Austen vs. Shakespeare

A request from a faithful reader: Austen recasts Hamlet's famous monologue scene.  For the original, refer to Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1.

After an hour in the Austen Oven (and now a little overcooked!):

Just Hamlet and she were left in the chamber.  Hamlet stood with his back to her, his face towards the the darkness.  It was a calm night; wickedly so.  In her hand she clutched a small bag of his remembrances;  though she had received them with much joy when they were given, they seemed now to be meagre, and like their intent, without worth.  Hamlet began to speak.  'To be or not to be - that is the question,' he said softly.  Ophelia did not answer; she knew he did not expect, or want, a reply.  He continued to speak for many minutes, much of which she did not understand; but she felt the scent of cruelty, and desperation, that coloured his words.  She recalled what a confidante had said once - 'he suffers an unsteadiness of feeling, of jagged thought, and gloom of mind.'  She had not agreed then, but now she heard truth in Hamlet's unsettled mutterings.

'The fair Ophelia!  It pains me to look at you,' said Hamlet suddenly, breaking his monologue. 

'Good day, my lord,' she answered.  'Are you well?'

'I thank you for asking!  I am indeed well.'

Ophelia thought him to be gazing at her with hate.  His mouth was twisting with terrible words he would not utter.  'My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have long been wishing to return to you.  Please take them,' she said.

'It was not I that gave them to you,' he answered.

'My lord, you are no doubt aware that you did give them to me, with the sweetest of words, and treasure them I did, but no more.  They have lost their gleam; when the givers prove unkind, they sparkle no longer.  Here,' said she, holding the bag out to him.  Hamlet stared long at his gifts now dimly lit; without light to improve them, they seemed all shadow.

It is a strange torment to be thus, Ophelia

Austen vs. Meyer

The original

The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to his significance.

Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that he would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real ... hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach.  I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone.  When I looked up again, his eyes were pen, watching me.  Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting.  His quick smile turned up the corners of his flawless lips.

"I don't scare you?" he asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in his voice.

"No more than usual."

Stephanie Meyer, Twilight, Atom, 2009, p.229. 

After 30 minutes in the Austen Oven

The meadow dimmed next to Edward; even though it had been spectacular at first, it seemed dull and washed out, with Edward at the centre, as bright as evening's first star.

Even though she was afraid, frightened should he disappear back into the mist like something she might have imagined, Isabella reached out her hand to touch his; it was cold as if marble and smooth like stone.  When she raised her eyes to his, he was watching her intensely.  She saw satisfaction in his eyes, languid and sated; she observed too they were a playful tortoiseshell colour, but the colour was rolling without settling, like gentle waves in the sea.  Edward smiled gently.  Isabella thought he seemed just like the statues of Greek gods she had read about, eternal and perfect, yet somehow frightening.  Her mind whirled with thoughts of the impudence of her actions.  "Do I scare you?" he asked softly.

"I am always frightened when you are near, Mr. Cullen," answered Isabella, as her fingers trembled in his hand, and her eyes dropped from his.

Her goodness tamed his tendencies to the wild; her succour fed him strength
(Painting by Edward Savage, 1796)

Austen vs. French's chooks

The original:
If you have bought day-old chicks, or hatched them in an incubator, you can provide a hot-water bottle (if you can bear to get up in the night and replenish it) or place a light bulb in thr box. If the chicks are too cold, they will huddle round the light; if they are too hot, they will go to the edge of the box. Make sure you put a blanket arund the boxand over it to insulate it and keep the heat in. If they are too confined, chicks can become aggressive and peck each other badly. They grow quickly, so gie them plenty of room. Put a little sand on the bottom of the box.

Jackie French, The Chook Book, Manna Press, Melbourne, 2010, p. 39.

After a few minutes in the Austen Oven:
Chicks that are but just a day in age require warmth; this may be from a hot water bottle, which necessiates getting up through the night to replenish it, or light from a bulb within the box, around which the chicks will huddle. You must also place a coverlet atop the box, as this keeps the heat inside; and do ensure the box has room enough as they grow, to stop them quarrelling, and has sand on its floor, for cleanliness.

A chook is so restful; I adore to watch it caper and scratch, roll cheerfully in the dust, and gather what it can from its meagre existence.

Austen vs. Rowling

I'm first going to take on a literary giant amongst children and adults: J.K.Rowling.  Rowling is heavy on description but less so on thoughts and feelings, so this will be interesting at least.

The Rowling Original 

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place.  It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.  These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.  At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.  Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.  The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight.  Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.  Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.  He heard Hermione whisper, 'It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts, a History.'

 J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Bloomsbury Publishing, 1997, p.87

After Roasting in the Austen Oven

Harold had never even imagined such a strange, splendid place.  It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, which were floating over four long tables, which were laid with glittering goblets, and golden plates that caught the light.  The students were seated at these tables; at the top of the hall was yet another long table facing the students at which the teachers presided.  Professor McGonagall led the new students up to the teachers' table, and turned them so they could see the faces of hundreds of the other students, and even those of the ghosts, which drifted around as their mood took them.  Harold looked up to avoid all those eyes, and saw a velvety black ceiling, dotted with shiny stars; Miss Granger whispered beside him, 'It is bewitched to seem like the sky outside; I read so in the book 'Hogwarts: a History.'

Ophelia, 2012

Which is the preferred version?