The New York Times Sunday Book Review
The Jane Austen Book Clubby Karen Joy Fowler
In California’s central valley, five women and one man join to discuss Jane Austen’s novels. Over the six months they get together, marriages are tested, affairs begin, unsuitable arrangements become suitable, and love happens. With her eye for the frailties of human behaviour and her ear for the absurdities of social intercourse, Karen Joy Fowler has never been… See more details below
In California’s central valley, five women and one man join to discuss Jane Austen’s novels. Over the six months they get together, marriages are tested, affairs begin, unsuitable arrangements become suitable, and love happens. With her eye for the frailties of human behaviour and her ear for the absurdities of social intercourse, Karen Joy Fowler has never been wittier nor her characters more appealing. The result is a delicious dissection of modern relationships.
The New York Times Sunday Book Review
The New York Times
"A luxuriant pleasure!" -Alice Sebold
"Part character study, part social commentary, part literary puzzle, Book Club builds on Fowler's success as an author of highly creative fiction." -The New York Times Book Review
"Karen Joy Fowler creates a novel that is so winning, so touching, so delicately, slyly witty that admirers of Persuasion and Emma will simply sigh with happiness." -Michael Dirda, The Washington Post Book World
"Start quoting a few of Fowler's puckish lines and it becomes damnably difficult to stop. . . The Jane Austen Book Club amounts to a witty meditation on how the books we choose, choose us too." -San Francisco Chronicle
"The Jane Austen Book Club offers a sparkling rumination on the act of reading itself and how beloved books can serve as refuge, self-definition, snobbish barricades against other people or pathways out of the old self to a wider world. [It is] a terrific comic novel about a closed society merrily transforming itself by reading." -Maureen Corrigan, NPR's All Things Considered
"[Fowler] does so terrific a job of bringing her characters to life that Austen's work falls away like a husk. It's an impressive feat of homage, since Fowler essentially borrows Austen's great themes…and makes them her own. Miss Austen would be proud." -The Denver Post
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Read an Excerpt
in which we gather
to discuss Emma
We sat in a circle on Jocelyn's screened porch at dusk, drinking cold sun tea, surrounded by the smell of her twelve acres of fresh-mowed California grass. There was a very pretty view. The sunset had been a spectacular dash of purple, and now the Berryessa mountains were shadowed in the west. Due south in the springtime, but not the summer, was a stream.
"Just listen to the frogs," Jocelyn said. We listened. Apparently, somewhere beneath the clamor of her kennel of barking dogs was a chorus of frogs.
She introduced us all to Grigg. He had brought the Gramercy edition of the complete novels, which suggested that Austen was merely a recent whim. We really could not approve of someone who showed up with an obviously new book, of someone who had the complete novels on his lap when only Emma was under discussion. Whenever he first spoke, whatever he said, one of us would have to put him in his place.
This person would not be Bernadette. Though she'd been the one to request girls only, she had the best heart in the world; we weren't surprised that she was making Grigg welcome. "It's so lovely to see a man taking an interest in Miss Austen," she told him. "Delightful to get the male perspective. We're so pleased that you're here." Bernadette never said anything once if it could be said three times. Sometimes this was annoying, but mostly it was restful. When she'd arrived, she seemed to have a large bat hanging over her ear. It was just a leaf, and Jocelyn removed it as they hugged.
Jocelyn had two portable heaters going, and the porch hummed cozily. There were Indian rugs and Spanish-tile floors of a red that might hide dog hair, depending on the breed. There were porcelain lamps in the shape of ginger jars, round and Oriental, and with none of the usual dust on the bulbs, because it was Jocelyn's house. The lamps were on timers. When it was sufficiently dark out, at the perfect moment, they would snap on all at once like a choir. This hadn't happened yet, but we were looking forward to it. Maybe someone would be saying something brilliant.
The only wall held a row of photographs-Jocelyn's dynasty of Ridgebacks, surrounded by their ribbons and pedigrees. Ridgebacks are a matriarchal breed; it's one of their many attractive features. Put Jocelyn in the alpha position and you have the makings of an advanced civilization.
Queenie of the Serengeti looked down on us, doe eyes and troubled, intelligent brow. It's hard to capture a dog's personality in a photograph; dogs suffer more from the flattening than people do, or cats even. Birds photograph well because their spirits are so guarded, and anyway, often the real subject is the tree. But this was a flattering likeness, and Jocelyn had taken it herself.
Beneath Queenie's picture, her daughter, Sunrise on the Sahara, lay, in the flesh, at our feet. She had only just settled, having spent the first half-hour moving from one of us to the next, puffing hot stagnant-pond smells into our faces, leaving hairs on our pants. She was Jocelyn's favorite, the only dog allowed inside, although she was not valuable, since she suffered from hyperthyroidism and had had to be spayed. It was a shame she wouldn't have puppies, Jocelyn said, for she had the sweetest disposition.
Jocelyn had recently spent more than two thousand dollars on vet bills for Sahara. We were glad to hear this; dog breeding, we'd heard, could make a person cruel and calculating. Jocelyn hoped to continue competing her, though the kennel would derive no benefit; it was just that Sahara missed it so. If her gait could be smoothed out-for Ridgebacks it was all about the gait-she could still show, even if she never won. (But Sahara knew when she'd lost; she became subdued and reflective. Sometimes someone was sleeping with the judge and there was nothing to be done about it.) Sahara's competitive category was Sexually Altered Bitch.
The barking outside ascended into hysteria. Sahara rose and walked stiffly to the screen door, her ridge bristling like a toothbrush.
"Why isn't Knightley more appealing?" Jocelyn began. "He has so many good qualities. Why don't I warm to him?"
We could hardly hear her; she had to repeat herself. The conditions were such, really, that we should have been discussing Jack London. . . .
Most of what we knew about Jocelyn came from Sylvia. Little Jocelyn Morgan and little Sylvia Sanchez had met at a Girl Scout camp when they were eleven years old, and they were fifty-something now. They'd both been in the Chippewa cabin, working on their wood-lore badges. They had to make campfires from teepees of kindling, and then cook over them, and then eat what they'd cooked; the requirement wasn't satisfied unless the Scout cleaned her plate. They had to identify leaves and birds and poisonous mushrooms. As if any one of them would ever eat a mushroom, poisonous or not.
For their final requirement they'd been taken in teams of four to a clearing ten minutes off and left to find their own way back. It wasn't hard, they'd been given a compass and a hint: The dining hall was southwest of them.
Camp lasted four weeks, and every Sunday Jocelyn's parents drove up from the city-three and a half hours-to bring her the Sunday funnies. "Everyone liked her anyway," Sylvia said. This was hard to believe, even for us, and we all liked Jocelyn a ton. "She was attractively ill informed."
Jocelyn's parents adored her so, they couldn't bear to see her unhappy. She'd never been told a story with a sad ending. She knew nothing about DDT or Nazis. She'd been kept out of school during the Cuban missile crisis because her parents didn't want her learning we had enemies.
"It fell to us Chippewas to tell her about communists," said Sylvia. "And child molesters. The Holocaust. Serial killers. Menstruation. Escaped lunatics with hooks for hands. The Bomb. What had happened to the real Chippewas.
"Of course, we didn't have any of it right. What a mash of misinformation we fed her. Still, it was realer than what she got at home. And she was very game, you had to admire her.
"It all came crashing down on the day we had to find our way back to camp. She had this paranoid fantasy that while we were hiking and checking our compass, they were packing up and moving out. That we would come upon the cabin and the dining hall and the latrines, but all the people would be gone. Even more, that there would be dust and spiderwebs and crumbling floorboards. It would be as if the camp had been abandoned for a hundred years. We might have told her too many Twilight Zone plots.
"But here's the weird part. On the last day, her parents came to pick her up, and on the drive back, they told her that they'd gotten divorced over the summer. In fact, she'd been sent off just for this purpose. All those Sunday drives together bringing the funnies, and they couldn't actually stand each other. Her dad was living in a hotel in San Francisco and had been the whole month she was gone. 'I eat all my meals in the hotel restaurant,' he told her. 'I just come down for breakfast and order whatever catches my fancy.' Jocelyn said he made it sound as though that were the only reason he'd moved out, because restaurant eating would be so swell. She felt she'd been traded for shirred eggs."
One day several years later he called her to say he had a touch of the flu. Nothing for her to worry her darling head about. They had tickets to a baseball game, but he didn't think he could make it, he'd have to take a rain check. Go, Giants! It turned out the flu was a heart attack. He didn't get to the hospital until he was already dead.
"No wonder she grew up a bit of a control freak," Sylvia said. With love. Jocelyn and Sylvia had been best friends for more than forty years. . . .
There's no heat with Mr. Knightley," Allegra said. She had a very expressive face, like Lillian Gish in a silent movie. She frowned when she was making a point, had done this since she was a tiny girl. "Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax meet in secret and quarrel with each other and make it up and lie to everyone they know. You believe they're in love because they behave so badly. You can imagine sex. You never feel that with Mr. Knightley." Allegra had a lullaby voice, low, yet penetrating. She was often impatient with us, but her tones were so soothing we usually realized it only afterward.
"That's true," Bernadette agreed. Behind the lenses of her tiny glasses her eyes were round as pebbles. "Emma is always saying how reserved Jane is, even Mr. Knightley says so, and he's so perceptive about everyone. But she's the only one in the whole book"-the lights came on, which made Bernadette jump, but she didn't miss a word for it-"who ever seems desperately in love. Austen says that Emma and Mr. Knightley make an unexceptional marriage." She paused reflectively. "Clearly she approves. I expect the word 'unexceptional' meant something different in Austen's day. Like, nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to set tongues wagging. Neither reaching too high nor stooping too low."
Light poured like milk over the porch. Several large winged insects hurled themselves against the screens, frantic to find it, follow it to the source. This resulted in a series of thumps, some of them loud enough to make Sahara growl.
"No animal passion," said Allegra.
Sahara turned. Animal passion. She had seen things in the kennels. Things that would make your hair stand on end.
"No passion at all." Prudie repeated the word, but pronouncing it as if it were French. Pah-see-ohn. Because she taught French, this wasn't as thoroughly obnoxious as it might have been.
Not that we liked it. The month before, Prudie's beautician had removed most of her eyebrows; it gave her a look of steady surprise. We couldn't wait for this to go away. "Sans passion, amour n'est rien," Prudie said.
"Après moi, le deluge," Bernadette answered, just so Prudie's words wouldn't fall into a silence that might be mistaken for chilly. Bernadette was really too kind sometimes.
Nothing smelly outside. Sahara came away from the screen door. She leaned into Jocelyn, sighing. Then she circled three times, sank, and rested her chin on the gamy toe of Jocelyn's shoe. She was relaxed but alert. Nothing would get to Jocelyn that didn't go through Sahara first.
"If I may." Grigg cleared his throat, held up his hand. "One thing I notice about Emma is that there's a sense of menace." He counted off on his fingers. He wore no ring. "The violent Gypsies. The unexplained pilferings. Jane Fairfax's boat accident. All Mr. Woodhouse's worries. There's a sense of threat hovering on the edges. Casting its shadow."
Prudie spoke quickly and decisively. "But Austen's whole point is that none of those things is real. There is no real threat."
"I'm afraid you've missed the whole point," said Allegra.
Grigg said nothing further. His eyelashes dropped to his cheeks, making his expression hard to read. It fell to Jocelyn as hostess to change the subject.
"I read once that the Emma plot, the humbling of a pretty, self-satisfied girl, is the most popular plot of all time. I think it was Robertson Davies who said so. That this was the one story everyone was bound to enjoy."
. . .
When Jocelyn was fifteen, she met two boys while playing tennis at the country club. One of them was named Mike, the other Steven. They were, at first glance, average boys. Mike was taller and thinner, with a prominent Adam's apple and glasses that turned to headlights in the sun. Steven had better shoulders and a nice smile but a fat ass.
Mike's cousin Pauline was visiting from New York, and they introduced themselves to Jocelyn because they needed a fourth for doubles. Jocelyn had been working on her serve with the club pro. She wore her hair in a high ponytail that summer, with bangs like Sandra Dee in Take Her, She's Mine. She had breasts, pointy at first, but now rounding. Her mother had bought her a two-piece bathing suit with egg-cup shaping, in which Jocelyn was exquisitely self-conscious. But her best feature, she always believed, had been her serve. Her toss that day was perfect, taking her to full stretch, and she spun the ball into the service court. It seemed she couldn't miss. Her spirits, as a consequence, were high and wild.
Neither Mike nor Steven spoiled things by being particularly competitive. They split games sometimes, and sometimes they didn't; no one really kept score but Jocelyn, and she did so only privately. They traded partners. Pauline was such a little snot, accusing people of foot faults in a friendly game, that Jocelyn looked better and better by comparison. Mike said she was a good sport, and Steven said she wasn't a bit stuck-up, not like most girls.
They continued to meet and play after Pauline went back home, even though three was such an awkward number. Sometimes when they rallied, Mike or Steven would try to run from one side of the net to the other to play on both teams at once. It never worked and they never stopped trying. Eventually some adult would accuse them of not being serious and throw them off the court.
After tennis, they'd change into their swimsuits and meet at the pool. Everything about Jocelyn changed with her clothes. When she came out of the women's locker room, her movements were cramped and tight. She'd wrap a towel around her waist and remove it only to slip into the water.
Still, she liked when they stared; she felt the pleasure of it all over her skin. They came in after her, touching her under the water, where no one could see. One or the other would swim down to put his head between her legs and surface with her knees hooked around his shoulders, the water from her ponytail streaming into the cup over her breast. One day one of them, she never knew which, pulled the knot of her top loose. She caught it just as it began to drop. She could have stopped this with a word, but she didn't. She felt dangerous, brazen. She felt all lit up.
She had no desire for anything further. She didn't actually like Mike or Steven that much, and certainly not in that way. When she lay in her bed or the bath, touching herself more intimately and successfully than they did, the boy she pictured was Mike's older brother, Bryan. Bryan went to college and worked summers as a lifeguard at the pool. He looked the way a lifeguard looks. Mike and Steven called him the boss, he called them the squirts. He had never spoken to Jocelyn, possibly didn't even know her name. He had a girlfriend who rarely got wet, but lay on a beach chair reading Russian novels and drinking Coca-Cola. You could tell how many she'd drunk from the maraschino cherries lined up along her napkin.
In late July there was a dance, and it was girl-ask-boy. Jocelyn asked Mike and Steven both. She thought they knew this, assumed they would talk about it. They were best friends. She thought it would hurt someone's feelings if she asked one and not the other, and she didn't want to hurt anyone. She had a strapless sundress to wear; she and her mother went out and bought a strapless bra.
Mike showed up at her house first, in a white shirt and a sports jacket. He was nervous; they were both nervous; they needed Steven to arrive. But when he did, Mike was shocked. Hurt. Furious. "You two have a great time," he said. "I got other things to do."
Jocelyn's mother drove Jocelyn and Steven to the club and wouldn't be picking them up again until eleven o'clock. Three whole hours had to pass somehow. Glass torches lit the pathway to the clubhouse, and the landscape flickered. There were rose wreaths and pots of ivy animals. The air cool and soft, the moon sliding down the sky. Jocelyn didn't want to be with Steven. It felt like a date now, and she didn't want to date him. She was rude and miserable, wouldn't dance, hardly talked, wouldn't take off her cardigan. She was afraid he might get the wrong idea, so she was trying to clarify things. Eventually he asked some other girl to dance.
Jocelyn went out by the pool and sat in one of the lounge chairs. She knew that she'd been unforgivably mean to Steven, wished she'd never met him. She wasn't wearing stockings and her legs were cold. She could smell her own Wind Song perfume mixing with the chlorine.
Music floated over the pool. "Duke of Earl." "I Want to Hold Your Hand." "There is a house in New Orleans." Bryan sat down on the end of her chair, making her blood skip. Probably she was in love with him.
"Aren't you the thing?" he said. The only light around them came from under the water and was blue. He was turned away, so she didn't see his face, but his voice was full of contempt. "There's a word for girls like you."
Jocelyn hadn't known this, hadn't even known there were girls like her. Whatever the word was, he didn't say it.
"You had those boys in such a fever. Did you like that? I bet you liked it. Did you know they used to be best friends? They hate each other now."
She was so ashamed. She'd known all summer there was something wrong with the way she was behaving, but she hadn't known what it was. She had liked it. Now she understood that the liking it was the wrong part.
Bryan gripped one of her ankles hard enough so that the next morning she had a bruise where his thumb had been. He slid the other hand up her leg. "You asked for this," he said. "You know you did." His fingers grabbed at her panties, pushed them aside. She felt the slick surface of his nails. She didn't tell him not to. She was too ashamed to move. His finger found its way inside her. He shifted his weight until he lay over her. He was wearing the same bay aftershave her father had worn.
"Bryan?" His girlfriend's voice, over by the clubhouse. "True Love Ways" playing on the turntable-Jocelyn would never like Buddy Holly again, even though he was dead, poor guy-the girlfriend calling. "Bryan? Bryan!" Bryan slid his finger out, let go of her. He stood up, shaking his jacket into place and smoothing his hair. He put his finger into his mouth while she watched, took it out. "We'll catch up later," he told her.
Jocelyn walked down the watery path through the torches and out to the road. The country club was in the country, up a long hill. It took twenty minutes to drive there. The roads twisted and had no sidewalks and were surrounded by trees. Jocelyn started home.
She was wearing sandals with one-inch heels. She'd painted her toenails, and in the moonlight, her toes looked as if they'd been dipped in blood. Already there was a raw spot on the back of one heel. She was very frightened, because ever since camp she'd lived in a world with communists and rapists and serial killers. Whenever she heard a car coming, she stepped away from the road and crouched until it passed. The headlights were like searchlights. She pretended she was someone innocent, someone who hadn't asked for anything. She pretended she was a deer. She pretended she was a Chippewa. She pretended she was on the Trail of Tears, an event Sylvia had recounted in vivid if erroneous detail.
She thought she'd be home before her mother left to pick them up. All she had to do was go downhill. But in the beam of a passing car, suddenly she didn't recognize anything. At the bottom of the hill was a crossroads she never came to, and now she was going up, which she shouldn't be doing, even for a short time. There were no street signs, no houses. She kept going forward only because she was too ashamed to go back. Hours passed. Finally she found a small gas station, which was closed, and a pay phone, which was working. As she dialed she was sure her mother wouldn't answer. Her mother might be out, frantically looking for her. She might have packed all her clothes into the car while Jocelyn was at the dance, and moved away.
It was midnight. Her mother made a horrible to-do about it, but Jocelyn convinced her that she'd only wanted some fresh air, some exercise, the stars.
--from The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler, copyright © 2004 Karen Joy Fowler, published by G. P. Putnam's Sons, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., all rights reserved, reprinted with permission from the publisher.
What People are saying about this
"A luxuriant pleasure!" —Alice Sebold
"Part character study, part social commentary, part literary puzzle, Book Club builds on Fowler's success as an author of highly creative fiction." —The New York Times Book Review
“Karen Joy Fowler creates a novel that is so winning, so touching, so delicately, slyly witty that admirers of Persuasion and Emma will simply sigh with happiness.” —Michael Dirda, The Washington Post Book World
“Start quoting a few of Fowler’s puckish lines and it becomes damnably difficult to stop. . . The Jane Austen Book Club amounts to a witty meditation on how the books we choose, choose us too.” —San Francisco Chronicle
“The Jane Austen Book Club offers a sparkling rumination on the act of reading itself and how beloved books can serve as refuge, self-definition, snobbish barricades against other people or pathways out of the old self to a wider world. [It is] a terrific comic novel about a closed society merrily transforming itself by reading.” —Maureen Corrigan, NPR’s All Things Considered
"[Fowler] does so terrific a job of bringing her characters to life that Austen’s work falls away like a husk. It’s an impressive feat of homage, since Fowler essentially borrows
Austen’s great themes…and makes them her own. Miss Austen would be proud.” —The Denver Post
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Although THE JANE AUSTEN BOOK CLUB was a light, easy read; unfortunately, that meant it didn't have much depth to it. The characters and their stories weren't as fleshed out as I would have hoped. I got to know and appreciate some of the characters more than others, but -- for example -- was exhausted [YAWN] reading Prudie's story in Chapter 3. I think there was too much history/background provided for each character. They supposedly "learned to love" thanks to Austen's books, but their limited time in the present didn't allow me to feel much personal interaction between the central characters as I should have. When something happened to them, I couldn't emote. "Austen can plot like a son of a b*tch!" Too bad Folwer can't. Fowler does have a way with words and provide some memorable quotes throughout her novel, though, I'll give her that. She sets up concepts that make you think... "...all parents wanted an impossible life for their children -- happy beginning, happy middle, happy ending. No plot of any kind. What uninteresting people would result if parents got their way." "Happiness in marriage is mostly a matter of chance." ...and sometimes laugh... "[He] had too much hair and not enough neck." "A charming, unattached man was too valuable to throw away just because you had no immediate use for him." Having somehow never read Jane Austen throughout my years of English classes, I got a bit distracted when Fowler's characters started talking about Austen's characters during one of their book club sessions. Fortunately (although too late), I discovered that at the back of the book there were summaries (mini CliffNotes, if you will) for each of Austen's books. I wish I had known this prior to finishing the book, as it would have helped a bit to feel like I, too, was in the discussion more during the book club sessions. I'm not saying that you need to have read Austen's books before reading JABC, but it certainly would help to be familiar with Austen's storylines and characters, as well as have an appreciation for Austen's literary style and who she was as a person. "Austen was no occasion for displays of ego." All in all, I think Fowler does have potential as a writer because she can write dialogue "like a son of a b*tch," but she needs to develop her characters and their interactions much more to give us a reason to care about them. "Every time I read Pride and Prejudice, I want to dig [Jane Austen] up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone." - Mark Twain
Nashville City Paper Bookclub June 10, 2004 Saralee says Jane Austen sells more than just about any other author today, dead or alive. What is it about an author who was first published in 1803 that makes her so relevant today? Austen wrote more than six books and every time I re-read one I wish she were still writing today. With The Jane Austen Book Club (Putnam), Karen Joy Fowler, who was a PEN/Faulkner award finalist for her book Sister Noon, has written a great story that should satisfy even the most finicky Janeite. Five women and one man form the Jane Austen book club. There is the boss, Jocelyn, who is single and raises Rhodesian Ridgebacks; her best friend Sylvia whose husband of 30 years has just left her; Allegra who is gay and Sylvia's daughter; Prudie the high school French teacher; Bernadette the oldest and perhaps the most adventuresome who has had numerous husbands; and Grigg, the only male, a science fiction fan who intrigues and frustrates the club when he compares Austen to Ursula LeGuin. When the club discusses Emma we learn all about Jocelyn. Sense and Sensibility provides us with Allegra's story, Mansfield Park covers Prudie's story, Northanger Abbey is about Grigg, Pride and Prejudice concerns Bernadette, and we conclude with Persuasion and Sylvia. What is your favorite Austen book and why? I loved Fowler's Reader's Guide at the end of the book. There is a summary of the six Austen novels covered in this book and 'The Response' which includes comments from the critics and friends of Austen during her life. Who was your favorite character in Fowler's book? Did you like the way she matched her characters to one of Austen's novels? I especially enjoyed the characters' discussion of the book Persuasion and the very dignified way Sylvia conducted her life. The conclusion was very appropriate and satisfying to a Janeite like me. Not since The Secret Life of Bees (Penguin) has a book been so compatible for book club discussion. Larry's Language I did not pick this book. It was obviously my beautiful wife's choice because it is a clear example of chick lit, fiction focused on women, romance, personal feelings, social standing and all those things that Jane Austen wrote 200 years ago. Not much, except the names of the guilty parties, has changed. Fowler's book club in The Jane Austen Book Club is composed of five women and one poor man whose role clearly is to be manipulated first by his sisters and then by these smarter, sharper, neater and more stylish women. By the end of the book he has learned his proper place in life and literature, just like the men in Austen's books. How can the smarter gender like my wife keep reading and rereading these same stories? Surely they figured out the social graces, the class structure, and the true meaning of life the first time or two. Or maybe the Austen fans are frustrated because the men in their real lives are not properly trained so they live out their fantasies in the world that Austen created. If you think I am exaggerating about this somewhat engaging book that is a cross between a novel and a social commentary, just read these statements by Fowler: 'I think we should be all women ¿ the dynamic changes with men. They pontificate rather than communicate. They talk more than their share.' I ask you, who knew they were counting the words? Then Fowler writes, 'Besides, men don't do book clubs ¿ . They see reading as a solitary pleasure.' Obviously, in some social circles, there can only be one proper way to read a book. Fowler should attend my men's book club where we not only pontificate but view it as a great opportunity for food, gossip and politics. Actually I enjoyed this book because it was provocative and stimulating. Following Fowler's advice, happy endings are the important thing and she provides Austen type resolutions for most of her book club members.
I DID BUT I DIDN'T LIKED IT . THE MOVIE SEEMED TO FLESH OUT THE CHARACTORS AND PLOT BETTER. I WOULD HAVE TO AGREE WITH ONE OF THE OTHER REVIEWERS THAT IT WAS A SLOW PACED. IT TOOK ME LONGER TO READ THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD.
Did not and will not finish this book, very disappointed as I am a huge Jane Austen fan and had hoped to see how the author might be able to tie it all together. I was not able to connect with any of the characters and failed to see the point of the book.
My book club read this book and it was universally disliked. It was more like snippets of information rather than a story that developed into anything even remotely interesting.
I was very disappointed by the Jane Austen Book Club. I am a fan of Jane myself and was looking forward to the book and movie. The book was a very slow read because it lacked a lot of plot. There was no climax and no end result. The book just started and then stopped. I am usually a fast and avid reader but it took me almost 2 months to read this short book. I never saw the movie but I will rent it when it comes out. I imagine the movie will be better.
Jane Austens Book Club makes a sincer attempt. However I found this book was really slow and at times unreadable. Other times I found it quite enjoyable. The sexual content wasn't as profound as I was lead to believe by other reviews. I think the concept of the story is very good but the end product at times seemed a little sloppy.
I was nauseated by this book. Fowler's love of crassness is most vividly realized in this pitiful excuse of a book! If you have to write junk, get to it, but don't besmirch such a wonderful author as Jane Austen.She never displayed such uncalled for crap in her exceptinal works, and yet this 'book' has her name in the title. Please don't waste your time and more importantly don't pollute your mind with this
After reading Rebecca's review, I doubted whether my opinion could contribute valuable new insights. Rarely have I been so thoroughly disappointed by a book that seemed so promising on the outset. Jane Austen is worthy of many a book club with amateur or expert discussions. As much as she is a joy to read, she is a treasure to discuss amongst Austen adepts. Why then does Joy Fowler do so poorly? Her characters are developed weakly, the omniscient narrator has rarely been imposed so uselessly and none of Austen's wit or irony pervades the book. I was waiting to be taken in by at least one of the protagonists, hoping that they would induce the warmth and intimacy that characterizes many a good novel. I was disappointed up to the very end. None of the characters sparkle, not even Jocelyn who has so much potential to become an enchanting heroine. Surely a novel called `The Jane Austen book club¿ that is acclaimed so highly by many a decent newspaper should live up to at least mediocre standards? I cannot believe an intelligent and inspired writer such as Alice Sebold has conspired against thousands of readers by claiming `If I could eat this novel, I would¿. Even a glass of water is more tasty than this book.
There should be a rule requiring permission to use Ms. Austen's name. This book disgusted me so much that I could not get through half of it. If you love Ms. Austen, do not even attempt to lay your eyes on this book.
I found this novel to be better than several of the reviewers here would lead one to believe but certainly nowhere nearly as good as I had been led to believe. I was disappointed because I felt the storyline was a great idea and a great opportunity for a good writer to develop. Unfortunately it often fell flat and much of the time the characters were uninteresting or annoying. I stuck with it to the end but really can't recommend it.
As an English teacher and long-time Austen fan, the title of the book intrigued me, as did the rave reviews on the jacket--all the more reason to live by the adage that you should never judge a book by its cover. First, I was put off by the fact that our FIRST PERSON narrator was somehow, miraculously, omniscient. A little strange, but OK, I'll buy it. But then, about 2/3 of the way through the book, it hit me: our omniscient FIRST PERSON narrator is not a character in the story!! 'The six of us--Jocelyn, Bernadette, Sylvia, Allegra, Prudie, and Grigg--made up the full roster of the Central Valley/River City all-Jane Austen-all-the-time book club.' (p. 5)Somehow, among all the I's and We's, no one stopped to notice that they were not attached to a character in the novel. How did no one catch that before publishing, let alone making it to the bestseller list? It's the oversight of the century, but at least it completely overshadows the dry, go-nowhere plotline and the slapdash character development.
The glowing cover blurbs made me think this would be a great book-- it's not. The writing is trite and the characters are rude and boring. None of them are particularly likeable. It's not bad enough to quit reading halfway through, but, fortunately, it is a short book.
I was really excited about this novel because I love all of Jane Auten's works. I was disappointed after reading this though. Fowler has very little imagination and the 'drama' is very disconnected. The characters were flat and, as a reader, I was unable to relate to them. Perhaps if one read this just for a 'beach read' it wouldn't be so bad, thus the two stars.
Take an group of uninteresting, narrow, insipid characters; add a story where nothing happens; and you have one of the most boring critically acclaimed books ever written.
My bookclub chose to read this book and we all were very very disappointed. In fact, 90% of us quit reading it halfway through - I even left my copy in Nice, France because I didn't want to lug that hardcover waste around with me. The author did not seem to know where she wanted the story to be. Very disappointing.
I would hope that if you were intimately acquainted with all of Jane Austen's novels you would find this book interesting. If you are not so acquainted you will probably find this book to be thin on substance and long on boredom. It is difficult to get up much of any enthusiasm for the characters as the 'plot' is so disjointed. This book plays to the lowest common denominator of chicklit.
This book was not worthy of baring the name Jane Austen in it's title. It was boring and unimaginative. I would not recommend this book to anyone it was a waste of time and money.
This book was boring. The reader learns very little about the author's characters and the tie in to Austen's plots is confusing. I considered this purchase and time spent a waste. In hundreds of books, I have purchased from your web site, it is the most disappointing.
After reading the reviews on this book, I was very excited to read it. However, I was disapointed in both the character development and the erratic plot lines. I never got to the point where I cared about any of the characters or what happened to them. And I felt like the Jane Austin references to the book were merely a gimmic to get me to read it. If you are interested in a truly engaging book about a book club, read Angry Housewives Eating Bon-Bons.
I really wanted to like this book as I thought it was a wonderful idea for a story but I just couldn't get into it. And I just didn't get it. I found that the characters were so forgettable that i lost track of who was who and what their story was. As for the story itself - there didn't feel like there really was one. I was so glad when i finished it. However..... I will read this book again at some point in the future as I think I may have missed the point.
My sister and I were at the library and picked up some movies to watch. One of them being the Jane Austen Book Club. Since we both liked the movies, this sounded cute. I thought it was okay, not bad or anything but has its moments. Then I pondered whether to read the book or not. Finally, finally when it was on the shelf, I wasn't going to get it, then was like, you know right? Its not that long, so why not see how it compares to the film? And with that, I thought the movie was a little better. Little. There's moments I liked about this and moments I didn't or was like wait, what, oh okay then I guess? Especially the ending, concerning one of the characters. Out of the book club members, the most I liked was Allegra and especially Jocelyn and Grigg. But that might have more to do after seeing the movie? It seemed like more was happening what with the story arcs in that than in the book? Well some of it I think? Pacing wise? An okay but has its moments kind of read.