Women as Action Heroes

Stepping out of the drawing room in The Sailor's Rest

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This article originally appeared in “Interests of a Jane Austen Girl” on April 3, 2023.

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There are moments when reading JAFF and Austenesque fiction that I wonder if authors are not channeling Caroline Bingley—at least when it comes to their views of the women who populate the stories. As readers, we are presented with visions of young women and matrons in parlors, deeply mulling their lives—or not. We rarely are afforded a peek behind any eyebrows except those of the female protagonist. Almost every other woman is relegated to conversational exposition to reveal their thoughts. Otherwise, they rise to gaze wistfully out a window. The height of action comes when women repair to the wilderness with each other or—shiver—their loves. Mrs. Bennet steps off-stage to do whatever she does in the housekeeper’s office. I wonder if Jane or Mary would have chosen to walk into Meryton if not to supervise their energetic and youthful youngest sisters.

Have you ever had the urge to exercise your modern sensibilities and reach into the books to shake Fanny Price, Catherine Morland, or Elinor Dashwood and shout, “DO SOMETHING! MOVE!” Jane Bennet passively accepts her misery. Emma’s machinations are quiet, almost unseen. Jane Fairfax barely ripples the waters of the novel with her presence.

Elizabeth Bennet is held up as the exception because she treks about the countryside, earning the disdain of the refined ladies of her world. Catherine Morland’s solitary journey by post is seen as a near-tragedy (which it could have been) and then grudgingly morphing into an admired demonstration of almost-male bravery.

I will agree that the conventions of the time—1790-1820—called for women to be passive and cared for by the more ‘capable’ men surrounding them. However, is that a reasonable way to approach the writing of Austenesque fiction in the third decade of the Twenty-First Century? Are authors today required to channel the interpretive trope established by Barbara Cartland nearly 90 years ago? Must our female characters be meek blossoms? Is that which our mothers and grandmothers read in the repressed 1950s the requisite model for what we will write in the 2020s?

Indeed, the answer is, of course not. Read Maria Grace, Elin Erickson, Melanie Rachel, Leigh Dreyer, Katherine Cowley, and Nicole Clarkston (other friends, please forgive me—space constraints) to discover women of action. Publishers like Meryton Press are exploring genre expansions alongside more conventional offerings.

Women find themselves at the center of The Sailor’s Rest. Oh, they do have moments of quiet contemplation, but the deck of a frigate is not a drawing room. Not only does Elizabeth Bennet become even more Elizabeth, but Anne Elliot’s betrothal to Frederick clothes her in glittering resolve. She leaves her monochromatic and depressed world to join Elizabeth in the quest. Both women step outside their prescribed roles and into a man’s world, the Royal Navy. In the Napoleonic Wars, that can mean only one thing…cropped hair and pantaloons!

Jenna Ortega could offer a modern portrayal of either Elizabeth or Annie Wilson.

However, there are other women in The Sailor’s Rest.

As she passed behind Nate, she leaned over and whispered. “Once I get the maidens settled in Mrs. Croft’s care, I will return. You know, Nate, it is said that the female of the species is the deadliest. Mr. Foote tends to disagree but is too polite to say so to me.

“I imagine we will test the proposition in short order.”

Nate shivered, tipped sideways in the chair, and cast up his accounts. Annie Wilson adroitly sidestepped the splash. “Brigadier and admiral: I think he is ready.”

Anne Reynolds Wilson is but one of the decisive, and in her case, deadly, women who stand aside Elizabeth and Anne. Mrs. Croft becomes the mother superior to this convent, including the young maid Sarah Small who attaches herself to Anne. She falls under Mrs. Wilson’s influence with predictable results. Later in the book, Maria Lucas drops her innocence to work alongside Elizabeth, Anne, Darcy, and her fiancé Henri Rochet to bring about the villain’s downfall.

Here is the essential point: in The Sailor’s Rest, the men fight wars and act in a sphere where Regency women cannot tread. However, the five featured women successfully negotiate a new space to show how they transcend the societal limitations imposed upon them. In the process, they demonstrate that they are equal partners with their men, be they a frigate’s captain, an estate owner, a coxswain, or an admiral.

Please enjoy the following excerpt from The Sailor’s Rest.

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The book itself is available in Kindle, KindleUnlimited, and paperback. The Audible performance by Ben Fife ought to be available (pending Audible approvals) by the end of April 2023. Use this link to reach your local Amazon store. 

https://mybook.to/SailorsRestPandP

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This excerpt from The Sailor’s Rest is ©2023 by Donald P. Jacobson. Reproduction prohibited. Published in the United States of America.

From Chapter 34

Anne vaulted the lashed railings as if she were a corsair looking to finish a fat Indiaman and carry away its treasures—silk, spices, slaves—to her galley and the Barbary Coast. She had stripped away her bloodied apron and skirts, freeing her slender legs to run to the center of her universe.

The canvas pantaloons Sophie’s four young charges had adopted along with her closely-cropped coiffure might have deceived a casual observer into believing Anne was one of the older ship’s boys or even a midshipman late to the fight. Her feminine shape straining her clothing as she muscled through the milling men denied that assumption. That she was following in the wake of Sophie Croft, a ship of the line, extended the nautical impression that she and Elizabeth were either sloops en flute or brigantines bearing the most potent of hoards: full measures of ardent love. 

A hush had fallen over the crowd. Anne heard fragments of the threat laid against someone. The evil laugh that punctuated the word “swing” chilled her.

The sound of impending murder shrouded the noise of men no longer in a killing fever until a rumble cut across the horde like Alexander’s blade through the knot. “Ah think not, ye craven bastid.” The sharp click of a hammer pulled back emphasized the injunction and insult.

Anne pushed aside men—both in Breton stripes and English slops—to reach the front of the crowd. She discovered her Frederick on the deck with another pinning him like a specimen on a wax board with a long-barreled pistol aimed at his head. A shriek, two months in the making, distracted the assailant. “FREDERICK!” She threw herself between the hated muzzle and the beloved figure.

Anne’s appearance was the midpoint in the sequence. Tomkins enveloped the assailant in a bearhug and forced the weapon to point to the heavens, toward which it discharged. Sarah, carrying what appeared to be the bulk of Kellynch’s gunroom arrayed around her slim figure, straddled Wentworth and guarded Miss Elliot’s passion if not providing privacy for their reunion.

Anne caught the crimson stains on Sarah’s cuffs and sleeves nor the rivulet of blood running from a gash in her left eyebrow. 

How changed we are by eight sennights of hard life! The little maid is no longer Sarah, Sar-ee, or whatever Mr. Green called her. No, she has become Boadicea. Yet that glance taken over her shoulder tells me that she would rather be a shield maiden like Freydís Eríksddóttir than a warrior queen.

I imagine Mr. Tomkins cannot help but be impressed by Miss Small’s courage and will shortly come up to the mark with her. Now I wonder if I can ever elevate Sarah to being just my companion. I do not doubt that the Wilsons will have a say in her future. Perhaps the best promotion for Sarah will be to be my friend.

And who is this creature that used to cower in her drab sadness? I can hardly recognize myself!

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