"Darcy and Elizabeth" by Mark Aster (MyFrThAl@aol.com). I take my Jane Austen seriously. I refuse to assign any Jane Austen works to my students. They may report on her work for extra credit or as an optional assignment; but I don't want to force her on them. I'm afraid that in their adolescent immaturity they'll hate the stories because nothing explodes in them or because some of the words are unfamiliar; and I want them to remain open to the pleasure of reading her work when they are old enough to relax and enjoy it.

And so, I told myself, Mark Aster had better be careful how he treats Darcy and Elizabeth in this apocryphal Chapter 60 (Volume III, Chapter XVIII), continued. This chapter can more interestingly replace the chapter of the same number which is so amiably summarized in Cliff's Notes.

The story commences shortly after the nuptials. "Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth says, and then laughs at herself, "I find, sir, that I do not know how to address you, in our new state of existence. Shall I call you Fitzwilliam?" Her husband is so pleased by the sound of his name in her mouth that he owns that she can call him by it twelve hours in the day if she wishes." And so it goes, as the erstwhile proud and prejudiced prepare for the deflowering and the concomitant festivities. The thought of Fitzwilliam's forthcoming friendly ferocity flows through the fervid bride in a warm wave of feeling, as she becomes especially sensible of those places that his hands have touched but a minute before. "I see that it is my task here to tease and cajole that ferocity, until it quite overwhelms your propriety, and emerges into the light, that we may both appreciate it."

What can I say? Convention, sense, and sensibility all have their place - but in a different novel, where they may contribute to the placidity and good grace of human relation; but there are times when even the genteel share sausage and eggs between the legs with a fervor that borders on rapture. To find out what wanton events of amorous playfulness transpire amidst the ensuing rain of muslin and calico, you'll have to read the story thyself.