Sketchy Details: Pencil Sketches of Jane Austen

She sits at work, her back erect in over a small writing table. Scattered across its surface are the tools of her trade: a tablet of paper, a pen or two. Westminster Abbey looms outside her window, and a cat is coiled in sleep, not in the folds of her voluminous shawl or at her feet, but in a paradoxically feline way, on the edge of the table.

Most engaging of all are her eyes; they are looking up from the work, perhaps with a hint of irritation, as if to say, “You interrupted me because…?”

This small pencil sketch is at the heart of scholarly debate, as professor Dr. Paula Byrne claims it is a lost portrait of the author Jane Austen.

There is only one confirmed image of Austen in existence; painted by her sister Cassandra, this half-completed portrait depicts Austen with a sprinkling of brown ringlets peeking out from under a cap, bright pink cheeks, crossed arms and a fairly sour expression. It is an image for which a sitting was clearly arranged; there is no context or setting, and the portrait is static.

This newly discovered image of Austen, which Dr. Byrne’s husband purchased on a hunch at auction, was most likely arranged, but it captures a specific moment in time. It acknowledges Austen as a writer at a time when women’s work was frowned upon. Instead of showing her in a conventional, “feminine” light (though I’m sure someone out there has already made a “crazy cat lady” joke), it shows her as a dynamic, active figure.

The dichotomy between the reality of the artist and the image propagated by their work is one that we still struggle to navigate. Modern pop singers like Rihanna or Katy Perry, whose songs tells stories of constant drinking, partying and casual liaisons, do not live the lives of their music; if they did, they would not be able to maintain the stamina necessary to sustain their careers. Storytellers like Vince Gilligan, writer and creator of the deeply disturbing “Breaking Bad,” probe the darkest, most depraved corners of the human mind, but live fairly happy, relatively normal lives.

Austen, however, has been trapped by readers who equate her with her work, specifically an “Aunt Jane” interpretation that coats her comparatively austere novels with a high sheen of Victorian romance and sentimentality (Note: no one ever kisses in an Austen novel. Not so much a smooch on the cheek. Well, Willhoughby kisses a lock of Marianne’s hair in “Sense and Sensibility,” but it’s not attached to her at the time).

The reasons for this interpretation are varied, but perhaps the image of the fussy woman, inexpertly painted by Cassandra, plays some role in this mental image of Austen and her works as well. If this new image turns out to be an authentic Austen sketch, perhaps it can help liberate Austen from the tea-cup and needlepoint prison in which she has been long held captive.