Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last.
Preface to second edition
"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"
"A pit full of fire."
"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?"
"What must you do to avoid it?"
I deliberated a moment: my answer when it did come was objectionable. "I must keep in good health,and not die."
"Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs."
"If she were a nice, pretty child, one might compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a little toad as that."
"Daily He announces more distinctly,—'Surely I come quickly!' and hourly I more eagerly respond,—'Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus!'"
Charlotte was the longest living of the three writing Brontė sisters, almost making it to age forty, and her output was by far the most extensive and most popular in its.... more
Strong male, stronger female
Charlotte Brontė's narrator and protagonist, like many a youthful Dickens protagonist, is the epitome of spunk. But Jane Eyre is also female, a young girl to begin with and a young woman for much of the novel. And her sex makes a big difference. Jane is slight, plain, and gentle by disposition, like any serious heroine of her time—so when she kicks back against her persecutors, as she does at least twice in the early going of Jane Eyre, it's enough to make you want to cheer. It must have been particularly surprising and refreshing in Brontė's own time.
It also wins us over to Jane as a character, and makes her boldness and independence more credible later when she finds herself in unusual situations.
If for nothing else, the novel Jane Eyre ought to be remembered for sparking this literary tradition of strong, resourceful women in this genre of—
But in which genre? I was going to say the genre of Gothic romance. But this may be taken the wrong way, along the lines of bodice-rippers, or "women's novels" and later "chicklit"—though there is some of this in Jane Eyre.
Reading it for the first time, you keep thinking Jane Eyre is going in a certain direction, but then it changes. At first it seems to be a study in social realism, like Charles Dickens's or Mary Gaskell's works, exposing the hardships of a certain underclass in England at the time. But then Jane Eyre moves into the English tradition of the great house novel, following the inhabitants of a crumbling mansion which reflects the decline of a privileged social class. And then there's the horror story aspects: the dark-and-stormy-night and madwoman-in-the-attic elements of the tale. And the mystical bits.
And, yes, the great romantic story in which love ultimately overcomes all. But interestingly it is love on Jane's terms.
Like her sister Emily with Wuthering Heights, Charlotte Brontė creates a powerful, darkly enigmatic and moody male at the centre of the story, but in Jane Eyre it's the male, Mr. Rochester, who is drawn to the female for her wit and intelligence and in the end it is she who saves him. Yes, perhaps this is another supposed female fantasy, that of attracting and taming the bad boy, which is certainly superior to that other stereotype of the weaker sex falling all to pieces over the macho guy who abuses her.
But, something you don't hear so much much about, Jane Eyre is not about falling for a bad person as much as about making unconventional choices based on hidden virtues, as opposed to more obvious advantages. (Note in similar fashion the unexpected love interest the heroine of Brontë's other great work, Villette, eventually makes.) But it is also—perhaps predominantly—Rochester who recognizes something worthy in an unexpected source: our dowdy, modest and poor Jane. Surely this is what gives readers hope as we watch the relationship unfold and why we are devastated, along with Jane, when Rochester's great deceit is revealed. And why we are perversely relieved in the end when Jane makes the choice she does.
Much has been made about suppressed sexuality in the Brontė sisters' works. It is obvious that none of the authors, at the time of writing, were acquainted with sex and their novels are full of substitute imagery that gives Freudians a field day. Dream sequences in Jane Eyre are particular ripe for this analysis.
But if that's all it is, then why are the novels still so popular in this more libertine age? You'd think only pubescent girls and aging spinsters would get their jollies from such as Jane Eyre. But, while the readership may skew towards women, it is quite wide. This middle-aged and somewhat experienced male still finds Brontë's novel a compelling read.
Jane Eyre appeals not just for empathy or identification with its central female character but appreciation. And agreement. Beneath the social covers, it's that strong.