How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Jane Austen

by Northlight Theatre

From Erik Kaiko, Assistant Dramaturg

From The Assistant Dramaturg:
Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Jane Austen

The job of an assistant dramaturg is to help compile all sorts of research to support the production.  To prepare for Sense & Sensibility, this meant scouring the library and the internet for details regarding everything from Regency Era hobbies (lots of crafts) to what year the stethoscope was invented (1816).  Resident Dramaturg Kristin Leahey and I then put all of our findings into a hefty packet of information to support the work of the actors, designers, and artistic team.  We were also present during rehearsals to answer any other questions that arose such as, “What type of gardening tool would the Gardener be carrying?” and “What was the life of a Colonel like in the East Indies?”

I’ve never been what you might call a “Janeite.”  There are legions of these devoted fans who know intimate details about Austen’s novels and her own life.  Going into this project, I foolishly assumed that there was not going to be much I could learn from a female romance author from 200 years ago.

Here is where I was mistaken:  while researching Jane Austen’s biography, I found myself becoming intrigued by this female romance author from 200 years ago.  She was ahead of her time in very many ways.  Her sense of humor, the way she questioned society, and her ironic sensibility felt extremely modern.  By age 12, she was writing short dark comedies that dealt with such mature themes as death, adultery, and class.  I discovered that without much formal education, Austen was not merely spinning romantic tales; she was holding up a mirror to society and saying, “Take a close look at yourselves and each other.”  Austen helped usher in the period of Realism, and before really delving into the details of her life and work, I had assumed she was strictly Romantic.  It just goes to show that even 200 years later, Jane is still making us think twice about our own assumptions.