does not fall far from her tree.) Events begin when Captain Martin Denny and George Wickham are passing through a wooded area of Pemberley, when Denny calls for the carriage to stop, he leaps down and runs into the wood. Wickham chases after him. The coachman hears shouts, but horrified by the cries, does not run into the wood. He raises the alarm, and Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam discover Denny’s bloodstained corpse, Wickham beside him, confessing the death is his fault.

An investigation follows. Then a court case. I’ll leave out the rest. You know: spoilers.

P.D. James received generally favourable reviews for her effort. Some were wildly enthusiastic.

I found the book an altogether enjoyable read. Those characters from P&P are true to Austen’s original; and I’ll hazard that P.D. James did her homework concerning English law of the period. But I’m not wildly enthusiastic about this book. It contains a healthy dose of deus ex machina, followed by lengthy denouement. The book fails, in that regard.

If you are unfamiliar with those terms, deus ex machina (god in the machine) is a plot device where an unsolvable conundrum is brought to resolution by an unexpected, or unlikely, occurrence. Denouement occurs after the climax of a novel, where all the dangling strands are drawn together. Consider Hercule Poirot unfolding a mystery by lengthy exposition. Too long a denouement generally points to the author either weaving an unsolvable narrative, leaving out details, or being so oblique in pointing to crucial clues so that the reader could not possibly solve the mystery. (I should not be so dishonest in using Poirot as an example; one must read Agatha Christie carefully; she is never so perfidious; the clues are there, but you must be an industrially observant reader to catcher her out: her most crucial clue may only be a fragment of a sentence.) These days, such practice is generally frowned on. It leaves a bad taste in readers’ mouths. Show, as we say, don't tell.

Is this novel worth your time? That depends: Are you a Jane Austen fan? Do you love novels where contemporary authors revisit, or carry on, the narratives of others? (I have: early Star Trek novels. Long ago. Before the glut. But only those concerning the original series. But that’s another tale.) If you do, you will likely love P.D. James’ Death Comes to Pemberley.

I found it lacking because of that deus ex machina.