'Jane Eyre' by Charlotte Brontë
'I could not, in those days, see God for His creature: of whom I had made an idol.'—Review #255
‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Brontë made me cry at work. The novel is on the long side, so every free moment I had on the subway or in the office lunch room I put toward reading as many pages as possible. What little I knew of the book came from two sources: 1) A friend at a Christmas party who had a copy sticking out of his pocket (maybe he was snatching every available reading moment, too) who told me it was a good read. And 2) Jean Rhys’s ‘Wide Sargasso Sea,’ the unofficial ‘Jane Eyre’ prequel novel I read last year. Neither source, however, prepared me for how emotionally invested I would become in Brontë’s classic.
Here’s the book’s cover:
The epic novel opens with 10-year-old Jane hitting a bully in the face and sending him off crying. Right from chapter 1, I was like:
The bully is Jane’s cousin John, a miserable brat who torments, hits and throws books at her. They live at Gateshead, the manor house of Jane’s mean-spirited aunt, Mrs. Reed. The Reeds took Jane in when her parents died, and shortly thereafter Mr. Reed died, too, but not before he made his wife promise to look after Jane, his sister’s child. Mrs. Reed has resented Jane ever since, and relentlessly chastises her niece and treats her like a stranger to the family. Things come to a head when Jane strikes John (who hit her first), and Mrs. Reed takes her son’s side. She orders Jane to be locked in a room to calm down. It’s the room where Mr. Reed died, and it’s all closed up and pitch black inside. Jane panics and has a seizure-like fit, and Mrs. Reed is like:
Jane is sent to Lowood, a school for girls who are orphaned or disadvantaged. She befriends a classmate named Helen Burns, and the two become close. But Jane doesn’t know that Helen is gravely ill. Helen and Jane’s final moments together are so touching, sad and beautifully written that it had me looking out the office-lunchroom window like:
After 8 years at Lowood, Jane decides she needs to get a job. She puts an ad in the paper offering her services as a governess, and is soon contacted about a position at a manor called Thornfield Hall. When she gets to Thornfield, she learns it’s owned by a Mr. Rochester, who is rarely around, and that she will instruct his ward, a young girl named Adèle. As Jane is getting the tour of the house from the housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax, she hears strange laughter coming from the attic. Mrs. Fairfax dismisses the sound, saying it must be from another member of the house staff. While Jane thinks it’s an odd explanation, she accepts it. Eventually, Mr. Rochester shows up, and, long story short, he and Jane fall in love. That’s when things get crazy. One night, Mr. Rochester’s bed is set on fire—Jane smells the smoke and douses the blaze before it gets out of control. Then, on another night, Jane is awakened by screams and cries for help—a houseguest has been stabbed. Each terrifying incident is minimized and explained away, but Jane is like:
Turns out there’s a madwoman living in the attic, and Mr. Rochester has gone to great lengths to hide her from Jane. The truth comes out, however, as Jane and Mr. Rochester are about to be married. (The madwoman’s backstory is told in ‘Wide Sargasso Sea.’) The revelations, which I won’t spoil here, are too much for Jane, and she’s like:
Where is she going? Can she survive on her own? How will she come to grips with her love for Mr. Rochester and his terrible secret? She has no idea, but she knows she must move forward, like:
Before I read ‘Jane Eyre,’ I assumed it was a typical period drama where the protagonist is concerned only about falling in love and marrying well. I was wrong. While Jane does hope to find love, she does not simply want to be someone’s wife—she wants to be an equal, and she remains steadfast in her drive to maintain her independence and individuality. After I finished the book, I thought about the hero’s journey, where a character goes on a quest and is transformed into their fullest self. Jane’s journey to self actualization doesn’t include the familiar tropes where, for example, the hero is counseled by a wise elder, like a wizard, or is given a tool, like an enchanted weapon or magical protection, to survive their trials. Jane’s heroic call to action is simply doing what she must to survive. Following her gut is her protective shield. Her sharp wit is her enchanted weapon. Her lived experience her mentor. Jane has to solve her own problems and make her own decisions, and I have to agree with Rachel from ‘Friends,’ who says:
In my review of ‘Wide Sargasso Sea,’ I wrote that you don’t need to have read ‘Jane Eyre’ to appreciate that novel. But, having read Jean Rhys’s book definitely colored my reading of Brontë’s story. It made me disdain and distrust Mr. Rochester, and I kept wishing Jane would forget about him. And though I still believe each book can be enjoyed individually, having previously read ‘Wide Sargasso Sea’ made for a more rich, complex and thought-provoking reading experience, and I’m glad I read the books in this order, like:
Brontë’s writing can be dense and long-winded—I sometimes worried I wouldn’t finish the book in time for today’s newsletter—but it also includes beautiful passages. In addition to the tear-jerking scene mentioned earlier, another moment that I highlighted and have returned to several times occurs following a pivotal moment between Jane and Mr. Rochester. As a storm rages outside Thornfield, lightning strikes an old tree and splits it. After the storm passes, Jane visits the damaged tree and sees its two parts are still held together by the remaining trunk and roots:
‘You did right to hold fast to each other,’ I said: as if the monster splinters were living things, and could hear me. ‘I think, scathed as you look, and charred and scorched, there must be a little sense of life in you yet, rising out of that adhesion at the faithful, honest roots: you will never have green leaves more—never more see birds making nests and singing idylls in your boughs; the time of pleasure and love is over with you; but you are not desolate: each of you has a comrade to sympathize with him in his decay.’
I love the tree as a metaphor for a relationship, and how holding fast to your other half can help you get through a shock or tough times. Gems like that made ‘Jane Eyre’ a pleasure to read. So did following the journey of a fascinating character like Jane. If you haven’t read ‘Jane Eyre’ yet, you definitely should. I loved it, and I strongly recommend it.
An opening excerpt:
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question.
I was glad of it; I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.
The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mamma in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group, saying, ‘She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner—something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were—she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy little children.’
‘What does Bessie say I have done?’ I asked.
‘Jane, I don’t like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent.’
My rating:
‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Brontë was originally published in 1847. The Penguin English Library edition, with introduction and notes by Q.D. Leavis was first published in 1966. This copy is the 1981 reprint. 489 pages, including introduction and notes. $8.37 at Bookshop.org.
What’s next:
Books on GIF does not solicit or accept review copies. We feature books we purchase at independent bookstores around New York City and on our travels, or were borrowed electronically from the Brooklyn Public Library.
Before you go:
ICYMI: Review #254
Read this: You must check out my friend Alicia’s review of ‘Jane Eyre,’ which just came out. Alicia and I read the novel at the same time, and I was excited to see her sharp insights and reactions to Brontë’s novel. Check it out!
Read this, too: I’m also looking forward to reading Ines Bellina’s reckoning with the death of Mario Vargas Llosa. Here’s the link: The Burden of Vargas Llosa
If you enjoyed this review:
Thanks for reading, and thanks especially to Donna for editing this newsletter!
Until next time,
MPV
🥰I first read Jane Eyre in my early 60s. I know. I was on a reading spree of righting a few wrongs at the time. And it did not disappoint. All that beautiful writing and as you and Rachel agree, it was so head of its time. In hindsight, it was rather splendid to have that first reading joy when I did. I enjoy your reading about your reading and have taken quite a few recommendations from you. A Month in the Country was another late in life reading pleasure. Thanks, 📚♥️
I read the first 50 or so pages over ten years ago. Probably closer to 20. And I enjoyed it, but it was the first ebook I ever tried to read and I couldn't stick with it, nor could I remember it was there.
I've gotten better about eBooks in the intervening years, and I liked what I read, so maybe it's time to give it another shot.