Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "spin-offs"
Spin Off City
Last week being my birthday, I received the customary £20 from my mum. Although a well stocked Kindle means I rarely buy print books, I was willing to make an exception; you don't turn 29 every day. I took myself down to Waterstones, hoping, as always, that an unknown treasure would hurl itself off the shelf at me.
I stared at the best seller list, aghast. Was this really all there was to choose from? Icky crime procedurals, the latest B&Q erotica and spin offs?
I can't be alone in my deep mistrust of spin off books. It may be that there's more sophisticated reasoning behind it, but it does look suspiciously as though the author thought, 'I really can't be bothered coming up with my own plot and characters, so I'll ransack somebody else's.' In order to justify this pillage, they swoop upon some as yet untapped angle: the story set in space, from the perspective of the meths drinking villain, with vampires and werewolves chucked in (I needn't tell you I hold this particular trend in disdain). It doesn't help they're always overhauling the same elite club of books - mainly Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre, but occasionally Dickens too. Many of these books are cynically geared towards women, as though we can't handle original plots.
Here are the various shades of spin off available, sublime and ridiculous alike.
The literary spin off
An endangered species, kept in captivity before it dies out altogether. Personally I can only think of two with clout: Wide Sargasso Sea and Rebecca, both reworkings of Jane Eyre.
The two authors have a similar axe to grind: Rochester's misappropriation as romantic hero, when he's guilty of some truly reprehensible acts. I've always had a problematic relationship with the novel; not only do I look down on the "saintly servant tames bastard master" trope, which it popularised, but I hate the bigoted suggestion that as a mixed race lunatic, Bertha Mason deserves neither sympathy nor redemption.
So what did these very different authors do with the same material?
Rhys attempts to give Bertha a backstory and a voice: she's reimagined as Antoinette Cosway, a beautiful Creole heiress growing up in Jamaica after the Emancipation. These early scenes, where Rhys is free to invent, are lushly written and convincing. But as soon as Rochester (he's never explicitly named) appears, she's hamstrung by the original. If you've read Jane Eyre, it's frustrating; if you haven't, it's practically unintelligible.
As an angry young woman who gibed against gender roles, du Maurier focused upon Jane Eyre's most disturbing tenet: a powerful man can do whatever he likes with his wife; her role is to be meek and subservient. As a reckless, promiscuous bisexual, Rebecca broke the accepted mould, and had to die. Mrs de Winter's perfectly happy with a life of unquestioning obedience, expecting precious little in return.
Something borrowed
A modern novel is like the London Underground, with interweaving plot strands, characters and themes. It's very easy to get lost. Since older books are more episodic, a common way to pay homage is to give nods to a classic. It's a successful strategy all round: harking back enhances and enriches the new novel, but it remains a distinct stand alone piece in its own right.
As a critique of the Nineties dating scene with a love interest called Mr Darcy, Bridget Jones's Diary owes more than a little to Pride and Prejudice; with a feisty school teacher pining for the local squire, a mad wife the least of his worries, South Riding is indebted to Jane Eyre. Sometimes a work can be highly coloured by a predecessor but a stonking good read; try Wise Children, Angela Carter's last, most rambunctious novel. This picaresque life of Dora Chance, former music hall dancer and good time girl, borrows ingeniously from each of Shakespeare's plays. With good reason: her no goodnik of a father, Sir Melchior Hazard, is that world's Larry Olivier.
Affectionate parodies
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, a warm send up is the highest praise. I had the surreal experience recently of reading a play about E W Hornung's Raffles, written by Graham Greene. Ending years of sniggers and speculation, it boldly declares Raffles and Bunny to be a couple, and the outlandish plot - they're burgling the Marquis of Queensbury on Bosie Douglas's orders - has its tongue firmly rooted in its cheek. Aficionados can chuckle at the references, newbies can enjoy the farce.
Indeed, I'm extremely fond of characters behaving in unexpected ways. Check out the Thursday Next series, where you see Miss Havisham drag racing Toad, or the cast of Wuthering Heights having a counselling session. It's the sort of good natured ribbing you can only get away with if you're close to the recipient. Lost in Austen, where a Pride and Prejudice fan gets marooned inside the book, is a similar slice of meta silliness. I loved the idea of Miss Bingley as a bitchy closet case - and Mrs Bennet as a scary mama bear!
... And the rest
Perhaps I'm making a sweeping generalisation here, but my heart can't help but sink when I discover yet another version of this or that classic with added sex/robots/ninjas/aliens. I know I'm hardly one to talk - left to my own devices in a museum gift shop, I soon had Julius Caesar fighting a dragon outside a phone box, his getaway Mini close by - but it makes you want to stretch your ears and yowl.
Is this really the future of publishing? Wanton vandalism of somebody else's text? Regency murder mysteries and life below stairs in a stately home are all well and good, but you shouldn't have to get there by piggybacking on the success of other writers.
I stared at the best seller list, aghast. Was this really all there was to choose from? Icky crime procedurals, the latest B&Q erotica and spin offs?
I can't be alone in my deep mistrust of spin off books. It may be that there's more sophisticated reasoning behind it, but it does look suspiciously as though the author thought, 'I really can't be bothered coming up with my own plot and characters, so I'll ransack somebody else's.' In order to justify this pillage, they swoop upon some as yet untapped angle: the story set in space, from the perspective of the meths drinking villain, with vampires and werewolves chucked in (I needn't tell you I hold this particular trend in disdain). It doesn't help they're always overhauling the same elite club of books - mainly Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre, but occasionally Dickens too. Many of these books are cynically geared towards women, as though we can't handle original plots.
Here are the various shades of spin off available, sublime and ridiculous alike.
The literary spin off
An endangered species, kept in captivity before it dies out altogether. Personally I can only think of two with clout: Wide Sargasso Sea and Rebecca, both reworkings of Jane Eyre.
The two authors have a similar axe to grind: Rochester's misappropriation as romantic hero, when he's guilty of some truly reprehensible acts. I've always had a problematic relationship with the novel; not only do I look down on the "saintly servant tames bastard master" trope, which it popularised, but I hate the bigoted suggestion that as a mixed race lunatic, Bertha Mason deserves neither sympathy nor redemption.
So what did these very different authors do with the same material?
Rhys attempts to give Bertha a backstory and a voice: she's reimagined as Antoinette Cosway, a beautiful Creole heiress growing up in Jamaica after the Emancipation. These early scenes, where Rhys is free to invent, are lushly written and convincing. But as soon as Rochester (he's never explicitly named) appears, she's hamstrung by the original. If you've read Jane Eyre, it's frustrating; if you haven't, it's practically unintelligible.
As an angry young woman who gibed against gender roles, du Maurier focused upon Jane Eyre's most disturbing tenet: a powerful man can do whatever he likes with his wife; her role is to be meek and subservient. As a reckless, promiscuous bisexual, Rebecca broke the accepted mould, and had to die. Mrs de Winter's perfectly happy with a life of unquestioning obedience, expecting precious little in return.
Something borrowed
A modern novel is like the London Underground, with interweaving plot strands, characters and themes. It's very easy to get lost. Since older books are more episodic, a common way to pay homage is to give nods to a classic. It's a successful strategy all round: harking back enhances and enriches the new novel, but it remains a distinct stand alone piece in its own right.
As a critique of the Nineties dating scene with a love interest called Mr Darcy, Bridget Jones's Diary owes more than a little to Pride and Prejudice; with a feisty school teacher pining for the local squire, a mad wife the least of his worries, South Riding is indebted to Jane Eyre. Sometimes a work can be highly coloured by a predecessor but a stonking good read; try Wise Children, Angela Carter's last, most rambunctious novel. This picaresque life of Dora Chance, former music hall dancer and good time girl, borrows ingeniously from each of Shakespeare's plays. With good reason: her no goodnik of a father, Sir Melchior Hazard, is that world's Larry Olivier.
Affectionate parodies
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, a warm send up is the highest praise. I had the surreal experience recently of reading a play about E W Hornung's Raffles, written by Graham Greene. Ending years of sniggers and speculation, it boldly declares Raffles and Bunny to be a couple, and the outlandish plot - they're burgling the Marquis of Queensbury on Bosie Douglas's orders - has its tongue firmly rooted in its cheek. Aficionados can chuckle at the references, newbies can enjoy the farce.
Indeed, I'm extremely fond of characters behaving in unexpected ways. Check out the Thursday Next series, where you see Miss Havisham drag racing Toad, or the cast of Wuthering Heights having a counselling session. It's the sort of good natured ribbing you can only get away with if you're close to the recipient. Lost in Austen, where a Pride and Prejudice fan gets marooned inside the book, is a similar slice of meta silliness. I loved the idea of Miss Bingley as a bitchy closet case - and Mrs Bennet as a scary mama bear!
... And the rest
Perhaps I'm making a sweeping generalisation here, but my heart can't help but sink when I discover yet another version of this or that classic with added sex/robots/ninjas/aliens. I know I'm hardly one to talk - left to my own devices in a museum gift shop, I soon had Julius Caesar fighting a dragon outside a phone box, his getaway Mini close by - but it makes you want to stretch your ears and yowl.
Is this really the future of publishing? Wanton vandalism of somebody else's text? Regency murder mysteries and life below stairs in a stately home are all well and good, but you shouldn't have to get there by piggybacking on the success of other writers.
