Currently Reading: Inventing Ireland by Declan Kiberd, On Celtic Tides by Chris Duff, and Bossypants by Tina Fey
Unless it's a textbook, I usually don't write in the margins when I read. I have never felt comfortable with doing so. I like to keep the book pure, for it seems almost as if I am desecrating another's work when I add my two cents. Yet as I started out on this reread of Jane Eyre, I practically felt drawn to record my thoughts and note the details as I read. Perhaps this is because I have read it so many times or because I was looking forward to the experience so much that I wanted to preserve it in some way. Regardless, I chose a copy from my shelf that I didn't mind writing in and set to it. I read for pleasure, getting lost in the music of the words and savoring every bit of the world which I love so much. But this time, I also read to take note of the deeper themes and nuances of the book- the symbolism of birds, the themes of independence and freedom, the meaning behind the talk of fairies and the supernatural, the true characters and personalities of the main players- all things I have noticed and written about and pondered before, but this time fixing my thoughts right on the page alongside the printed words.
I finished it tonight. Over time, I have noticed that each time I read Jane Eyre, something new speaks to me or I notice something I never did before or I understand something that previously eluded me. One year, after meeting and falling in love with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, I cried tragically at the scene where Jane leaves Rochester. Never before had I cried at that, but never before had I really been in love and so I could not empathize with the pain in Jane's heart or the willpower it took for her to take one more step away from he who loved her. Yet at that stage in my life, and forever after, I have felt that scene strike me in the gut and I always come away shaken.
This time, my new reading experience was eye-opening.
Like many other women (I assume), I tend to fall into the nasty habit of comparing my life and myself to others. And not in the material, "I wish I had her car" kind of way, but in a "I wish I was as optimistic as she is" or "I wish I could be so confident" or "How come she can seem to get everything done and I can't" sort of way. I second-guess myself, I am quick to point out my faults, and I seem to find the ideal in everyone else around me. Or in a book. For years, Jane Eyre has been my hero. To an eleven-year-old kid (heck, even to a twenty-four year old adult), she is a woman to admire, a woman of so many pure qualities that after twelve years of idolizing her, she no longer seemed human. Ridiculous, isn't it?
For me, this past year has been one intense learning opportunity and I have simultaneously embraced and fought it. More than ever, I feel as if I am in the process of discovering exactly who I am and what I am capable of- while also recognizing and addressing my faults as well as learning to accept the things I cannot change about myself. (Whew!) So perhaps it is because I feel like I have grown as a woman since my last reread in the summer of 2010 that I truly, for the very first time, saw Jane for exactly who she is.... and found her not to be perfect, but to be my equal. There are faults within her, and doubts, and mistakes. She is not a quiet-tempered angel but a fiercely passionate, emotional woman who doubts herself, and has regrets, and gets confused. She sits in her room and practically broods over her decision to leave Thornfield, paralyzed with fear that her actions ruined a man's life; for one agonizing hour, she sincerely doubts Rochester's love for her. She knows herself and has strength beyond measure, but is also capable of being intimidated and influenced, as she was with St. John. She can be frightened and she can lose her nerve to speak. Even when comfortable, she can be restless, wishing herself elsewhere, envisioning a different life. These things don't make me love her less; instead, they make me love and understand her even more. How have I missed these obvious and beautiful depictions of a real woman, one who is not so much different from myself and many others I am privileged to know? Here is a flesh-and-blood woman, with positive and negative qualities, one who has such a capacity to love- who is compassionate, loyal, quick-witted, a hard worker, and one who speaks her mind. A woman like any other, who is guided by reason but who also lets emotion and passion dictate her actions. A woman like me.
This book is truly an Aladdin's cave, a treasure trove of ideas and inspirations and revelations that are always fresh and new to my thirsty mind. I revel in it. And in Jane.
More to come on various themes and symbolism- oh, I had such a wonderful time!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
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!
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!
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Making a List, Checking It Twice
Currently Reading: Inventing Ireland by Declan Kiberd and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (Yay!)
The air is heavy with heat, weighing down the bright green vegetable shoots, waving in their pots, decorating my balcony. The sky is a pinky blue-gray, holding on to the last vestiges of sunlight before slipping under the blanket of night. A fan whirrs, tub water runs. The smell of cilantro and lemon juice hang in the air. A Saturday ended, with nothing accomplished at home- I have calls to make, errands to run, articles to write. Yet the stillness begs me to pause and breathe and soak it in, that I may actually be part of these moments. A good time to reflect and ultimately, write.
Although my days are no longer regulated by the pattern of school days, I still experience an instinctual thrill at the onset of summer, a deep longing and anticipation for warm nights, swimming in the pool, the smell of barbeque smoke and new-mown grass, the taste of fresh veggies and fruit, and the freedom to read for hours on end. Preferably in a hammock. With a cold glass of lemonade. And a tomato to munch on.
Obviously my schedule is not as free as it once was, and my reading opportunities are no different now than they were this winter, but I still find myself making that summer reading list, daydreaming about the hours of summer reading stretching ahead of me. What is it about summer that awakens this desire?
Perhaps it's because I have always associated summer with transformation. Summer is what changes you from, say, a mere third grader to the hallowed status of the fourth grader. It propels you forward, preparing you for what is ahead. But at the same time, it holds the promise of restoration, of rejuvenation, as it gives us an excuse, an allowance to relax and breathe deeper. Dishes can wait, obligations can take a break, for it is summer time and if my book wants to be read, then I must oblige it. I look forward to slowing down, breathing deeper, and discovering life both in and out of the pages of a book.
Making lists is one of my favorite things to do and a summer reading list is like ice cream on a brownie- deliciousness piled onto deliciousness. Just making my summer reading list was so exciting, I felt as if I was writing my letter to Santa Claus. So exciting, in fact, that I showed it to my husband several times and to my sister twice. (They were very nice about it and pretended to be half as excited as I was. Thanks, guys!) And now I get to share it with you! Although I am sure I will add to it as the summer progresses, here is my official Summer Reading List 2012.
Jane Eyre
Inventing Ireland
Midnight in Peking (Finished in two days)
Tenant of Wildfell Hall (also being read by my blogging friend Jillian)
The Homemade Pantry (cookbook)
The Sevenwaters Trilogy (YA, maybe, but perfect for my Ireland-homesick heart)
The Wilder Life (memoir)
The Shadow of Night (a much anticipated fantasy read)
Isle of the Saints (Irish history book)
Lady Gregory's Complete Irish Mythology (are we sensing a pattern here?)
The Bluest Eye (my second Toni Morrison)
People of the Book (a little inspiration before grad school begins)
The Hunger Games series (why not? It's summer)
On Celtic Tides
Annie's Ghosts (a genealogy memoir)
Saving Darwin: How to Be a Christian and Believe in Evolution (because I am and I do)
The Origin of Species
And add some Louisa May Alcott books and a Yeats and/or Lady Gregory biography, and I will be good to go. I think it's a nice mix of "just for fun", historical, and classic fiction books. Just the way I like it.
At the end of August, I'll look back and see how I did.
Are you making summer reading lists? I'd love to hear about them.. and get some more ideas for mine!
The air is heavy with heat, weighing down the bright green vegetable shoots, waving in their pots, decorating my balcony. The sky is a pinky blue-gray, holding on to the last vestiges of sunlight before slipping under the blanket of night. A fan whirrs, tub water runs. The smell of cilantro and lemon juice hang in the air. A Saturday ended, with nothing accomplished at home- I have calls to make, errands to run, articles to write. Yet the stillness begs me to pause and breathe and soak it in, that I may actually be part of these moments. A good time to reflect and ultimately, write.
Although my days are no longer regulated by the pattern of school days, I still experience an instinctual thrill at the onset of summer, a deep longing and anticipation for warm nights, swimming in the pool, the smell of barbeque smoke and new-mown grass, the taste of fresh veggies and fruit, and the freedom to read for hours on end. Preferably in a hammock. With a cold glass of lemonade. And a tomato to munch on.
Obviously my schedule is not as free as it once was, and my reading opportunities are no different now than they were this winter, but I still find myself making that summer reading list, daydreaming about the hours of summer reading stretching ahead of me. What is it about summer that awakens this desire?
Perhaps it's because I have always associated summer with transformation. Summer is what changes you from, say, a mere third grader to the hallowed status of the fourth grader. It propels you forward, preparing you for what is ahead. But at the same time, it holds the promise of restoration, of rejuvenation, as it gives us an excuse, an allowance to relax and breathe deeper. Dishes can wait, obligations can take a break, for it is summer time and if my book wants to be read, then I must oblige it. I look forward to slowing down, breathing deeper, and discovering life both in and out of the pages of a book.
Making lists is one of my favorite things to do and a summer reading list is like ice cream on a brownie- deliciousness piled onto deliciousness. Just making my summer reading list was so exciting, I felt as if I was writing my letter to Santa Claus. So exciting, in fact, that I showed it to my husband several times and to my sister twice. (They were very nice about it and pretended to be half as excited as I was. Thanks, guys!) And now I get to share it with you! Although I am sure I will add to it as the summer progresses, here is my official Summer Reading List 2012.
Jane Eyre
Inventing Ireland
Tenant of Wildfell Hall (also being read by my blogging friend Jillian)
The Homemade Pantry (cookbook)
The Sevenwaters Trilogy (YA, maybe, but perfect for my Ireland-homesick heart)
The Wilder Life (memoir)
The Shadow of Night (a much anticipated fantasy read)
Isle of the Saints (Irish history book)
Lady Gregory's Complete Irish Mythology (are we sensing a pattern here?)
The Bluest Eye (my second Toni Morrison)
People of the Book (a little inspiration before grad school begins)
The Hunger Games series (why not? It's summer)
On Celtic Tides
Annie's Ghosts (a genealogy memoir)
Saving Darwin: How to Be a Christian and Believe in Evolution (because I am and I do)
The Origin of Species
And add some Louisa May Alcott books and a Yeats and/or Lady Gregory biography, and I will be good to go. I think it's a nice mix of "just for fun", historical, and classic fiction books. Just the way I like it.
At the end of August, I'll look back and see how I did.
Are you making summer reading lists? I'd love to hear about them.. and get some more ideas for mine!
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Returning Voyagers
Currently Reading: Inventing Ireland by Declan Kiberd (amazing examination of Irish literature and its political, social, and cultural context in the 20th century... LOVE)
Hello Wisconsin! (Imagine it in the way Topher Grace yells it at the end of the That 70's Show theme song.) And hello my dear little blog. I missed you.
Well, we're home. And we had the most amazing time.
The trip was everything I had hoped it would be.
Just Nathan, myself, and the whole grand scenery and history of Ireland, spread out around us.
My soul is full to bursting with beauty, with inspiration, with gratitude.
To put it simply, I fell in love.
Thanks for all of the thoughts, well wishes, and love. I'll fill you in on more details (and pictures!) later!
Hello Wisconsin! (Imagine it in the way Topher Grace yells it at the end of the That 70's Show theme song.) And hello my dear little blog. I missed you.
Well, we're home. And we had the most amazing time.
The trip was everything I had hoped it would be.
Just Nathan, myself, and the whole grand scenery and history of Ireland, spread out around us.
My soul is full to bursting with beauty, with inspiration, with gratitude.
To put it simply, I fell in love.
Thanks for all of the thoughts, well wishes, and love. I'll fill you in on more details (and pictures!) later!
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Writhing Insides
Currently Reading: Ireland by Frank Delaney
Guess what?! It's almost here. The big day. The biggest of days. The day when I finally step on an airplane in Chicago and disembark in the land of Cuchulain, Oisin, Yeats, and Joyce. Folks, I am going to Ireland. To say that I am excited is the equivalent of saying Leonardo da Vinci was OK with a paintbrush.
My insides are literally writhing with anticipation.
There's nothing else to say except that I have waited so long for this and it doesn't seem real that it is actually happening. I will be in the same place, on the same soil, where the Irish history I have read about for so long actually happened. The history will no longer be in my books, but it will be in the air I breathe and in the mud on my shoes and in the rain on my face. It seems impossible to me now, but the anticipation whirling throughout my stomach and dancing around my soul reminds me that it won't be long now. Posts may be few and far between this month, but I promise I will make up for it when I share some of our pictures.
Daydreaming about Ireland mixes with daydreaming about Thornfield Hall. (My two great loves....) Once I'm back home, I plan to indulge my craving for a Jane Eyre reread. All fifteen copies I own have been whispering my name every time I pass by my bookshelf, begging me to open them and fall in. Sometimes I oblige, but only briefly. My list of Irish history books and novels have kept me quite busy as I prepare for our epic trip, but once we return, traversing the halls of Thornfield is my first priority. Talk about anticipation! (P.S. For a fun literary smackdown between Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, check out Shelf Actualization's post from several days ago. I wonder who will win?! :)
Guess what?! It's almost here. The big day. The biggest of days. The day when I finally step on an airplane in Chicago and disembark in the land of Cuchulain, Oisin, Yeats, and Joyce. Folks, I am going to Ireland. To say that I am excited is the equivalent of saying Leonardo da Vinci was OK with a paintbrush.
My insides are literally writhing with anticipation.
There's nothing else to say except that I have waited so long for this and it doesn't seem real that it is actually happening. I will be in the same place, on the same soil, where the Irish history I have read about for so long actually happened. The history will no longer be in my books, but it will be in the air I breathe and in the mud on my shoes and in the rain on my face. It seems impossible to me now, but the anticipation whirling throughout my stomach and dancing around my soul reminds me that it won't be long now. Posts may be few and far between this month, but I promise I will make up for it when I share some of our pictures.
Daydreaming about Ireland mixes with daydreaming about Thornfield Hall. (My two great loves....) Once I'm back home, I plan to indulge my craving for a Jane Eyre reread. All fifteen copies I own have been whispering my name every time I pass by my bookshelf, begging me to open them and fall in. Sometimes I oblige, but only briefly. My list of Irish history books and novels have kept me quite busy as I prepare for our epic trip, but once we return, traversing the halls of Thornfield is my first priority. Talk about anticipation! (P.S. For a fun literary smackdown between Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, check out Shelf Actualization's post from several days ago. I wonder who will win?! :)
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