A Literary Luncheon

“It’s a woman’s book,” he said, a sneer in his voice. “Obviously written by a woman and one only women will read. Mushy romantic trash!” Charles Dickens, usually extremely polite toward the so-called weaker sex, pushed the offending novel away from him.

“Now, Charles,” I pleaded, seeing tears coming to the young female author’s eyes, “it’s been well received by many critics, both male and female. Don’t you think you’re being just a bit harsh?”

“I’m afraid I must agree with Charles. It is definitely the written version of what is currently known as a chick flick.” Ken Follett, famous author of On Wings of Eagles, reached for the book and commented, “You spend the whole book absolutely fixated on one critical question. Will Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy hook up?”

“And is that so bad, Ken?” I asked, patting the slender hand of the woman who had created those two delightful characters. “If you dig deeper, though, you’ll find intrigue enough to satisfy your masculine soul. Aren’t I right, Jane?”

“Well, I did try to bring in the spirit of the times, how women are treated by men who thought they were superior in all ways.” Jane looked toward the third woman at the table to see if she agreed.

The elderly author of the delightful The Cat Who series, Lillian Jackson Braun, picked up her teacup and took a sip of the hot beverage before answering. “Jane, the main characters in my books are two Siamese cats and a man who is very much a man’s man. Jim Qwilleran, however, would never consider himself superior to women and definitely not to his cats.”

Charles interrupted her, rather rudely I thought. “I’ve read your stories and find them cloying with rather predictable endings. You should have stopped writing these books after the first one.” Lillian put the teacup back in its saucer, her hand shaking as she tried to remember she was a lady. Giving up the fight, the tiny woman glared at the bewhiskered man across the table from her.

“At least my books aren’t as boring as some of yours are. I tried reading your exceptionally dull Bleak House.” She turned her gaze on Ken Follett, who had been silently listening to this exchange of views. “Ken, have you read that book of his?”

Ken grimaced before speaking. “I did, Lillian, and have to agree with you on this. Why the BBC turned it into a 15-part television show is beyond my understanding.”

“Please, everyone,” I pleaded, trying to intercede in what was becoming a rather disagreeable luncheon, “why don’t we concentrate on the story line of Jane’s novel?”

“Well,” grumbled Charles, “I do admit I like her title for it, Pride and Prejudice..”

Jane managed a small smile, still hurt by his previous rudeness. “Thank you. You do understand the reason behind the title, don’t you?”

Lillian piped up, her lined face still beautiful at her advanced age, “I do, and think it’s a wonderful play on words, Jane. So many of your characters show both of these faults throughout your novel. I think you delineated Mr. Darcy’s pride in being of the upper class so well, and I actually disliked him at first.” She smiled, thinking dislike was not strong enough for what she felt for this arrogant man before Jane started showing his better qualities.

Ken decided to be gracious, too. “And the prejudice part, you show when Elizabeth accepts the word of George Wickham regarding Mr. Darcy’s machinations to ruin him. She believed this evil man simply because she thought Darcy was a snob, not knowing of the history between the two men.”

“Jane,’ I said, wanting to share one of my favorite parts of this book I so enjoyed reading, “I loved the character of the prideful and rather nasty Lady Catherine de Bourgh and enjoyed how much that obsequious Mr. Collins toadied to her. I can only wish the characters in my stories were as delightful as those two are.”

Charles mumbled something I didn’t hear clearly. When I raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction, he reluctantly muttered, “Okay, so some of the characters are well fleshed out, I’ll give you that, Jane.”

“What did you say? I didn’t quite hear you.” Jane said this innocently, not above twisting the knife when need be.

In a louder voice, Charles said, a grin breaking out at the young woman’s tactic to make him repeat his compliment, “I said you do know how to create believable characters. The shrillness of Mrs. Bennet did remind me of certain women in my own life, and I did feel quite sorry for her poor husband.”

“So, Charles, have you changed your mind about this being just a book for silly women?” I watched this famous author thinking about my question. “It is more than a mushy romantic story about two people, right?”

“Jane, I apologize for my initial rudeness.” Charles took one of Jane’s small hands in his. “You are a great scribe, and I will read your Pride and Prejudice again without inserting my own prejudice about the place of women in society.”

I turned to Ken at this point. “And you, Ken? Still want to just call it a writer’s version of a chick flick?”

Ken shook his head, “I guess my pride in writing about actual people got in my way of appreciating your creativity, Jane. I’ll reread your book, too, and try to be more objective about it this time around.”

Lillian chimed in here, walking around the table to pour more hot tea for all of us. “I think this has been a delightful lunch, and I want to thank you for inviting us.” She stopped and patted my cheek.

“Luncheon, ladies and gentlemen, is at my home next Thursday.” With that, Charles stood to quickly say his good-byes. The rest followed his example, leaving my small home with only the detritus of a lovely literary luncheon on the table.

Microsoft Word count = 1,000

Winner of the 10/02/07 "The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week!"  contest,
which has a limitation of 1,000 words.