P.D. James has already said a great deal about her love of Austen, her love of the mystery genre and her new book Death Comes to Pemberley. She was in London earlier this evening, talking again about how her enthusiasms became manifest in a book. She is a self-effacing and hugely erudite speaker; a natural raconteur, you might say. Few authors could offer a more thoughtful analysis of the art of fiction, but the evening was memorable for her personal reminiscences.
James embodies the sweep of very nearly a century of British political and cultural life. When asked to reflect on 50 years in print, she said: “England has changed. Everything has changed. Extraordinary.” She first read Pride and Prejudice “aged eight or nine at Sunday school, which we all went to in those days to give our parents a restful afternoon”. Austen’s novels stayed with her through the Second World War. Her daughter Jane was born “at the height of the flying bombs raids, the v-rockets”. She recalls recovering in hospital and watching her baby being taken downstairs as a precaution should the building be bombed. “I remember thinking, ‘If we are hit, how shall I find my baby?’ In the end I prayed, ‘God, if you allow me to stay with my baby, I’ll never be bad again!”
It was said in jest, but only just. Family was a recurring theme to her conversation: be it the Darcys’ marriage or the balance of power chez James. Her daughter became a pious Austenite, so devoted that she married another Austen aficionado. “What a relief,” said James. “Imagine having a son-in-law who didn’t appreciate Jane Austen?” In fact, it was a mixed blessing. “He’s read the book [Death Comes to Pemberley] to see if everything was in its right place.”
James’ chortling affection for her family is matched by her visible delight at Austen. She cannot suppress the knowledge that has accumulated by decades of immersion in those famous texts, and she giggles with joy when divulging it. “The two great set pieces in Pride and Prejudice…” The first is lost to begin with, as she writhes with glee. Then she recovers herself to describe the visit to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s house. The second, she says with a firm note of relish, is Mr Collins’ excruciating marriage proposal.
Despite years of devotion, her curiosity for Austen is not exhausted. A look of beguilement crosses her face as she, unsolicited, begins to consider the differences between Austen’s first draft of Pride and Prejudice, written in 1798, and the edition that first appeared in 1813. She is unperturbed by the certainty that she cannot satisy her intrigue. It doesn’t matter: her imagination will settle any uncertainty. The world she has created at Pemberley is clearly real in her mind’s eye. She lives and feels it. She is reminded that the murder at the centre of the book is brutal, and she replies: “It was a very brutal murder.” The words are deliberate, as if the savaged corpse was suddenly before her.
But James is no fantasist. Her interest in fiction is complemented by a concern for fact. Conversation skirts around feminism and the progress of women in her own lifetime. Reference is made to her work and some of her public statements. She considers the subject, but carefully — cautious to commit. Plainly, there is much more progress to be made.
She is much more assertive where she has perceived regression. “We should not have a society where people are disadvantaged the moment they open their mouths…there’s no cause for slovenly speech and we are failing our young children by allowing them to speak in such a fashion.”
Despite the importance of Austen, Pemberley and family to her, she says this with unparalleled feeling. She concedes that it is her one great cause.
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