This post is the work of Samantha Novella Simpson–TM
I first read Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind when I was in the fifth grade. I lugged around that 1024-page tome and read it whenever I could spare a few minutes between class assignments. I finished the book just in time for the arrival of Alexandra Ripley’s sequel, Scarlett. I ignored the poor reviews of the Ripley’s novel 1) because I was 10 and 2) because I had to know the rest of the story.
Now, sixteen years after Scarlett, we have a new sequel–Donald McCaig’s Rhett Butler’s People. The publication of this text–and other sequels and “re-imaginings” of canonical texts–prompts the question: “Why do we need these stories?” Linda Berdoll has written at least two continuations of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Helen Halstead has also written a sequel to the same novel, and Carrie Bebris has made detectives out of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy in at least three sequels.
How do these continuations compare to the original texts? Obviously, they can’t. The original authors are permanently unavailable, and it is ultimately impossible for anyone to imagine their plans for their characters. Donald McCaig has penned an “authorized” sequel to Gone with the Wind, but can Margaret Mitchell’s estate really confer authority on him (or any other author)?
Further, what do we, as readers, expect from these additions to our most beloved texts? Ripley blesses Scarlett with self-awareness and tenderness by the end of Scarlett. Yes, our heroine is more mature and more capable of loving Rhett Butler for the rest of their natural lives. Great–except now she’s just like every other romance novel heroine.
And perhaps that’s it, the whole appeal of these sequels and re-imaginings. Here are opportunities for wild, mysterious, and dangerous characters to become docile. Rhett Butler’s People promises to make the hero’s thoughts and actions easier to understand. These revelations have the potential to create a new kind of sympathy for Rhett Butler, but do we need it? Does a character become more lovable once the reader understands what’s behind his sardonic comments?
Authors like Ripley, McCaig, Bebris, and Berdoll may not be able to convincingly add dimensions to the established stories, but the success of their work speaks to our desire to linger in the company of our fictional friends. These characters occupy worlds that are too rich to be contained in one text. Rhys’ Wide Sargasso Sea, for example, expands the universe of Jane Eyre. I suppose these sequels and re-examinations do not mean to fall short of the originals. Instead, these new texts address our need to travel forward with these characters as we grow beyond our first experiences with the original books.
The first time I read Scarlett, I criticized every other page: Scarlett wouldn’t think that. Rhett wouldn’t say that, and he’s Captain Butler, not Mister Butler. Despite my distaste, I picked it up again and again, usually in the moments after I finished reading Gone with the Wind. There really was a kind of satisfaction there–finally, a happy ending.