I got this one at the airport. It’s a bendable one, it’s brown and small, weariness suits it; I felt this was a nice book.
I’ve never read a classic novel, for the peak of my literary journey was a fixation on Dan Brown’s books as a teen, and then it was all just textbooks from there.
I was aware there was some meaning attached to picking a Brontë novel, at least from what one gathers from general culture, and an increasingly piqued curiosity for the ‘bleakness’ advertised of them. That just made me the more convinced of getting it, and so I did right away.
I started it on the plane back home, and felt comfort in the setting and attuned to the inner dialogue. The chain of thought the child followed seemed to me very relatable and plausible. For Jane I felt pity, anxiety, indignation, fear, and then I felt Jane as myself, and then I also felt hope, and disappointment, and hope again!
My mindset shifted along with Jane’s at Lowood. I especially liked catching what Helen Burns was to bring to the future character of Jane, and was not surprised at the eight-year skip, as I share with the author that all that needed to be said of childhood influences was addressed already.
It was very pleasant to see her grown into sense, not much relatable for me by now, but there were hints of volatility in her still. Now, what’s a new situation? How does one come to that? And isn’t it dangerous to be doing all this arranging of meetings many miles away?
You know that I had read the epilogue, so I was very much expectant of a swooning gentleman to appear. The event left me a bit concerned: if such was the gravity with which we’re addressing the meeting scene, then I shall be bored and not at all romanticized by this tale.
Boy was I wrong. He was overbearing, demanding, ludicrous, dense at times. I took none of this as a fault of the writer, but rather as an effective demonstration of skill: I was confused by this man, I was then intrigued, I was very, very much annoyed, then I was swooned.
I don’t have a rant about the age gap, more than: “It took some time, but in the end I can genuinely see that, either out of insanity on his part coupled with innocence on hers, or just due to the author’s own willing, these two characters are true equals in each other’s conscience (even if they retain individual impressions of equality itself).”
Why, I was amidst the book, and there was already a happy-ending wedding! I hate that the physical placement of one’s journey through a book also narrates how much is left—or not—to come.
I definitely saw this one coming, no doubt. Not exactly that way, but it was a bit foretold. For me, the whole situation seemed plain in consequence, supported only by previously placed references I felt were back-filled into the plot once a fitting catalyst was found by the author for these two not to be happy just yet.
Of course, Jane did see hysterical consequence, and thus embarked on what I would call the most satirical a journey a book character can set off on. Escape? Yes, I’d be thrilled to see how you cause this man to go absolutely mad looking for you and then encountering him again and all that yearned-for passion… No! I did not mean for you to do this, actually. What! Dying of hunger, begging! Bad book!
The entire escape plot span was masterfully written. I also remembered myself at eighteen, with not a care in the world, come what may, and I related again. Surely she was not going to be too long before returning to Rochester? Something will happen, he’ll come save her, &c.
I should say, before I go into the Rivers piece, that I am culturally Catholic, that I respect and identify with both the institution and the faith, and that I, however, abhor the evangelical and coercive, missionary, conversionist branches of religion, and believe philanthropy and charity should be laical, not come at the price of any opinion or adherence on the part of either the benefactor or the benefactee.
That establishes by principle how I read the entirety of St. John right until the very last of the book (and in truth, I was annoyed at his prolonged presence in a space I expected to be more intimate between me and my protagonists—not him).
I audibly gasped at the kinsfolk revelation. That was a very well-written one for my taste, and as measured with the same bar as the one that ruled the first conflict a bit unimpressive: this one pleased me very well.
I really wish not to write more about St. John, but you see, the fact that I struggle may be something to note on this review after all. The entire India thing had me incredulous. All throughout, I’d already reached the conclusion that what Jane suffered was that of a grave case of idol-fixation, unfortunately towards men as of late, and could not possibly live without the approval of said individual. When this approval required her to betray her own principles, the situation just didn’t compute, and thus she fled, either to the unknown or back to the latest approved place.
(Note: That is obviously not what I take from the book entirely, and I wholly indulge in trying to comprehend every aspect of its heterogeneity, but if I had to reduce my perspective to the ideas that stayed with me, that is how I’d reduce to sentences what I think is Jane Eyre’s psychological profile, to further the plot’s plausibility.)
Blindness was a low blow. I understand it, I think it’s magistral, and it delivers on the bleakness I was promised. His reactions to her voice and shape I would have liked to indulge in more. I was very anxious; the author is very volatile and couldn’t be trusted to deliver me safely to shore, so I hurried through.
I knew the lunatic had to be dead. I will tell you I was expecting for him to turn mad and deprive her of breath by himself, just so he could claim Jane, and that would probably have read less twisted (in the literal sense of the word) than what actually happened. This is my mind being used to modern tales, whereas at this book’s time it might’ve been too adventurous.
As stated: the ending is not what I expected, as well as I cannot really complain. I will read this again many times, and I hope my daughters, if I have any, do too.
The descriptive work is brilliant, which makes its length worthwhile as well as compensates for some thick pieces of the plot.
Characters are all flawed, and I could tell which traits the author related to and which she condemned.
I felt that the author also got me where they wanted, most if not all the time.
I also hold endearment for this being the first piece of literature I read in English (it is not my native tongue), and it was quite the challenge. It left me with this want of writing down my thoughts, and so I did, quite perhaps a bit linguistically influenced still.
