Not Just Jane: Rediscovering Seven Amazing Women Writers Who Transformed British Literature is a fascinating look at the works and lives of seven English authors: Charlotte Turner Smith, Helen Maria Williams, Mary Robinson, Catherine Crowe, Sara Coleridge, Dinah Mulock Craik, and Mary Elizabeth Braddon. The book profiles how their careers were shaped by the society they lived in, and how their writing, in turn, shaped society.

Because the author, Shelley DeWees, is primarily writing about books that I haven’t read (YET) I can’t assess whether she’s a good critic of the books by the women she’s profiling.

However, I can say with VERY OPINIONATED CAPSLOCK that her grouping of Wuthering Heights with Jane Austen’s works and with Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre is so off-base as to be bizarre:

Jane [Austen], and Charlotte and Emily Bronte (though from a slightly different angle) reflect in their writing the England many people long for, a place where heroines are good and generous, unfailingly perceptive, and able to admit their faults…Deserving women are thus rewarded for their kind, warm spirits in the form of a union with men who submit themselves for polish and reformation under the women’s gentle care. Unscrupulous people, on the other hand, are given their just deserts…Still, at the end of these novels, all is serenity and calm, even if, during the course of the book some darker and more contentious theme (like hunger, or death, or women’s restricted role in society) has been broached.

RANT ALERT.

I’m pretty sure no one who has read Wuthering Heights (as opposed to having seen the more romanticized movies) longs for the version of England that is dominated by raving alcoholism, child abuse, racism, sexism, classism, animal abuse, rape, and early death that the book depicts. I suppose it does end in serenity and calm in the sense that all the people who have spent the book screaming at each other die off. And I suppose that for the same reason, one could say that the unscrupulous people get their just deserts in the sense that pretty much everybody dies.

But DeWees goes on to restate a common misreading of Wuthering Heights, that Heathcliff is a romantic hero waiting to be tamed by a good woman. This is the concept that Emily Bronte savages in the pages of Wuthering Heights by introducing Isabella, a good woman who tries to heal Heathcliff’s troubled soul only to be kidnapped, raped, and beaten. DeWees claims that:

We can co-opt Charlotte’s, and Emily’s, and Jane’s, settings as places of refuge for our tired souls, seek shelter among the ivy-shrouded walls, and set up shop in an idyllic England where the houses are beautiful and so are the heroines.

WHAT THE HELL.

Wuthering Heights (the house) is a SHITHOLE. It’s badly lit and freezing cold and there’s not a lot to eat. People toss babies off of balconies and hang puppies from the backs of chairs and lock kids in the barn (which is probably warmer than the house). THIS IS NOT IDYLLIC. At the beginning of the book, a guy literally tries to seek shelter at the house and he’s attacked by dogs and later he’s attacked by a ghost. He leaves as soon as possible BECAUSE IT’S NOT IDYLLIC. And the other house in the book, Thrushcross Grange, is pretty, but it’s hideously boring and full of nasty people who set their dogs (again with the dogs) on two little kids. If Wuthering Heights has any message at all, it’s that England is not idyllic.

THUS CONCLUDES MY RANT.

I realize I’m devoting a lot of review space to criticizing the introduction, but it’s important because it eroded my trust in the rest of the book. Luckily, there’s plenty of information here to enjoy other than the author’s interpretations of books. DeWees has chosen a fascinating selection of women to profile. While I knew the names of some of them, I knew almost nothing about them and I thoroughly enjoyed learning about them. The book starts with Charlotte Turner Smith (1749-1806) and proceeds chronologically up to Mary Elizabeth Braddon (1835 – 1915).

One of the fun things about the book is that while all of the women have many things in common, their lives also are quite different. Charlotte Turner Smith had a horrible marriage and finally managed to dump her husband, more or less, but always had to give him money. For the most part, other than her writing, she led a pretty conventional life. On the other end of the “respectable” spectrum is Mary Robinson, the mistress of Prince George (who became King George IV). All of these women paid some kind of social price for their writing and their choices, but many ended up quite happy, like Mary Elizabeth Braddon, who weathered years of devastating scandal but was lauded as a mainstay of English literature by the time of her death.

It’s also interesting to see what kinds of books women wrote, and how they found success. Sara Coleridge focused on collecting, editing, and curating her father’s work (her father was Samuel Taylor Coleridge). Helen Maria Williams moved to France and reported about life during the French Revolution. Mary Elizabeth Braddon took advantage of the market in scandalous stories to write gloriously insane scandalous novels and short stories with titles like Lady Audley’s Secret. (FYI, DeWees totally spills the beans on what the secret is, so if you plan to read Lady Audley I guess you might want to hold off on reading the Mary Elizabeth Braddon chapter.) The styles in which the women wrote reflected their own preferences, but also reflected what was in vogue at the time – most of them were writing very specifically as a means towards making money. The most successful women were those who caught onto a trend just as it was beginning, and shaped it in a unique, boundary pushing way.

While it’s true that the introduction caused me to practically rend my hair with incredulous rage, it’s also true that I very much enjoyed all the rest of the book. It’s gossipy yet intellectual, very approachable in terms of language, and fairly short. Pro tip – I have discovered that one could read exactly one chapter in the time it takes to have a hot bath.

All of these women were kickass in their own way and to the best of their abilities. Most experienced tragedy, and some seemed consistently immersed in it, like poor Sara Coleridge who deeply resented her domestic duties and became addicted to opium. But other prevailed, like Dinah Mulock Craik, who married late and for love, and adopted a baby, all the while supporting herself with her pen.

This is a niche book that will only appeal to people who have a specific interest in the subject matter. As it happens, I’m pretty sure we have several readers who do have such an interest. To these readers, I say, avoid the introduction and you’ll be happy. It truly is a lovely book, one which has greatly expanded my knowledge on the topic. And yes, I will be reading Lady Audley’s Secret, even though I already know what the secret is.

Just don’t get me started on Wuthering Heights.