Movie Review: Austenland

Being the diehard Austenite that I am, I always have to detach a little from history when I watch an Austen themed movie or series. I had to let go big time when Emily, Ally and I rented Austenland on a relaxed Saturday night. Sometimes at school you can get uber serious and all you do is study and have deep conversation and so you need a light, carefree movie to "refresh your palate" or something like that. Instead of giving my metaphorical taste buds a rest, I ended up biting my literal tongue looking at all the grossly inaccurate, not-at-all Regency pastel decor of the Austenland manor, and I squeezed the life out of my pillow every time someone did something non-kosher. ("Why are you people allowed to sit on the same couch? Why haven't you changed for dinner? Where is all the muslin!?") However, unlike some other Jane Austen films which try and fail at being historical, Austenland is all about Jane Austen misconceptions -- an interesting concept to see on-screen.

I'm going to be honest here: This movie hit my limit in terms of appropriateness. It is not something I would recommend to just anyone. I hesitate to recommend it at all, but there was one redeeming quality that made me feel like it was worthwhile for me as an individual. Two words: Henry Nobley.

The basic plot of Austenland is as follows: Jane Hayes has been in love with Jane Austen (and Mr. Darcy) since she was a child. After a run-in with her really slimy ex-boyfriend, she decides to do something that only characters in chick flicks can do: spend her savings on the trip of a lifetime. Jane heads to Austenland, an insanely expensive resort where women go and pretend to be characters in Jane Austen's world -- complete with romance. Hired actors keep the guests' experience… "lively". Jane is staying with quite the cast of characters, be they paid actors or paying customers. Long story short, Jane finds herself falling for the groundskeeper, Martin, instead of the actor she thinks she's being set up with, the gallant, eye-rolling, utterly Darcy-like Henry Nobley. [SPOILER ALERT] There's tension, awkwardness, historical inaccuracies galore, and then, PLOT TWIST! Lame-o groundskeeper guy is an actor who has been assigned to woo Jane, whereas Nobley is a history professor who has been roped into playing a character by his aunt, who owns the place. Henry really is in love with Jane, and as they both are terrible actors, every moment they shared was real. He's in love, flies across the pond to profess his love (and have tea), and they agree to give it ago. Did I mention that when he's not wearing a cravat he's sporting a thoroughly handsome blazer/sweater/button-down combo that makes his eyes look super blue and gives him an air of educated -- I digress.

He drinks out of a tea cup for the pure nostalgia of it. Hawt shtuff.

The thing about Austenland is that it has nothing to do with the real world of Jane Austen at all. The rich patrons (unlike Jane) experience the highest luxury -- not exactly the experience of Austen's landed gentry. Moreover, Jane Austen did NOT (contrary to popular belief) write romances. The sensuous affairs of Austenland's residents resemble penny dreadfuls rather than classic literature. Austenland is like Mansfield Park in many ways, in terms of plot and themes. It looks good on the outside, but it's morally corrupt on the inside. This moral decadence leads in to what I don't like about this movie -- more on that later -- but now, for the movie's redeeming quality, Henry Nobley.

Besides the fact that JJ Feilds has the best facial expressions, Henry is more than just the "good guy" of the movie. Henry and Jane both love the Regency era on account of its social customs, which are all but non-existent today. The little gestures like standing when a woman entered the room or limiting physical touch to dancing were meant to protect love and promote respect. Perhaps Henry and Jane are a bit idealistic in this regard, thinking that Regency England was some sort of romanticized haven, but the fact they have ideals is extremely admirable. Meanwhile in Austenland, the hideous and over-sexualized modern culture mingles with Jane Austen stereotype to create a pink, frothy concoction Henry calls "grotesque". The prevalence of sexual sin at Austenland directly conflicts with Henry's values and belief in proper conduct. Hence the tension between Martin and Henry. Martin acts entitled to Jane's affections, and takes liberties when it comes to physical contact and playing with her emotions. Henry, meanwhile, is respectful in his touch and his conversation. Henry, in his plain and historically accurate costume, stands as a literal and figurative contrast to his counterparts. Also, he has the most endearing ears.

Dat chivalry, though.

Now unto all that I didn't like. Unlike Greek tragedy, in Austenland, all the not-so-nice stuff happens on-screen. There were a number of "scenes" that made me uncomfortable and I didn't appreciate most of the humor. I also find it disturbing how flippantly the movie deals with a case of attempted sexual assault. While the scene itself isn't graphic or overly disturbing, none of the characters seem to take the occurance seriously. It is implied that such a thing has happened before at Austenland and has been covered up on numerous occasions. Yet Jane reduces the incident to blackmail and threatens to make a case and sue the owner. The notion is dropped by the movie's end with minimal fanfare. The offender is seen free -- albeit unhappy -- in a scene during the credits. While all of this immorality played into the larger themes of the movie, I don't think I can justify the tactless way it was presented. The cases of immorality were not dealt with tastefully but rather treated as crude objects of humor. I wish I could wholeheartedly recommend this movie, but alas... I hesitate. Perhaps one could watch it with Clearplay... though I'm not certain there would be a whole lot left.

On a semi-related note…

My favorite Henry moment was after the play (for there is indeed a play, a la Mansfield Park) when he asked if he might reserve Jane's first two dances at the ball. This was the Regency equivalent of saving the last dance, and I very much appreciated the detail.

He calls people ninjas.

And no, I will not stopping adding Henry gifs to this post.

Images: one, two, three

Fix Your NaNoWriMo Novel in 3 Incredible Steps

I usually resolve not to dwell on my old writing too too much...

But then sometimes I get this irrepressible urge to meander down memory lane. So last night I broke out my 2012 NaNoWriMo novel, you know, the one I don't completely hate. For the first twenty chapters, I was really quite impressed with myself. The opening of the plot was brill.

Then it got dull. Then it got corny. The words were superfluous and the characters were downright annoying. Oh, and plot holes! So many plot holes!

I thought about dramatically bemoaning my utter lack of talent to my family, but I decided against it.

I can always rewrite. I can just read the first twenty chapters and narrate the rest in my head. Besides, it's my vision anyways. Even if no one else can see it in all of its glory, I can!

In the words of famous fashion designer Edna mode: "Go, confront the problem. Fight! Win!" Three simple steps. I can handle that, right? See my errors, fix my errors, write a Pulitzer Prize winner.

Meh, maybe later.

Images: one, two, three, four, five

The Identity Crisis

As I love sharing my most awkward stories with you all, I present The Identity Crisis.

A few weeks ago, I was shopping day with my mum. As I can't exactly drop everything and drive an hour to the mall in my non-existent car at college, it was imperative that we cover as much ground as possible. I'm not particularly prepared for this warm weather, you see. We drove the half hour to the nearest (half-decent) local mall and let the games begin.

One of the first stores we frequented was a department store, curious to our local area and typically populated by New Jersey moms -- NJM for short. Notable characteristics include heavy foundation (usually a tone too dark), heavy flowery perfume, and mom jeans. They are typically found perusing the clearance racks or looking at over-sized, 80's style earrings. It came as no surprise to me that there were at least half a dozen meandering around the store while I walked through the dress section.

"Excuse me?" An older woman who was an up and coming NJM, doused in what I have always envisioned Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds smelled like, looked at me expectantly. "Do you know where the men's dressing rooms are?"

"The fragrance dreams are made of"? So the matter of dreams is a perfume...?

 My mouth formed a round 'O'. "Um..." I had been going to this store since I was a wee lass. I could tell you where to find the wannabe snap-on bow ties, the sheer curtains, the maternity clothes, and the baby blankets, but no male dressing rooms. "Well, the guys' stuff is that way. There's probably a dressing room somewhere around--"

"She's not a saleslady," my mother said, coming up behind me. "This is my daughter." And she placed her hand on my shoulder in that semi-protective, semi-proud sort of way that makes you feel like it's your graduation.

The woman nodded a bit. She may have smiled, but I didn't really notice. "Thanks anyway." As she and her husband wandered off, I retreated to the dressing room in the thick of an identity crisis.

"Do I look like I work here?" I asked my mom as I looked myself up and down in the full size mirror. Sure, I don't really dress like other people my age. However, I thought my scarf-skirt-boot combo came across as as youthful and classy, not someone who particularly desired a 40% employee discount on high-waisted jeans and bedazzled velour tracksuits.

"You look like a young college student who is spending her break working and earning some extra money," my mom said, unaffected and looking over her haul of dresses and tops.

She meant it as a compliment. Didn't her little girl look so grown up? Wasn't she flattered that people finally recognized that she was indeed a young woman, no longer bound by the constrains of high school stigmas? However, her reassurance did me little good. I always thought my style made me look mature. Now I felt like the poster child for NJMITM: New Jersey moms in the making. Perhaps I could open my own store: NJMSH (New Jersey Moms Shop Here). Free lip pencils with every $50 purchase. My future was bleak and flower-scented.

I took a moment or two to summon my pride and give my mother fashion advice. Then I dared to venture into the shoe department unaccompanied.

Cue another woman, also with her husband. She wasn't the NJM type, though I still remember sensing thick perfume. I wondered who sold these stinky scents and thought of Prof. Harold Hill and the original NJM, the mayor's wife. Why, Mrs. Shinn! Prof. Harold Hill would exclaim. That style! That grace! That indescribable elegance! Why, there's only one thing that could make you seem even more splendid... She would have purchased not one but two bottles of White Diamonds on the spot.

The one, the only, MRS. SHINN.

"Excuse me, do you work here?"

The corner of my mouth twitched a little. "No," I said, "but perhaps I can help you?" In that moment, I seriously considered making a break for the nearest American Eagle. I was so desperate for a touch of youth that I was willing to don a standard teenage uniform of flannel and jeans. Perhaps if I had put on that pair of Uggs that were stuffed in the back of my closet, I could have been mistaken for sixteen, not have been approached, and left in ignorance of the confusion.

I was soon in the throes of a mini identity crisis. Ought I reevaluate my wardrobe? Binge on Top 20 tunes? Invest in some corny YA lit? Brush up on 21st century lingo? (I can use the words "swag" and "trippy" with moderate success... Is that sufficient?) Am I doomed to be middle aged before my time?

Okay, maybe only one of those questions actually popped into my head. The point is, why should I feel pressure to be anything other than myself? I do not look like a prospective New Jersey Mom. I like how I dress. I don't care if I don't look like a typical twenty-something. For one, I'm not twenty yet, and second, I'm not exactly thrilled with our cultural approach to dress, or much of anything for that matter. The mainstream media offers a pretty bland culture, one that has lost sight of goodness and truth. It doesn't offer identity -- it demands that everyone mindlessly conform. Well, I'm proud of my identity, because I have one. It's always changing, since I'm always learning more about myself, but at least I have one. So I'm going to keep seeking out the "good stuff" in life, and if that means opting for a different movie, opting for some better music, or dressing a little differently, so be it. Let the Mrs. Shinns of this world keep mistaking me for a saleslady! I could care less! (Just as long as they don't corner me in the perfume aisle... That's how the NJM syndrome spreads.)

Images: one

Titles Revisited

Something amazing happens when you reread books. They're so familiar and yet so different. The words haven't changed, the book hasn't changed, but you have. You approach it with a different outlook on life and more life experience under your belt. Books that you once thought were the bee's knees may actually be kind of lame. Yet other old favorites are even richer the second time around. They're old, dear friends who welcome you into their home without any pretensions and don't care if you help yourself to their tea stash or fall asleep on the couch. They just fetch the milk and sugar and throw a blanket over you.

I just finished reading Brideshead Revisited, and I just know it's going to be one of those books that begs for a second go. I'm so glad I didn't read it till now. I've learned a lot in the past year and a half about reading critically and I found a lot of meaning in it, but I can just sense with my reader spidey senses that there is even more to unpack. Rereading Brideshead promises to be a totally different experience from rereading The Chronicles of Narnia or Princess Academy. For those books, the story-world just comes rushing back and it feels like I've returned home. I don't think I'd call Brideshead "home" -- it has a magic of a different sort about it -- but I would call it a keeper. I'm still making sense of the last page. I read it aloud to myself a second time, trying to fully understand it, but there's so much... May I just say that Charles Ryder is the English version of Nick Carraway? I'll admit there are numerous differences between the two, but there were some parts of the book that screamed Gatsby to me. Also, I am going to buy myself a teddy bear and name it Aloysius. Oh, and future husband take note: The English knew how to dress. Looking over screenshots from the two film adaptations, I'm practically drooling over the tweed. Oh yes. Tweed jackets and amazing waistcoats are most definitely in order.

Love the quirkiness of this cover. Mine is still very pretty, though.

I've written a review on Goodreads, which I would encourage you to check out. Spoiler free, I promise!

I'm planning to read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn next, if I can find enough time before school. Hopefully this summer I will be able to reread some favorite titles. Persuasion and Peter Pan are at the top of my list. I am also hoping to get biographies on Jane Austen and J.M. Barrie. Not only do I love their books, but they interest me as individuals and I gobble up every bit of trivia on the two I can find.

* Note: Brideshead does have more mature themes. The content isn't overly explicit and everything contributed to the larger whole, but younger readers take note.

images: one

Valentine's Day: The Enemy of Adventure

That vague sense of impending doom? Yeah, that's a sign that Valentine's Day is coming up. Never mind that St. Valentine(s) was a hardcore martyr(s)/saint(s) extraordinaire(s), look what happened after his/their death(s)! (Plural confusing you? Click here.) Someone, someone who deserves to be killed by a slew of Cupid's arrows, had the brilliant idea to commercialize his feast. Now there is an entire 24 hours dedicated to romance --- and some of us are on the outside looking in. 
* I have discovered that it is held that Chaucer of Canterbury Tales fame first associated V-day with love. However, it was not commercialized until centuries later.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly is perpetually single. It's actually pretty fun, when you think about it. I'm in that magical stage of my life where I am learning all about who I am. And you know what? I'm BRILLIANT! When things are meant to happen, they'll happen, so until then, I am going to celebrate my perpetual singleness with nut-free chocolate and decaffeinated Earl Grey. No pity parties for me!

Another thing that is lovely about being single is boys from books. You can enjoy them all, guilt-free. No commitment whatsoever. I can wax poetic about Mr. Knightley one moment, and be completely free to drool over Captain/Lord/Mr. Bradford the next. Boyfriends tie you down. Allow me to demonstrate. Back in my personal Dark Ages, a.k.a. my Jonas Brothers phase, I was hopelessly in love with Nicholas Jerry Jonas. (I just scared myself. How do I know his middle name? HOW DO I STILL REMEMBER THIS GUY'S MIDDLE NAME!?) Apparently my baby-sitter liked him too. (Yes, I was still young enough to have a baby-sitter. Awkward...) Well, she was in a relationship with some guy, don't really know who, and we were talking about boys. Because that's what young girls always talk about with their baby-sitters, right? Anyways, I asked her if she'd dump her boyfriend for Nick Jonas, you know, if Nick Jonas ever randomly showed up in a helicopter, got on one knee, and asked her to go out with him for burgers and milkshakes. (You'd have to be careful with the milkshakes because he has diabetes and you'd have to mind that he didn't overdo it on the sugar.) And you know what she said? NO. Middle school me could hardly believe it.

"But he's NICK JONAS!" I gaped.

My baby-sitter finished putting the last coat of nail polish on my nails (because I was also too young to paint my own nails with any success). "Yeah, but I like *insert boyfriend's nowadays ex-boyfriend's name here*. I wouldn't want to give that up." 

HOW CAN YOU RESIST THAT FACE?

Do you see what being in a relationship does to you? To quote The Princess and the Frog, "Hitchin' ties you down! You just wanna be free, hop from place to place!" We all saw what problems Rose Tyler's pseudo-relationship with Mickey caused when she was adventuring with the Doctor. See, I can't properly enjoy my fictional men if I'm dating! If Nick Jonas showed up in a helicopter, I would be taken. Relationships interfere with adventures. Tumnus asks you for tea, Hagrid tells you you're a wizard, the Doctor grabs your hand and whispers "run", Bilbo hands you the Ring, or a portal opens that can take you to any fictional world of your choosing. Your response? "Sorry, my boyfriend is waiting for me. We're supposed to be going out for texting and scones later. Later." ISN'T THAT UBER LAME!?

You can't go for texting and scones with the Doctor (or Rory) if you're in a relationship. Duh.

The more I think about it, the more I'd like to die a spinster. I could don a fabulous cap like Jane Austen did even though she technically wasn't a widow or spinster yet and I could spoil my nieces and nephews with sweets. Ah, yes. I think I shall die alone. Alone and free. Mmm, yes, I like that plan. Spinsterhood, here I come!

I like adventures, which is why I will end up an old maid.

 DISCLAIMER: This post is dripping with sarcasm and should not be taken literally. The authoress is, in fact, content with her marital status and simultaneously enjoys reading about grand adventures and gallant gentlemen. She does not, however, resent dating, nor does she have any intention of dying an old maid. Furthermore, the authoress extends her most sincere wishes for a happy Valentine's Day to all her readers.

Image Credits: first, second, third, fourth

Back & Better

Ally and I are back on campus, and we're better than ever, baby! Both ready to fill our minds and hearts to the brim with wisdom, we face a shiny new semester full of fresh starts, new experiences, and friends of both the old and new varieties. Furthermore, on January 22nd, we celebrated our 4th Friendaversary! (Yes; We are one of those lucky pairs who know our friendaversary.)

WE'RE FOUR!!!

Our updated and improved room looks pretty spiffy too. I have plenty of quotes on my wall, along with photographs and writing inspiration-worthy art and a list of my writing goals for the semester. Jane Austen's silhouette (captioned with her official title, Queen of Snark) is positioned so that she is visible through our open door. (As you know, love is an open door, and we have that in full supply.) Speaking of Frozen, our Elsa-themed confidence wall is just opposite. Want a look?

The Queen of Snark (our patroness)

Let It Go = the motto for the semester

This ought to keep me busy!

I look forward to another semester spent cultivating my mind and growing as a person. I am so blessed to go to a school with such holistic approach to the liberal arts. I have learned plenty of practical skills, sure, but I have grown so much as a person, thanks to my education. Plus, this place is practically overflowing with cool people! Did I mention Emily and I now have Peter Pan friendship necklaces? I have an acorn, and she has a thimble. The clasps are like clocks! Isn't it perfectly Pan of her? I think my necklace is just ducky (and not just because it was almost the gift that I got her!).

I'll be posting whenever I can with my busy academic schedule and limited wi-fi access, but I hope to keep everyone in the know on anything and everything literary, as well as respond to any and all blog comments. So stay tuned, folks: I have a good feeling that this is going to be a brilliant year for story-telling.

Bedtime Stories

I may be a legal adult, but I love a good time bedtime story. Yet sometimes, reading a story for myself just won't cut it. There are some nights where all I want is for someone to sit on the end of my bed and read me a chapter or two of The Silver Chair, because I'm a hipster and even if everyone else hates it, it is probably my favorite Narnia book. Yet this never happens. Why? Because my sister is a BUM and doesn't love me, that's why! She says she has to "get some sleep" because she has "school tomorrow". Can't a girl get a bedtime story over here? There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes!

- The Fourth Doctor

May I also add that Tom Baker not only played the fourth Doctor, but Puddleglum, my favorite character from Narnia. My favorite character who also happens to be in The Silver Chair and gives the greatest speech of all time. I mean, I'm not condoning the BBC version of Narnia (it's wretched and will give you nightmares), but the epic is strong with this one.

Anyways, bedtime stories are important. A brief conversation with Emily has confirmed this. Reading to your children at night is priceless. It has developmental benefits, sure, but there is something so utterly magical about being read to as a child. It sets off a creative spark that is kindled throughout childhood and shows its greatest fruits in adulthood. Better yet is when someone weaves together a one-of-a-kind, one-night-only story made out of thin air!

Irony of ironies, it was my turn to tell my sister a bedtime story last night. The poor gal just got braces, and they have hardly been kind to her. Last night, her upper lip was all swollen and she was positively miserable. My dad and I shuffled her off to bed, and while we were laying in the dark, I asked in a small voice, "Do you want a bedtime story?" She gave the affirmative, and thus I began. Once upon, in a land far away, there was a prince...

It was brilliant, if I do say so myself. ("Oh, the cleverness of me!") I threw together this whole story about a selfish prince who was always scowling and had been lured into this tower by a dragon and now had his foot in his own chocolate birthday cake, and I was just getting to the big reveal about how the dragon was actually a cursed princess when my sister fell asleep. I was on the brink of completing the greatest bedtime story ever told, which was full of fantastic one-liners, and she fell asleep. I guess that was the point, but COME ON. I deserved an award for that one, or at least a bit of praise at the end. Tsk, tsk. Sisters. So ungrateful!

Now, I am going to go spoil myself with a few passages of Peter Pan. That unique combination of delightfully happy and unfathomably sad stuff ought to make my day a little more interesting, don't you think?

Ha! The stars are such spazzes!

Side note: Do you realize how many corny quotes from Peter Pan there are in Google Images? Most of them aren't even actually from the book. Clearly, no one realizes how truly depressing, dark, and twisted this novel is. *sigh* No one appreciates literature, not really... (False: Plenty of people do, it's just that sometimes people's sentimental preconceived notions of Peter Pan sadden me.) Operation Spread the Word About Words needs to start NOW.

Image credits: top