To Everybody,

Before proceeding, I must first admit that, until this interesting discussion developed, I had never conceived that the relationshp between Fanny and Edmund had any sinister or abnormal overtones, and that now, while other points of view are fascinating, I'm afraid I still don't see it. Do you think that it could be possible that we are confusing 'fraternal' and 'platonic', here? I think, too, that it is vital to keep in mind the ages of the protagonists, during the time of the novel. I just cannot see that a young man of sixteen, no longer living at home, could bond as a brother might, with this ten year old stranger, to such a degree that any subsequent development of the relationship could be seen as 'abnormal'. I would have thought that the Emma Woodhouse/Mr Knightley relationship might raise more eyebrows, but, there, too, I have no problem. To me, it is simply a fact that families were constructed differently in Jane Austen's England relationships also developed and evolved differently.

Consider one interesting point, relative to Fanny's position in the family: the Bertrams were, undoubtedly, more formal than, say, the Bennets or the Musgroves, but, when considering Fanny's position in the family, it is interesting to note that she is never seen to be on first-name terms with any of the people of her own age that she meets. They all 'Fanny' her, but the reverse is not true. When one remembers that she was brought to the house at such a young age as ten, perhaps this very formal mode of address adopted towards the children she was living with was used as a means of distancing her from the Miss Bertrams and their brothers ('she is NOT a 'Miss Bertram' - their rights and expectations must always be different.'). She only ever addresses Edmund as 'cousin', while she is "Fanny'd" left, right and centre (which sometimes reminds me of Frank Churchill's indignation at Mrs Elton's use of 'Jane', 'bandied about with all the needless repetition of fancied superiority').
Julie

Dear Julie,

As one of those arguing that Edmund and Fanny's relationship has brotherly and sisterly overtones, allow me to add that I don't see this as sinister or perverse. Our own (OK, I only assume that Tasmanians fit the mold) incest taboos are currently fueled by horror stories about child molestation and recovered memories. Neither I, nor, I believe, anyone else, wants to accuse Fanny and Edmund of anything more than being a little bit shy and searching a little bit pathetically for a family to call her own.

Incest taboos are, of course, one of the oldest of human customs. In the days when kinship was the intregal part of the social and political fabric of society, marriage rules (some of the most formal of these have been studied among Australian aboriginies) often included specific rules about whom one MUST marry (Mother's brother's son, e.g.), rather than rules about whom one must not marry. Crawford, with his sociable ways and ammoral home, represents the scary outside world to Fanny. Edmund represents the comforting world of Mansfield Park.  While many of us are sometimes tempted to give Fanny a little shake and say, "Get out there, girl, and seek your fortune in the great wide world," it is exactly this that Fanny fears and from which she shrinks away.

One more point. We don't have taboos prohibiting things that are disgusting or repugnant. Why bother? We have taboos prohibiting things that people would WANT to do if there were no taboos. This being the case, Fanny certainly breaks none of the taboos of her time in marrying Edmund, so we can really accuse her of nothing worse than being a creep-mouseish creature, afraid to venture too far from the wall.

I'm not trying to say that Fanny and Edmund's relastionship IS incestuous, only that it may appear so, not the least to other characters in the book. Perhaps we Americans who, after all, have an entire sub-genre of incest humor, are more sensitive to the brother/sister incest than the world in general. I don't disagree with Julie's assessment of Fanny's character  I simply can't decide if we are supposed to find it more admirable than Mary Crawford's.

Dear Bruce,

I can't decide whether you knew what you were saying or not, when you popped in your Tasmanian assumption, but I'm hazarding a guess that you are from the U.S., and therefore probably didn't. Never mind, it still gave me the best laugh I've had in weeks! You see, in Australia, Tasmanians are notorious for being so inbred as to almost carry an extra head (mainlanders ask about the 'scar' from where this was removed), and, when I moved down here from Sydney, I got so sick of 'happy family' jokes from friends and neighbours, I was ready to throw things. Several distinguished medical types have carried out studies on inherited diseases using Tasmania as a test tube, because of this.

From the Meister: I don't understand everything you
are saying; but, if you have access to a scanner,
the rest of us would like to see your scar.

O.K., I've stopped laughing now.  I see your point about Fanny's timidity; the only thing I must say in her defence is that she is only eighteen years old. I would be a lot more critical of her if she were, say twenty-five, but, though Edmund says that his cousin has 'the age and sense of a woman', she is still very young.

Didn't the ancient Egyptians practice dynastic incest?  I know the Persians did - Darius II married his sister (the one Alexander took off with - platonically!).
Julie

Meister: What's all this Greek stuff? I thought you
were going to lead us into a discussion of Persuasion.

While I do fancy myself as the kind of male that Jane Austen would call "a man of information", I can only beg off on your request for a review of Obstinate Heart. On the one hand I would fear saying something so stupid that I would see my male voice stilled forever, and on the other hand I might get really lucky and say something that actually made sense thereby leading the reader to think I know what I’m talking about. Now as to reporting on my trip this summer, I will not only report on it, but also will show slides and in general bore you (or anyone else) who will give me a few minutes (or hours).

I read the two posts by Kate2 that you recommended and I foresee serious trouble with the women who run Chawton. Serious, tweedy women bring out the worst in me. I will have to agree with you on the "information age" being more of a "communication age", but if you will allow me, I would like to put forth a further refinement and suggest that a phrase turned by Lorna in her post on Mansfield Park even more accurately defines our age. So what I am going with is the "age of undisciplined speculation". I love it.
Ray

Dear Ray,

Your remark about slides was a joke, but we can arrange such a thing. If you have access to a scanner, we can post some of your photos. Here is an amateur photo of Jane Austen's writing desk. I use it on my references page, but it is terrible and should be replaced. Here is another of Jane Austen's last home in Winchester ruined by the presence of two twentieth-century tourists.

You may be wrong about those "tweedy women", remember these are tweedy Englishwomen. They are not of that breed that became so angry with us when trying to teach us in American schools or shush us in American libraries. Still, there will be that terrible danger, that inadvertent power of English women to enchant American men. That can't be a good thing, so I advise you not to look at the women while you are there - avoid that at all costs. Actually, I just watched a wonderful film that illustrated that kind of spell. The actress was Olivia Williams who personifies the Englishwomen fantasy in every American male mind; she has that beautiful accent, perfect manners, and a slim, calm, understated beauty. Women like that don't fool American men, we know a volcano when we see one. Anyway, her character totally disassembles two American male characters who are competing for her notice. The film (Rushmore) is hilarious and you had better study it before you head across to danger.

Olivia Williams had the role of "Jane Fairfax" in the Kate Beckinsale version of Emma. Her interpretation was absolutely perfect, the best I have ever seen. I would recommend that version to Julie Grassi, who adores Jane Fairfax, but Julie is a filmed-version grinch. That version also provides an excellent interpretation of Frank Churchill and an extremely interesting (perhaps controversial) interpretation of Harriet Smith.

Dear Julie Grassi,

Truly off the subject, as an Enzedd (or so I understand) I was wondering if you're a Footrot Flats fan, and if you enjoyed the reference to "Pride and Prejudice" in Murray Ball's "The Flowering of Adam Budd"? Since I don't make a hobby of collecting "crudest JA references", this one tops my list.
Cheryl

Dear Cheryl,

Wrong island. I'm an Australian, originally from Sydney, but when that became overrun with Kiwis we found ourselves obliged to move south - to Hobart, Tasmania, to be exact. Though I'm afraid the pigs are becoming pegs here, too!

I enjoy Footrat Flats very much, and subscribe ardently to the Cooch Windgrass school of farming - right down to the goats. I'm not aware of the reference you mentioned, but I'd love to know more.
Julie

Dear Julie,

I regret to say I never made it to Tasmania while living in Australia, though my husband and I did manage to take in NZ (north island only) on our way home.  At any rate, I guess The Flowering of Adam Budd just came out last year. Imagine, if you will, The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Age 13&3/4 as written by Murray Ball with lots of sex, booze, and bad language. Plus cartoons of course. Does the reference to "Cooch...complete with goats" mean that you farm for a living?

To all,

One reason for exogamy is that marriage represents the forming of new, broader alliances and a break from the Family home.  But this is not what Fanny wants.  Let's look at some of the text, all from the last chapter of the book:

"She was returned to Mansfield Park, she was useful, she was beloved, she was safe from Mr. Crawford  and when Sir Thomas came back she had every proof that could be given in his then melancholy state of spirits, of his perfect approbation and increased regard"

This is what Fanny wants - the safety of a home and the approbation of her quasi-family.

"whether it might not be a possible, an hopeful undertaking to persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would be foundation enough for wedded love."

This is Edmund's opinion of Fanny - he thinks she has "sisterly" feelings for him.

"With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, a regard founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing worth, what could be more natural than the change? Loving, guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being ten years old, her mind in so great a degree formed by his care, and her comfort depending on his kindness, an object to him of such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance with her than any one else at Mansfield."  Certainly Edmund's regard for Fanny was indeed brotherly.

"Fanny was indeed the daughter that he (Sir Thomas) wanted. His charitable kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself" True.  And this was Fanny's dream, too, to be a daughter to Sir Thomas.

"On that event they removed to Mansfield and the Parsonage there, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had never been able to approach but with some painful sensation of restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as everything else within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park had long been." Here's the happy ending.  Fanny heads back to Mansfield and to her step parents (or whatever you want to call them) who are also her parents-in-law.

As Julie correctly points out, Fanny's psychological profile is that of an abandonned child, and her quest in the novel is a quest for a secure home.  But because of Fanny's social insecurity, her quest for a home and a husband does not lead her to look outward, but inward.  While marriage EXPANDS kinship connections for most of us, in Fanny's case it merely STRENGTHENS those relationships she already has.  At the end of the book, she moves back to Mansfield -- her social circle shrinking and contracting just as "shrinking violet" Fanny herself shrinks away from adventure, or strangers, or exercise.  One can only hope that Fanny does not QUITE become another Lady Bertram -- isolated within her family and wholly dependent on her husband.

Appearance vs reality is probably the most universal of JA's themes.  What's interesting is how disgust at the specter of incest -- even in appearance -- unites us all. Would Mary Crawford have taken Fanny into her confidence as she does had she not assumed Fanny's obvious attachment to Edmund was fraternal?  Sir Thomas actually questions Fanny after her refusal of Mr. Crawford, but can determine nothing for certain.  So, the appearance of Fanny and Edmund as brother and sister is vital to the plot and must have been deliberate on JA's part. Just as deliberate must have been her sending Edmund away to Thorton Lacey just when she did.  We can just barely see how, like Henry Crawford, a separation might have given Edmund a new Fanny to come home to. But what about Edmund's anxiety as to "...whether it might be possible, a hopeful undertaking to persuade her [Fanny] that her warm and sisterly regard for him would be foundation enough for wedded love." Eww! I thought before and eww! I still think.  Of course I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Bertram would never have sex for anything but procreative purposes. I'm sorry that this post isn't terribly well organized.  I'm writing down my thoughts as they come to me.

Dear Ashton/Bruce/Cheryl/Julie,

Thank God! At last I have worked out how to post one of these things.  I have been reading the Mansfield Park and Incest debate with much interest, dying to recklessly (and probably inaccurately) contribute. Sadly, my enthusiasm for Austen is not equal to my computer literacy and I've had to stay frustratingly mute. I'm learning, however. I've also left my copy of MP at work, so forgive the lack of specific references, for now.

The incest debate has probably just about run its course now, but my main problem with Edmund and Fanny, is that her relationship with Edmund, and her regard for him, is portrayed very little differently from that of her real fraternal relationship with William. And yes, I do feel there is something odd in Edmund's, 'You are my only sister now.' Surely there must be an intentional comment here on the nature of sexual passion and conjugal relations? I have been rooting through biographies in support of this, but can find little. Poor Fanny--I wonder whether, in a few years after her marriage to Edmund she would have finally discovered grand passion and flirtation: something that Edmund has already visited? And would she have felt forever grateful?  Or would she have become resentful that Edmund 'settled' for her after Mary was off the agenda? Rather like Mary Lloyd's resentment at James Austen's first proposal to the dazzling Eliza Hancock/De Feuillide? She apparently wouldn't let her in the house. Anyway, I've started to make undisciplined speculations-sorry.

Actually, there does seem to be some connection between the Crawford pair and this fascinating Eliza character. Much like Henry, she believed that 'flirtation made the blood circulate'. She had a keen interest in theatricals and was obliged to defend the Austens' indulgence in them to the pious Phila Walters. Park Honan suggests that it was during these rehersals that the two Austen brothers fell in love with her and that Eliza deliberately encouraged this, despite the ten year age gap and the fact that she was married. The twelve year old Jane does not seem to have had too much of a problem with this, but perhaps on more mature reflection she felt it wrong? Honan also points out that she felt contemptuous of James' 'silly, clerical duties' and regretted that he would never become rich. Shades of Mary Crawford? I wonder what Jane felt about Eliza as she got older? And I wonder if James lived to regret his marriage, or whether, in marrying, they actually gave in to an attraction that had festered over many years, despite the obstacles of age and marriage? Tomalin tells us that there was a traditional 'deep suspicion' of her in the Austen family. Did Jane share this? She was dying of cancer as Austen wrote the novel, and it does not seem unreasonable to suggest that Jane may have reflected on her life at this time. Or to suppose that such a person would have made a huge impact on Jane and perhaps even have provoked some irritation and jealousy? Because I do believe that there is an unjustified (albeit rather endearing) streak of malice in the book's ending. Eliza does seem to have represented a rather unsettling influence on the Austen family.  Personally, I like her.

Dear Lorna,

You are so very welcome to the community! Your post did bring one chilling thought, however; I can imagine other persons out there with something interesting and useful to say, starring at the submission form, shrugging, and then moving on - shudder. Actually, you can use e-mail if that is easier for you (in fact, when you fill out the form, the result is sent to me by e-mail). I am at

ashdennis@geocities.com

I will rewrite the instructions for the form so that this option is more obvious.

It is odd that this discussion of incest should come up now, in conjunction with something I have just read. That would be Maurice or The Fisher's Cot by Mary Shelley with editing and an introduction by Claire Tomalin (Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1998). Tomalin's introduction is very long - over 100 pages - and contains a lot of biographical information about the Shelleys. Mary Shelley's dad, William Godwin, was a publisher and she once sent him a manuscript, Matilda, for him to examine and publish. Well, her dad rejected it because the subject matter was father/daughter incest and the novel wasn't published until our century. That is a shocking story but Tomalin softens things a bit by pointing to the poetry of Percy Shelley and Lord Byron - two of Mary's intimate companions - in which brother/sister incest is an occasional theme. These thoughts of incestuous themes in Mansfield Park never occurred to me (I am still very skeptical), but you folks may be on to something - maybe the theme was in the Regency air. Incidentally, you can obtain Matilda under the same cover with two novels by Mary's mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, in a publication in the "Penguin Classics" series ($12 American, $13 Australian).

You say that that you only "like" Eliza, but she dazzles me. If a man should ever imagine himself transported back to Jane Austen's time (a silly hypothetical, no man has ever done such a thing), he would do so with the intention to court and win Jane. Sadly, that man would probably end up in the queue waiting for a dance with Eliza. And what do you say about that escape of Eliza and Henry Austen from France? That reads like something out of A Tale of Two Cities. I, independently, came to the conclusion that Eliza might be the model for Mary Crawford; although, my ideas were not as completely formed as your own. I would demur on one point; I don't think that Eliza herself was the cause for any unease in the Austen family. Rather, I think the question of her paternity was the cause of some concern.

Can you expand upon your judgment "there is an unjustified (albeit rather endearing) streak of malice in the book's ending"? I would like to see you expand upon that.

Dear Everybody,

I think Byron was involved in an incestuous relationship, wasn't he, with his half-sister? I think there may even have been a child.

On musing on Fanny's and Edmund' married life, Jane Austen tells us , 'with so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune of friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as secure as earthly happiness can be.  Equally formed for domestic life, and attached to country pleasures, their home was the home of affection and comfort.' And, to finish off, on removing to the Parsonage, it 'soon grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as every thing else, within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park, had long been.' I think their creator means them to be happy.

Sir, you commented upon a comparison between Mr Collins and Mr Rushworth.  Mr Rushworth is a true upper class English twit, but not, I think, malignant (he was always influenced by the person who could get hold of him and shut him up).  Jane Austen speaks of him as setting off once more into the marriage stakes, to be duped again by some pretty girl 'at least with good fortune and good luck.'  Mr Collins, on the other hand, is a truly chilling character.  He reminds me of Mr Pontifex in Samuel Butler's The Way of All Flesh (who was modelled on Butler's own father). Remember him flogging his little son, because the child had a lisp and was unable to pronounce words correctly?  THAT would be Mr Collins all over.  I imagine him a being, though obsequious abroad, a malignant bully at home, and I do feel for Charlotte and, even more, for their 'young olive branch' - I feel Mr Collins is likely to repeat the pattern of his own bullying, miserly father. Makes my flesh creep to think of it!
Julie

Dear Linda,

Welcome to the community. Julie would have you believe that I am counter-feminist, but I assure you that she has no legal basis for this claim. She is merely making a lucky guess.

I think the word "feminism" is relatively new, but the doctrine is centuries old. I won't attempt to give you any references from our own times, they abound and are easily found. I will recite some things from Jane Austen's own times because I am more familiar with those. First and foremost there are the works of Mary Wollstonecraft. She was the mother of Mary Shelley and a feminist; her most famous work in this regard is A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Feminists of our day would find a small part of that to be a bit strange and, therefore, judge it as only "advanced for its time". In fact, it is only a little different. More to the point are her two novels Mary and Maria, which are fully recognizable to the feminists of our day because they are straight female-victim fare. Actually, Maria is well written--I was shocked--and seems to anticipate Kafka by a hundred years or so. I am perfectly serious about that. The great tragedy is that the novel was only partially completed and was pieced together by her husband after Mary's death delivering Mary Shelley to the world. This fragment displays a creative approach never before seen in Mary's work or anywhere else in the Regency Period.

Claire Tomalin's biography on Mary Wollstonecraft contains an extensive bibliography that will lead you to the writings of English and French feminist thinkers in Jane Austen's time. My guess is that Ms. Tomalin would not like to be thought of as a feminist herself, to not be pigeonholed in that way.

Other than that, I can only point you to the nineteenth-century writings of John Stuart Mill (1806-1873) and Friedrich Engels (1820-1895) on marriage and the plight of the women. Those are nineteenth century essays and are now feminist mantra.

Dear Sir,

Cheeky sod!

It is very difficult to discuss what I will, for lack of a better term, call feminism, because the whole subject of the place of men and women in the world has become so politicised that it is nearly impossible to find neutral language - to find terms that are not 'pre-loaded' with other peoples' agendas. I do, often, think of how difficult it must have been for women, and for the men who loved them, to deal with the enormous problems of fertility, in an age when pregnancy and childbirth were largely uncontrollable, and inherently dangerous for women.  Anthony Trollope, in Barchester Towers, is moving in his description of the Quiverfuls - loving, honest, poor parents of some thirteen children - clinging to the coat-tails of the middle class, but in reality poorer than the neighbouring farmers. I have always respected Mrs Proudie, unlikeable as she is, for her resolution in doing something for that family.

When condemning Charlotte Lucas' decision to marry Mr Collins, Elizabeth herself does not consider how different her life might have been, had there been a brother or two to educate in the Bennet household. (Cutting off the entail would not have increased the income of Longbourn, but the inheritor would, presumably, have had to make two thousand pounds per year stretch to include his own family plus unmarried female relatives). Take a couple of those tablets that I recommended, because I'm about to introduce the 'B' word - seriously. Forget Charlotte Bronte as an author, if you wish, but do, really, read the truly sad history of her marriage and death any man would feel for Mr Nicholls, loving his new wife as he did, as he watched her, dying from the strain of a first pregnancy in middle age. Charlotte, dying, saw her husband of nine months or so crying and praying at her bedside, and managed to say 'God will not separate us, will he? We have been so happy.'

It must have been so hard, knowing that loving, and marrying, a woman, meant that husband and wife alike were subjected the nagging worry that conjugal love meant the risk of pregnancy, with its shadow of death for mother and or baby, and, for many who were 'middle class', the burden of making a fixed income stretch to accommodate more children at their parents' social level.
Julie

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