1. Jane Austen’s best unpublished novel.

    Knightley, Mister. Mister Knightley was created by Jane Austen and appeared in Emma (1815). Knightley also appeared in the unfinished novel Masters and Mysteries (1796).

    Described by leading Jane Austen scholar Kathryn Sutherland as “the most ground-breaking of Austen’s abortive novels,” Jane Austen’s Masters and Mysteries is perhaps the most fascinating of the what-ifs surrounding Austen’s life. As scholar Kenneth Hite rightly claims, “Had Austen pursued writing romances in the mode of Masters and Mysteries, she would have become a challenger to Ann Radcliffe.” Traditionally, the novel is considered a serious attempt to write a Gothic novel in the mode of Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794), and was abandoned by Austen at the three-quarters mark when she realized that a more profitable approach would be a satire of the Gothic’s conventions, an approach which ultimately became Northanger Abbey (completed in 1798 but not published until 1817). However, although Austen was writing a serious romance wholly within the confines of the Gothic genre, the frequent themes of Austen’s later work, especially the hypocrisies of the hierarchical British social system, are visible throughout the novel. Moreover, the protagonist of Masters and Mysteries, Mr. Knightley, is a test run for the similarly-named hero of Austen’s Emma and arguably for many of Austen’s Knightley-like heroes.

    Masters and Mysteries is a bildungsroman narrative that follows the progress of young Mr. George Knightley as he learns to negotiate a social world beyond his provincial hometown of Downell. The novel begins with Knightley visiting London and entering various social circles. Two figures occupy the majority of his time: Henry Richardson (modeled on the German scientist and mountaineer Horace-Benedict de Saussure (1740-1799)) and Michael Packard. Richardson becomes Knightley’s confidant and aggressive mentor, while Packard becomes Knightley’s rival. The first third of the surviving novel manuscript takes place in London, with Knightley making social errors and learning to recover from them, and slowly advancing up the ranks of the club-scene and the “scientific mountaineering” circle. For example, Knightley allows himself to be persuaded by Richardson to climb the Scottish mountain of Ben Nevis, even though Packard had already announced that he would be free-climbing it himself. Similarly, Knightley is slow to perceive that Packard bears him ill-will and is awkward in countering Packard’s malicious sallies.

    The second third of the surviving manuscript takes place in “Thibet” [sic], as Knightley and Richardson, in search of the respect of their peers, climb “Mount Austin,” the tallest and most unconquerable mountain of the “Thibetan Alps.” Austen’s use of the gothic romance mode emerges during this section, as Knightley and Richardson encounter what they believe is an abandoned monastery. What follows is a catalogue  of the stock Gothic devices and motifs: the ancient, haunted, castle-like monastery, complete with trap-doors, deserted wings, darkened staircases, and a painting which seem to bear great significance to Richardson and might explain his mysterious past; dungeons and claustrophobic tunnels beneath the monastery; weather (in this case blizzards) as objective correlative of the figure who would ultimately prove to be the villain; messages delivered in dreams and nightmares; a variety of high-pitched emotions, including a number of swoons, as Mr. Knightey is overcome at points; a patriarchal religious figure, the Lama, who is revealed to be both tyrannical and corrupt; Richardson’s birthmark, which Austen apparently intended to be crucial in the resolution of the plot; and numerous scenes in the tombs and crypts of the monastery.

    Unusually, Austen adds an array of imaginative elements to the novel. Austen is not known for her use of the fantastic–if anything, she is one of the most famous of the mimetic novelists–but they are part of the Radcliffean Gothic, and Austen, at this point still an unpublished novelist, may have felt that the supernatural elements were required for a successful Gothic. (Alternatively, it is possible that her use of them here was a way of getting them out of the way–of scratching an itch that would never return). Northanger Abbey would eschew the supernatural and fantastic altogether in its parody of the Gothic, but in Masters and Mysteries Austen retains these elements. So the novel either features or makes reference to a tribe of Himalayan Yeti, a warlock-like Lama, the Lama’s possibly Satanic advisor, the ghostly nuns of the monastery, whispering rats in the walls, a literally endless staircase, moving walls, rooms, doors and furniture, and in the final chapter of this section the revelation that the monastery itself is both sentient and malign.

    The final third of the surviving manuscript takes place on the journey back to Richardson’s home (where, undoubtedly, the final quarter of the novel, never written by Austen, would have taken place). Following the abandonment of the climb toward the peak of Mount Austin, Knightley’s questions about his companion and about the value of male loyalty loom large. Knightley’s nagging concerns about Richardson having abandoned him in the monastery are magnified by the haunting memory of Richardson’s reaction to the monastery’s painting. This and other mysteries are brought up during the long nautical voyage back to England–a ship which becomes increasingly prison-like and confining to Knightley as the trip progresses. Knightley’s worries become fears as the ship becomes figuratively littered with male corpses whose tragic, repressed histories are unearthed during the course of the voyage. Their fates remind Knightley of the gothic’s foremost moral, as articulated by Horace Walpole, that “the sins of the fathers are visited on their children to the third and fourth generations.”

    From Austen’s manuscript notes, the ending of the novel can be seen: on arrival at Richardson’s home in Bath, an increasingly awkward relationship between Richardson and Knightley becomes fractured and then shattered as Richardson’s secrets are revealed and he is forced to literally and figuratively confront his ghosts. Once Richardson’s hidden past–he is both half-Indian and a wife-murderer–comes to light Knightley is forced to acknowledge both the hypocrisies of society with regard to race and the crimes of his friend and mentor. Knightley overcomes his own fears and anxieties, delivers the cut directe to Richardson (thereby losing his position in London society and among the “scientific mountaineers” whose company Knightley has so valued) and in so doing becomes a man. Knightley then returns home to Downell and vows to life out his life in a properly moral manner.

    Masters and Mysteries has a heavier, darker tone than Austen’s later novels while still engaging–somewhat uneasily, it must be admitted–with major social and cultural issues. The first third of the novel, set in Society London, set the reader up to expect a typical Austen novel of manners, family, and society. The transition to the Gothic is therefore somewhat jarring to the reader. (Lord Bulwer-Lytton would manage the transition from society novel to novel of horror more smoothly in his A Strange Story (1862)–perhaps he used Austen and Masters and Mysteries as a model of what not to do?). Austen is skillful in delivering chills to the reader–specifically of what Anne Radcliffe thought of as Terror, which arises from the Burkean sublime and “expands the soul, and awakens the faculties to a high degree of life.” Austen nicely evokes the archetypal horror fiction Bad Place in the form of the monastery. And Austen, clearly having some form of fun, indulges herself in the over-the-topness of the horror elements in the novel. (Austen was clearly a practitioner avant la lettre of the theory that too much is too much, but way too much is just enough).

  2. An abandoned writing project.

    We were somewhere around Kashgar on the edge of the Taklamakan desert when the opium began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should steer….” And suddenly there was a terrible roaring all around us and the sky was full of what looked like dragons, all swooping and screeching and diving around the dirigible, which was going about 25 li an hour to Ürümqi. And a voice was screaming: “Jade Emperor! What are these goddamn dragons?”

    It was almost noon, and we still had more than 1000 li to go. They would be tough li. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely spastic. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to ride it out. Press registration for the fabulous Weapons Show was already underway, and we had to get there by the hour of the Rooster to claim our suite in the Walking City. A fashionable newspaper in Shànghăi had taken care of the reservations, along with this two-man “Sky Dragon” dirigible we’d just rented off a mooring in the Old City…and I was, after all, a professional journalist; so I had an obligation to cover the story, for good or ill.

    The editors had also given me ¥300 in cash, most of which was already spent on drugs and extremely dangerous weapons. The trunk of the car looked like a mobile Army lab. We had sixteen bags of tobacco and heroin powder, eighty two balls of opium, ten quarts of hard wine…and also a Mk. 2 Bifurcator, a Divine Rat, a Transcendent Kraken, and an Eight Banners Auto-Spear.

    All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of high-speed searching all over the Old City in Kashgar–from Xiazi to Yengisar, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious weapons collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

  3. Everyone needs to watch this.

  4. A coup de theatre

    Following the death of Crassus at the hands of the Parthians in 53 B.C.E. at the battle of Carrhae:

    Messengers delivered the head and hand of Crassus to the palace of the king of Armenia where the Parthian king was a guest. Both kings were watching a performance of the Bacchantes by Euripides, an allegorical study contrasing the barbaric military practices of Asia with Hellenic culture. During the announcement of victory the head of Crassus was tossed onto the stage: a coup de theatre which the actors must have found hard to follow….

  5. Hey, mystery writers: character available here!

    In the reign of the great Shogun Yoshimune (again, quoting Murdoch): 

    Among other retrenchments the new Shogun curtailed the expenditure on the Palace Gardens and placed them under more efficient managment. At the head of the staff employed in them he placed a certain Yabuta, an old Kishu vassal of his own. This man, who was thoroughly trusted by the Shogun, was instructed to report on everything he saw or heard not only in connection with the gardens but in the city itself. It was his wont to spend days roaming about in the citizens’ quarters, entering into converse with all sorts and conditions of men, and keenly noting all that was passing, and on the first suitable opportunity to make full report of all this to the Shogun himself. Yoshimune was thus kept wonderfully well-informed as to what the people at large were thinking and saying and doing. 

    Who better to be a detective in 18th century Japan? 

  6. My latest at io9.com: Pulp Science Fiction in Totalitarian Germany →

  7. Historical what-if: Japan invades China, restores the Ming Dynasty.

    A jonbar hinge, for those who like such things (as I do). In 1658 the great pirate Zheng Chenggong (a.k.a. Koxinga) was leading a Ming resistance against the Qing. Quoting Murdoch:

    Koxinga was half Japanese, for he was born in Japan (1624) of a Japanese mother. Accordingly in 1658 he appealed to Japan for help. 

    The appeal was made to the Governor of Nagasaki, and by him it was transmitted to the Bakufu. The Great Council did not venture to give an answer on its own responsibility. Hoshina, the three Go-san-ke, and Ii Naotaka were all consulted. The Go-san-ke pronounced themselves strongly in favour of responding to Koxinga’s appeal by the dispatch of a strong and powerfully equipped expedition. But Ii Naotaka held different views, and as the great aim of Matsudaira Nobunaga was to keep things as they were, as far as he could, it was Ii Naotaka’s arguments that prevailed at the momentous meeting of the Council when the matter was finally settled. There can be no doubt that such an over-seas expedition would have been highly popular in many quarters in Japan at the time. Many of the Hatamoto were profoundly dissatisfied with the inactivity to which it seemed to be the settled policy of the government to condemn them. The samurai of the clans discerned in such a venture the prospects of fame and wealth, while it would have been welcomed as a veritable godsend by the tens of thousands of hunger-pinched ronin then swarming in Yedo [sic], or lurking in obscure corners all over the empire. If successful, as it very possibly would have been, the services of a Japanese army would have had to be suitably rewarded by the Chinese, and Japan might very well then have obtained a permanent foothold upon the continent. At all events the prohibition against building ships-of-war and large sea-going vessels would have had to be cancelled, and the edicts which practically imprisoned all Japanese within the circuit of their own seas revoked. 

    And, of course, when Commodore Perry arrives in 1853, Japan is in a much different position, and the Kanagawa Treaty of 1858 is a lot different. 

  8. The samurai and football.

    In the 17th century, during the enforced peace, samurai could no longer distinguish themselves in battle, and so had to find other ways to gain distinction. “Whoever wished to get his name handed down to posterity must now reap fame in the realm of letters or polite accomplishments…crowds of wealthy men curried favour with Kuge house-stewards to get these worthies to induce their masters to condescend to impart instruction in Japanese classical literature, in Divination, in Astronomy, in Flower-arrangement, in Gardening, in the fashion of robes and how to wear them, in the art of entering and quitting a room, in the demeanour to be observed on meeting a Kuge in public, and in football.”

    …? Football? Who played, and when? Did they have leagues? Did they have the equivalent of Arsenal-Man U? What did they wear when they played? And why haven’t I run across this before? I MUST KNOW.

  9. historical topless teenaged female Japanese wandering martial arts nuns

    Okay, bear with me a moment, this requires some set-up. 

    You know about the yamabushi, I assume, the Japanese mountain hermit-monks who supposedly had magical powers and who often actually had martial ability—some quite considerable, to the point of staging actual “civil wars” against the samurai for around 400 years. (They were bad-ass warrior-monks, is what they were).

    In reading Murdock’s magisterial History of Japan, we find mention that during the 17th century there was a huge population of homeless former servants in Edo. “Of the many shifts they adopted to escape it, the most common was to become yamabushi or shugenja.” For the women…”at the same time the discharged female servants usually became Kumano Bikuni.” 

    Kumano Bikuni?

    “The Bikuni were a religious order of young girls living under the protection of nunneries at Kamakura and Kyoto but wandering and collecting alms like the yamabushi. ‘They are much the handsomest girls we saw in Japan, and easily obtain the privilege of begging in the habit of nuns, knowing that beauty is one of the most persuasive inducements for travelers to let them feel the effects of their generosity. They go neatly and well clad, wearing a black silk hood upon their shav’d heads, and a light hat over it. Their behavior is to all appearances modest and free, neither too bold and loose nor too dejected and mean, but they make nothing of laying their bosoms quite bare to the view of charitable travelers.”

    Now, you can’t tell me that the Bikuni weren’t getting some martial arts training from the yamabushi, not with the possibility of rape being what it was. I’m certain that the Bikuni were equipped to defend themselves. We even find them described as a “menace” later in the century. 

    So…historical, topless, teenaged female Japanese wandering martial arts nuns. For realz.