Community Reviews
Re-read for first time since undergrad (although it's possible I may have read it in grad school - but I know I have read it 3 times now).
I was a little hesitant to return to this one. I generally have no interest in stories that predominately focus on marriage. In particular, Victorian marriage and ideas of romance. It's very grating that so many Victorian novels limit themselves to this topic, or feel it necessary to include the topic in any novel, even when the primary focus might be elsewhere. It just feels like a lack of imagination, although the reason of course is that the primary readership for novels from the start, back in the epistolary days, was women. Still kind of is actually. Although in the old days the reason was different - women had no other outlet for the use of their time and their whole existence, at least in the middle and upper classes that could afford the leisure time to read, was centered on marrying and then bearing children who they then had to find spouses for.
But luckily the Bronte sisters know how to make the cliche interesting by including fairly atypical characters. Jane's independent streak and willingness to stand up for herself in conversation with men is probably the most enjoyable part of the book. Her back and forth with Rochester is always entertaining.
I had forgotten though how religious the novel is. I like that it contains some outright and lots of indirect criticism of overly literal and rigid religious approaches. The Letter killeth, but the Spirit gives life. St John, in particular, is a major piece of s***. He combines the worst parts of religious sanctimony and monomania with patriarchal and imperious attitudes. His only hypocrisy is in his unwitting support of a colonial project - trying to convert the pagans out there was essentially a propagandistic cover or a hypocritical self-justification for the subjugation of foreign lands.
But Jane's decisions in the book are both laudable in so far as they are principled and full of integrity and just silly in a modern reader's eyes because they take no account of clearly unjust situations. Obviously we have lots of revised views of sympathy for Bertha - perhaps her imprisonment caused her madness and not the other way around - but taking the text on its own account and within its own context, the laws which prevent a divorce in that case are patently unjust. Jane tries to martyr herself as a result, and I don't think that refusal to accept charity or assistance is reasonable. It is only by virtue of insane coincidences (running into St John and family, having a rich uncle die at the right time, having Mason be there precisely when that uncle is finding out about the marriage) that she is saved from her insistence that living with principles also requires starving yourself. I realize she was 18 and still in shock , but seriously ...
Any way, aside from the usual long windedness of novels written in the 19th century and the befuddled decision making, the novel still overcomes these flaws and contains a great story. It's hard to believe that people used to read it in high school when you barely get students these days to read excerpts of YA fiction.
I was a little hesitant to return to this one. I generally have no interest in stories that predominately focus on marriage. In particular, Victorian marriage and ideas of romance. It's very grating that so many Victorian novels limit themselves to this topic, or feel it necessary to include the topic in any novel, even when the primary focus might be elsewhere. It just feels like a lack of imagination, although the reason of course is that the primary readership for novels from the start, back in the epistolary days, was women. Still kind of is actually. Although in the old days the reason was different - women had no other outlet for the use of their time and their whole existence, at least in the middle and upper classes that could afford the leisure time to read, was centered on marrying and then bearing children who they then had to find spouses for.
But luckily the Bronte sisters know how to make the cliche interesting by including fairly atypical characters. Jane's independent streak and willingness to stand up for herself in conversation with men is probably the most enjoyable part of the book. Her back and forth with Rochester is always entertaining.
I had forgotten though how religious the novel is. I like that it contains some outright and lots of indirect criticism of overly literal and rigid religious approaches. The Letter killeth, but the Spirit gives life. St John, in particular, is a major piece of s***. He combines the worst parts of religious sanctimony and monomania with patriarchal and imperious attitudes. His only hypocrisy is in his unwitting support of a colonial project - trying to convert the pagans out there was essentially a propagandistic cover or a hypocritical self-justification for the subjugation of foreign lands.
But Jane's decisions in the book are both laudable in so far as they are principled and full of integrity and just silly in a modern reader's eyes because they take no account of clearly unjust situations. Obviously we have lots of revised views of sympathy for Bertha - perhaps her imprisonment caused her madness and not the other way around - but taking the text on its own account and within its own context, the laws which prevent a divorce in that case are patently unjust. Jane tries to martyr herself as a result, and I don't think that refusal to accept charity or assistance is reasonable. It is only by virtue of insane coincidences (running into St John and family, having a rich uncle die at the right time, having Mason be there precisely when that uncle is finding out about the marriage) that she is saved from her insistence that living with principles also requires starving yourself. I realize she was 18 and still in shock , but seriously ...
Any way, aside from the usual long windedness of novels written in the 19th century and the befuddled decision making, the novel still overcomes these flaws and contains a great story. It's hard to believe that people used to read it in high school when you barely get students these days to read excerpts of YA fiction.
-“Remorse is the poison of life.”
-“Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.”
-“It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I should reform- I have strength yet for that-if-but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am?”
I was about to give it three stars because the second half is unfortunately much weaker than the first. Narratively, it gets considerably drier after the Rivers are introduced, webbing up more contrivances than I’m willlng to tolerate. Thematically, I think the second half sullies its exploration of class, religion, and gender dynamics with a didacticism that feels ill-suited to the more ambivalent, complex postures of the first half, to say less of the racism and ableism couched within Bertha’s characterization. That said, it’s evident to me why this is often considered a masterpiece and so very foundational to the development of novels in traditions beyond the Victorian Era.
Most glaringly, this deserves all the praise it gets for its employment of literary point of view. Jane’s consciousness here is absolutely absorbing, drawing out what literature does better than probably any other medium: embodying subjectivity and allowing it to shape the fabric of reality. Her voice manifests fluctuations in time; we dash through some moments in Jane’s life, and are forced to linger through others, one of the greatest strengths of the medium. The split between her first-person and third-person perspectives of herself could have easily felt gimmicky, but is in fact seamless and dramatically potent (also true of the many allusions). There’s so much to chew on here in terms of spirituality, psychology, religion, and other fields of inward concern, so it doesn’t surprise me that many claim to have received a moral education from this book. Jane Eyre remains one of the most memorable protagonists because her consciousness is always splintering, always negotiating tensions between her primitive (fleshly) desires and her steadfast (spiritual) core. Once the story wraps up, Bronte wisely does not provide a clear answer as to which side has triumphed. This internal conflict is probably what makes this one of the best novels about religion that I’ve read (although NOT a religious novel, the way I see it). Fascinating as Jane is, I don’t think the book would have been nearly as good without her complimentary spirit, Mr. Rochester. A byronic hero through and through, he complicates the moral principles of the novel and is the perfect counterpart to Jane. Superficially, he would seem to be the unstoppable force in the narrative and Jane the immovable object. Rochester’s body and tongue are in constant motion, flaunting around Jane and expressing himself with seemingly absolute freedom; the many references to Paradise Lost in the book only consolidate the similarities between him and Milton’s Satan. Conversely, Jane is sagacious and composed, which deceives him into thinking she is docile and easy to control. Much of the narrative progression is predicated on showing how these roles are very much reversed: she is the one who is ever-changing because she recognizes that repentance and remorse should precede reformation, whereas he remains stubborn in his moral conformity until chaos catches up to him and forces him to implode. That development, alongside the tactics of point of view, reaffirm the book’s status as a celebration of the introspective mind and its power to fragment principles, desire, class, religion, and more, necessarily making this one of the most essential novels.
-“Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.”
-“It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I should reform- I have strength yet for that-if-but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am?”
I was about to give it three stars because the second half is unfortunately much weaker than the first. Narratively, it gets considerably drier after the Rivers are introduced, webbing up more contrivances than I’m willlng to tolerate. Thematically, I think the second half sullies its exploration of class, religion, and gender dynamics with a didacticism that feels ill-suited to the more ambivalent, complex postures of the first half, to say less of the racism and ableism couched within Bertha’s characterization. That said, it’s evident to me why this is often considered a masterpiece and so very foundational to the development of novels in traditions beyond the Victorian Era.
Most glaringly, this deserves all the praise it gets for its employment of literary point of view. Jane’s consciousness here is absolutely absorbing, drawing out what literature does better than probably any other medium: embodying subjectivity and allowing it to shape the fabric of reality. Her voice manifests fluctuations in time; we dash through some moments in Jane’s life, and are forced to linger through others, one of the greatest strengths of the medium. The split between her first-person and third-person perspectives of herself could have easily felt gimmicky, but is in fact seamless and dramatically potent (also true of the many allusions). There’s so much to chew on here in terms of spirituality, psychology, religion, and other fields of inward concern, so it doesn’t surprise me that many claim to have received a moral education from this book. Jane Eyre remains one of the most memorable protagonists because her consciousness is always splintering, always negotiating tensions between her primitive (fleshly) desires and her steadfast (spiritual) core. Once the story wraps up, Bronte wisely does not provide a clear answer as to which side has triumphed. This internal conflict is probably what makes this one of the best novels about religion that I’ve read (although NOT a religious novel, the way I see it). Fascinating as Jane is, I don’t think the book would have been nearly as good without her complimentary spirit, Mr. Rochester. A byronic hero through and through, he complicates the moral principles of the novel and is the perfect counterpart to Jane. Superficially, he would seem to be the unstoppable force in the narrative and Jane the immovable object. Rochester’s body and tongue are in constant motion, flaunting around Jane and expressing himself with seemingly absolute freedom; the many references to Paradise Lost in the book only consolidate the similarities between him and Milton’s Satan. Conversely, Jane is sagacious and composed, which deceives him into thinking she is docile and easy to control. Much of the narrative progression is predicated on showing how these roles are very much reversed: she is the one who is ever-changing because she recognizes that repentance and remorse should precede reformation, whereas he remains stubborn in his moral conformity until chaos catches up to him and forces him to implode. That development, alongside the tactics of point of view, reaffirm the book’s status as a celebration of the introspective mind and its power to fragment principles, desire, class, religion, and more, necessarily making this one of the most essential novels.
I don't think I would have survived in Victorian society. It seems truly exhausting to be so confined to such formal etiquette all the time. Despite the excessively lavish language of 1846, I found the banter in this book witty and engaging. Jayne Eyre is an admirable woman who is always true to herself. She's also a ding dong who is too principled for her own good, haha.
I finally finished a book that I have had since I was 14 and haven't ever been motivated to pick up. I knew it was considered a classic, yet I’d never felt compelled to engage with it until now. I’m so glad I did. Brontë’s writing is imaginative, to say the least, and there’s something refreshing about stepping back in time to read sentences crafted with such artistry.
I came away with not only a richer vocabulary but also a renewed appreciation for the environmental details around me. Color, smell, noise, and more grounding thoughts I can't place into words right now. The story itself was deeply engaging. As with many period classics, it’s remarkable how much plot is packed into a single novel, yet the overarching story comes together seamlessly in the end. Some chapters moved slowly and felt burdensome to get through, while others were so dense with events that I found myself rereading them to fully grasp whatever happened.
At times, it was difficult to feel true empathy for Jane, Mr. Rochester, or even the other characters. Jane reminded me of my early twenties and the mistakes I made so it was often frustrating not to cringe at her. Yet a thought I kept having (even after finishing the book) was my ignorant talent to constantly forget how lucky I am to have the freedoms of modern life. I had to remind myself of the stark reality for women in that era, when options beyond marrying well were scarce.
My copy is now full of tabs and highlights, and I feel genuinely enriched by the experience. I hope this encourages you to pick up the book if you haven’t already because it’s worth it. After finishing, I was so excited to watch the 2011 movie. While it did leave out so many defining details of the characters, I thought it did a wonderful job of humanizing the characters for me, especially Jane. Now I just want to adopt her myself.
I came away with not only a richer vocabulary but also a renewed appreciation for the environmental details around me. Color, smell, noise, and more grounding thoughts I can't place into words right now. The story itself was deeply engaging. As with many period classics, it’s remarkable how much plot is packed into a single novel, yet the overarching story comes together seamlessly in the end. Some chapters moved slowly and felt burdensome to get through, while others were so dense with events that I found myself rereading them to fully grasp whatever happened.
At times, it was difficult to feel true empathy for Jane, Mr. Rochester, or even the other characters. Jane reminded me of my early twenties and the mistakes I made so it was often frustrating not to cringe at her. Yet a thought I kept having (even after finishing the book) was my ignorant talent to constantly forget how lucky I am to have the freedoms of modern life. I had to remind myself of the stark reality for women in that era, when options beyond marrying well were scarce.
My copy is now full of tabs and highlights, and I feel genuinely enriched by the experience. I hope this encourages you to pick up the book if you haven’t already because it’s worth it. After finishing, I was so excited to watch the 2011 movie. While it did leave out so many defining details of the characters, I thought it did a wonderful job of humanizing the characters for me, especially Jane. Now I just want to adopt her myself.
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