In recent Days, some Criticks have observed how dismal and disheartening
are the Works issuing from the Pens of so many of our Female Authors. Unlike
the Works of Miss Austen, who famously declar'd, Let other pens
dwell on guilt and misery, Misery, in all its forms, is the Subject of all too
many Novels published in these troubled Times. Editors believe that Readers
long to read of Disease and Depression, but who are these Creatures who delight
to read of the Misfortunes of others?
Doleful news is the daily Pabulum of the Press, whose Reporters feast
upon tales of Woe and Failure. Where may those Persons endowed with natural
good Humour and Optimism turn for the Laughter and Merriment they long for
when, weary after a day's Labours, they open a Novel for Solace and Pleasure?
I wrote, before I was oblig'd
to lay down my Pen, of dark Deeds and dangerous Endeavours, but, gentle Reader,
let me reassure you: all ended well, and I advise Neophytes to the world of
Literary creation to cast aside dull Despair and Dismay, and choose instead to
please and entertain the Humble reader.
March, 2010
It is indeed delightful to be again
possess'd of a voice after so many Decades of Silence. For my Living from the
Pen ended in a most abrupt manner in
the year 1805, at the very time when our Country was in Utmost Peril
from the French, that untrustworthy and inimical Nation, and Lord Nelson,
valiant Hero of our Navy, died in a welter of blood aboard the
Victory, at the
Battle of Trafalgar. Why I was so silenced is
not the subject of my pen today. Rather, I will make comment upon events of the
present day, inasmuch as they relate to the Literary World, of which I was once
the renown'd Ornament. I have heard, on good
authority, of an Indignant Reader, who, dissatisfied with the content and style
of a book, cast it into the Flames, declaring she would do the same with all
such, since to be spread as ash upon the plants in the garden was the best End
for a Work of this kind. It were invidious to mention
the Title of the book, a novel penned by a Female Author of some reputation.
However, I am informed that the Book Burner is outrag'd to have wasted both
time and money on the volume in question, and entertains Violent Phantasies of
an Auto da Fé for the Editors and Publishers who hyped this
literary work and so deceived her as to its Quality. The neologism to hype was unknown
in my time, but the Concept is an old one; was I not well acquainted with that
noble poet, Lord Byron, who knew better than any writer, before or since, how
to bring his works into the public eye and profit into his own and Mr Murray's
purse? One hundred and sixty
years have passed since my entry to the Next World, and more than two centuries
have elapsed since I laid down my Earthly Pen, but it is evident that little
has changed in Literary Circles.
