1944 Jane Eyre

I've mentioned many times over that the 2006 adaptation of Jane Eyre is my favorite. It still is, but I've come to realize that I've been overly reluctant to even watch other versions. There are too many that I haven't even yet seen. And Jane Eyre adaptations aren't as bad as, say, Wuthering Heights adaptations. At least that's what I'm finding as I dig in and watch more. The one for today's topic is the 1944 version, directed by Robert Stevenson and starring Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine. 

Really, I shouldn't be surprised at how good this version was given those three stars. It has that moody, Gothic tone. We have a chance to see Jane's isolation and loneliness from childhood into adulthood. Joan Fontaine gives a remarkable performance: she captures Jane's calm exterior that hides a broiling heart inside. While I love the 2006, they did put Jane's emotions a little more on the exterior--which I like and which works for film but isn't exactly how Jane's character reads in the book. The "high class" quality to Joan Fontaine's performance works well to capture both Jane's education and her isolated social status. Granted, she is much too beautiful to be Jane--yet she makes us so believe in Jane's loneliness that we believe that no one gives her a second glance.

Orson Welles, too, gives a great performance as Rochester. The temptation with adaptations is to make Rochester too debonair. Yes, he's meant to have a certain rugged, masculine appeal, but he's not meant to be straight out attractive and he is rude and abrupt. Orson Welles is willing to give that performance, while also emphasizing Rochester's brokenness. Like with Jane, we see the beating heart beneath the exterior he presents to the world. And so it is when their inner selves meet that we see the chemistry between the characters. Even with less scenes between them (since this movie is a little shorter than most of the modern ones), the nuances of their relationship are portrayed quite well.

A big element that was missing, though, was Jane's faith (the inclusion of which is one of the reasons why the 2006 remains my favorite). The opening scenes with her childhood allow us to see the cruelty she faced due to religious hypocrisy. But we don't get to see how Helen teaches her another way to believe. We don't see that it is her devotion to God first that causes her to leave Rochester when she learns his lies. We don't see her struggle through the moors. We don't see her relationship with the Rivers family, St. John in particular. And so we assuredly don't see Rochester's description of how he cried out to God in the aftermath of the tragedies. Jane and Rochester get each other in the end--but there is no sense of the divine. 

What was intriguing, though, was to see that the 2006 version directly borrowed certain scenes or angles from this one. Like when young Jane awakens in Lowood for the first time as the girls line up by the washing bowls. The fact that they chose to pay homage to the earlier film is a testament to how well done it was. It isn't perfect and it has some gaps--but it's quite good and I in fact highly recommend it. 

1934 Jane Eyre

While there have been many book to movie adaptations of Jane Eyre, most of them seem to miss the mark pretty widely. The 2006 version I really like, and the 2011 did a pretty decent job, although I don't think it got to the core tone as well as the 2006. The 1996 just made a generic love story out of it all. There is an element of "pleasing love story" to the book, but there are so many more layers to it than just that.

I've put a lot of space before digging into more because, well, I didn't feel like I had much incentive to watch more adaptations if I didn't think any of them would be much good. But it's come time to start back in, beginning with the 1934 version directed by Christy Cabanne and starring Virginia Bruce and Colin Clive. Interestingly, the screenwriter was a woman, Adele Comandini. We make a big deal out of female screenwriters today, but this film is close to a hundred years old. 

Almost as soon as the film begins, the changes made in the adaptation are so great as to be entertaining in their own right. I didn't really feel sympathy for young Jane, and the girl playing one of the Reed sisters looked too cute delivering her lines to be a snobby bully kid. Jane is sent to an orphanage rather than a "school," which I suppose matters little. But she leaves because she's fired not because she has taken the initiative to advertise and get a governess position outside on her own. Jane says she'll be okay because she has enough money that her uncle left her to get by until finding another position--instead of receiving the inheritance at the end as a sort of redemptive gift. 

Oh, yes, and Jane is described as beautiful in the film and she can sing and she has a fancy evening gown and she's quite a spitfire. She isn't a plain, trodden down shadow desperately trying to be seen. And Rochester. If they didn't call him Rochester, we wouldn't even recognize him as the character. He's polite and gentlemanly and attentive and also affectionate toward his "niece," Adele. I guess they thought it would be less scandalous to have Adele be his niece instead of his possible daughter. 

The effect, then, of this Rochester with his loving niece Adele becomes more like a touch of The Sound of Music. It's just a man naturally inviting in a woman to share his life and family in spite of a difference in class. It isn't a woman desperate for affection finally feeling like she is being seen. And Bertha? Whew, what changes they made there. In trying to lessen the blow of Rochester's lies to Jane, in trying to make him less of a bad guy, they in fact removed the chance for a redemption story. The story has to go to a very dark place and both Jane and Rochester have to, in their own ways and on their own, pass through a kind of death before they can find new life. 

This movie just didn't portray any of that. Instead, its focus was more on the element of family. Jane's relationship with Adele gets more focus, and so even her relationship with Rochester takes on that father figure element. Having no father, she falls in love with the man that she sees is a good father figure toward Adele. Adele is the orphan that Jane wishes she could have been. It's okay as a story--but it's so very different from Rochester's actual character. 

I thought that, as the first talking adaptation of Jane Eyre, this film would by default be boring because it's so old. But it's actually vastly entertaining. If you're a fan of the story and doing analysis like this, it's quite a novelty to watch. Watching something more recent like the 1996, you're just disappointed that they didn't do a better adaptation. But with something so old, created in a time in which film was such a different medium, there is some separation. So you can just create a running commentary of disbelief at all the changes they made, and that's some good entertainment. 

Jane Eyre, Revelation, and Earthly vs. Eternal

Though Jane Eyre is one of my favorite books (I have explained that "this book is my soul"), it's been a while since I brought it up. Lately I've been pondering the ending. To refresh your memory, the book ends with Jane sort of summing up what has happened to other characters--namely, her Rivers cousins. On the one hand, this is entirely common for a Victorian novel. But the very last words feel more specific and less common. The novel ends by quoting St John Rivers quoting the end of the book of Revelation. If this isn't coincidence, then what is the meaning?

This could be a premise for a literary paper rather than a blog post. But I'll approach it blog post style, eh? 

Let's look at what else is in the last chapter of the book. Jane explains that she has married Rochester. She tells how happy they are together. But there is also great emphasis on Rochester's conversion. Faith is an extremely important element in Jane Eyre. This is one of the reasons why the 2006 movie version is my favorite: it includes the faith element. Yet even that film only gave Rochester a brief moment to mention that he had cried out to God in his distress. But the novel makes it clear that this is central to Rochester's ability to love Jane as an equal and to live his life now freely and happily. This is, of course, also why we have Rochester's literal blindness as a metaphorical expression. Eventually, his sight returns--that is, his eyes are opened, which is a concept commonly associated with spiritual awakening. 

It is indeed supernatural that Jane and Rochester are reunited at all. I remember hearing discussion about how Jane's experience hearing Rochester's voice calling to her when she is with St John is written in the style of Victorian religious/spiritual epiphanies. It is a fantasy element in a real world setting--so it could be interpreted as divine intervention. Rather than seeing it as Rochester is Jane's god (after all, she has earlier in the text referred to him as God's human being "of whom she had made an idol," which is why she chooses to leave him instead of taking him up on his offer of the villa), you can see that spiritual overtone as simply expressing God's involvement. 

That is, Jane at this time is pondering God's will and seeking guidance. She doesn't want to marry St John, but she also doesn't want to ignore God's will and so wants some sort of assurance that it isn't God's will for her to marry him. And Rochester is at this time experiencing his conversion. So you can look at it this way. God allows Jane to hear Rochester so that she will know that she doesn't need to marry St John and is free to return to Rochester. And this is also in response to Rochester's repentance; he is now free to experience God's mercy and the good gift of the love of the woman whom he loves. Whereas before Jane loved Rochester out of loneliness, now she has been her own person without him and can love him simply as a person. Whereas before Rochester loved Jane as redemption, now he sees redemption in God and can love Jane simply as a person. See a trend here? 

Now how does this connect back to St John and Revelation? You have at the end of the novel a picture of these two pairs. Jane and Rochester are an earthly relationship and earthly happiness. Jane chose to marry Rochester instead of St John. So St John has not married anyone else; he simply serves God, so in a sense his marriage is to God (you hear more often people talking about single women as being married to God, but you can apply the same symbolic concept to men). So you have that eternal relationship to compare with the earthly one. 

And the church is often referred to as the bride of Christ awaiting his return. St John quotes Revelation by saying, "Amen; even so, come, Lord Jesus," and bringing up that image of the bride waiting for the groom. St John, on the verge of dying, is about to meet the symbolic groom. Jane waited a long time for her physical groom. So what is the picture there to the reader? It's a juxtaposition and blending of earthly and eternal. 

The reminder is that Christ is coming and that one must live in readiness to meet him. So Jane gained her earthly happiness, but it is not ultimately portrayed as being more important than her spiritual state--which is why there is so much emphasis on her not betraying God simply to be with Rochester. Jane has her earthly comfort, but in describing St John's comfort even when he is so close to death, she is also describing how she will feel. Jane began life alone and unwanted--and from all of this we know that she will end it feeling loved and accepted. A bride waiting eagerly for her groom. 

Ophelia & Padme & Jane

That connection I brought up a couple weeks ago between Ophelia and Padme has been brewing up some additional thoughts.

Ophelia, so in love with her Hamlet that she died a watery grave for him. Padme, so in love with her Anakin that she died at his very hand. Jane, so in love with her Rochester that . . . wait a second, Jane didn't die for Rochester, did she? Nope, Bertha did that for her.

Bertha is, of course, Jane: she is Jane if Jane had stayed. Yes, Jane and Rochester get the happy ending that both Ophelia/Hamlet and Padme/Anakin miss out on--but not right away. Sometimes things take time.

One of the things I loved about Southwest Shakespeare's production of Hamlet a couple years back was that it set Ophelia up as someone who also felt and thought deeply the way that Hamlet did--and that was why she was a good match for him, someone who loved him and was loved by him. So Ophelia shares in Hamlet's tragedy--because they're part of each other.

I also love that look Padme has at the end of Episode II when she's just married Anakin. It isn't that "I'm so happy" look; it's like she knows that this isn't going as she had pictured but she doesn't mind because she's chosen it, anyway. Sure, Padme was getting to that point in her life where she wanted a relationship and family--but she didn't picture that this would involve sneaking around with a secret, forbidden marriage. Yet she chooses the double life, anyway, because she decides that she wants it.

And Jane? Jane chose Rochester--and then she beheld Bertha and she high-tailed it out of Thornfield. Jane's story is a story about independence, so Jane could not, in terms of the story, value her relationship with Rochester over herself. She only returns to him when she can be with him on equal terms. So Jane does not have the tragic end of Ophelia and Padme. But does this mean that Ophelia and Padme failed where Jane did not? Well, maybe not quite so simple as that.

Okay, maybe Hamlet was ignoring Ophelia. But for how long? Not that long--and he was, well, quite distracted by the death of his father and deciding whether or not to kill his uncle for revenge or justice. So in theory, if Ophelia hadn't died and Hamlet hadn't died, then Hamlet probably would have been able to return to Ophelia after he was done killing his uncle. And Padme, well, Padme's an odd one. I mean, what if Padme hadn't died? What if she had gone into hiding? What if, years later, she heard about Anakin's redemption? I think that would have made her glad. And I don't think, if she had survived, she would have regretted being with him. You can't regret the choices that another person makes because you have no control over that. When she chose Anakin, he was a good person--and when he changed, she told him that she could no longer follow the path he had chosen. So Padme did choose, like Jane, to leave--except that it was already too late for Padme.

Is there a name for the heroines that accompany Byronic heroes? (No one describes Hamlet as a Byronic hero, right? But you can kind of put him in that light, at least in the context of what I'm here describing.) Nah, people are too concerned about Ophelia going mad and suicidal or Padme seeming weak or superficial (even though she isn't if you actually look at her character) or even with Jane's mistake being her going back to Rochester. But where is the focus on their positive characteristics in terms of these relationships? Just because something ends tragically, does that mean everything about it was tragic?

Ah, well, you know, I did write my thesis on Jane Eyre. Too bad I didn't have this character trio in mind at the time--I could write a paper on this concept, too. In fact, I'm partly tempted to: I just keep wanting to start all these different writing projects right now. And I miss Jane, my buddy I keep wanting to return to. Maybe if I'm not finding the time to reread Jane Eyre right now, I should at least find a spare four hours to watch the film version (2006 is the best).

Do You Return?

Do you return to the same book again and again? I had been reading Jane Eyre about every four years. The exact same copy that I started with in middle school--even though I now own many, many copies of that book. I underline and I write things in the margins and I look back at what I noticed before. And each time, I brought with me a new perspective and so the book grew and developed with me.

It's now been five or six years since I read it. I'm not reading much these days, so there are plenty of other books I should probably spend my time on. But I'm feeling very much overdue for another reading of this book that has begun to feel like my soul.

What will I bring with me this time?

In middle school, I liked the dark, Gothic elements. In high school, I liked the fairy tale quality. In college, I liked Jane's growth as a person. Whatever age I was and whatever I was learning, I could take with me into this book.

It's funny, maybe now I'm going to really get into the whole Bertha thing. My perspective on Bertha is that she is, figuratively, Jane. She is what Jane would be if she stayed with Rochester at that point in their relationship. That's why Jane had to leave; she couldn't become Bertha. Later, things changed for both Jane and for Rochester and they were able to come together on better, healthier, equal terms. But at that point, Bertha was the thing within Jane that she had to beat and destroy. And I've been really into that concept of beating down things that you know try to destroy you.

And . . . maybe more. We'll see. I don't know, I think this book that is so familiar will be like it's fresh and brand new this time. The book that grows with me.

A Dozen of Jane

I recently bought a new copy of Jane Eyre. I . . . didn't need a new copy of this book. While it was pretty, it also wasn't my favorite copy of this book I've ever seen. It's just that I can never resist buying all the copies of Jane Eyre.

While, from the standpoint of a literary critic, I will certainly listen to, even in theory agree with, anyone who states that Jane Eyre isn't Charlotte Bronte's best novel or the best novel of the Victorian era or the best of the Bronte Sisters' novels (although it's kind of unfair of us to lump the sisters into one category as if they had no individuality). But the thing is (and I know many people agree with me), Jane Eyre is one of my favorite books and maybe even my favorite of all. Jane Eyre is my soul. I reflect back and forth with that book like it's a mirror that I look into or a lesson book written just for me. I started reading it first when I was ten; it was a little too much for me at that age so I picked it up again when I was twelve (I finished it the summer just before I turned thirteen).  Since then, I've read it again every few years. It grows with me and develops with me. It's my soul.

I only ever read the first copy that I bought all those years ago in the children's section at Barnes & Noble; this was the Puffin Classics edition with Jane walking in a billowing purple dress outside of Thornfield. But I also own the Penguin edition, the Barnes & Noble classics hardcover (I'm missing their paperback, am I not?), the Barnes & Noble collectible classics hardcover (they now make this one in a soft cover instead, so I'm glad I bought it when I was still in this nicer version), the pretty Penguin Classics edition that places like Anthropologie loved to sell a couple years ago when they first came out, an old clothbound blue copy that once belonged to a random high school library in Arizona, a dark blue clothbound copy possibly even older than that one, the Knickerbocker Classics edition (which is the one I just bought), the Canterbury Classics edition, Dame Darcy's illustrated edition, the graphic novel version, and the BabyLit version. If you count those last two (which are technically in a different category, that's twelve total.

And I suppose I do also own one of those book journals that uses the sentences of the book (printed in tiny, tiny letters) instead of lines for you to write on. That would make it a baker's dozen.

For a book that's this important to me, I might as well have a little collection going. I mean, it isn't as if there is much book merch out there, even for a book as eternally popular as Jane Eyre. Sure, I have that journal and the t-shirt from Out of Print and especially nowadays with things like Etsy, there are certainly some options out there. But mainly the books are my merch. I can just sit and look at them and consider how they do or don't reflect on the content and tone of the book.

That gray leather-bound is wonderful and Dame Darcy's is pretty cool. But, you know what? I think that perhaps my favorite is still that purple Puffin one. Some of the stylish, trendy copies automatically make this book look all feminine with pink and yellow and flowers and frills because it's a book about a woman written by a woman. And yes, it is certainly a feminine book in many ways. But it's also a dark book--which is why I love it. This purple book captures that duality. Jane is there in her dress but you can also see all the storm clouds around Thornfield and the birds circling the air like a bad omen and the light shining on the trees to represent all the nature elements that are also so prevalent in this book. Yes, this is the cover that made me reach for this book to learn more--all those years ago when I had never heard of Charlotte Bronte or Jane Eyre.

I tell you, it's great when children can grow up already knowing about the classics. But it's also amazing to discover them and fall in love with them entirely on your own. (I mean, I did know about a good many classics [thank you, Wishbone], but Jane Eyre wasn't one of them.)

Thoughts on Jane

"My future husband was becoming to me my whole world; and more than the world; almost my hope of heaven. He stood between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for His creature: of whom I had made an idol." - Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

This is one of those quotes that lingers on to me. It makes evident that the problem with Jane and Rochester's relationship at first was not just Bertha: Bertha is the physical manifestation of the problem rather than simply another character, another person. Their relationship only became equal and based on the right foundation after their separation.

Reading Lacey Sturm's latest book started putting this quote back in my head--as did typing up some scenes for the book I'm working on right now.

I don't know how I can claim to know anything more about love than anyone else does, but love is one of those things that people talk about so often in seemingly the wrong context. That is, they use the word when they're not really referring to love at all.

This was something that I appreciated about Ashley Eckstein's book, too: in talking a bit about how she met her husband, she talked about love as being something that you work at. Love is giving, not sensation.

Sure, when you love someone, they start to fill your thoughts. But the thing is, you can't put so much pressure on a person that they become the most important thing in your life. Jane put all her thoughts on Rochester, tried to let him be her redemption. She put the world and the material above the eternal. If she tried to look at Rochester in this way, he was bound to fail her. And she was bound to fail him.

People don't save you and you can't save people. That comes from elsewhere--and realizing that also helps us realize that we are all part of that creation of which Jane speaks--and then that helps you to see the intense value in every person.

Rasselas and Helen Burns

It seems to me that there would be little point in writing a general reaction to The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia by Samuel Johnson like I usually do for books. It's the type of book you write papers on rather than talking about what it was like to read it (I found it depressing to read). So I'm going to do something different: I'll be talking about this book in the context of Jane Eyre.

When Jane is at Lowood School, you'll remember that the first time she spoke to her friend Helen Burns was to ask about the book Helen was reading. Jane thought that the title of Rasselas sounded interesting--she thought it sounded like fantasy and then was disappointed to find that it was nothing of the sort. Helen, when Jane asks her if the book is interesting, simply replies, "'I like it.'" Rasselas did always sound like such an exotic and unique name that I could never quite believe it belonged to a dry, philosophical book.

It does--Rasselas is much more philosophical exploration than novel. I know Samuel Johnson's name more from Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford than from my own studies (I always had more of a nineteenth century focus and Johnson is eighteenth century). Rasselas is from 1759. It centers on a prince, Rasselas, who escapes out of a sheltered "perfect" valley in order to explore the world and see what it is really like with all of its hardships and to find out how true happiness can be attained. The answer: it can't but the soul is something real that will go on after the body has died.

Does that sound about right for something Helen Burns would be reading?

I've been glancing back at Helen's passages in Jane Eyre. I had always thought that Helen's gift to Jane was her faith. It is, but it's more than that--or rather, along with faith came other traits. Helen taught Jane patience (or at least, the awareness that sometimes all you have to do is wait through certain periods in your life) and long-suffering (Jane as a child, naturally, wanted to be happy, but she learns that life means more than happiness, which is in itself not the most significant thing). Helen taught Jane that you strive through life to do the best with your situation and to treat others (and view others) as best you can (even despite how they may treat you)--you don't do this because it'll make you happy and well-fed and rich. You do it because it's right and it's pleasing to God.

And then you die. Helen also took away Jane's innocence because she introduced Jane directly to death. Helen was Jane's first great loss. Her first friend and her first death. And yet Helen died telling Jane, it's alright, I'll be with God, it isn't a painful death, it's fine. That image would forever affect how Jane would see death.

This, of course, brings us back to Rasselas. Rasselas and his sister, Nekayah, talk to different people that they encounter, trying to see who is happiest and which way of living will bring about the most happiness. They're like children, like Jane, thinking that "happiness" is of the most importance. Then they realize (like in The Pursuit of Happyness) that happiness is something that people pursue in life but don't achieve because we always want what we don't have or always think that things can be better. And in realizing this, they realize all of these other things about life and how the mind works. And they, like Helen, come back to the issue of mortality.

They're in the catacombs looking at all the dead bodies and they have a whole conversation about the idea of a soul (concluding that it can't be physical because that which is physical decays, and a soul is that which does not decay). I could completely picture Helen reading all of this. At the end of the second to last chapter, Rasselas says that, "'Those that lie here stretched before us, the wise and the powerful of ancient times, warn us to remember the shortness of our present state: they were, perhaps, snatched away while they were busy, like us, in the choice of life.'" His sister replies that to her, "'the choice of life is become less important; I hope hereafter to think only on the choice of eternity.'" That's Helen. Her life is all unhappiness and there is nothing she can do to change that. So she's learned to turn her mind toward another focus.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by how well this book fits with Helen's character. It's not as if Charlotte would have just chosen any random book for Helen to be reading; of course she would choose one that would make sense and even add something to the story. So while Rasselas remains more of a book to read for study than for leisure, if you do find yourself reading it, considering Helen Burns will give an interesting filter for your reading.

"Why'd They Get Married?"

You know how with certain stories, people complain that the characters got married (either in the end or somewhere in the middle) and that that ruined it? I've been wondering about why people make this complaint: sometimes I think it isn't exactly because they got married that a show or a story had a weak point. So I wonder whether or not it is something else. And then that makes me realize that a lot of the stories I'm referring to are old stories, part of the past, and that maybe if these stories were created today, the characters would definitely not get married (characters almost never get married in stories now--Twilight is one of the major exceptions)--and that maybe that's why people complain.

Let me try and be more specific.

When I refer to stories, I am mainly thinking of three (because these happen to be the ones I'm familiar with, though there are plenty more): I Dream of Jeannie, Get Smart, and Jane Eyre. Maybe Jane Eyre should be kept separate: the issue there isn't completely the marriage, it's whether or not Jane should have accepted Rochester, which is slightly separate from accepting the idea of marriage. But with the two TV shows, the issue was that it was acceptable for the characters to love each other and to flirt, but the dynamics were ruined once they got married. A TV show has to worry about dynamics in a different way than a book does.

The marriage in Get Smart I think was handled pretty well overall. The wedding episode is certainly better than I Dream of Jeannie's, and I think they managed to keep most of the character dynamics intact even though the marriage happened much sooner in GS than in IDOJ. That wedding speaks for it all: it's a hilarious scene in the spirit of the show, with the fighting taking place during breaks while walking down the aisle. That's kind of how it all went from there: domesticity during the breaks from the spy job--it stayed funny. And Max and 99 didn't really act very different toward each other after the wedding than they did before; they just live in the same apartment.

I think people get more heated complaining about IDOJ's marriage: they say it ruined the show because, after all, it did happen in the show's fifth and last season. But as I understand it, the show was already on shaky ground during season three, so was it really going to go longer than five seasons, anyway? And then when you look at it in hindsight (as I have done since I only started watching the show 45 years after it first aired), it's in fact rather satisfying to know that all the journeys that these characters went on ended in a marriage. Sure, a couple of the episodes after they got married weren't very good, but so were a couple of episodes before they got married.

Think of it this way. IDOJ was very much a fantasy. But sometimes for a fantasy to come full circle, there has to be a stable point at the end. It's like a Shakespeare play, where everyone runs around all crazy in the middle but the play ends with a wedding (or two or ten). It's a formula that only recently has been breaking: movies used to show a clip of a wedding at the end (whenever there was a love story, that is) and now they don't. It isn't considered necessary anymore for two characters to get married in order to solidify the fact that they have fallen in love.

But what's wrong if they do get married?

Get Smart mostly maintained the character/show dynamics, I Dream of Jeannie's wedding took place at the end of its run, and I can provide a nice and long explanation of why I'm okay with the marriage in Jane Eyre (in terms of character). So instead of ruining each story, I think these marriages helped complete them.

    

Jane Eyre Through the Eyes of Divergent

I will now celebrate the release of Insurgent in theatres (which I haven't watched yet) by indulging in another of my story comparisons. When I was thinking so much of Divergent a few weeks ago, I naturally started connecting it with that book I always like to talk about, Jane Eyre. So now I will go over some of the concepts that appear in both books, or some of the things that stand out in Jane Eyre when you're considering it with Divergent in the back of your mind.

Individual Strength - Jane Eyre is often spoken of in terms of independence: throughout her life, Jane makes a journey toward being self-dependent, even though she begins as a poor, plain woman without family or friends and would seemingly (in the context of her life) not be capable of independence. But she lets herself be educated, finds herself a job, falls in love, makes friends and finds cousins, and ends up with an inheritance that also gives her financial independence. Jane can and Jane does--likes Tris. Tris is raised to be selfless, to think of others before herself until her own identity is almost non-existant. She's young; she's small; and she does look pretty insignificant. But she decides to be her own person. She joins Dauntless and completes initiation, makes friends, falls in love, and acts in order to save both the community she is living in now and the one she grew up in. She does more than anyone would have expected--because she decides that she is capable.

Reliance on Others - Although both of these stories stress the power of the individual to be in control of his/her own actions, they don't gloss over the significance of relationships and unity. Jane is very kept to herself and she's often in isolated places where there aren't many people to begin with. But the people she meets are significant toward her life. People help her: Helen Burns reminds her to be patient and take advantage of receiving an education, Mrs. Fairfax gives her a job, Rochester listens to her opinions, and the Rivers family (after saving her life) gives her more education and another job when she needs it. Jane, for all her perseverance, would be nowhere without other people. Likewise, Tris cares about other people, helps them, and receives help back. Christina in particular is very important in Tris's ability to feel at home in and worthy of being in Dauntless.

A New Environment Can Be a Good Thing - Jane grew up in the shadows of her aunt's house and then in a pretty desolate boarding school. She didn't have much opportunity in either place--so she leaves. She advertises her teaching ability and gains the position of governess at Thornfield. There she is able to start a new life, earning her own living and being master over her own person. Tris did grow up with a family that loved her, but she needed more opportunity in her life: she didn't want to fade into the background of Abnegation. So Dauntless is her Thornfield, her opportunity to make her own choice about who she is and to be judged only by who she is, right here and right now.

Understanding Someone Else in a Unique Way - I love that section in Jane Eyre when Jane and Rochester are talking about fairies and who knows what and Mrs. Fairfax is sitting with them and wondering what on earth they're talking about: they're speaking their own language to each other that only they can understand. They do that a lot. It's one of my favorite things about them because it makes them feel very suited toward each other. And it's rather like Tris and Four, who are both faced with what it means to be Divergent. They both resist the simulations, so they both find themselves different from the crowd--and like to each other.

Mentorship, Friendship, and Love - Rochester is Jane's employer--she calls him "master" even after she leaves Thornfield. So, in a certain sense, he is above her, like how Four begins as Tris's initiation instructor. The difference (well, one of them) is that Tris never really alludes to the fact that Four was her instructor after initiation is over: that time was short, they're only two years apart in age, and there is so much else going on that it seems a very insignificant detail. The only thing that perhaps Tris keeps is the knowledge that, when most everyone else thought she wouldn't make it through initiation, Four always thought she was strong enough. Similarly, Rochester was essentially the first person who listened to Jane and her opinions and wanted to know what she was thinking and ended up encouraging her to be her own person (despite the fact that he twice tried to persuade her to do things that would make her his person rather than her own--but that's why she said no). That's why love is at its best, right? When both people encourage each other and the two can achieve more together than they could have done alone.

Little Miss Brontë?

So is this the kind of thing rich kids grow up with? BabyLit? "A fashionable way to introduce your child to the world of classic literature." This is not an abridged version of Jane Eyre, but rather a counting primer under the header of "Little Miss Brontë." The text is by Jennifer Adams and the illustrations by Alison Oliver.

I have no business owning a ten dollar, children's counting primer, but you know that I can't resist collecting copies of Jane Eyre--and a children's counting primer? That's so random that it's fascinating. 

The little blue book has twenty pages. On the left is the number and the thing(s) that it describes; on the right is a picture of whatever you're supposed to count. It starts off with one governess and goes on to count things like the towers of Thornfield Hall, the chalkboards that Jane uses to teach Adele, and the pearls that Rochester gives to Jane. It's strictly a counting book with no plot, but by using familiar things from Jane Eyre, it is almost like an extremely abridged version of the story--if you already know the story, that is. 

If you don't, then once you finally read it or watch a movie version of it, some of it will already be familiar. And that is, it would seem, the intention of this book series--to get children familiar with the characters and places of these classic stories. It's strange that something so very simple as a counting book can still bring back memories of one of my favorite books. 

Dame Darcy's Jane Eyre

I know, I'm odd: even though I wasn't sure what I thought of Dame Darcy's illustrations, I still bought her illustrated edition of Jane Eyre. Maybe it was because of the awesome, leather-look-alike book spine or maybe because her biography paragraph calls her a "self-proclaimed Neo-Victorian." But now that I've had a chance to pore over these pictures a couple more times, they've really grown on me.

I'm still not completely sure how to describe her style. You can get a small taste of it from the picture on the cover. It has a slight graphic novel informality to it, being composed much of lines and sharp angles. There's also something Gothic to it in the tone and texture of darkness paired with pretty Victorian things; this is, of course, fitting for the style and era of Jane Eyre. While most of the illustrations are in black and white, some of them are colored and printed on glossy pages. These are all full-page. But there are also some small images that sit around the text, making it all more immersive. The small pictures of Mrs. Rochester, those were perfect. Oh, and the eye on page 83.

You know what I like about these illustrations? They're dark and conflicted and passionate and even slightly other-worldly. And that's what I like about Jane Eyre; it isn't frilly or constrained, and it's best moments are all about powerful outbursts of emotion that take on a life of their own. I think Dame Darcy found a way to simultaneously emphasize the tone of the book, show the historical side of the story, and bring a modern edge to it all. I flipped through the book page by page to look at all of the pictures in order, and it was like reliving the whole book; that means these illustrations are successful companions to the story.

Jane Eyre & Pygmalion

It's been almost a year since I saved this topic as a draft. That's what I do when I have an idea for a post: I put the topic in the title of a post, save it, and then add in the content later. And since March was the month that I defended my honors thesis last year, it's fitting that it is in March that I return to the concept that came up during that time.

I focused, in my thesis, mainly on the three main couples in Charlotte Brontë's The Professor, Jane Eyre, and Villette. I drew comparisons among the novels through character and theme, providing commentary about the different aims that each book provided as part of a distinct part of Charlotte Brontë's life. And one of the subjects that came up during the defense was the way in which Rochester attempts to create Jane, and how she resists the separate identity he tries to place on her. I argued that this is why she had to leave him: their relationship, at first, was not on equal grounds; later, however, they are both independent and can therefore start a real relationship.

But at the earlier point, Rochester tries to pour money on Jane with clothes and jewelry that she refuses. He tries to pretend that she appreciates this use of money and the status that could come with marrying him. But she doesn't. Even when she was still planning to marry him, this side of things always made her uncomfortable. So one of my professors brought up this idea of how Rochester is trying to create Jane's character in a Pygmalion-like way. That can be either Pygmalion the myth or the play. It doesn't really matter: they're both the story of a man forming a woman's identity, whether it is a sculptor forming a statue or a linguist teaching a flower girl pronunciation and manners.

What's interesting about whichever version of creating identity is the gray area. On one hand, if a man is helping a woman to adapt her character in a significant and positive way, then that can be a good thing. It is when he is overpowering who she is or not acknowledging that she is her own person that things start to go wrong. Think about Jane. Rochester, in his overbearing and rough way, did give Jane attention as a person. He listened to her opinions and sought her company. He was one of the few people to do that, so he helped her on her journey toward independence. But when he ignores her or anything she says in favor of what he is thinking or doing, then he crosses a line. His inability to understand her reluctance to accept expensive gifts has greater significance. And when Mrs. Rochester is revealed and he still offers to stay with Jane, he is showing that he is still being selfish in this relationship and that he does not yet understand Jane's moral sensibility that is the very center of her identity.

Rochester does not succeed in creating Jane--and thank goodness he did not. Instead, she took only the positive influence from him and literally fled to avoid any negative influence. And in the end, they were reunited not as Pygmalion and Galatea or Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle but as two separate, independent people who choose to be together. After all, that's why Higgins and Eliza didn't end up together in the play: he did create her and continued to view her as simply the flower girl he had taught the rules of society. She never quite proved herself independent of him and his teaching/creating--except when she left to marry Freddy. That's what I love about Jane Eyre: it is the story of independence because Jane leaves Rochester at that earlier point, but it is also a bit of a fantasy story because she is able to return to him in the end.

Jane Eyre as a Graphic Novel

Mostly I was just curious what a graphic novel version of Jane Eyre would be like. The only graphic novels I have read (unless you count The Invention of Hugo Cabret) are the Twilight ones (click for Vol. 1 and Vol. 2), but I did enjoy those.

This one is part of the Classical Comics series, designed with the aim of inspiring new readers (especially younger ones) of these works. They offer both Original Text and Quick Text versions, as well as Plain Text for Shakespeare adaptations. My copy of Jane Eyre is Original Text, with script adaptation by Amy Corzine and artwork by John M. Burns.

It may be Original Text, but this is of course still a highly abridged version of the original novel. It's compressed into around 130 pages and is therefore missing many scenes, lines, and descriptions. At first, it bothered me to have so much missing and for scenes to move so quickly into one another, often with too-abrupt transitions. But I imagine there was a set length limit that everyone involved in making this book had to stick to. If they had been able to do a five volume book, the result would have been different. It would also have defeated the purpose of Classical Comics--inspiring interest in a different group of readers. A long and unwieldy text wouldn't do that.

So given the constraints, this adaptation is nice. Naturally, there is more dialogue preserved than anything else. While some lines are cut out, I found that many of my favorites remained, allowing me to relive my experience reading the novel. We don't find out quite all the details of the story, but we have the important parts. And if the graphic novel does inspire interest in a reader, he can move on to read the original novel.

While I found myself really enjoying the artistry of the Twilight graphic novels, I felt that much less with this one. There was less of a sense of movement across the images, and my eyes drifted mainly to the text and not as much to the images. Part of this is because we're dealing with Victorian novel speech: it takes up more space, even abridged. And while I thought St. John should have looked younger, Bertha was frightening--there was a sense of movement when she was on the page. The proposal scene, the call, and the destruction of Thornfield were also rather nice in terms of imagery. So while the artwork didn't put me in awe overall, there were moments that I enjoyed. Reading this book was much like watching a subtitled film.

For "new readers," the book also includes a short biography on Charlotte Brontë, the Brontë family tree, a chronology, a copy of one of Charlotte's letters, and two pages showing how the text and artwork came together for the book. This is where you can see what the difference is between Original Text and Quick Text. Just from the examples they gave, I would highly recommend going for Original Text. Quick Text is so abbreviated that it hardly seems worth it unless perhaps for a very young or short-attention-span reader. It seems to take out anything unique to the story, making it into a summary with pictures. After all, even the Original Text gives you a much shorter version of the novel.

Belle, Jane, and Bella

I did intend this post to simply be about Jane Eyre and Twilight, but somehow Beauty and the Beast is coming in, as well. And, no, you're not allowed to criticize me for this post: I'm still feeling cool about how well my thesis on Charlotte Brontë went on Friday, so I consider myself plenty knowledgeable on the subject.

Jane Eyre is, in many ways, a Beauty and the Beast story--considering the skeleton of each story, that is. The heroine goes to a dark, large house in some type of subservient way. The grumpy master of the house seems intimidating on the exterior, but the heroine is able to see beyond that and beyond his past (which she eventually discovers in more detail) and the two fall in love and he is restored to a previous state of goodness. I'm not as surprised to see how similar, in a kind of Gothic way, the two stories are considering that Jane Eyre was published in 1847 and Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve's version of the fairy tale came out (in French) in 1740--that's a hundred years in between, but they're still in a similar time period (as opposed to the difference between 1847 and 1547 or 1647, for instance).

Now we bring in Twilight. What has sometimes bothered me about how people talk about this book (when they say that it's childish and portrays a creepy or abusive or whatever relationship that sets a bad example) is that people seem to forget what that silly group of books considered "the classics" is like. Twilight is very much like Jane Eyre. Stephenie Meyer has of course said she modeled it somewhat around Pride and Prejudice (as New Moon is to Romeo and Juliet and Eclipse is to Wuthering Heights). But his name is, after all, Edward Cullen--like Edward Rochester. And although I know Stephenie Meyer had already liked this name on its own merit, Bella sounds suspiciously like Belle.

There isn't a good comparison for Thornfield, but Bella does go to the isolated location of Forks like Jane goes to the isolated location of Thornfield. First-impression-wise, Edward is a grumpy character--like the modeled-after-the-Byronic-hero Rochester. But he and Bella watch each other like Jane and Rochester watch each other. Both couples sort of bond over frank speech that involves criticizing each other; when they talk, they form their own brands of conversation.

Plot-wise, both do have some issues of power struggle. Jane and Rochester (in my interpretation of the book) resolve this issue through the rebirth that each one experiences during their time apart (after Jane discovers Bertha's existence). Time apart? Well, well, that sounds just like New Moon, doesn't it? Bella and Edward also have to spend some time apart (although it does mean something a little different for their relationship) and some time evaluating their own identities before they can fully enter a relationship as equals.

Beauty and the Beast comes back in with that idea of looking past the exterior of a person. This is something Belle, Jane, and Bella all are able to do. The theme isn't about allowing yourself to be caught in a possessive relationship or going after someone who isn't like you. It's about realizing that people are who they choose to be, not a pre-determined someone they were meant to be.

So that's why I think it's perfectly natural that I, English Lit. major that I am, should like Twilight. It's written on the wings of the historical books that I love.

Jane and "Master"

At one point, I was doing a mental comparison of Jane Eyre's use of "master" and Jeannie's from I Dream of Jeannie. While it's sort of a slave term, neither one obeys all the commands of her "master." Jeannie uses the word ironically and as a word of endearment, sometimes almost possession. Jane uses it also as an endearment term and as a way of deriving comfort from someone stronger than herself.

But I completely overlooked another "master," most surprisingly because this time it is also accompanied by another Jane. You'll recall that the Jane of Twilight calls Aro "master" quite frequently. I think many of us are amused by Jane and Aro's relationship: it's somewhere between father/daughter and master/slave. Part of the reason for this, I'm sure, is because Jane is so young: although she has been around for many, many years she is still a child. So I think Aro has taken advantage of her youngness to gain her loyalty. Unlike Jane Eyre and Jeannie, Jane uses "master" in its fullest sense: she does not disobey Aro's orders according to her own will. His will is her will.

Be the differences as they are, I still think it is no coincidence that the character so frequently using the word "master" is named Jane.

Missing Jane

I'm so glad that many of my usual readings have been light this week: this has happened to be the week that I've been poring through a rather thick Brontë book in the throes of honors thesis research. The book: The Brontës: Wild Genius on the Moors: The Story of a Literary Family; the author: Juliet Barker.

I have also been going back to reread Jane Eyre--I went through The Professor this summer, and I'll get to Villette again next. Before this "rather thick" book, I also skimmed through (all of these extra sources will be skimmed, probably: not everything in them is related to my topic) Elizabeth Gaskell's The Life of Charlotte Brontë. That biography has its interest in the fact that Gaskell was also a novelist (of things like Cranford and Ruth) and actually knew Charlotte, writing the book after her death. But Juliet Barker's book (which I am about two-thirds through) is fantastic: it's very in-depth, chronicling many different sources and debunking many theories. Pairing that with reading Jane Eyre again and I find I'm not too displeased by all this reading.

I think not that I had forgotten how much I like Charlotte Brontë--how could I have if I chose her for my thesis? But I had forgotten the details of my admiration and enjoyment, the very real reasons behind it. One time browsing CafePress, I saw a design that said "I was Charlotte Brontë in my past life" or some such thing--and that's exactly how I've sometimes felt, meaning no disrespect to Charlotte. Certainly we're very different people and she writes very differently than I do, but still there are similarities. The love of nature, the passionate emotion, the enjoyment of fantasy but also the caution about imagination because of the effect it might have on daily life. Perhaps tenacity, too?

Reading all this material is like seeping my soul back into its home. 

Helen Rivers?

Okay, so I don't really mean to suggest that Helen Burns (Jane's friend at Lowood in Jane Eyre) is actually the daughter of St. John Rivers (Jane's ascetic cousin). But it has just occurred to me how similar the two are. And that is a strange occurrence, given that Helen seems more likable (perhaps much more) than St. John.

But just think about the two for a moment. I described St. John as ascetic: the same goes for Helen. Where child Jane is interested in fantasy and trying to find a way out of her lonely, dependent life, Helen absorbs herself in learning, trying to better herself and make plans for the future. And Jane learns a lot from Helen: meeting Helen was probably the best thing that happened to her as a child (unless you want to count getting an education first).

St. John is devoted to the church and to becoming a missionary. I think Jane can somewhat admire his perseverance and devotion, but their opinions come to a parting of ways when he asks her to marry him and join him in his missionary work. She tells him she would be willing to go with him, but does not feel (as he does) that it is her duty/the only right path to marry him and go. So what Jane learns from St. John is, essentially, to rely on her own inner voice and to make her own decisions. Which, coming back to Helen, sounds a lot like what Helen shows Jane.

Jane meets Helen: Jane decides to advertise to be a governess and is thereby able to leave Lowood. Jane meets St. John: Jane decides to go back to Thornfield and thereby learns of the death of Mrs. Rochester and is finally able to marry Rochester. Both are acts of freewill.

Very interesting.

June Favorites

1) Raw Shea Butter - Throw out the lotion, everyone--raw shea butter is ten times better, and you don't have to worry about "extra" ingredients. It's perfect for dry skin, and is supposedly good as a sunscreen, as well (which is good because my dislike of certain ingredients means I can't even remember the last time I used sunscreen, despite living in Arizona). I've also been putting it on my face at night every so often. I love this stuff--I wish I'd discovered it sooner.

2) Cat Scarf - This is an estate sale find, and what a find. It's silk (naturally) and from the Metropolitan Museum of Art and has a cat on it. There were several other unique scarves (many from Paris), but I didn't feel like the patterns on them were as much my style.

3) Pearl Necklace - I had been wanting a long string of pearls for a while, especially now that the 1920's have been roaring their influence so much lately. Usually I stay away from fake pearls, but since this one was probably vintage (I think . . .) and a good price, I went for it.

4) Bracelet Trio - At 50 cents for three any three bracelets, I chose two wooden ones and a silly bright green plastic one. I wouldn't have been interested in bracelets before, but my Hillywood wristband has gotten me a little more used to them.

5) Lipstick Display - Although this piece is plastic, when I saw it sitting on an antique store shelf, I thought it had a look like green milk glass. It has flowers on the sides, and is perfect for displaying makeup instead of hiding it. Now I just need a vanity to put it on . . .

6) Earth 2 - I'm only a few episodes into this TV series, and I keep going back and forth from thinking that it's not the greatest and that it's rather interesting. I'll post again once I finish all the episodes.

7) New Jane Eyre - Three times is the charm, right? I have my battered first copy of this book and my pretty Barnes & Noble leather-bound, so why not add in a vintage copy (it isn't too old, but still)? Plus, it was 50% off, so how could I resist?

8) Flourless Chocolate Cake - I love how easy this cake is to make, provided you have some good chocolate lying around (which I nearly always do, thanks to Chocablogging). Just melt chocolate and butter, add eggs, whisk in sugar and then cocoa powder, and put in the oven (I don't promise those are all the steps . . .), and out comes a decadent dessert.

9) Polka Dot Scarf - Remember when I was whining a couple weeks ago about not being able to get that scarf I wanted? Well, I found one to replace it at World Market, and have you guessed yet why I wanted this scarf? That's right--it looks similar to the scarf Abby wears in Season 1 of Primeval.

10) St. Dalfour Tea - I used to drink St. Dalfour's Earth Grey tea all the time, but it's been about three years since I had any. Some Black Cherry has reminded me of what I loved about this brand, though I still prefer the Earl Grey. But if you're looking for a good tea, try St. Dalfour--it's fresh and flavorful and isn't $15 like so many other "nice" teas these days (okay, so that's probably the price for the more adventurous flavors, not the plain ones, but you get my point).

Favorite Fictional Couples

My last post gave me the idea for this one. Fittingly, then, I will start with the couple I mentioned there; after that, there will be no particular order to the list. Also, these are mainly supposed to be instances where it is the pair I like, not just one individual.

1) Abby & Connor (TV: Primeval) - I probably talked enough about these two last time, so I'll just repeat that I love them together. They just make the world brighter and happier when they're together.

2) Jane & Rochester (Book: Jane Eyre) - This relationship has taken on such a symbolic meaning to me. The two can only properly come together once they have learned to be individuals. Yet they are drawn to each other because of their differing elements, the elements that complete each other.

3) Jeannie & Major Nelson (TV: I Dream of Jeannie) - Even when they're having their spats, these two still adore each other. Their love is like some spark of magic that refuses to go away.

4) Nat & Daisy (Book: Little Men & Jo's Boys) - I suppose I like this pairing mainly because of Nat. He comes from such a sad background, then he and Daisy meet and never look back. They're both very demure.

5) Eowyn & Faramir (Book: The Lord of the Rings) - There is a similar Jane/Rochester thing that happens here: the coming together of these two characters marks certain other changes in their lives. Eowyn in particular must learn something more about herself while she is in the Houses of Healing, where she meets Faramir.

6) Cathy & Heathcliff (Book: Wuthering Heights) - How could I do a list like this and not include these two? People who say that this book is just about hate and not love are simplifying it too much; there is a love story in it, and I think the love is probably just the easiest part of the novel to grasp onto. There's nothing so compelling as tragic love, eh?

7) Gatsby & Daisy (Book: The Great Gatsby) - Speaking of tragic love, I also felt compelled to include these two. It's true, I'm not so interested in Daisy as Gatsby, but his love for her is wonderful. The green light is wonderful. Their story is tragic, sweet, and simultaneously hopeless and hopeful.

8) John Keats & Fanny Brawne (Movie: Bright Star) - Watch this movie and you'll never read a John Keats poem the same. More tragic love here, though much sweeter. There are similarities to Nat/Daisy, just with poetry and death added in--a couple little differences . . .

9) Caspian & Ramandu's Daughter (Book: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader & The Silver Chair) - I love this pairing because, being part of a children's story, it's so subtle. No superfluous romance or flirting, just two characters who fall in love--it's fairy tale-like.

10) Anakin & Padme (Movie: Star Wars) - I wasn't going to add these two in because of all the hate the prequel trilogy tends to get. But I have to admit that I like characters' stories in the entire six part arc. There is so much character conflict in this love story and so much fate and fear/hate challenging love that I do have to include it.


I'm sensing some patterns here. Four out of ten are tragic stories. I think you could easily say that three of the six leftover could have very nearly been tragic. Four out of ten couples either pick on each other or something similar. Six out of ten of the women step out in some particular way from the traditional women's side of things--some of them being (like Eowyn) a little more wild, I guess, than their counterparts (Faramir, though a soldier, has a very gentle nature that is contrary to Eowyn's).

Since all of these characteristics were still just percents out of a whole, I can't say how much they tell about my own tastes without comparing my list to ones made by other people. After all, though I know I tend to like the tragic loves, don't many of us? That's one reason why Titanic (which I actually don't like much) did so well in theatres and why Romeo and Juliet (which I don't really like, either--but I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare in general) is probably the first Shakespeare play children hear of.