“Sensible, but not at all handsome” – ‘Jane Eyre’ revisited
Knowing that Charlotte Bronte’s birthday was approaching, I thought I’d skip back through ‘Jane Eyre’ to refresh my memory of a novel that had been a firm favourite when I first read it in my early twenties. It deeply moved me then, but I was apprehensive returning to it, as since then I have read ‘Wide Sargasso Sea’ by Jean Rhys, – the post-colonial prequel to ‘Jane Eyre’, which is a telling of the story of Bertha Mason, Rochester’s first wife – as well as a good deal of feminist literary criticism about ‘the mad woman in the attic’ as a construct of the Victorian literary imagination.
In truth, Mr Rochester’s brooding hidden depths and tortured soul had indeed lost appeal. Despite clearly being trapped and deceived into a disastrous marriage, his repeated unapologetic emotional torture of Jane did not endear him to me, especially considering the wide power differential in their relationship. However, Jane remained as resplendent in my memory as she did the first time. What I love about her character is that she defies the limitations of the typical female heroine. She lacks beauty, but is not cowed by that. She is no timid mouse, but has strength of character, resilience, and is not afraid to speak her mind. I so enjoyed re-reading it, that I couldn’t bear to rush through as I’d planned, but have luxuriated in it.
It’s not long ago that I re-read ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Charlotte’s sister, Emily, and while ‘Jane Eyre’ is not as committed to inflicting relentless sorrow and misery on all who enter it’s pages, both novels are drenched in bleakness. The sense of wilderness and vulnerability to the elements reflects the dramatic emotional landscape of the characters. Life must have been very hard for the Brontes stuck out there on the Yorkshire moors, but from a purely selfish point of view, I’m glad, because even all these years later we are still basking in their genius, and thank goodness they confine their talents to what were considered to be feminine arts.
Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.
Lucy
Sarah
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I saw a program on BBC4 a little while ago about Jane Eyre, a series in which academics, authors and like re-read books they love. The woman who loved Jane Eyre, on a re-read, came to the same conclusions as you. Mr Rochester aint so sexy after a few modern-woman-living years under your belt. He needs a talking to!
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Oh gawd, I wish I’d known that existed I could have watched that first and said something intellimergent!
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The romantic appeal of Rochester is difficult to see, but he is a great figure for a novel, running off in grand view poetry at every chance.
In Villette you have Paul Emmanuel and in The Professor Hunsden. All three characters are eccentric, believably eccentric, giving the author a lot of freedom to say and do whatever. Madness is an excellent catalyst, anything is allowed to happen. I thought Rochester superbly funny.
But the eccentrics have lost the the game, haven’t they? Modern man is streamlined, out-botoxed, anthraxed, viagrarized, starbucksized, rubberdaddyrized, divorced a second time and passing away life watching boringly common people with silicone tits in reality-tv shows.
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I agree that it does appear that way, but when we compare modern novels to those from the past, we’re comparing them with the very best of an era. Those peopled by dull predictability are long forgotten for that very reason. Contemporary novels with interesting, eccentric characters that intrigue might be greatly outnumbered by the bland, but hopefully, they’ll be the ones that survive.
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