Happy birthday, Jane.  A nobody during her life whose books were little read, she’s easily the most widely read (and reread) novelist ever and one of the most skilled.  She would never have made it to the Best of the Year lists if they’d had such things in her day.  She’s in good company.  Melville did okay with his more adventurous tales, but Moby Dick was practically a career ender.  Faulkner’s books were out of print when he was awarded the Nobel.  One likes to think good literature endures, but I’m not so sure.  We got lucky is all.  Sarah, recently at a loss for something to read, picked up Pride and Prejudice once again and once again couldn’t put it down, occasionally reading choice bits to me for my enjoyment.  Thanks Jane.  I’m glad we remember you.