One of the reasons Jane Austen's novels continue to resonate with readers around the world is that they remind us how often first impressions can be misleading. We think we understand a person, only to discover there is far more beneath the surface than we first imagined.
Today, I am delighted to welcome author Mirta Ines Trupp to My Jane Austen Book Club to discuss Kindle the Light of Liberty, a fascinating historical novel set in Revolutionary Philadelphia. While not a retelling of Pride and Prejudice, the novel draws inspiration from Austen's timeless themes of misunderstanding, growth, family, and the challenge of judging character accurately.
At the heart of the story are Rose Wachsman and Nathan Hirsch, members of Philadelphia's Jewish community during the American Revolution. Through their journey, Mirta explores questions of identity, belonging, loyalty and love against the backdrop of a nation struggling to define itself.
In our conversation below, she shares how Jane Austen influenced her writing, why she chose this little-known corner of American history, and what readers might discover when they look beyond first impressions—both in fiction and in history.
Kindle the Light of
Liberty has been described as carrying the spirit of Pride and Prejudice without
being a retelling. What aspects of Jane Austen's novel most inspired your
story?
First, Maria, please let me express my appreciation for this opportunity
to discuss my latest novel. As it happens, talking about one's novels or characters
has excellent literary precedent. Jane Austen herself seems to have taken
enormous pleasure in revisiting hers. In letters to her sister, Cassandra, she
imagined spotting members of the Bennet family in portrait galleries,
speculated about what Mrs. Darcy might wear, and unabashedly declared Elizabeth
Bennet one of the most delightful heroines ever to appear in print! With that reassuring
example before me, I am happy to talk about my own scribblings!
While Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy were certainly important
inspirations, what drew me most to Pride and Prejudice was Austen's
remarkable ability to create an entire social world through a cast of memorable
characters. In Kindle the Light of Liberty, I was inspired not only by
the intelligence, independence, and evolving relationship that make Elizabeth
and Darcy so enduring, but also by the supporting characters who shape their
journey. Lady Catherine de Bourgh fascinated me as a force of social
expectation and authority, while George Wickham demonstrated how charm can
conceal deeper flaws. Caroline Bingley provided another compelling model—a
character whose ambitions, prejudices, and insecurities create tension in
subtle but powerful ways.
Austen understood that a love story is never just about two people;
it is also about the family, friends, rivals, and societal pressures that
influence their choices. I wanted to capture some of that same richness of
character and emotional complexity in my own style and in my own way—to
paraphrase our treasured author. My goal was to create a story in which readers
could experience misunderstandings, growth, and the challenge of seeing people
as they truly are—all elements that have made Austen's work resonate for more
than two centuries.
That
philosophy extends to my other works as well. Whether I am writing J.A.F.F. or
historical variations, I am passionate about creating narratives through my
lens and experiences—as a woman, an immigrant, and a Jew. That said, I
generally don’t recast Austen's Anglican characters as members of my faith.
Instead, I introduce Jewish protagonists, perspectives, and storylines into the
narrative world. My purpose is not to create a parody or a novelty version of
Austen, but to engage with the themes and social observations that make her
novels timeless. As the saying goes, “imitation is the sincerest form of
flattery.” I could never hope to duplicate Austen's genius, but I do aspire to
learn from it. If Kindle the Light of Liberty encourages readers to see
Austen's influence reflected in a new historical setting while discovering
voices and experiences that are often absent from traditional narratives, then
I will feel I have paid her a worthy tribute.
Rose Wachsman has been
compared to Elizabeth Bennet. What qualities do they share, and in what ways is
Rose uniquely her own character?
I certainly can understand why readers draw
comparisons between Rose and Elizabeth Bennet—and am humbled by the thought.
They share a quick intelligence and a strong sense of self. Both women are
observant, independent-minded, and willing to challenge expectations when they
believe those expectations are unjust. They also possess a certain stubbornness
that can be both a strength and a weakness. That said, Rose is very much her
own character. Elizabeth Bennet's story unfolds primarily within the context of
family dynamics, social class, and the marriage market of Regency England. Rose
faces some of those same human concerns, but her circumstances are shaped by a
very different historical reality.
As the daughter of a Jewish immigrant—and a
tradesman at that—Rose carries an awareness of history that Lizzy never had to
consider. Her identity is shaped by generations of displacement, exclusion, and
perseverance. Questions of continuity—of security—are never far from her mind.
The choices she makes are influenced not only by personal happiness but by a
sense of responsibility to her family, her heritage, and the future she hopes
to build. In many ways, Rose also reflects my fascination with the women who
came before us. Historical records often preserve the names of prominent men
while leaving women's stories untold. When I write characters like Rose, I find
myself imagining the intelligence, courage, and determination required of those
women whose voices were rarely recorded but whose lives helped shape the
generations that followed.
Rose ultimately grew beyond any single
influence founded by Austen. She may share some of Elizabeth Bennet's spirit,
but she is also the product of her own history and circumstances—a woman
navigating not only matters of the heart, but larger questions of identity,
belonging, and what it means to help build a place where future generations can
thrive.
Your novel brings Jewish families and communities in
Revolutionary America to the forefront. What drew you to this setting, and what
do you hope readers will discover about this fascinating period of history?
Several factors drew me to this era, but one
of the most important was the opportunity to explore a chapter of this nation’s
history that remains largely unknown to many readers. As a naturalized American
citizen, I wanted to contribute to and pay homage to our 250th anniversary of
independence. We are indeed a nation woven together with multilayered and
multifaceted threads. By setting the scene in colonial Philadelphia, I hope to strengthen
those ties that bind us in this “great experiment.”
When—or rather, if— people think about
the colonial Jewish community, they may picture a small number of merchants or prominent
financiers. While those figures certainly played important roles, they
represent only a fraction of the story. During my research, I was fascinated to
learn about the incredible bravery of Jewish patriots—men and women who
actively fought, sacrificed, and risked everything for the cause of
independence, yet whose stories are rarely taught in schools. I became deeply
interested in these ordinary individuals who experienced the terrifying
uncertainties of the rebellion alongside their neighbors.
What fascinated me most about the
Revolutionary era was that breaking free from Britain was only half the
story. The war dismantled old colonial legal systems and forced people to
figure out what a truly free society should look like. For religious minorities
like the Jewish community, the stakes were incredibly high. Under British rule,
Jews faced strict legal limits on voting, holding public office, or achieving
full equality. The birth of a new republic raised thrilling, untested
possibilities:
Would this emerging nation live up
to its promises of universal liberty?
Would it offer Jewish families a
place where they could build their futures not as tolerated outsiders, but as
equal citizens?
Through Rose and the others, I wanted to show Jewish
colonists as three-dimensional human beings rather than caricatures or historical
footnotes. Their experiences are woven into the larger American story, even if
they are not always included in the versions of history we commonly encounter. If
readers come away with a greater appreciation for the diversity of this
particular generation and a curiosity to learn more about the communities that
helped shape the early United States, I will feel that I have succeeded.
If Jane Austen herself could read Kindle the Light of Liberty,
what do you think might surprise her most about your story?
I absolutely love this question, Maria! I
suspect Jane Austen would be surprised by several things in Kindle the Light
of Liberty, but perhaps most of all by the fact that the story is set in the
colonies and told largely through the experiences of Jewish characters.
We often think of Austen as universally
beloved—and rightly so. We adapt her novels endlessly, quote Elizabeth Bennet
as if she were an old friend, and build entire industries around Regency
romance and culture. Yet Austen herself appears to have viewed America with a
fair degree of skepticism. In a letter written to her friend Martha Lloyd
during the War of 1812, Austen remarked that while Britain remained “a religious
nation,” she doubted Americans possessed the same seriousness of faith. Given
her generally conservative outlook and suspicion of political upheaval, I
imagine she would be rather astonished to find one of her literary descendants
writing a novel set amid a rebellion against the Crown! Yet what fascinates me
is how much common ground might exist beneath that initial surprise.
Austen's skepticism toward revolutions was
rooted in more than politics. Her novels reveal a deep concern with
continuity—how families endure, how values are passed from one generation to
the next, and how fragile social order can become when people abandon duty,
restraint, and moral responsibility. Those same concerns lie at the heart of Kindle
the Light of Liberty.
For the Jewish communities of colonial
America, the conflict was never simply an abstract debate about liberty and
independence. It was a deeply personal question. Families in places such as New
York, Newport, Charleston, and Philadelphia faced uncertain futures as governments
changed, economies were disrupted, and old loyalties were tested. Like so many
Jewish communities throughout history, they had to ask themselves whether the
society around them would remain welcoming and secure in the years ahead.
I think Austen would also be intrigued by the
diversity of the world my characters inhabit. Her novels focus on a relatively
narrow segment of English society, while the colonies brought together people
of different backgrounds, faiths, and cultures who were all helping to shape a
new nation. The idea that a Jewish heroine could stand at the center of such a
story would likely have been entirely outside her experience. And yet, I hope
she would recognize something familiar in Rose's journey. Beneath the wartime
setting are questions Austen understood better than almost anyone: whom to
trust, how to judge character, how to balance personal happiness with family
obligations, and how to preserve what is most valuable when the world around
you is changing.
Austen is famous for her sharp observations of human nature and
social interactions. Is there a particular lesson you learned from reading
Austen that has influenced the way you write fiction?
If there is one lesson I learned from Jane
Austen, it is to be wary of first impressions. Austen understood that people
are rarely what they seem at first glance. The charming person may be selfish.
The proud person may be honorable. The quiet person may possess unexpected
strength. Much of her genius lies in showing how easily we misjudge one another
and how important it is to look beyond assumptions. That lesson has profoundly
influenced the way I write fiction.
I try to approach every character as a well-rounded
human being rather than a stereotype or a one-dimensional, “filler” figure.
Austen taught me that good fiction begins with curiosity: Why does a person
behave as they do? What fears, hopes, loyalties, and experiences lie beneath
the surface? As I researched Jewish life in colonial America, I realized that
readers often fall victim to the same kind of first impressions that Austen
explored in Pride and Prejudice.
For centuries, European stereotypes portrayed
Jews as outsiders, disloyal, or concerned only with commerce. Yet the
historical record tells a far more complicated and compelling story. Jewish
colonists served in local militias and in the Continental Army. Men such as
Francis Salvador, often remembered as the first Jew to die in the cause of
American independence, risked—and ultimately gave—their lives for the Patriot
cause. Women such as Abigail Minis or Reyna Levy Moses navigated the same
hardships, uncertainties, and sacrifices as their Christian neighbors. What
struck me during my research was how often the record challenged my own
first impressions. A name would appear in a synagogue register, a military
roster, or an old letter, and I would initially think of that person as a
historical category: a soldier, a merchant, a patriot, a heartbroken wife. Then
I would dig deeper and discover a life far more complicated and interesting
than any label could capture.
Take Jacob I. Cohen. At first glance, he
appears in the records as a Jewish soldier who served in South Carolina during
the Revolution and endured imprisonment aboard a British prison ship. But then
the story takes an unexpected turn. After the war, he fell in love with Esther
Mordecai, a widow whose status as a convert created religious obstacles to
their union because Jacob was a kohen—a descendant of the priestly line
and bound by certain marital restrictions. Rather than accept defeat, he
challenged those assumptions and found a way forward. Suddenly, he is no longer
merely a soldier in a history book. He is a young man navigating faith, love,
communal expectations, and the possibilities opened by a new nation.
Then there is Abigail Lopez Gomez. At first
glance, she might seem like a footnote in a larger family story, but her life
reveals something far richer. As a child, she was displaced by war, lost her
father in a tragic accident, and helped her family rebuild in the aftermath.
Later, she married Isaac Gomez, a man who proved less interested in mercantile
pursuits than in literature.
In 1820, Isaac published an anthology of
poetry and prose, Selections of a Father for the Use of his Children. It
became so well regarded that former President John Adams was moved to write to
him, remarking that it “shall be a manual on my table.” Details like this are
always striking because they remind us how interconnected these early American
lives could be, across communities, professions, and even generations. Even
more moving, and one of my favorite details from the period, is a prayer book
Isaac copied by hand for Abigail after nearly four decades of marriage. The
book includes a note expressing his enduring devotion to her. Moments like that
remind us that history is not merely a sequence of public events or political
milestones. It is also a record of human relationships—private hopes, long
companionships, and deeply personal acts of love and care.
I hope readers will find my characters to be interesting,
in particular when they discover their contradictions, their struggles—their
humanity. In some ways, Kindle the Light of Liberty asks the same
question Austen asked more than two centuries ago: What happens when we
discover that our first judgment of a person—or an entire community—was wrong?
The answer, I think, is where both good history and good fiction begin.
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