This is reportedly the first in a series of cozy historical mysteries with the author, Jane Austen, as the main character acting in the role of amateur sleuth. The story opens in December 1795 when Jane turns twenty. When her older, disabled brother, George, is accused of robbery and murder, Jane takes it upon herself to identify the real culprit.
The concept of the series by debut novelist Jessica Bull is fun, if not original. Writing Jane as a detective has been done before, and quite successfully, by author Stephanie Barron, whose Bantam and Soho Press published Jane Austen Mystery series was popular with readers and critics alike during its 25-year run (1996 to 2023). Unfortunately, Miss Austen Investigates is an unsatisfying attempt to use Stephanie Barron’s developmental framework and recreate it. It appears to be geared toward a younger, less sophisticated literary audience than Stephanie Barron's works.
Plotwise, the mystery of the Hapless Milliner itself is so derivative it’s cliché. It utilizes nearly every negative and careworn mystery novel trope concerning female characters. There is the victim blaming and shaming as everyone speculates about the deceased's profession, societal station, virtue, and marital status. The female suspects are also neatly categorized into those familiar boxes of Immoral, Calculating, Devious, and Hysterical.
Due to the shallow plot, there are so many needless words that don't serve any purpose other than to bring the word count to novel length. I lost track within the first few chapters of the number of random tangents that the author went off on. At one point I’m pretty sure I was told what some character’s grandmother’s favorite food was. There was a paragraph dedicated to a description of Jane’s favorite cat of the Austen family cats. This had the effect of slowing the pacing so significantly that it erased the possibility of any tension or suspense for the reader.
Similarly, there is a mind-numbing level of minutiae as far as descriptions and actions. If we’re told that someone is shown the door and heeds the request, the reader knows what that means. We don’t need to be told that the doorknob of the closed door was turned, the hinges squeaked, a burst of rose-scented air came into the room, the sky was blue outside, the character walked three and three-quarter steps onto the porch, turned around, and watched as the door shut again.
We are also hit over the head with endless detail about every single room (including every piece of furniture and object within it), every piece of clothing, every hairstyle, and every leaf on every tree. An example: “Jane dresses with great care. She suffers the dreaded curling irons rather than relying on the buoyancy of her natural waves, and gives herself permission to borrow Cassandra’s cornflower-blue gown. Jane has her own gown, made from the same bolt of cotton, but since she has not taken as much care of it, the colour is washed out.” FOR THE LOVE OF PETE WHO CARES.
One of the weirdest things about this novel is that is written in present simple tense. I don’t think I’ve ever read a historical novel written in any form but past tense. And because present simple is the most simplistic tense, there were times when I felt like I was reading a middle-grade book. For example, this passage from chapter one: “James pushes open the door. He balks. Jane sidles up beside him.”
Putting aside the issues of execution, in my opinion, the most egregious aspect of the novel is the author’s portrayal of the sober-minded, highly intelligent, clergyman’s daughter, Jane. The Jane in this story is moody (described as “glowering” and “furious” one minute, and “choking on her tears” the next). She is meeting secretly with her sweetheart, Tom LeFroy, while acting the flirtatious coquette on one hand, only to turn her back on him the next and dash down the lane when he says something she doesn’t like. She gets drunk at an assembly and nurses a hangover the next morning. She doesn’t have any compunction about disregarding the social graces of the day, so flounces around town rudely interrupting, interrogating, and openly accusing people of wrongdoing, (Only to be completely embarrassed and ashamed when she is proven wrong, repeatedly.)
Ironically, this Jane doesn’t really do any investigating at all other than finding out the victim's real name, and then gossiping and engaging in idle speculation with her friends and family. The historical and revered Jane Austen is known for her razor-sharp wit, yet in this book she is an irresponsible, impetuous, indecisive, insufferable busybody who only figures out who the murderer is by wrongly accusing every other possible suspect first.
In sum, this debut is so cringy I cannot believe that this author has ever written a full-length novel before. If the next manuscript is anything like this one, it needs a seasoned editor with plot development experience who can help the author come up with an imaginative crime for Jane to solve, and who isn’t scared to say that padding the manuscript with irrelevant detail only distracts the reader’s focus on the plot. I would also nix the present tense. It doesn’t work.
Thank you Netgalley and Union Square & Co for the opportunity to read and review this novel. All opinions are my own.