Every month, I'd estimate that we receive about five books based on Jane Austen's life or books, and most of them are pretty, well, dreadful. Of course, I'm not talking about the sublime "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," which I enjoyed immensely, or even biographies such as "Becoming Jane."

I'm talking about the novels written by or about Janeites which borrow heavily from the source material (not EVERYTHING is a truth universally acknowledged!), are populated by many men who have all read Austen's books (I've never met one), and end with the heroine of the story winning the love of "her very own Mr. Darcy."

So when I picked up "Jane Bites Back," by Michael Thomas Ford, the only inkling I had that this book might be different was because it was written by a man. (And a funny one, at that!)

The book, set in modern-day upstate New York, has a basic conceit: Jane Austen is alive and well, the owner of a bookstore, a particular cat named Tom and a pair of fangs. By day, she battles the indignities of exercise books, cookbooks and badly written romance novels  -- which all bear the weight of her name, if not her talent -- and by night she navigates her love life, mourns her oft-rejected manuscript, "Constance" and drinks blood.

HUMAN blood. None of this namby-pamby "vegetarian vampire" business.

Throughout the book, Jane Fairfax, as she now calls herself, acts like the perfect Regency-era lady, even when dealing with her insufferable Scottish ex-boyfriend whom we all remember from our English lit classes in high school.

And the book does a grand job of mocking its very foundation -- Austen-mania and its horrible literary value -- while proving itself to be an entertaining read on its own: Think "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" (the comic, not the horrible movie). The characters are fully realized, with understandable motivations for their actions and thoughts, and the big schism between Janeites and Bronte devotees is met head-on in a very satistfactory manner.

In fact, the least believable part of the book? (Ignoring the vampire thing, of course.) That "Mansfield Park" is ANYONE's favorite Austen book. I mean, come on? Fanny Price? That's just ridiculous.

It looks like there is already a sequel in the works, "Jane Goes Batty," and I can barely wait. My only request, Mr. Ford? At some point, I would love to see Bram Stoker return as a vampire, made to live with his own legacy of cliches and bad literature. And I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.