Dearest Miss Austen

I've been on a bit of a Jane Austen bender recently - not reading her actual books, but reading of her life and how it impacted her writing - prompted by my classes in Creative Writing at Tabor College.

This pair of letters is my homage to Austen, inspired by a lively chat with one of my dearest friends, over a picnic lunch in Kuitpo Forest. Every writer needs a friend who is willing to play intellectual soccer with ideas. It is plausible that Anne Sharpe, a governess to Austen's niece, was such a one for her.

Cassandra Austen burned a lot of her sister's letters after Jane's death in 1817 at the age of 41. My speculations are only possible because of some wonderful research undertaken by Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney, and by Paula Byrne and others, in which they have used contemporary sources to piece together some of Austen's creative life.

The culture in which Austen wrote is vastly different from mine when I consider healthcare, financial security and women’s rights. Somehow, she was privileged with an expansive education in a time of vast political change, and in the years when she had capacity, was part of a class which meant she was free to write and edit for several hours a day.

I am encouraged to keep learning, keep carving out the time, keep playing, and keep sweet with my peers.

Please don't rely on my reflections as fact - they are but musings. References are provided below.

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May 1813, London

Dearest Miss Sharpe

I trust you are in good health and continue to enjoy your time at Chevet Hall with its marvellous school room. You must write and tell me of the delights of a Yorkshire Spring and if they vary greatly from our Kent memories. Do your new charges appreciate the theatrics as much as my nieces and nephews?

I wrote to you of the elation of publishing P&P, but bad news follows good. My brother Henry has lost his dear Comtesse Eliza – her vibrancy defeated at last in the most horrible pain. A more drawn-out end than Edward’s Elizabeth.

I return to Hampshire soon, but I have passed these days pleasantly enough despite our grief. This week I set myself the task of searching the great galleries of London for a painting that might resemble Elizabeth Bennet. After her inhabiting my mind these seventeen years, I thought I owed it to my good friend to discover her portrait. My search was fruitless at Spring Gardens and Pall Mall. Even in the new Somerset House galleries my only find was the very image of the elder Miss Bennet. I concluded that Mr D must have kept Lizzie’s portrait for himself.

This morning I have been reading and re-reading the strangest letter from the strangest creature. A lady named Harpford has written asking me a number of very impertinent questions, using such print and paper the like of which I have never seen before. I can scarcely make sense of how it came to me here in London during my visit with Henry. She has sent me instructions on where to bury my answer – bury it! She explains that she or another may dig it up later but has not offered a date.

I am in such a peevish mood that I am half in mind to respond to her. We women cannot trust we are long for this world – I am feeling every one of my thirty-seven years in my lower back this morning – and so perhaps there is little harm in committing some words to paper for this Miss Harpford. One day they may be read alongside my two children, S&S and P&P – three if my plans for Mansfield Park come to pass.

As you know I have little consideration for the endurance of my words. While I admit I am delighted for the joy my babies bring to my readers and my friends, at this time, I am most grateful for the income. It may help Cassandra and I long after Edward’s generosity runs out.

Please continue to hope for another holiday by the seaside as we enjoyed in ’05. If MP supplies some funds, and if Edward is amenable, we may attempt it. I miss our literary rambles. My sister enjoys the reading but cares little for the creating, and I no longer have Eliza to spark the fire of new ideas.

I shall turn my pen now to the Harpford matter.

Yours etc,

Jane.

May 1813, London

Miss Harpford

I received your letter yesterday and have been considering this morning how to respond. You have an advantage over me, knowing something of my life and work. I am unable to account for it given that my novels were published anonymously, but wonder if one of my generous brothers has given up my identity and provided my address. Your flattery of my works, and the earnest nature of your questions has encouraged me to respond.

You asked what I create. This is a difficult answer to draft, as it depends on what you mean by a “creation”. From a very young age I have written poems, plays, histories and short stories – all fun burlesques or satires designed by a little sister to entertain her elder siblings. Yet I have only recently brought two printed works into this world. (There was a serial for which I was contracted and paid, but it was never printed.) Each of these began on paper as very different works from those you have read, and were conceived of nearly two decades ago.

There is another novel near completion. It bears a different tone than my comedies. I hope you will still enjoy it. If I can attract enough reviews it may become more valuable to me than my other two – not that a mother has favourites. Other works will need to wait a time before I re-write them into something worth publishing. Some of my works began their life as epistolary novels. That form is still in favour, but I enjoy the effect brought about through the authorial voice in indirect discourse. It builds an intimacy between reader and character.

What stops my creativity? Noise. The kinds of noise that are found in cramped dwellings, in busy social calendars or when one’s life is ruled by ill health and domestic chores. My sweet sister and friend have borne the heavier tasks in our home – I manage the tea caddy and the toast, but Cassandra and Martha fulfill all other tasks. As a dependent sister I am reliant on the generosity of my brothers for my home and am directed by them should a family member need nursing help or companionship. There have been periods of many years where I was prevented from writing by various family illnesses. The five years or so after my father passed away also left me without the will to write.

When I do write, there is another stopper caused by the difficulty in finding a publishing house to take my work. My father’s early attempts to publish First Impressions – now known as Pride and Prejudice – were perhaps thwarted not by the fact of my being a female novelist, but that my works were viewed somehow as insubordinate. This was, after all, during the apprehensiveness following the French Revolution and rise of Napoleon. I am relieved that my current publisher was willing to support my brother’s request while these apprehensions continue to ebb and flow.

You asked how I unleash my creativity, and I find the question both amusing and concerning in turns. Do you view my works as wild dogs or untamed horses? My childhood years were untamed. I shake my head at the ill-conceived humour and jibes I was permitted as a precocious child. Perhaps I was given a longer leash after Cassandra and I nearly died at boarding school.

For most of my life I was surrounded by a breadth of literature, philosophy and theology, and freely encouraged to drink deep of that well. My father’s library was extensive. My brothers wrote for an Oxford University magazine. A cousin who had lived through the French Revolution challenged my perspectives around the plight of women, of the poor and in the abolition of slavery. When I write, I am generating characters and situations from circumstances I may not have observed from any other rectory schoolroom. In Steventon, yes, I was unleashed. It became harder after we had to vacate and move to Bath.

I was born into a great age of literature, and of many feted women novelists and the availability of both marvellous and woeful texts. Not everyone admires the novel, but I relished – even borrowed from – Burney, Radcliffe and Edgeworth as well as the plays of Inchbald.

I do not claim to understand the purpose of your request, Miss Harpford, but I trust that my attempt at a response is satisfactory. I don’t have a leather pouch nor beeswax cloth with me in London, so will wrap it in tissue paper and muslin instead. My brother’s footman will bury the package where you said. I hope you are able to collect it soon.

Yours, etc.

Miss J Austen

References

Byrne, Paula. The Genius of Jane Austen: Her Love of Theatre and Why She Is a Hit in Hollywood. William Collins, 2017.

Deeley, Rachel. “Jane Austen’s Literary Influences.” Penguin Articles, 22 Oct. 2025, https://www.penguin.co.uk/discover/articles/jane-austen-favourite-books-authors-influences.

Jane Austen & Her Creative Process: A Visit with Collins Hemingway. Hosted by Breckyn Wood, episode 14, Jane Austen Society of North America, 8 Aug. 2024, https://jasna.org/austen/podcast/ep14. Austen Chat.

Midorikawa, Emily, and Emma Claire Sweeney. A Secret Sisterhood: The Literary Friendships of Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, George Eliot & Virginia Woolf. With Margaret Atwood, First Mariner edition, Mariner Books, 2017.

Romney, Rebecca. “Who Were the Women Novelists Who Really Inspired Jane Austen?” Literary Hub, 19 Feb. 2025, https://lithub.com/jane-austens-forgotten-contemporaries-unearthing-a-legacy-of-systematic-literary-erasure/.

Photo by John Jennings on Unsplash