What was once something I tossed off instinctively, an out-of-five star rating, has become a source of considerable consternation. I feel as if I need to qualify each rating with the not-too-fine print warning of: ‘this does not reflect my judgment of the literary worth of this novel; rather, it’s a simple reflection of how strongly I responded to the work as a whole.’ But isn’t this just what everyone does? I guess so. So maybe it isn’t necessary, and it’s just come to feel that way because I’ve stopped writing reviews; I’ve stopped explaining myself. So from here on maybe I’ll cease providing star ratings (unlikely), or I’ll start writing reviews regularly again (more unlikely), or I’ll simply have to endure the faux/semi-faux/real outrage of my fellow Goodreaders (bring it, Harrison!). Incidentally, I think I’ve enough friends now that inciting somebody is inevitable by bestowing even four stars on a well-loved book. Three? Three is right out. And three is what we have here. Much of the charm of Jane Eyre is found in what, for me, kept this book from resonating significantly at this particular point in my life, one where I respond more strongly to the moral ambiguities and realities of the types presented in The Portrait of a Lady, Middlemarch, or The Kreutzer Sonata. Jane Eyre is a fairytale; it has a good deal of nobility on display in word and deed, and anything that doesn’t fall into this description is roundly labeled as vice and deplored appropriately. I’ve been made aware that, for its time, this novel takes some pretty bold risks in terms of social exploration. But for a reader who’s only mildly concerned with historical context this can feel like pretty cheap consolation, and I often yearned for Jane to expose a thought that fell outside of respectability, one that suggested she might be a human being. But Jane Eyre is a fairytale, one that perhaps commonly avoids this label due to a single deviation: no magic. (Actually, there is a rather literal deus ex machina near the end, but this is a conspicuous exception.) Besides this near total lack of physical violations, however, the book reads like a fleshed out fable with hints of everything from Cinderella to Beauty and the Beast. And this is, of course, intentional. It may also explain why this novel is often assigned or suggested to pre-adults. Brontë frequently makes allusions to folk and fairy stories, and her characters, particularly Rochester, often refer to each other as magical beings (e.g. elves, spirits) to key us in to the nature of the story as well as to help explain the mysterious, ethereal power one person can have over another. But while I can remain endlessly entertained by exploring the thoughts and emotions of real, human characters, I have a harder time these days remaining engaged in a more ethically simplistic world. To be honest, Jane Eyre came closest to being my first abandoned novel since I joined Goodreads. I rarely reached for it on the bedside table; it never seemed to make the travel cut when I was packing my suitcase. It was a form of escapism I didn’t feel like delving into. So perhaps, when conjoined with this background, my star rating makes more sense; it might even appear generous. The last 200 pages of the book do mostly redeem it. The plot starts to unfold with well-paced precision after having spent a good bit of time wandering between tedium and unconvincing melodrama, and I found myself genuinely wanting to continue, to see how this story would play out. So the book finished on a high note, and I feel no dishonesty in claiming, with a three-star click, that ‘I liked it.’ But upon some reflection and after receiving some welcome comments asking for further explanation, I realized that, apart from my issues with the characters, dialogue, and pacing early on, I had some fundamental problems with the story being told here. In particular, I have issues with the Jane-Rochester love affair and its resolution. Jane and Rochester can’t be together due to a technicality, but one that has tremendous potency in this early 19th century setting. Because it’s a technicality all the same, readers recognize it for what it is: a gross injustice. Rochester, in his fiery passion, wishes to transgress this infuriating obstacle and presents Jane with her first significant temptation—to be or not to be the mistress of the man she loves. Jane has already learned of his past dalliances, however, and she suspects that giving in to him will lead to short-term bliss and long-term misery. Only through marriage to Rochester, which is impossible, would she be able to achieve long-term happiness. If we take this at fairytale face value, it makes sense: marriage = happily ever after—50 years of marriage and no strife; mistressness = 1 month of happiness, a few months of strife, and eternal solitude thereafter. But Brontë seems aware that this fairytale situation is unbelievable. Rochester is, supposedly, an actual person whose feelings are not dictated entirely by a marriage slip. If he truly loves Jane but will lose interest at some point if they remain unmarried, then it follows that he will also lose interest if they’re married. He may not be able to leave her in that case, but this restriction would surely lead to even greater marital suffering and enmity. So the question is: how can we get to a situation that allows for a happy marriage given Rochester’s recurring profligacy? There’s a power differential here, of course, due to a number of factors: 1) inequality of sex; 2) inequality of social standing/money; 3) inequality of age. Mrs. Fairfax, the kind, old housekeeper, believes that these differences (that is, the second two) will lead to an unhappy marriage. And she’s uneasy about it before she learns of the technicality that inhibits the marriage. She recognizes that this is not a fairytale; this is marriage. So even when/if the technicality is removed, we still have this whole inequality thing to get around that’s brought up through Mrs. Fairfax. Again: how does Brontë fix all of this into a believable, acceptable marriage? How can she tame the wild, passionate, and superior Rochester and deliver him into a believably-permanent union? Aha! She mutilates him—physically. And the injury comes while he’s acting the hero, naturally. This is genius: it evens out Rochester’s intrinsic advantages, supplying him with a new neediness and permanent social scar, and it provides the bonus of boosting Jane’s already unbesmirchable character. Furthermore, while Rochester’s off nursing his newly reduced status, Jane’s busy inheriting money and making connections with her newfound cousins. The once unthinkable match has become exceptionally acceptable. Victory: status quo. Kelly and Moira have already addressed my criticisms in the comments below, and since there are multiple angles from which you can view this issue, you can certainly draw your own conclusions. Would I have felt more generous in my appraisal of the love affair if I’d responded more positively to this book on a gut level? Probably. But I can’t help feeling that even while she pushes the envelope in certain ways (e.g. critiquing extreme religious fervor), Brontë ultimately reinforces many inequalities that were, to be fair, endemic to her culture. Even so, I think I’d be more sympathetic to this point if the Jane-Rochester pairing didn’t feel like a regression from some of Jane Austen’s romantic set-ups. In the end, I think Jane Eyre was a case of the wrong book at the wrong time. The themes didn’t resonate like they could have, and I was overly-hesitant to let myself get swept up in Brontë’s mystical world, one that’s perhaps meant to resemble ours only superficially. I came looking for a 21st century relationship in 19th century England; I came looking for emotional depth and found simple forbearance; I came looking for ambiguity and found clarity; I came looking for real people and found saints and monsters.
Jane Eyre makes me want to be a better person. Her goodness, her humility, her frankness, her passion, her fierce will and her moral compass are all inspiring.And yet, I also love her faults. Jane has a temper, she gets jealous, she fights back, and at times she is too obedient, especially when given orders by overbearing men.What is it about this gothic novel that still makes it a compelling read more than 160 years after it was published? I first came to this story, as I suspect many have, through the various movie and TV versions of the book.* This is only the second time I have read the text, but I got so much more out of it during this reread that it felt as if I hadn't read it before. This time I paid attention to what Brontë was saying about women and gender roles; I saw her comments on class and social order; I noticed her thoughts on religion and piety, and the continuum of Christian characters she created — some noble, like St. John, and some who twisted the Bible for their own gain, such as Mr. Brocklehurst and Aunt Reed. (As the daughter of a stern clergyman, I am sure Charlotte had some strong opinions on the ways and people of the church.)Indeed, Brontë had a lot to say about Victorian England, and her characters were all so real and well-drawn that I feel as if I know them. I loved this book, and I will continue to love it. I'm already looking forward to the next time I read it.FAVORITE QUOTES"I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek knowledge of life amid its perils.""It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility; they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. 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.""Most true it is that 'beauty is in the eye of the gazer.' My master's colorless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth — all energy, decision, will — were not beautiful, according to the rule; but they were more than beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite mastered me — that took my feelings from my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me."FOOTNOTE*Since this is the closest thing I have to a blog, I will share my opinions on the best and worst movie adaptations of Jane Eyre. As I see it, casting is everything. It is not enough to take a famous actress, put her in a dowdy gray dress and do her hair in an elaborate bun. No, you have to find the right actress. And if you are lucky enough to find her, then you have to find the right man to play Mr. Rochester. And then, by jove, the two have to have on-screen chemistry. A film version of Jane Eyre with no heat between Jane and Edward is a waste of everyone's time. So here are my rankings of the versions I have seen:ABSOLUTE BEST: 2006 Masterpiece Theatre version with Ruth Wilson and Toby Stephens. A fantastic script, incredible actors, steamy chemistry and beautifully filmed. One of my all-time favorite period dramas. 5 starsA FOR EFFORT: 2011 movie with Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender. The script moves quickly through the book and changes the original timing to in media res, which I didn't mind. Both actors gave good performances and the mood was very gothic, but the chemistry wasn't as great as with Wilson and Stephens. Mia and Michael were just on slightly different levels. 4 starsSOLID TRY: 1996 Zeffirelli film starring Charlotte Gainsbourg and William Hurt. Fine script and beautifully filmed, the problem with this version is William Hurt, who seems asleep. Charlotte is a good Jane, but I wish Franco would have found a more impassioned Mr. Rochester. 3 starsMEH: 1997 movie with Samantha Morton and Ciarán Hinds. A total mismatch of actors. Just blah. (Sorry Ciarán, but I loved you in Persuasion and Miss Pettigrew!) 2 starsWORST: 1943 version with Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine. This movie made me cringe. The problem with Orson Welles is that no matter who he's playing, he's always Orson Welles. He is a terrible Mr. Rochester -- he just bellowed and stomped around. I like black-and-white films, but this Hollywood classic was awful. 1 star
Do You like book Jane Eyre (2003)?
It’s a steamy night here in the Knowsley Working Men’s Club, in Knowsley, Manchester. For tonight’s bout only, the organisers have waived their No Women policy but many slightly deranged working class men (it’s the lead in their bloodstream) are muttering darkly, and lightly too, and expectorating heavily against the walls (it’s the coal dust in their lungs). The promoter Manny Rayner clambers heavily into the ring.“Thang yew, thang yew, lads, this next fight is an elimination bout, three falls, one submission or death to decide the winner. In the BLUE corner, we have the mild mannered yet steely protofeminist from Thornton, Yorkshire, Miss Jane....EEEEEYYYYRRRREEEEE….”Scattered indifferent applause. Jane, clad in full length governess attire but with ridiculous bright red boxing gloves tied to each hand, storms to the side of the ring and shouts a torrent of abuse at the assembled grinders, mashers and collier lads. They tell her to fuck off. She tells them to fuck off. They don't fuck off and neither does she.“Thang yew, thang yew, and in the RED corner we have…. The Man from La Mancha himself, DON…. QUIXOTE ... ‘ere, where the fuck is he?”There’s no one at all in the red corner. Jane capers to the middle of the ring mouthing obscenities and shadow boxing madly. She grabs the microphone from Manny.“The man from la ManchaIs a bit of a wankerE –I-O, E-I-O”“Give us the fuck that back” says Manny, and seizes back the mike. Just then a galloping sound begins to emerge from outside the doors of the club. A couple of grinders open the doors, peer outside, then flatten themselves against the wall. Don Quixote is riding towards the club on his trusty horse LADY GAGA dressed in full armour, with a lance and all that medieval gubbins. He can’t stop. He comes belting in through the door and LADY GAGA, seeing a boxing ring right in the way, comes to a screeching halt. The Don goes flying. Up up up, then down down down, smack bang onto the centre of the boxing ring and through it with a great crash. Manny and a couple of collier lads peer down into hole. Manny takes up the mike again.“Thang yew gentlemen, tonight’s elimination celebrity death match has been won by a technical knockout, tonight’s champion is… put your hands together… Miss Jane Eyre…!”Cries of “Who the fuck cares”. Jane strides about bigging herself up and gobbing down into the hole where the dead Quixote lies in his mangled gore. She’s off her head now. “I told you but you weren’t listening - well, who’s the governess now? Eh? Eh? No, YOU fuck off! I AM THE GOVERNESSATOR! Yeah, me, not you, loser!”Later Jane writes in her journal.Reader, it is not pleasant to dwell on these details. Some say there is enjoyment in looking back to painful experiences past; but at this day I can scarcely bear to review the times to which I allude: the moral degradation, blent with physical suffering, form too distressing a recollection ever to be willingly dwelt on. I blamed none of those who repulsed me. I felt it was what was to be expected, and what could not be helped: a boxing match, nay a celebrity death match. It was humiliating, true. It was not a noble occupation. The persons who saw me then for the first time, and who knew nothing about my character would have drawn lamentable conclusions. And as to the outcome, where it was not sinister and cruel it was piffling. Let me condense now. I am sick of the subject. I know not when I shall have to fight again.
—Paul Bryant
It seems silly to say that a book can affect you on a profound level. well I definitely believe in this power that a good book has. Jane Eyre is one of them. I cannot say that this was an easy book to read. But it was a book that I was very enriched by reading. Romance is a genre that is looked down on by many "sophisticated readers." Perhaps they would look down on Jane Eyre, but would probably get some eyebrows raised at them. Well Jane Eyre is the archetype for the romance novel. After having read thousands of them, I know a romance novel when I see it, and Jane Eyre does qualify. But it is much more than this. It's a story for the person who wonders why they keep trying to do the right thing, and persevering in life, instead of just taking what they want when they want it. If Jane Eyre had been that sort of person, she would not have gotten her happy ending. Instead, Jane walked away from the thing she wanted most in the world. She almost died doing what she felt in her heart was right. Had the story ended there, I probably would have detested this book. But it doesn't. We see Jane continue to grow and act as the phenomenal person that she was. Although often downtrodden, she is no meek mouse. She has a fighting spirit that keeps her going when others would have laid down and died. But despite being a fighter, she is not a user and abuser. It's hard at times for the difference to be clearly delineated. Well there is no question about Jane's level of strength and intregrity. Although it is made clear several times in this novel, that Jane is no beauty, her soul makes her a beautiful character. Beautiful in a more profound way.There are moments when you feel, how can one person suffer so? But taking the journey, you realize that all Jane's suffering had a purpose. It refined her into a woman who could look beneath and love what others could never love or understand. It made her the woman who could love and heal Rochester.At the same time, Rochester was made for Jane Eyre. He had searched his life for a woman like her, and made quite a few mistakes along the way. And out of love, he was able to let her go when he wanted to keep her. But she came back to him, when he needed her most. Rochester is the hero that formed the archetype for many of my favorites: tortured, scarred, dark, enigmatic, all of those things. Best of all, loving little, plain, ordinary Jane with a fundamental intensity that pours out of the pages of this book into my heart as a reader. Despite his lack of perfection, I could not love him more.Ah, how maudlin I sound. I can't help it. This book moved me to tears. Yet I smiled at the same time. I enjoyed the conversations between Rochester and Jane. There was a heat there, a passion. Yet this book is clean enough to read in Sunday school. That is grand romance. The journey so well expressed, that no sex scenes are needed. It's all there. This novel is also inspirational. Not preachy, in my opinion, but for a believer, one can definitely find spiritual messages in this book. About perseverance, about not wearying about doing good. About the profoundness of God's love. It's all there, but in a narrative that expertly showcases it, not preaching it.I feel I am failing to write the review I want to write for this book. The words do fail me. All I can say is that this book will always be a favorite of mine because of the way it touched my heart and challenged me.
— Danielle The Book Huntress (Self-Proclaimed Book Ninja)
