What I’m Reading: Charlotte Brontë

Villette, by Charlotte Brontë

Read from May 06 to 27, 2012

One star

I forced myself to read a full third of this novel, but my initial doubts proved to be well-founded: a dull protagonist makes for a dull story, and life is too short and my bookshelf too long to waste time on bad novels. That Lucy Snowe is resourceful enough to find a ship, sail to a new shore and wangle her way into a job showed promise, but the woman herself is a prig and a religious bigot. After that initial burst of action, she’s content to stand out of the way and judge people, pronouncing yeah or nay on their words and their actions. In addition, she’s a deceitful narrator — withholding confirmation of the true identity of Dr. John long past the time when most readers have figured out who he is. In addition, far too much of the dialogue in the novel is in French, which will leave many readers (including this one who’s actually not bad at reading French) in the dark. And the many Gothic gimmicks that Bronte Bronte throws in simply don’t work in this novel. Bronte’s story is confused and her protagonist really irritating, and I was happy to delete this title from my Kindle.

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë

Read in May 2012

Four stars

After my extreme disappointment with Shirley, I returned to Jane Eyre, which I first read as a ‘tween and from time to time afterwards would dip back into the romantic bits — no St. John!) to finally read it again cover-to-cover. In this novel, Bronte writes like a pro, opening the story with a conflict that immediately engages her readers’ interest in Jane and quickly follows up with another that firmly cements that affection. When the evil Rev. Brocklehurst asks Jane what she must do to avoid the eternal torture of hell, she replies, “I must keep in good health, and not die,” and her immortality as a literary character is secured. One strength of this novel is the first-person narration with everything seen through Jane’s eyes. Although we know her to be a passionate individual, she is also absolutely trustworthy,and the generous and smart woman she becomes plays no games in telling her tale in simple, straightforward narration. We burn with indignation at Aunt Reed and Rev. Brocklehurst, grieve over Helen, share her growing affection for Sophie and Mrs. Fairfax, and rejoice in her discovery that in Rochester she has at last found someone who is her intellectual and emotional equal, the first true friend since leaving Lowood School. In short, in the first two-thirds of Jane Eyre, Bronte’s work is close to a masterpiece.

SPOILER ALERT:

However, her story goes off the rails in the St. John Rivers section, the part of the book that many readers dislike and the section most film adaptions do their best to diminish or eliminate. In earlier readings, Jane’s decision to flee Thornfield with a few shillings and a small bundle of clothes made perfect sense, and her subsequent discovery that the Rivers siblings were actually family — her first cousins — adequate explanation for her decision to share equally with them the fortune left to Jane by their uncle in Madeira. But on this reading I saw how unnecessary, how unJane-like her flight actually is. Jane has already learned from her Aunt Reed that her uncle intends to leave her his fortune, and it is that uncle who sends his solicitor to crash her wedding and prevent her bogus marriage to Rochester. The solicitor explains exactly that before leaving Thornfield. Above all else, Jane Eyre is smart and capable, smart enough to recognize that her uncle’s solicitor will provide her with necessary support and capable enough to get herself to London to receive it. However, a few hours later, Bronte sends Jane rushing across the moors in a coach heading god knows where, a destination that will be determined by how far her meager money can pay for transport. Is this the young woman who ably advertised for a post when she wanted a new life? Is this the young woman who traveled to her aunt’s deathbed and remained long enough to help her hateful cousins settle their affairs following their mother’s death? Absolutely not. While Jane’s flight makes sense, her decision to flee blindly to parts unknown is ludicrous, given everything else we know about her. And so the results of that flight — her fortuitous discovery of her cousins and the jousting with priggish St. John over his desire to have her join him in his missionary work as his wife — are ludicrous as well. No wonder readers recoil from that section of the book. Having written Jane out of character and into a tight corner with Rivers, Bronte comes to her rescue with a hokey gimmick — the sound of Rochester’s voice calling her name across the vast moors that divide them. Jane’s dear readers are certainly happy that she has found a loving family and secured an income that provides independence. And they’re happy that Rochester has proven himself a man of honor in sacrificing his vision and his hand in attempting to save his mad wife from the burning battlements of Thornfield Hall. So they forgive Bronte the flaws of the St. John Rivers section of the novel, glossing over it as quickly as possible to arrive at Jane’s well-deserved happy ending. But while not fatal, the flaws are serious enough to prevent Jane Eyre from being a true masterpiece.

Shirley, by Charlotte Brontë

Read in May 2012

One star

I struggled with this novel, trying very hard to find something to like about it, but after reading 20 of 37 chapters, I gave up. It is a dead and deadening read. The problem begins with one of the central characters, Caroline Helstone, who appears first and remains solo for the first quarter of the novel. Caroline is an insipid young woman, cherishing a naive love for a neighborhood mill owner Robert Moore but deferring to the wishes of the overbearing preacher uncle who raised her when he tells her to stop associating the Moore family. How could the author who created feisty Jane Eyre think that such a missish character could engage the reader’s heart or interest? Part of the problem may be Bronte’s omniscient narration, which prevents us from really sharing Caroline’s emotions — we’re always on the outside looking in. However, it’s a larger problem than point of view because even the arrival of the livelier and more interesting Shirley Keeldar couldn’t rescue this novel for me. Bronte is trying for panoramic sweep in her depiction of the labor unrest in Yorkshire when new-fangled high-tech (for the day) looms put many millworkers out of jobs. But she places her reader at a remove from the most exciting events. The interception and destruction of the new machines by disgruntled labor activists during their transport to the mill occurs offstage. The attack of Robert Moore’s mill is depicted from afar through the eyes of Shirley and Caroline, who watch the mayhem from a distant hiding place. Meanwhile, Bronte’s telegraphing of information reduces some of her plot twists to mere gimmicks — the true identity of Shirley’s former governess and the true owner of Shirley’s affections. The Brontes can be exciting writers, but this is one Bronte novel to leave on the shelf.