Last April when a mysterious portrait that may be of Jane Austen went on the auction block at Christie's, I received a phone call from an editor at "All Things Considered" on NPR, asking if I could "dash off an essay as to why smart women who love to read are addicted to Jane Austen."

"Um," began my reply, "I'd love to, but I may be the only woman in America who loves to read who, frankly, can take or leave Jane Austen."

"How can that be?" she stammered, gracefully. "How can that possibly be?"

Indeed. I have read the books and I like them, I do. They have everything you want in a great novel: engaging plot and writing with intrigue and wit and an inevitable happy ending for the heroine with whom you identify completely.

While these books reinforced things I know, they didn't teach me anything new. They weren't revelatory. Maybe that's because I read them in college, after the time my consciousness was most ripe for laying in a foundation of Janeisms. I might have missed my chance to permanently fix my lenses to Jane's lenses, to see the world through Jane's eyes, to become a Janeite.

Austen's six novels matter so much to so many readers -- not all of them women, but most --that there are societies, clubs, blogs, fan sites, a steady money-making industry in film adaptations and, no fewer than five new books with Austen as muse, central character or book-length trope.

Three of these books consider themselves "fiction," and the best of these is "The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen" by Syrie James (Avon, $13.95). The idea is that Austen kept a journal exposing a secret love affair and confirming that her books are rooted in her own life experience, and that this journal went undiscovered in a cottage owned by her brother until the day it is revealed to be in "pristine condition."

Well, oh my, most Janeites need a quick fan and cool drink of water just to accommodate the thought. James' book imagines a Mr. Ashton for Jane, a man with whom she shares a good deal of passion in the two years preceding the publication of "Sense and Sensibility." As seems to be the rage these days (I just finished reviewing "Loving Frank" by Nancy Horan, which is a novelization of a true affair between a society woman and Frank Lloyd Wright,) James weaves historical detail and fact into the invented story, fashioning a tale not unlike "Sense and Sensibility."

There is a two-year gap in Austen's personal letters, and James, like many Janeites, suspects that Austen's beloved sister Cassandra might have destroyed them in order to hide an illicit romance. And if she didn't she should have, as it makes for a compelling read even if you're not someone who lives and breathes Austen.

A less deft interest in Regency England results in "Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict" by Laurie Viera Rigler (Dutton, $24.95). This book is also based on an amusing conceit: Courtney, a 21st century L.A. gal, is nursing a broken heart and a life that has jumped the tracks. She wakes up in the life of Jane Mansfield. (Among Rigler's shortcomings is a need to elbow us in the ribs.) At first, Courtney thinks that she hasn't woken up but is in fact dreaming, until she can't wake up and must inhabit Jane's life. The supreme yuck factor of aspects of life in Regency England wears thin fast. The utter lack of literary reference -- Rigler mostly relates to TV and celebrity culture -- doesn't so much ratchet up the genius of Austen's work because it is still relevant today, as it makes this reader long for the DVD of "Clueless."

In "Dear Jane Austen" (Plume, $12), Patrice Hannon posits Austen as an advice columnist answering letters and solving the domestic problems of her friends and neighbors. Another adorable idea. Hannon's book is sophisticated and even subtle, giving us a believable Austen, one whose observations and suggestions for "heroines-in-training" come from the spirit of her novels rather than a microscopic interest in or knowledge of Regency England.

Next page >

Get $150+ in coupons in every Sunday N&O. Click here for convenient home delivery.