Thursday, April 15, 2010
You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
There was a lull in the television watching last night, so I took up a book as I am often wont to do. The Reverend peeked curiously.
"Oh. Um. Well. It's called Mr. Darcy's Diary and it's...hmm. I guess it's Pride and Prejudice re-imagined from Darcy's point of view."
"So, it's Austen fan fic." Rev cuts to the point very easily.
"Well," I hedged. "Not really. I suppose not? It's..."
"...Austen fan fic."
He's right. I didn't want to admit it, though, and tried the very tenuous argument that it was published. It wasn't just on somebody's blog. Weak and untrue. Just because I was holding it in book form didn't excuse that it was a story based on characters previously created by a different author.
I hadn't meant to read it. I often found myself in front of the shelves at Barnes & Noble, staring at a neat and offensive line of books using Darcy, his dear Elizabeth, and their cohorts. There's been something of a boom. I didn't cave until now. I read an excerpt, I wanted more.
I used to be very bothered by the idea of someone sullying beloved characters with their own twist; it's imposing on the original author's voice. But when I was MUCH younger, I realize that I didn't feel the same. Some of my first pieces were weak ass Stephen King ripoffs (including an epic sequel to IT...the person that I collaborated with this on knows who she is).
This is all leading to the question I pose to you now: is it okay for me to be enjoying this...fan fiction?