What came first, the resurgence of interest in Jane Austen or the multitude of Austen adaptations, revisions and mash-ups? Since Ang Lee’s film adaptation of Sense and Sensibility, there has been a steady stream of novels, films and TV serials which mine both Austen’s work and her life for material. In this category falls Emma by Alexander McCall Smith, part of HarperCollins’ Austen Project, which assigns the reworking of six of her novels to six contemporary bestselling authors. While Austen may be a safe bet for publishers, one must start with a great deal of sympathy for the author. Taking on one of the best-loved writers in the English language is an unenviable task and despite all his credentials as a bestselling author, Smith can hardly expect to shine in a comparison with Austen. Any ‘modern retelling’ must be intended — and therefore read — as homage, not an improvement. And since by its very nature the book must pique the interest only of those who are already avowed Austen fans, it can safely be concluded that Emma is simply a means to rekindle the pleasure given by the original novel. And in that sense only does the novel succeed.

Our modern-day Emma is a young designer who, like the original heroine, is too self-sufficient and financially secure to care for marriage — or, since that is so 18th century, even a boyfriend. At the same time, she is happy to play cupid to those around her, namely, one Harriet Smith, who is struggling to save up enough to take a gap year before starting university. In this version, Harriet is parentless, not because of her illegitimate birth but because she is a child of artificial insemination. Her unique circumstance piques Emma’s interest, who decides that Harriet is too pretty to be scrimping for something that an eligible boyfriend can so easily provide and immediately sets out to bring her together with Phillip Elton, a young vicar doing a PhD in Byzantine History. When Emma’s schemes backfire and Phillip makes a confession of being in love with her instead — well, the problem with this point in the story is that misconstrued romance does not pack the weight it used to, so Emma’s world doesn’t come tumbling down, Harriet isn’t seriously heartbroken, and the book chugs along to its foregone conclusion. Major embarrassment doth not a plot make, at least not in this instance.

The most enjoyable aspect of the book is seeing the reincarnation of familiar characters. The background of Harriet’s origins is a stroke of genius and the insurance market is blamed for Miss Bates’ suffering. A word of warning: there is no Mrs Elton here. Of course, there is a Mrs Elton, but there is no character so precisely observed in its dreadful pettiness, so perfectly conveyed by its stream of dialogue that we nod with satisfaction at the same time as we cringe with embarrassment.

Mr. Wodehouse fares well in this version as the vitamin-popping ex-inventor who reads The Economist, advocates the use of viruses rather than antibiotics to fight infections and hires Miss Taylor as a governess on the strength of her vegetarianism — “which indicated, in Mr Wodehouse’s view, a sensible interest in nutrition.” The magnified roles of Miss Taylor and James Weston are something of a puzzle. Miss Taylor’s Scottish background is made much of and descriptions of her evolving relationships with the occupants of Hartfield occupy a fourth of the novel. Smith deems it necessary for us to even follow Emma and Miss Taylor on a trip to Italy where he cryptically narrates an incident intended to reveal Emma’s character. All this comes to nothing later on since Miss Taylor is entirely incidental to the plot. Similarly, many pages are wasted on James Weston’s back story although he proves to be just as superfluous. George Knightley — introduced in Austen’s tradition as owner of the biggest house in the village — has a much smaller role than appropriate for the hero of any novel, and his Hollywood-like treatment makes the whole romance unconvincing.

But the most egregious fault of the novel is the characterisation of Emma. At first her casting as a designer seems indicative of her preoccupation with outward appearances at the cost of her ability to judge true worth. But not only does she not learn her lesson in the course of the novel, she has nary a redeeming feature to earn the reader’s sympathy or even interest. Now this is the heroine whom, Austen famously said, “no one but myself will much like” but Smith’s creation is truly obnoxious. Her class consciousness is reduced to disapproval of Harriet’s sartorial choices and comparing the ranking of her own university against that of Jane Fairfax. Her pity for Harriet’s ‘poverty’ is anachronistic and unconvincing. Here is Emma’s reaction to Miss Taylor’s announcement of her engagement:

“Emma beamed with pleasure. Sex. Miss Taylor and James Weston. Delicious thought: the absurd is always so tasty.”

In this day and age such a reaction would be silly in a 12 year old; in the 22-year-old Emma it is simply untenable. Repetitive, overbearing commentary from the author telling us what to think and describing Emma as “unusual” and “complex” does not help. In one place, George bluntly calls Harriet “an airhead” but the epithet would suit Emma just fine too.

Smith fails to plot situations which would reveal Emma’s character and changes wrought in it. All the major events of the novel — Emma’s attempts to bring Harriet and Phillip together, Phillip’s confession of love, Emma’s relationship with Knightley — are dealt with in an implausible, hurried manner. The multiple feints and subtle hints of Austen’s work are replaced with a simplistic narrative. In lieu of a sharply observed Mrs Elton or a sinuously unfolding narrative, what we get is a nude painting session, suggestions of homosexuality and a picnic scene in which young and old eat hash cake. Such modernisation has the same effect on the reader as the cake on the picnickers: it makes us want to doze off.

Despite its flaws, Emma is a light and inoffensive read whose real value lies in sending one back to the original.

Emma
(Novel)
By Alexander McCall Smith
The Borough Press, UK
ISBN 978-0007553853
368pp.