And I really don’t have much to say about it. But that’s not to say I thought it was boring.
I chose Jane Eyre as my selection for Ann and Michael’s Beowulf on the Beach summer reading challenge because I’d been wanting to read it for quite a while and could never quite get motivated for it. I’m glad I read it. I appreciated the writing, and I get why it’s a classic.
But man, is it ever plot-driven. I had no idea there would be so little character development and so many extensive descriptions. The action is almost “blink and you miss it,” as Jane spends a hundred pages talking about day-to-day life and then makes a major revelation in just a few sentences. And she does that several times.
It also doesn’t help that going into this, my first reading of Jane Eyre, I already knew two important plot points: the big secret and how it ends. Now, I did enjoy seeing how the story unfolded, and I tried to be objective and think about whether a moment would have had tension if I hadn’t known what was going to happen, and the answer was usually yes. Brontë takes forever to build up to things, even after she’s given us plenty clues, and the revelations—quick as they are—are thoroughly satisfying.
If not for the antiquated language and all of the 19th century obsessing about propriety and social strata, I might have forgotten how old this book is, and that’s a good thing. Brontë’s writing is significantly less affected than that of many of her peers (Mr. Dickens, I love you, but I’m looking at you right now), and it allowed me to get pulled into the story rather than tangled up in phrasing. Jack Murnighan also points this out in Beowulf on the Beach by saying “it takes a masterful hand to write prose that feels so uncrafted,” and I couldn’t agree more.
Reading the chapter on Jane Eyre in Beowulf on the Beach definitely made me appreciate how difficult Brontë’s life was and, because of that, how amazing it is that we have this book at all.
Many young people screen themselves from their agonizing lives by reading books; the Bronte sisters did so by writing them.
I’m all for overcoming odds and making lemonade out of lemons and all that good turn-your-frown-upside-down stuff, so I’ll give Ms. Brontë her due props. But I still can’t say I loved her book.
I know Jane Eyre is a favorite for many of you, and I’d love to know more about why—maybe I missed something, or maybe knowing the big secrets ruined it, or, well, maybe 160-year-old gothic romances just aren’t my speed.
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