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Is, further to the ongoing fad for "mommy porn," an erotic rework of Jane Austen's classic Pride and Prejudice. As if you hadn't already worked that out. This effort was by a Lissa Trevor and, thankfully, is only published in ebook format, so it's fairly easy to obtain in a manner of which Jack Sparrow would be proud, if you're interested. And not meaning to condone copyright infringement in any way, shape or form, but for reasons that will now be seen, if ever an intellectual property deserved to be pirated just for karmic reasons, this is it.

Executive Summary

Heaving bosoms? No, just heaving readers.

A bit more detail, if you don't mind, please?

Well, I suppose I might as well. I've got a keyboard, a mouse, and a big bottle of La Fée Absinthe Parisien 68 by my side, which should help me stump up enough courage to get through this. Because this novel is pretty horrific even by the standards of stuff I review on here and has actually made me really quite angry, because, at heart, Spank Me Mr Darcy is utter plagiarism.

Now, those of you who have been paying attention will recall that I reviewed an allegedly erotic rewrite of Jane Eyre called Jane Eyre Laid Bare, and that I described it as "the literary equivalent of pissing on the Srebrenica genocide memorial." I still stand by this. However, this is even worse than that. Because where the progenitor of Jane Eyre Laid Bare actually rewrit bits and adapted the plot accordingly, the Lissa Trevor character responsible for this atrocity couldn't even be arsed to do that. So what has she done? LIFTED THE TEXT OF THE ORIGINAL AND INSERTED ADDITIONAL KINKY SEX BITS TOTALLY OUT OF CONTEXT. Yes! That is all that she has done. And if you don't believe me, here is, for your edification, a side by side comparison of the opening chapter of Jane Austen's literary classic, courtesy of the Gutenberg Project, and this, courtesy of an unnamed BitTorrent site. Please note, though, that this is not work safe:




OriginalThis nonsense

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it."

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.

"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."

This was invitation enough.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

"How so? How can it affect them?"

"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

"Is that his design in settling here?"

"Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes."

"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley may like you the best of the party."

"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."

"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of."

"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood."

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."

"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not."

"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."

"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference."

"They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he; "they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters."

"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves."

"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least."

"Ah, you do not know what I suffer."

"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."

"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them."

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all."

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a dominant man in possession of a good set of cuffs, must be in want of a much younger, submissive wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day as she removed the ball gag from his mouth, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is at last under new ownership?”

“No M’Lady,” Mr. Bennet replied.

“But it is,” returned she, untying the leather restraints that bound her naughty husband to the bed post;

Mr. Bennet made no answer, as he was took advantage of his freedom to pin his wife beneath him.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife, impatiently thrusting her hips up to encourage him to enter her hard and fast.

“You want to tell me?” Mr. Bennet groaned, feeling the tight muscles of her quim clamp down on him. He ravaged her like a man teased beyond his endurance, his posterior red and burning from her use of the riding crop. “I have no objection to hearing it – as soon as you come for me.”

This was invitation enough.

?

“Why, my dear, you make me ache,” Mrs. Bennet said, sighing her pleasure as he thrust in and out. They had been married twenty years and were raising five daughters, but he still made her feel like a wanton. She dug her nails into his shoulders as the sweet oblivion threatened to have her caterwauling her pleasure to the household. Settling for screaming into his mouth, his lady met his plunges eagerly until the sparks danced before her eyes and tremors threatened to rip her apart.

He grunted and finished shortly after, collapsing on top of Mrs. Bennet. He kissed her shoulder and rolled off to stare at the ceiling while he tried to catch his breath.

“Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?” Mr. Bennet said, turning on his side to admire her pert form.

“Bingley.”

“Is he married or single?”

“Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? How can it affect them?” He danced his fingers over her breasts, watching her nipples tighten and bud. He tugged on them, rolling them between his fingers.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “ You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”

“Is that his design in settling here?” He trailed his fingers down her ribcage and belly. He tangled his fingers in the curly hairs at the juncture of her thighs and tugged.”

“Design!” she cried out, her hips lifting in response to his caress. “Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no occasion for that,” he said, combing his fingers down to her slick wet heat.” You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them. Mr. Bingley may like you the best of the party and I’ll not share you with him.” His fingers languidly stroked between the soft folds of her core.

“My dear, you flatter me,” she purred, arching into his caress. “I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of, or talent. You are definitely both beautiful and talented” He tickled her until she was insensate, her body tightening on his fingers. Mr. Bennet flicked her to another orgasm that had her clutching his shoulders. Her lovely mouth a perfect “O” of surprise and joy.

He picked up the riding crop and teased it over her buttocks.

She pressed into him as the warm leather tingled against her sensitive skin. “But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.”

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”

“But consider your daughters.”

“I’d rather not, while I am abed with you.”

“Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. It will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not.”

“You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you, especially if you wear your blue gown. You may tempt him, but if I find out he has taken liberties, it is you I will punish.” He tapped the riding crop against her nipples.

She shivered at her husband’s dark tone. It was almost as if he willed her to disobey him.

“However, I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy. She is so quiet and obedient. She’d make a lovely wife.”

“I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lyda. But you are always giving her the preference.”

“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he; “they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters. She has a hidden core. A mystery that might stir a man into obsession – quite like her mother.” He took her mouth in a rough kiss, but she pushed him away.

“Mr. Bennet, how can you disregard your other children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. Letting me pretend at dominance, then taking it away with your harsh words and greater strength. You have no compassion for my needs.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your needs. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.”

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of fortune come into the neighbourhood.”

“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.”

“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.” He then bent to his task of whipping his wife into a frenzy of sensation. Striking her thigh, the bottom of her feet, he smiled at her pleasure. And when she launched herself on him, he allowed her to have her way with him.

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. He liked to be bound and whipped, but in the end he was the dominant one in the relationship.

Mrs. Bennet’s mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. Giving her the crop and the bindings had loosed a sexual creature that was tempting, biddable and entirely devoted to shared pleasure. The business of her life, on the other hand, was to get her daughters happily married so she could enjoy her husband and their frolics without interruption.




So as you can see, it's basically wholesale plagiarism with kinky sexy bits shoehorned in horribly. And it's like that throughout the entirety of the novel without let or hindrance whatsoever. Nothing but total lifting of the original text and the insertion of poorly written sexy bits. And quite frankly, not only is this morally repugnant on every scale imaginable, but also totally unnecessary. Pride and Prejudice is top grade wank fuel irregardless of whether or not it's been rewritten to describe Mr Darcy's manhood or not, and has been ever since Colin Firth emerged shirtless from a river in 1994. Moreover, there is such a thing as imagination which one can deploy as well. As such, the very existence of this novel is totally superfluous.

But let's get back to the plagiarism for a second. While the author puts Jane Austen down as a sort of co-author type affair, I'm afraid that's not good enough for me or for anyone else for that matter. That this daft mare is able and allowed to extract money from paying customers by tacking her sub-fanfiction level masturbation fantasies onto a literary classic, and that Amazon and other sites are complicit in this is utterly reprehensible. Jane Austen would be rotating in her grave like a dentist's drill on Walter White's blue crystal meth, surely, not only because of this derivativeness but also because, as can be seen above, it serves to dilute the essential fabric of the novel. The original work was tight and focused and said huge amounts with comparatively few words. This increases the wordage significantly, and the kinky sex, clenching quim-muscles, spanking, the existence of a dungeon in the cellar, riding crops, and nipple-pinching makes the novel feel bloated and like you just want to leap into the page, throw a bucket of cold water over them and tell them to get on with it. It also murders the whole aura of simmering sexual tension that is in the air in the original. After all, what's the point if they just make with the shagging immediately they meet, as they do here?

Jesus wept. I need a drink.

*glug*

Ahh, that's better. Nothing like a nice big belt of oily 68% abv liquor to get you in the mood for reading tripe like this.

As I was saying, simmering sexual tension. Also, less is more. The fact that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy have to conceal their passions for appearances' sake is a major part of the original novel. The class divisions also contribute to this. If, as I have just said, they just bonk each other silly from day one, then they might as well not have bothered. There goes another theme.

But the crowning turd in the waterpipe? The fact that, as you've seen above, while shagging themselves silly, the characters all have perfectly normal conversations about family affairs and so forth without once falling into whooping, hollering, shouting each others' names, or screaming "Fuck me till I fart" upon getting to the jester's shoes as one BBC newsreader is legendarily said to have done. I'm sorry, but if you're discussing things like that while on the job, you're doing it wrong.

In closing, if this was a printed version of the book that I had in front of me, I should tip the rest of my absinthe bottle on it, set fire to it, and throw the ashes into the river. However, it is not, it's an ePub. So I'll just have to use my Delete key to get rid of it before its fail corrupts my compy entirely. And besides, my bottle of La Fée was forty quid, and that's too much to waste on murdering this glorified bogroll.

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