In Villette

Currently Reading: Early Irish Myths and Sagas by Jeffrey Gantz, Under Wildwood by Colin Meloy, and Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick

A Sunday morning. Calm, quiet, peaceful. Quite different from our Friday night, in which more bad news shook us to our cores and caused us to reevaluate our present and our future. It is terrifying to stand at the cliff edge and look down, unable to see what is below. But as we always do, we shook ourselves free of the immediate fear and started to make the first fumbling steps in this new darkness. And this morning, we breathe and we close our eyes and we breathe some more. We find solace in the simple comforts, which for me is usually between the pages of a book. On my way out the door to work yesterday, I impetuously grabbed the copy of Louisa May Alcott's journals sitting on my bedside table and flipped it open, praying for some guidance, for some advice, for some perspective to ease the churning in my stomach. My eyes fell on an entry from February 28th, 1868. Louisa had just spent several months in Boston, feverishly writing, and was preparing to go back home to Concord. In looking back on what she accomplished during those months, she wrote, "Not a bad two months' work. I can imagine an easier life, but with love, health, and work I can be happy; for these three help one to do, to be, and to endure all things." Yes. Yes. Sigh of relief. Once again, I felt that connection we share, she and I. And I went off to work feeling determined, with my chin up.
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I have been hoping to write about Villette since I finished it almost two weeks ago. It was my second read for the Classics Club, and my second Charlotte Bronte, so I think that makes it pretty significant. My first impression was the familiarity of the writing- if I had no inclination of the author or book title, but merely "read it blind," I think I would still know it was Charlotte Bronte. Even though I had never read it before, the style was so familiar because it was so apparently Charlotte.



Because I had read Lyndall Gordon's amazing biography on Charlotte beforehand, I felt prepared for Villette. I read it with an eye for what it said about Charlotte- her life, her experiences, her opinions- and I think this colored my experience of it. Ultimately, it is a book in which the plot is only secondary. Character reigns supreme over the novel- that of the narrator, Lucy Snowe, as well as those around her. The focus of the book lies primarily with the development of Lucy's character. Lucy Snowe is a woman of storm and shadow- the first she denies and stifles within herself, the other she uses to hide and protect herself from what she does not want to face. The metaphors of storms and shadows occur over and over throughout the narrative, reflecting Lucy's inner world as it describes the outer setting. The stormy nights are the ones in which new discoveries are made, new secrets come to light, and when she must internally struggle with herself and her life's path.

And the shadows? When I think of what exactly a shadow is, I see how well it fits with Lucy. A shadow is not distinct or clear, it can be altered, it is not a true representation of the real object, and (perhaps most importantly here), it can be interpreted in a myriad of ways. Figuratively, Lucy hides herself in the shadows, content to stay hidden and keep her true, inner self from others and even partly from herself. She does not even truly open herself to us, her readers. Unlike Jane Eyre, she is more cautious and reserved, less open about details. She does not reveal everything to us, leaving parts of the story unexplained and hidden from view. In the story itself Lucy is often invisible, her friends and acquaintances taking center stage while she quietly observes and narrates from the sidelines. She tends to disappear beneath the lives of those around her, unobserved and content to be so. In fact, whole chapters often go by where she hardly makes an entrance. She also hides in plain sight from each of her friends and acquaintances. Each one sees her differently, interpreting her by a different light, for they see her as she wishes to be seen by them. Therefore, she is never truly seen because she is not seen as she is. She becomes insubstantial, a mere image of herself, as a shadow is only a representation of reality. I did wonder how much of this is true of us? Don't we change our demeanor and personalities based on those we are interacting with; aren't we different around different people? If that is the case, then when are we truly ourselves? Is it with those we are only the closest to or are our true selves an amalgamation of the various parts we present to others?

Lyndall Gordon stated that Charlotte's novels all represent Charlotte's struggle to balance Reason and Passion, while not becoming overcome by either. After reading that, I saw how true it was in Jane Eyre and I watched for it in Villette. Sure enough, it was there. Lucy Snowe's story is affected and altered by the fact that she fights against her nature and her passionate inclinations. This too ties into her desire to stay hidden in shadow. Desperately she tries to stifle the part of herself that yearns for more, focusing on the necessity of "knocking on the head" her longings and desires. When she starts to feel a passion for Dr. John, she figuratively buries those feelings and their potential by literally burying his letters beneath the earth. Lucy is content to stay in the shadows because she feels safer there- not safe from the threat of others, but safe from herself. She fears the deeper parts within herself, which I think is one of the most tragic aspects of the book, for it alters her life and the person she becomes. In Lucy, I think Charlotte is trying to demonstrate to herself, as well as to her readers, the danger of letting logic and reason possess you fully; perhaps this was also Charlotte's way of reminding herself that it is necessary to let passion and desire in, despite the fears.

I think readers today can still identify with this struggle- of trying to understand ourselves, of wrestling with our natures, of trying to be something we are not. I know that I often fight against who I am, both the negative and the positive, and struggle with the desire to be someone else, that elusive "other" I think I should be. Villette, as well as Jane Eyre, resonate with me because I am still defining myself and finding my place in the world, just as Charlotte was and just as her heroines strive to do. As Villette (and Jane Eyre) demonstrate, the process does not require one to have all of the answers or the perfect life plan. Instead, it involves using each experience- with all of its uncertainty and risk- to discover and lay bare what is hidden within me. To not hide from who I am, but to allow it into the light. To be open to the potential of new discoveries, and embracing- not hiding from- the fear and trepidation that accompanies each revelation. To be strong enough to recognize and embrace who I am, without denying what I am and what I feel. Jane Eyre demonstrates this by doing it, by being true to herself, by following her inclinations and listening to her inner self. Lucy Snowe demonstrates this by not doing so, by hiding from any expression of her inner self, by denying her passions and desires, by choosing a safe but unfulfilling life over the promise of something more.

With Villette, Charlotte's works continue to exert a powerful force of brilliant insight, demonstrating just how timeless her works really are. Jane Eyre will always remain my favorite, but I am more pleased than I expected with the experience I had in Villette, and am more of a Bronte fan than ever before.

My Weeks With Charlotte and Louisa

Currently Reading: Tolstoy and the Purple Chair by Nina Sankovitch, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, Wildwood by Colin Meloy, and The Yellow House by Patricia Falvey

I have had a difficult time starting this post, which is odd since the books I want to discuss are ones I absolutely loved and which had a deep impact on me; yet for some reason I am having trouble translating those feelings and responses into words. However, I will try.

Recently, I have wrapped myself up in the lives of two female authors so completely that I have found it difficult to become absorbed in other things. Though I have read voraciously these past several weeks (finishing nine books and currently working on four more), Marmee & Louisa by Eve LaPlante and Charlotte Bronte: A Passionate Life by Lyndall Gordon have been my favorites of the bunch. While I had planned on reading LaPlante's book, thanks to a great recommendation by my reading twin Mabel at Maple & A Quill, once I started reading about one inspiring, strong-willed woman author, I wanted desperately to read about another. So from 1850s Concord to 1830s Yorkshire I went, journeying through the lives of two remarkable and different-but-similar women.

 

I really find it hard to describe the excitement I get when I pick up books by or about either Louisa May Alcott or Charlotte Bronte. I have found, through their works and especially their personal writing, a deep affinity with both, a friendship of understanding that exists only in words. I first discovered this when I read Eden's Outcasts by John Matteson last year, a biography about Louisa and her father. (Follow this link to my post from last April). In Louisa, I recognized something of myself- we are different, but we are also so very much the same. With the new publication of Marmee & Louisa, I was interested to examine the other end of the spectrum from Matteson's work- Louisa's relationship with her mother. In doing so, I learned a remarkable lot about Abigail Alcott and gained a new-found respect for the woman who is largely ignored in much of Alcott scholarship but who figures so prominently in Louisa's own work. Here, Abba's journals and letters were explored, and her history and background given more central focus. A kindred spirit to her daughter, Abba too felt passion and expressed it in her writing, and strove to make her voice heard; ultimately, she did not succeed in her life's ambitions, but she was able to nurture and watch her daughter make the strides she could not. The plight of "woman" in 1800s America is keenly felt in the story of Abba Alcott, and I felt my blood boiling more than once for the injustices that held intelligent, free-thinking women like her back from their full potential. Even Louisa, who fulfilled her dream of writing and earning an independent wage, was not famous for the themes she explored in her other works, but for the children's stories she was asked to write as a woman, something that truly bothered Louisa. This book explored more fully Louisa's attachment and affection for the women in her life, namely her mother and sisters, as well as their influences upon Louisa's life, perspectives, and writings. It allowed me to learn about Louisa in a fuller context, as did the biography/history I read a bit later about Transcendental Concord called American Bloomsbury by Susan Cheever. LaPlante's book was a celebration of what women like the Alcotts endured and achieved, and most particularly, examined the strength of the mother/daughter relationship. It was a beautiful work, one that filled me up with inspiration, like a full stomach after a satisfying meal. Yet it still left me hungry for more.



I vacillated between another Alcott biography or a different biography altogether, and settled on reading about Charlotte Bronte, another woman writer who pushed the boundaries of feminine propriety and determined to make her voice heard. Charlotte Bronte: A Passionate Life was the one- in form, it is a biography, but it is actually more of a discussion of Bronte's work and the life experiences that led to the themes, characters, and style of writing found in her novels.Why I never realized before how much more I could learn about Jane Eyre by reading about her creator, I will never know. I feel, once again, a deeper appreciation and understanding of Jane Eyre because I finally feel as if I know and understand what Charlotte was trying to say with her work. Through Gordon's book, I was given an introduction to the way that Charlotte viewed the world, her perspective and her thoughts, and how she voiced her views with her writing. Much of her work has an autobiographical tinge to it, which I knew, but details that Gordon offered up were eye-opening. For instance, I had never known that the character of Helen Burns was modeled on Charlotte's older sister Maria, who also died of consumption at their harsh boarding school. Another aspect of Jane Eyre was revealed as part of Charlotte's own struggles: "Part of Jane's experience is to know the extremes of a seething, chaotic life and one of disciplined order. It is here that Charlotte Bronte gave form and meaning to the private extravagance of her own life tugged between the claims of the self and the claims of society." Gordon goes on to explain that Jane must try to find a balance between the heat of unrestrained passion (her initial relationship with Rochester) and icy indifference and cool reason (St. John Rivers), and does so when she finally returns to a changed Rochester. There is so much in Charlotte's life that will now color my reading of Jane Eyre; in particular, Gordon gave a fantastic analysis of Rochester and of Bertha, stating that while many modern feminists decry the treatment of Bertha, especially at the hands of a woman writer, Bertha is meant to symbolize the type of woman that Charlotte detested- "rich, thick, insensitive beauties." Bertha also acts as "a warning of mindless passion," of what one can become when reason does not temper passion. Charlotte sees Bertha as the cause of her own misfortune, treating her as "a warning more than a character." Charlotte's writing explored how women could express themselves fully in a society that had strict expectations of what a woman should and should not say. She felt a fire within herself that she did not see in many other women she knew, besides her equally forthright and passionate sisters.

I can see now that Charlotte and Louisa have many things in common: their passion, their refusal to be anything but who they were, their desire to make their voice heard through writing, and their dependance on expression and writing as a part of themselves. Both women wanted to speak out as women to depict what women were actually like, and they both explored the drawbacks women often faced. Both women suffered from spells of depression and loneliness, finding solace and meaning in their work. I find it no coincidence that one of Louisa's favorite books was Jane Eyre, for I think both women shared a similar perspective of the world, despite differences in location and age.

Both Gordon and LaPlante discussed Charlotte's  and Louisa's other works in great length as well, which has inspired me to pick those up someday soon. Astonishingly, I have barely read any of either Charlotte or Louisa's novels, despite viewing them as two of my favorite writers. Jane Eyre of course is my literary bread-and-butter; of Louisa's writings, I have read Little Women several times and have read a few of her short stories. I love reading about them so much, that now it is time to meet them in more of their own work. But, true to form,  I still have more biographies planned and I can't contain the spark of excitement in me when I contemplate revisiting both women. All in all, I have spent several wonderfully enjoyable weeks in the minds and souls of two remarkable writers, and I have come away feeling more inspired than ever before.

Standing for Something

Currently Reading: Charlotte Bronte: A Passionate Life by Lyndall Gordon and Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (My two favorite women authors at once! What is this madness?!)

A lot of deep thoughts have been swirling through my mind recently, prompted and inspired by many unrelated pieces all coming together to somehow influence each other. These pieces include, among other things, the last election cycle, Charlotte Bronte, another blog post, and a Fun song. And after much deep thinking and an inspiring email from my slightly-older-but-so-much-wiser-cousin, I'm ready to write it out.

This blog is one of many pieces in my life where I express myself creatively- my journal, my kitchen, my poetry, my job, and even my schoolwork are other areas of my life that serve as creative outlets and allow me to be true to myself through free expression. I relish these creative outlets, I demand them for my wellbeing and my sanity. Besides the blog world, social media gives us even more outlets for free expression: Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Goodreads, and more abound to serve us. We are granted parts of the canvas and encouraged to sling our paint wherever we wish. They serve dual purposes: connecting us to others and giving us a means of creative expression. I am not engaged on all of these sites because I don't have the time or the interest for them all. But I add to my Goodreads shelves and I update my Facebook status and I spend much of my online time seeing what my friends and relatives are up to as well. There is so much good from all of this- seeing pictures of my growing nieces and nephews, messaging a friend to pick a time to get together, or sharing a joke with a faraway friend. All of this is necessary to sustain my relationships with others.

There's an underbelly to it all, of course. I think the last election cycle this past fall proved that social media can be dirty. Facebook became a place where political opinions were shared, misunderstandings arose, and debates ensued. In some ways, I think this is healthy. Every person not only has a valid opinion, but has the right to express that opinion. There is no limit, no hindrance to our ability to express ourselves on social media, and this is especially true when we feel strongly about certain topics. But there is something about this that scares me and it is epitomized in the comment bar. Facebook doesn't just allow us to post our own opinions, but we have the constant ability to comment on the conversations, threads, posts, and shares of others. While this seems innocuous, I actually believe it leads us to the impression that we all have the right to talk each other down without listening to what others have to say. It cuts out constructive and informative conversation, and whittles our dialogue with others down to mere sentences. Social media allows us to communicate our opinions and make our voices heard, while simultaneously drowning out our voices because of the cacophony it produces.

*Enter Charlotte Bronte* I have been reading a wonderful biography exploring Charlotte's life and its influences upon her works. I have not only learned much about Jane Eyre through discovering Charlotte's life, but I have also gained a deeper understanding and respect for women during the 19th century, and female writers in particular. While I do want to discuss her and Louisa further in a separate blog post soon, there was a portion that struck me and stuck with me. After the deaths of her siblings, Charlotte was left living in Haworth, on a lonely Yorkshire moor, taking care of her ailing father. While this did often influence Charlotte's depression, Lyndall Gordon makes it clear that her isolation and loneliness, her separation from others and especially from society, made it possible for her art and voice to develop. While she makes this point right when Charlotte is about to write Villette, it actually is true of the circumstances surrounding her earlier novels too. Her secluded life at Haworth influenced the person she was- her opinions of London, her ease in society, her view of women's roles, and her passionate expression. If Charlotte was a different man's daughter or had lived in a bustling metropolis, perhaps the world would not have been gifted with her voice. I can only imagine the silence, the seclusion, the loneliness Charlotte lived with every day, for that does not exist for us anymore, as it was for her. She created her own mental stimulation and her voice flourished in the silence. Only with her letters and her novels was she able to champion her opinions and views, and so she did so with fervor. As I have read, I couldn't help wondering whether some form of detachment is necessary to inspiration, to art, to forming one's voice. Charlotte herself wrote in a letter to Mrs. Gaskell about the "need for isolation in order to be true to herself."

*Enter Fun song* Their new song, called "Some Nights", to be exact. It is a beautiful song, a moving commentary on war, particularly the Iraq War. The lyrics are outstanding, sheer poetry. (Check out this music video- goosebumps, I tell you.) These are the songs I love, the ones that make me stop and read the lines and feel their meanings in the depths of my soul. There are two lines that have haunted me the past few days: the first says, "I found a martyr in my bed tonight/stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am, oh who am I?" The second: "Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for/ What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know." Powerful stuff right there. And it hits me because knowing what we stand for, what we believe in, what matters to us, is essential to our growth as individuals, to the inward development of our characters throughout our lives.

There are things I stand for, things I believe in with my whole heart and soul. But communicating those things has become the barrier that I cannot cross, the locked gate I can find no key for. Since November, and even much earlier, I have struggled with the truth that in order to avoid the negative comments of others or the debilitating, faceless debates with ones I love, I must hide who I am, that I am actually not free to express myself and therefore, am not free to be who I am. As a person who seeks expression through my writing, through my creative outlets, it frustrates me and makes me feel hindered because I am constrained by the very medium that is supposed to free us all. Another blogger, Kelle Hampton on Enjoying the Small Things actually just wrote about a similar point the other night, which was another part of the catalyst that inspired me to write this post. Her post was about the negative criticism that comes from others when we share and connect and bare our souls through social media. She wrote, "Validation is an interesting thing though, and no matter how strong or unphased by criticism we are, there is an undeniable human desire to have people like what we feel passionate about--our art, our words, our stories, our styles, our writing, our opinions.  It's why we sometimes feel hesitant to publish or share.  What will people think?"

Of course, I could counter all of this by asking why is it so important for me to express my opinions at all? Publicly expressing my opinions or publicly affirming what I stand for does not make them any more solid or real. So why share them at all? And in the same vein, why do I feel the need to comment on the opinions and beliefs of others? Why do I have the right to insert myself into another person's mind and life? Perhaps the real answer lies in figuring out the role that personal expression should take in the world of social media.

Am I bothered that people I love do not and probably will not ever truly know or understand me? If I was being honest with myself, the answer is yes. What I believe and what I stand for are part of who I am. I want to share that, not to make others think the way I do, but so that I too will be heard. So what to do? Do I limit my interactions on social media to avoid anything that might anger or be misunderstood? Do I step back from it all, in order to let the silence inspire my own life? Do I express my inner thoughts and share my beliefs, despite the criticism?

I want to stand up. I want to live what I believe. And I want to find my voice. The question is finding a way to do so.

A Birthday

Currently Reading: Brooklyn by Colm Toibin

A quick post this morning, in between homework, cooking, and getting ready for work. It is simply beautiful outside- bright autumn morning sunlight glancing off of our balcony, a chill breeze blowing the leaves, and a perfect palette of blue sky against brown fields. I have never been able to get over how lovely it is outside in the fall. Driving to school on Monday mornings is a little bit dreadful (because I am so tired) but mostly amazing, as I literally watch the sun rise on the fields and barns dotting the land, transforming everything from the still, silent wakefulness that comes with the pre-dawn darkness to a world vibrant with color and light. In those moments, I feel closer to God in a way that is outside the liturgy of Church. It is difficult to explain, but I revel in the feeling of being so wholly alive. As Jane Eyre says, "We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread before us."

Coincidentally enough, today is the 165th anniversary of the publication of my most treasured book-friend, Jane Eyre. You can read all about my relationship with, and musings over Jane Eyre in several past posts from June. To celebrate today, I'm pulling out some more of my favorite quotes:

"It is in vain to say that human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it."

"Now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fear, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils."

Helen Burns to Jane: "Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it; it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear."

Jane to Rochester: "I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you."

165 years later, they still have such a powerful meaning, such relevance, so much emotion and truth within each line. 165 years from now, I know they will still have that same hold for future readers. Happy Birthday to a fantastic book. How will you celebrate today?

An Affair with Autumn

Currently Reading: Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen and Brooklyn by Colm Toibin

As I knew it would, the demands of schoolwork has affected my blogging. I obviously do not write and post as often as I would like, and though it sounds silly, not being able to blog on a regular basis makes me feel guilty- like I'm not a good blogger because I participate so infrequently. While I wonder how this affects my readership, I must remind myself that I write for myself, first and foremost.

About a week ago, I finished The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde, listening to it on audiobook as it accompanied me to and from school. The novel is set in the 1980s in an alternate reality, where the Crimean War is still being waged and literature is taken as seriously as religion is in this country. The story follows a Special Operative LiteraTec named Thursday Next, who must rescue Jane Eyre after she is abducted from the pages of her book. Yes, it is possible in this novel to go into other novels- Martin Chuzzlewit, a Wordsworth poem. It was a fun book- quirky and imaginative, a book one reads just for fun. I absolutely loved all of the literary references: a hotel called Finis; a reporter named Melinda Floss (say it quickly: it sounds like "Mill on the Floss"..hehe); people going door to door Jehovah-witness style to convert people into believing that Francis Bacon actually wrote Shakespeare's plays; people stepping into poems and wandering the corridors of Thornfield Hall. The scenes at Thornfield Hall were of course the highlight of the book- (I may have squealed a bit when Mr. Rochester came on the scene)- though perhaps it was a bit irreverent to a Jane Eyre lover- key plot points are different, and anything can happen in the margins (tourists come and go, villains escape into the environs of Millcote, a certain LiteraTec lives for months hidden inside the hall-all without Jane's knowledge, so as not to disrupt the story-line.) It all adds up to a purely delightful reading experience, one that kept me hooked from beginning to end.

Annnnnnnd...... it's autumn again!



My favorite season of them all. Fall is a time of remembrance and reflection for me, a time to look back on the year and look forward to the year ahead. I think there is something within me and probably within all of us- a genetic memory of sorts- that awakes at this time of year. Something that remembers the harvest, the preparation for winter, My soul leaps at the farm fields bathed in a chill autumn sunrise, a V of geese overhead, the smell of dead leaves, butternut squash soup, slipping my apron over my head, chilly air filling my lungs. As I wrote in my "Halloween Book List" last year, my book list often reflects the time of year as well. Falltime is when I pull out my history books on the Puritans, on colonial history, on the Salem Witch Trials. I have done it for so many years that fall seems like the only backdrop now against which I can read these books. While right now, I am finishing up Northanger Abbey, which I will talk about in my next post, and just started Brooklyn as an audiobook, I have already reserved a book that I am really looking forward to: Welcome Joy: Death in Puritan New England. Oh yeah, baby. It may sound morbid, but I have always been fascinated by the history of our perceptions and relationship with death. "History toward the Attitudes of Death" was my favorite class in college, and I just eat up books and documentaries about cemeteries, funeral rites, beliefs about death. I think my job has something to do with it- or perhaps I have my job because of this interest I have always harbored. Either way, it gives me so much to look forward to, to ponder over, to learn.

My reading and my blogging may have taken a bit of a backseat to this thing we call grad school, but I still have it here, waiting for me and for those moments when I can stop and take a breath. That's a nice reassurance. Have a great week! Go find a fun Halloween read!

Freedom through Expression

Currently Reading: Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier (how obvious is my homesickness for Ireland?), and Bossypants by Tina Fey (best. audiobook. ever.)

You will see the title repeated a lot in this post. I'm just warning you.

As I wrote in last Wednesday's post, I discover something new every time Jane and I get together. This time, besides paying attention to and musing over the bird metaphors (which I may discuss in another post), I was completely struck by the underlying theme of freedom through expression. Actually, this does tie into the bird metaphors, as you will see in just a bit. (Warning: many, many spoilers below! If you haven't read Jane Eyre and want to be surprised, then immediately go find a copy, read it, and then revisit this post.)



The "freedom through expression" thing appears early in the novel- the first chapter, in fact. We discover that Jane, while an emotional child, has never before acted out, for her aunt is appalled at her behavior when she finally reacts against her abusive cousin. In that moment, Jane remembers, "It seemed as if an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped-for liberty." Through her reactions, by expressing her deepest self, she is finally free to assert herself and take control of the situation- a small victory for ten year old Jane, but an event that ultimately changes the course of her life.

Throughout the rest of the novel, Jane's life and victories follow this pattern, in large and small ways. For instance, Jane realizes her freedom to escape Lowood and discover her own path when she is honest with herself and mentally "soliloquized" her restlessness and desire for action. Jane also discovers freedom through expression in her growing friendship and then love for Mr. Rochester. From their very first conversation at Thornfield Hall, both discover that they are free to express themselves to the other. Around Jane, Rochester does not need to wear the facade he does around his aristocratic friends; Jane does not have to hide quietly in the shadows, never considered and never free to honestly express herself. While Jane is a very passionate person, she has had to learn to keep her emotions and thoughts within herself, for she never had someone in whom she could confide. Yet with Rochester, she discovers, "he is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine;-I am sure he is,- I feel akin to him,- I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him." Trust and respect play an equal part in the growth of their friendship and love for the other, fed and nurtured by open communication and the slow revealing of their souls.

Despite her attempts, Jane's love for Rochester does not stay secret; on a stormy night in a garden, (one of the best scenes in the book) she finds freedom only in expression, thereby breaking the last barrier between herself and the friend with whom she has fallen in love. Jane describes the moment perfectly: "The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, was claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway; and asserting a right to predominate: to overcome, to live, rise, and reign at last; yes- and to speak." No longer a bird ensnared in a net or trapped in a cage of her own making, she finally gains a sense of liberation and equality with Rochester in speaking and asserting her love for him. Having done so, she declares that she will leave him, rather than watch him marry another. When he objects, she passionately declares, "I am a free human being with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you." Only in expression does she feel she is truly free to decide her own destiny- which she continues to do throughout the rest of the novel.

Rochester too is a trapped bird, though in other ways than Jane is. Trapped by circumstance rather than feelings, he sees the entrance of Jane into his life as a way out of the existence he has been forced to lead and onto a path to better himself. This is a delicate piece of the book, and one that most readers seem to misunderstand. I have heard many statements about Rochester's cruelty for deceiving Jane or leading her on, for like St. John, many assume that he is a bad man with bad motives. But he isn't. He is merely a man, hemmed in by unhappiness and hopelessness, who finds the peace and happiness he lost so long ago, the keys to the cage that has kept him trapped for so long, in the form of a remarkable woman, his inferior in society but his equal in his soul. He recognizes that Jane's presence has the power to reform him, and he sees a transformation within himself because of her influence. He is a man with a good soul, but he is the product of a desperate, hopeless life. Trapped inside the walls of Thornfield, inside his secrets and lies, he discovers that loving Jane provides the freedom he has so long craved. His love for Jane is his liberation, but he tries to force the lock too early, impatient to stretch his wings. It is only after he has "walked through the valley of the shadow," and fallen on his knees in desperation to God, that he too finds freedom in expression. "That I merited all I endured, I acknowledged- that I could scarcely endure more, I pleaded; and the Alpha and Omega of my heart's wishes broke involuntarily from my lips in the words- 'Jane! Jane! Jane!" Through his cry for Jane, he receives the freedom he has sought for so long, because though they are miles apart, in the depths of their souls they both hear and respond to the other. Freedom through expression indeed.



Jane and Rochester constantly struggle for liberation throughout the book: liberation from their past, their social status and obligations, and the influence of others. And here is the most beautiful part: each of them serves to liberate the other. Their relationship is the "freedom through expression" theme in action. With St. John, who is presented as a contrast to Rochester in the novel, Jane found herself once again trapped, for "he acquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind...I could no longer talk or laugh freely when he was by..." St. John was the type of man who stifled her sense of self. In comparison, Rochester is her soul's mate because he encourages her freedom of expression and loves her for exactly who she is. She is free to be herself when she is with him; in a very modern throwback from Charlotte Bronte's world in 1847, marriage to Rochester actually gives Jane more independence than she has ever known, an independence of the soul, as well as the body. As Jane ends the book, "To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking." Through open communication, through expression, comes trust, respect, and equality. Many women at that time could only dream of such a partnership; thankfully, Jane's and Rochester's once unattainable relationship has now become reality for so many of us. I see Jane Eyre, then, as Charlotte Bronte's own personal act of freedom through expression. Through her written words, she was free to create characters that fell outside the norm of her day; she gave them lines of dialogue that represented her own feelings. Like many other women writers of her time, her novels were the keys to her own cage.

For anyone else who has read Jane Eyre, what is it that you love most about the book? I would love to hear your thoughts!

Jane and I.... A Twelve Year Love Affair

Currently Reading: Inventing Ireland by Declan Kiberd and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte


I was eleven. My sixth-grade class that year was doing a reading challenge, where we recorded all of the books we had read on a giant chart, so that we could see how many we read by the end of the year. For whatever reason, I took the challenge quite literally and really strove to challenge myself. I still don't know why I got it into my head to find the biggest, thickest books on the school bookshelf with the biggest, longest words. It's not like I still didn't enjoy Babysitters Club or other small chapter books, designed expressly to be read by children my age. While I don't remember the inspiration that drove me to check out Great Expectations, or Dr. Doolittle, or Wuthering Heights, I did. And while my little head could not understand every word or plot point or character development, it took in enough to realize that there was so much to discover beyond the books I had read before. None of the three books I mentioned above became favorites. In fact, I have never reread them (although I tell myself I should. I have no doubt it would  be like culture shock, to reread something as an adult that I only ever experienced as a child.) Yet one classic stuck. And her name is Jane Eyre.

About a year ago, I revisited my old grade school's library and found the copy I first read, sitting there still on the shelf. Small in size, the words are printed tight together on browning pages. The cover is white with a blue border; a drawing of a woman in period dress stands in the foreground, while behind her is a man on a horse. I am an avid collector of copies of Jane Eyre and my bookshelf has a beautiful assortment, ranging in size and color, publication dates stretching from the early 20th century to the present. Yet this is the copy I would love to have over all others (except an 1847 first edition. If you have one of those, let me know!), for it is my original, the one where I first discovered Jane, and Thornfield, and Rochester. In that copy, I found my favorite place, the book that spoke to me above all others, even at a young age. I know others have checked it out after me, but the memory of my first discovery must still be nestled somewhere in those pages, held there indeterminately.  I held the little tome in my hand, showing it to my husband, who (bless his heart) has always appreciated and understood this love affair of mine. It felt so right, as if I was reliving a memory and found everything as I had left it, perfectly waiting for me.

Looking back, I can't remember what prompted my small self to notice the book or grab it from the shelf or take it home but I knew that I fell in love instantly. Inexplicably, at the age of eleven, something in my soul recognized a piece of itself, kept within a book cover, hidden on a shelf. And whenever I pull a copy from my shelf and start reading again, the anticipation and excitement that follows is the same as it was even then. Twelve years later, I view Jane Eyre as a friend, a home, a place familiar and welcoming to me, yet also a place where I never cease to discover something new with each visit. Our love affair is still going strong.


Me and Jane on my wedding day, one year ago, at the hair salon. 

I have so much to share about my newest experiences rereading Jane Eyre and I look forward to writing about my favorite book on my blog. I already have so many notes and thoughts, just waiting to be shared. P.S. Just for fun, did you know the background on this blog is a picture I took of several of my Jane Eyre copies opened and spread out on the table? :) I thought you would like to know!

Finding Mr. Rochester

Currently Reading: The Last Storyteller by Frank Delaney

Every year, Nate and I enact the same tradition for Valentine's Day- watching the BBC's Jane Eyre on the couch, in the dark, as we shiver over the scary scenes and sigh over the romantic scenes. Celebrating with the ultimate love story is one of my absolute favorite traditions and makes Valentine's Day truly special.



I may not read what many call "Chick Lit" but I do enjoy a good love story. There are so many unique and precious love stories in the literary world that impeccably capture the awesome wonder and desperate pain of love. You can find it in the unwavering support Agnes gives David Copperfield or in the tragic love affair of Robbie and Cecilia in Atonement. One finds it in the sacrifice of Sydney Carton for Lucie's happiness or the quiet courtship of Laura and Almanzo. It is there in every conversation Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester have.

I found my Mr. Rochester a long time ago. As Jane writes at the end of the book, "I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest- blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine."


Summer 2007


Spring 2008


Summer 2009


Spring 2010


Summer 2011

Jane says it better than I ever could.

Whether you have love in your life today or are still waiting for your love story to start, I hope you have a wonderful Valentine's Day. Also, I would love to hear about some of your favorite love stories. There are always so many wonderful ones to discover. I'll be writing again soon- I have been a reading machine lately, so I'm looking forward to discussing some of my latest literary adventures. Happy Valentine's Day!