534 pages @350 wds/pg
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
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."
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 one 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 more credible her boldness and independence when she later 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.
When 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 Dickens's or Mary Gaskell's works, showing the hardships of a certain underclass in England at the time. But then it moves into the English tradition of the great house novel, following the inhabitants of a crumbling mansion which reflects the decline of a once honoured 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 in 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 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 supposedly feminine fantasy, that of attracting and taming the bad boy. But it is far superior to that other stereotype of the weaker sex falling all to pieces over the macho guy who abuses her.
Much has been made over the years about suppressed sexuality in the Brontė sisters' works. It is obvious that none of the authors, at the time of writing, were acquainted with sexual relations and their novels are full of substitute imagery that would give Freudians a month of field days. 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. I for one still find it a compelling read.
Jane Eyre appeals not just for understanding, empathy or identification with its central female character but appreciation. And agreement. Beneath the social covers, it's that strong.