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Post by spaniard on Sept 29, 2006 13:41:08 GMT -5
Exactly, with spanish you never have the feeling of having no words, there are plenty of them and you can exchange them in many ways. I don´t remember when was the last time I used only one word to curse or insult someone.
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Post by janetcatbird on Sept 29, 2006 13:53:43 GMT -5
Well, soon as I work through "I, Claudius" I'll probably grab hold of the '84 adaptation of Jane Eyre and then I can discuss. Curse schoolwork blocking my fun reading!
And speaking of Klingon or Spanish profanities, hey, Jane could appreciate those "strange anathemas!" (How bout that tie-in, sports fans!)
--Catbird
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Post by spaniard on Sept 29, 2006 14:27:48 GMT -5
I started my new year at the University and now I feel guilty everytime I read something not included in my classes. They make me read so many books I don´t have time for the ones I want. Yes, they "make me read" because some teachers want to be so original they force me to read things I wouldn´t pick even drunk.
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Post by janetcatbird on Sept 29, 2006 16:11:02 GMT -5
Plus, even if you do have time to read your fun choice books, you're tired and brain-drained! Lately I've been going for short stories, because you can read them in one sitting and not have to worry about keeping track over long absences. But honestly, on the weekends I'm more likely to listen to music or watch movies.
I know Janethyland's not the only UK/Ireland resident on the board. Anybody else want to offer up an opinion on the new Jane Eyre adaptation?
--Catbird
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Post by Sirenna on Oct 21, 2006 19:27:33 GMT -5
which one is the new Jane Eyre adaptation? There are so many. It was never my favourite bronte novel to begin with...
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Post by janetcatbird on Jan 22, 2007 12:27:04 GMT -5
Well, Janet, Part 1 aired last night. You can be proud of me, I didn't yell at the TV once! I have a memory for the little details so I'm going to remember stuff they don't show, (or little things that weren't int he book, like Helen's tombstone), but I've gotten better at breathing deeply and telling myself "Film is not book, film is not book." I miss the little things from the novel, but in terms of general plot and basic elements of character they're fairly accurate.
I like the stylized stuff for young, over-imaginative Jane, and then the transition into more conventional humdrum as an adult. I must quibble about the little red neckerchief, and the blatant, obvious put it on when she feels good, take it off when lousy, but they could have done a heck of a lot worse. So glad they kept the portraits--as I myself have sobbed as I talked to the mirror to pull myself together, Ruth Wilson nailed it. The scarf in the attic--well, film is visual, I'll live with it, nice mystery there. The only bit I really had a problem with was the whole creek scene, with Rochester catching water beetles for Adele and then talking about the little grey bird: that was heavy-handed and didn't suit the particular line in the story, for any of the characters at that point. I miss the banter and teasing, they could have used more of the sharp back and forth.
This Rochester is pretty good--you're right, he is light, but they probably wanted to make him more accessible, less hammy-melodramatic-Heathcliff knock-off. Besides, on those occassions when he has to brood, he can pull it off. Jane is pretty good herself, because without constant voiceovers she still conveys nicely. Adele is a bit out of whack, exposition-wise, but the little grl does the part.
I almost let myself stay up for the 2 AM repeat, but was a good little student and made myself go to bed. But I got it on tape for later!
--Catbird
PS: By "children relate" do you mean just young people in general? I have a hard time thinking of any of the Brontes as "children's books", but when I told one professor I was 13 when I read Jane Eyre she said that was the perfect age. Maybe it depends on the kids, but Jane Eyre at least synchs well with adolescence: grown-up themes you're starting to deal with yourself, you feel sophisticated but it's still accessible. I think if I were to read it for the first time in my 20s I probably would be rolling my eyes at several instances. Villette, however, is definitely a late-teens/fairly grown-up story. (Maybe being a student is skewing my sense of child and grown-up, technically I'm an adult but I still think of me and my peers as kids.)
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rue721
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Post by rue721 on Jan 24, 2007 23:51:45 GMT -5
Has anyone seen the Jane Eyre adaptation that was in London last spring?
It was really fantastic!
I actually can't stand Charlotte's books, ESPECIALLY Villette, because her heroines always seem like such wet blankets. They are possibly the least fun characters I've ever heard of. How could anyone EVER want to hang out with Villette? The woman was not only uptight as hell, she was so insecure as to become untrustworthy. AND has a weird superiority/inferiority complex. I'll admit, the book was powerful.... because the woman was SO neurotically repressed as to be extremely disturbing.
What did you like about her, janetcatbird? DID you like her?
Jane Eyre bothered me for the same reasons, though it didn't seem quite SO stuffed with (autobiographically inspired?) insecurity, resentment, self-righteousness, hystaria, and repression. For example, why does Rochester need to be blinded in order to be with Jane? Is it because "somebody" is so self-conscious of her "plain-ness"? Because she only deserves/can win a damaged man?
I don't mean to offend anyone... I'm wondering how other people read these characters. I thought they were/Charlotte was a product of her time and class... too much so to be relatable today.
So, to anyone who liked/related to these characters- why/how do you think they are relevant today?
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Post by janetcatbird on Jan 25, 2007 13:45:34 GMT -5
Has anyone seen the Jane Eyre adaptation that was in London last spring? It was really fantastic! I actually can't stand Charlotte's books, ESPECIALLY Villette, because her heroines always seem like such wet blankets. They are possibly the least fun characters I've ever heard of. How could anyone EVER want to hang out with Villette? The woman was not only uptight as hell, she was so insecure as to become untrustworthy. AND has a weird superiority/inferiority complex. I'll admit, the book was powerful.... because the woman was SO neurotically repressed as to be extremely disturbing. ... insecurity, resentment, self-righteousness, hystaria, and repression. For example, why does Rochester need to be blinded in order to be with Jane? Is it because "somebody" is so self-conscious of her "plain-ness"? Because she only deserves/can win a damaged man? I don't mean to offend anyone... I thought they were/Charlotte was a product of her time and class... too much so to be relatable today. So, to anyone who liked/related to these characters- why/how do you think they are relevant today? Rue, no offense taken, thanks for asking. By "adaptation" do you mean film, TV, stage play, musical? I've heard the soundtrack from the Broadway musical and was not terribly impressed with the music, but I haven't actually seen the show. In terms of films I've seen Orson Welles (blech!), the Timothy Dalton/Zelah Clark (Dalton is technically too handsome, but they both nailed the characters), and I'm in the middle of the new Masterpiece Theatre, which so far I like. (Side note: I copied my thoughts on Masterpiece Theatre on the TV thread so we wouldn't take away from the books.) (By the way, Villette is the title and name of the town, the heroine of that story was Lucy Snowe.) Maybe Bronte was a little too successful in describing external reactions--part of the characters' nature is they're so reserved and, admittedly, uptight that everyone except their special someone sees them as a "wet blanket". (I must admit I'm curious to know why, with such little sympathy for the main characters, you enjoyed a non-book form of the story. What made that work for you?) Self-esteem, well, I've gotten a bit better, but my teenage years were hell and so all the insecurities, shame at appearance, awkwardness, etc. really hit with me. (I suppose it's strange that I enjoyed such things; looking back I should have wanted an escape from all that. It was easier to attach to those who went through what I did than some aloof, perfect creature who would never be able to sympathize with my plight. I'm cold on Audrey Hepburn's roles for that same reason.) Besides, the books let you feel good in that they manage to overcome such troubles, even if they're not new and happy and sing-songy they don't let it paralyze them. Rochester's blinding: I believe that was Victorian (or whatever period) morality. He was, after all, a would-be bigamist and polite society couldn't let it all go back to the way he was. Besides, she ruffled enough feathers with the hypocrisy and abuse at Lowood. Punishment and redemption and all that jazz. It's really not about shielding Jane's plain looks (and I never read "plain" as butt-ugly, just unremarkable not-a-knock-out), because they were ready for each other even when they were all able-bodied. What exactly makes you think of Lucy as "untrustworthy"? I don't see her as maliciously deceitful or manipulative--sure, she keeps secrets but she's protecting herself, not hurting people. If, however, you mean "unreliable narration due to a nervous breakdown when we don't know what the heck was going on", well, I think that was the point. Charlotte herself fell in love with a teacher she couldn't have and suffered a meltdown during her time in Brussels, so Villette really is the whole Dragnet true-story-with-the-names-changed. Maybe it's just easier for me to relate to them because I am a very shy, reserved, guarded person and it takes a long time for me to ease up and cut loose with people. Except for me, that's just my personality; for poor governesses it was not only necessary protocol, but a defense mechanism. If they stepped out of bounds and got too familiar, or lost their decorum, they could be turned out with nowhere to go. (Anne Bronte's Agnes Grey exhibits the same restraint/mask of calm, and although she never really "breaks free" like Jane and Lucy we do know that underneath the poker face she wanted to cry and scream.) I think that's why the books really click with some people, and leave others flat. If you can see yourself in the characters then it's easier to be absorbed. That was what hit me with Villette, I think; I read it when I was going through some very difficult emotional troubles and it just resonated on a lot of levels. I think I said this way back a few pages, but part of the appeal of Jane Eyre for a thirteen-year-old girl is the triumph of the ugly duckling. Awkward adolescents live and dream of that for themselves, so we like to live vicariously through stories. Emotions are emotions, whatever the external circumstances that triggered them, so there's my approach to "timelessness". That, Janet, may be how young people today can get hooked on the classics. In America I know the year ahead of us at our school had to do Jane Eyre for summer reading, and in 12th grade (17/18 year olds, last year before college) every British literature class read Wuthering Heights. With that one I couldn't relate to Cathy and Heathcliff at all, and throughly disliked them, but we've been through that! I think the problem here is that "classics" are so associated with "required school drudge work" that it takes luck to enjoy the school novels and voluntary effort to track down the ones that didn't make it to the curriculum. (Unless there's a movie burst like Austen in the mid-90s, she's not my favorite but that's for another place.) --Catbird
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rue721
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Post by rue721 on Jan 25, 2007 15:00:28 GMT -5
Ooops! Sorry about not remembering "Lucy Snow"- I read the book 3 years ago or so, and some things are slightly hazy (though I will say that the book stuck with me a lot more than usual!) I saw the Jane Eyre play in London- it wasn't a musical, just a normal play... but VERY well done. I was feeling like something Victorian-y that day, so I decided to see it... a sort of lame explaination I know, but eh Anyway, I enjoyed it a lot more than the books, because the actress who played Jane had a very energetic, slightly earthy vibe, and it lightened up the character a bit for me. Also, the version of herself that Jane usually kept repressed was a character in the play..... at first, in Jane's childhood, she was a kind of brightly dressed twin.... but then she was locked away after a bad punishment (still in childhood), though she was visible onstage for the whole course of the play... and eventually that "twin" doubled as the first Mrs. Rochester. A really great reading/representation of the book, I thought. Anyway- I didn't mean that either Lucy or Jane were actually written to be outstandingly ugly, but that both characters (and presumably Charlotte) were very self-conscious of not being a beauty- and were very insecure because of it. I think 3/4 of looks are actually how a person views themself, anyway. A LOT of looking good has to do with how you carry yourself, and present yourself to the world.... and both these characters made a point to present themselves as unattractive. I think maybe it had to do with both of them needing to be "intellectual" for their livlihoods. As the other thread on body image was saying.... there is an idea that beauty and brains are mutually exclusive (in a woman at least)... so Lucy and Jane (and Charlotte) decided on being brains instead of being beauties. That's another big problem that I had with the characters- they were SO complacent! None of them questioned the role they were cast in. None of them thought that just maybe all that ideology about gender and class etc was really all crap! I'm not saying I can't relate to any character is who is not a feminist- but I have a problem with a so-called bright character who doesn't even consider the possibility that mantaining the status quo isn't the only way to live. Lucy Snow buys completely into the status quo's ideals, but she feels very insecure because she fears that she cannot be ideal... and that makes her resentful and jealous.... which to me, means that she can't be trustworty. I'm not saying she's a liar, but that she's too insecure to be a true friend. She's so desperate to feel better about herself, and to gain social validation, that she can't be trusted to act disinterestly, on someone else's behalf. Maybe her fiancee, but that's different, since bagging him is the ultimate social validation for her. I guess I just don't trust people who aren't confident, because I don't think they have as many inner resources as people who are. That said, maybe I'm just being prejudiced. I guess I'm the opposite of Jane or Lucy, in that I'm a very open, social person.... but I always watch my back. Jane and Lucy both have a lot of trust in the world- they trust Rochester and Paul, they trust society to tell them what the best way to be is, what the ideal is... they buy into everything. They just feel hysterical and insecure that maybe they aren't making the grade, but they never really try and see beneath the surface- of either people, or situations. That's maybe why the books are very good for younger people- people who haven't been disillusioned by the so-called GOOD things in life yet (like love), but are still just scared that they won't ever get those "good" things. I don't mean to say that I'm such a cynic, or that reading about people who aren't yet cynical can't be fun or rewarding. I just personally get annoyed with characters who feel so beaten down by society, and yet STILL don't question its values- even if their actions couldn't change, their mindsets could have!
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Post by janetcatbird on Jan 26, 2007 20:48:01 GMT -5
Ooops! Sorry about not remembering "Lucy Snow"- I read the book 3 years ago or so, and some things are slightly hazy (though I will say that the book stuck with me a lot more than usual!) ....the actress who played Jane had a very energetic, slightly earthy vibe, and it lightened up the character a bit for me. Also, the version of herself that Jane usually kept repressed was a character in the play..... but that both characters (and presumably Charlotte) were very self-conscious of not being a beauty- and were very insecure because of it. .... and both these characters made a point to present themselves as unattractive. I think maybe it had to do with both of them needing to be "intellectual" for their livlihoods. As the other thread on body image was saying.... there is an idea that beauty and brains are mutually exclusive (in a woman at least)... so Lucy and Jane (and Charlotte) decided on being brains instead of being beauties. That's another big problem that I had with the characters- they were SO complacent! None of them questioned the role they were cast in. None of them thought that just maybe all that ideology about gender and class etc was really all crap! ... I have a problem with a so-called bright character who doesn't even consider the possibility that mantaining the status quo isn't the only way to live. Lucy Snow buys completely into the status quo's ideals, but she feels very insecure because she fears that she cannot be ideal... and that makes her resentful and jealous.... which to me, means that she can't be trustworty. I'm not saying she's a liar, but that she's too insecure to be a true friend. She's so desperate to feel better about herself, and to gain social validation, that she can't be trusted to act disinterestly, on someone else's behalf. ... they trust society to tell them what the best way to be is, what the ideal is... they buy into everything. They just feel hysterical and insecure that maybe they aren't making the grade, but they never really try and see beneath the surface- of either people, or situations. I just personally get annoyed with characters who feel so beaten down by society, and yet STILL don't question its values- even if their actions couldn't change, their mindsets could have! Wow, great discussion! I'm always glad to have real meat to get into besides "Oh, that was boring"; if I ever get too obnoxious in my Bronte fascination/obsession, let me know. And that stage play does sound really fascinating, curse my distance from a good theatre district! (By the way, I've forgotten the names of characters in books I read two days before! Don't feel bad about Lucy.) It's been a couple years since I really read the books completely through, so I need to go back. (I am gonna hold off an Jane until after Masterpiece Theatre, though, cause I don't want to spoil myself.) But if I recall correctly, Jane and Lucy did question society's standards. They just did it internally rather than raise a big public stink, but when they had a mental monologue about hypocrisy (the religious Lowood people) or women's roles (Lucy getting annoyed with Ginevra) they did call out the limitations. They just weren't in a position to do much about it. As to earthy and lively, I thought that Jane and Lucy really were, they just hid it from everybody except Rochester/M. Paul. Remember Rochester teasing her about being the fairy or witch, or going back and forth with M. Paul at the museum with the indecent pictures? (God I love that scene with the Cleopatra in Villette.) Agnes Grey and Tenant of Wildfell Hallby the way, have the protagonists REALLY question society marriages and the plight of the governess. Agnes wasn't so much calling for a revolution as just pointing out "Yeah, it's rough and it sucks, we're people too so treat us right." It was Wildfell Hall that got people up in arms--see, here's what happens in society matches based solely on property, and don't whitewash the drinking and temper and drug problems, because they do indeed hurt people. (Bramwell Bronte had just done himself in by drink and I believe opium, so it was a touchy subject.) But if you thought Jane and Lucy were sticks in the mud I doubt you'd like Agnes much either--she's much quieter and more goody-two-shoes than Charlotte's protagonists, although I love the quiet snark that slips through her facade. At least Helen in Wildfell Hall slams the door shut on her alcoholic abusive husband. (By the way, digression, but what's the proper pronunciation for "Wildfell"? Is it WILD-fell--long "eye" sound-- or WILLED-fell as in "ill"? I figure since Rue and Janet are from that region they can help a girl across the pond!) Jane gets a few defiant moments--refusing the rich elaborate wardrobe Rochester tries to indulge in, insisting that she will still work and earn her keep ("Honey, you're gonna be taking wages from the guy you're married to," I found myself saying, but she tried.) While keeping and running a girls' school is hardly revolutionary or rebellious, Lucy was trying to be independant and take care of herself, rather than relying solely on a husband or currying favor with rich friends. I guess we're spoiled nowadays, I find myself yelling at old-fashioned characters to "Just beat him!" or "Honey, run, what are you doing in there?!?!" but really they couldn't. You have to have some means to take care of yourself, even if you are eccentric and removed from society, and Jane/Lucy/every Bronte lady didn't have that capability. In a critical essay I once read I saw that apparently a couple of Charlotte's good friends lit out for New Zealand, where on the rough frontier it was a little easier to make your own way, but that wasn't a real choice for most women. The very fact that the Brontes were authors, who dealt with slightly scandalous characters and situations, was a rebellion against their role. Anne especially got called all sorts of things--usually vulgar and depraved--for her works, and she was the preachy one! I have a soft spot for Anne further back in the thread, but again I need to go back and read. (PBS has a link for more background info, by the way. Hardly academic but it does try to answer a few questions for viewers/readers like us who wonder "So, WHY did they put themselves through such grief?" www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/janeeyre/governess.html for the role of a governess and her situation.) As to the plainess, that was a defiance. Charlotte cast a plain heroine in Jane Eyre to prove that you could have an interesting, vital, lively heroine who wasn't an angelic or ethereal beauty. (And that was probably part of the unattractiveness of the men too--less divine hero and more earthly, equal match.) Have you read much other literature from the period? Those women really were ninnies! Jane and Lucy have spunk compared to them! I've spouted enough, now. Sorry, but obviously I can get wound up on this! Thanks for the tolerance! --Catbird
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rue721
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Post by rue721 on Jan 27, 2007 2:58:14 GMT -5
No worries, Janetcatbird! I'm def. interested in your thoughts on these books!
You're right, I'm putting too much unfair pressure on these heroines/authors/novels to be modern. And on the other hand, maybe the conventions of femininity, in regards to beauty and intellect, that are questioned, are still too engrained in me- maybe, strangly, the books are TOO modern for me?
It's wrenching to read about someone who has no way out of her (oppressive) situation, especially when she seems SO desperate to find a way out. I guess I wasn't satisfied that neither the heroines (nor Charlotte herself) was creative enough. Charlotte bothered me as a writer, because I think that marriage is a cheap ending for such disturbing stories. Yes, Lucy doesn't really get her man. But the thing with Villette is that it seems like such a work of neurosis- you can just see Charlotte's soul spilling from every page, and it's uncomfortable. I think Lucy's broken engagment just reflected Charlotte's own pessimism and lack of confidence.
I think you're right that the choice of plain (and middle class?) heroines, and of even semi-unhappy endings are pretty transgressive... but I wish Charlotte had used more anger and less pathos in her construction of story arcs.
The thing with oppression is that by imagining an escape from it, that escape becomes possible. And, while Charlotte and her heroines might not have bought everything re: femininity (though I think they bought quite a lot of it- from they way that they defined themselves so much by their looks... not regardless of their looks, but in spite, or because of them)... they certainly bought the status quo in regards to class.
Maybe Charlotte is fighting for a meritocracy, by setting her middle class Jane up with Rochester. But otherwise, people seem to stick pretty tightly to their own. And even with Jane, her class more than her looks seem to keep her from Rochester- it puts her out of his social circle more definitely.
By the way- have you read Gissing's The Odd Women? I think you'd like it, because though Gissing is not as good a writer as Charlotte, in this book he's writing about the problems women of the time had with marriage, and opportunity, and it's very interesting in a social/historical kind of way.
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rue721
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Post by rue721 on Jan 27, 2007 3:48:06 GMT -5
UGH, I don't want to subjected to anyone's therapy session. I think art as neurosis means art as self-indulgence. Of course, since making art is an intuitive process, private neurosis and obsessions are going to shine through, and guide an author's writing. But writing is a craft, not some magical gift. It is a method of communication above all- and yes, maybe even a way of communicating with yourself, as author... but if it is only to be for you, by you- why do I (the audience) have to read it? It is the writer's job to tell a compelling story, the audience's job to appreciate it, and the critic's job to analyze it. Assigning yourself to too many roles isn't good for anyone- or for the work itself... it's a form a hubris, I think.
Regardless, I don't mean to be TOO down on Villette, because though I disliked reading it, it really was a powerful book. I just think it was MUCH more revealing of its author than it was meant to be, but I don't necessarily think Charlotte's writing of the book was a selfish or self-indulgent act, in the same way most angsty teenage poetry is. ;D
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rue721
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Post by rue721 on Jan 27, 2007 4:15:12 GMT -5
Well, talent IS a magical gift I guess... but I don't really think talent means all that much. It just means you have a capacity to learn in that particular area (and since everyone's got SOME capacity to learn any subject, I think everyone's got SOME talent in every subject)... I think it takes skills to actually create a good product.
Talent is just potential- it doesn't mean anything unless it's tapped. And without both skills and drive, it can't be.
Talent, skills, and drive, are all that I see coming into play in the creation of art. There are a lot of romantic notions out there about "inspiration," but I think those all cheapen the real hard work that artists put into their creations. Writing or painting or composing are all jobs that require work, time, talent, and creativity- just like any other demanding job.
I don't think being a great painter, per se, is any more (or less) magical than being a great basketball player, or a great CEO... or a great blacksmith.
I just don't want someone to dress up their neurosis in all that artsy-fartsy romantic bull, and then sell it to me as a work of art... because the "work" matters at least as much as the "art" in creation- and craft matters more than catharsis. Craft is necessary for successful communication in art just like grammer is in conversation.
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Post by Sirenna on Jan 30, 2007 23:26:17 GMT -5
I've heard it pronounced 'Willed-feld" Hall; short 'i' , short 'e'.
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Post by janetcatbird on Jan 31, 2007 18:19:18 GMT -5
Sirenna, thank you! Janet and Rue, wow, look what I missed! When I have time to think coherently I may try to squeeze in a response. Over the weekend, I re-read Agnes Grey. I really don't know why I like it so much, because Agnes really is a very tame character, and it is a slow, gentle novel. Though I keep talking about "She had a point on socioeconomic status!" that's the sort of field that usually makes me retch. Maybe I can't help rooting for the underdog. Mainly I just enjoy and admire the fact that Agnes doesn't let herself get too carried away. Yes she has strong feelings and takes a couple of hard blows, but she eats her Powdermilk Biscuits ("gives shy persons the strength to get up and do what needs to be done") and survives to get by alright. I first read it in an especially mopey phase, so that helped me get going again. For those interested, I blathered on about Part 2 of Jane Eyre over at "Other TV Talk" on the Masterpiece Theatre thread. Janet I mentioned a couple of your points here if you'd like some give-and-take. And just to show that I am able to laugh at myself and the Brontes, this terrific article. The title alone made me literally laugh out loud, in a quick bark that scared my roommate. Enjoy! "Reader, I Shagged Him"Print-friendly versionMain page for articleSince her death 150 years ago, Charlotte Brontë has been sanitised as a dull, Gothic drudge. Far from it, says Tanya Gold; the author was a filthy, frustrated, sex-obsessed geniusTanya Gold Friday March 25, 2005
GuardianElizabeth Gaskell is a literary criminal, who, in 1857, perpetrated a heinous act of grave-robbing. Gaskell took Charlotte Brontë, the author of Jane Eyre, the dirtiest, darkest, most depraved fantasy of all time, and, like an angel murdering a succubus, trod on her. In a "biography" called The Life of Charlotte Brontë, published just two years after the author's death, Gaskell stripped Charlotte of her genius and transformed her into a sexless, death-stalked saint. As the 150th anniversary of her death on March 31 1855 approaches, it is time to rescue Charlotte Brontë. She has been chained, weeping, to a radiator in the Haworth Parsonage, Yorkshire, for too long. Enough of Gaskell's fake miserabilia. Enough of the Brontë industry's veneration of coffins, bonnets and tuberculosis. It is time to exhume the real Charlotte - filthy B***h, grandmother of chick-lit, and friend. When I first read her at the age of 13, I thought she was another boring Gothic drudge who got lucky. When I returned to her 10 years later, I recognised her. Charlotte was an obscure, ugly parson's daughter, a sometime governess and schoolmistress. Her father Patrick had fought his way from Ireland into Cambridge University and the church. She was toothless, almost penniless and - to Victorian society - worthless. But she dared to transcend her background and her situation. In her novel Jane Eyre, a dark Cinderella tale of a plain, orphaned governess, she dared, baldly, to state her lust. After I had reread Jane Eyre, I wanted to know what dark genius created this world. I turned to Elizabeth Gaskell's Life, but I could not recognise the sanitised Charlotte she conjured up. Gaskell befriended Charlotte when the novelist was 34 and already a star. Contemporary critics had been appalled by Jane Eyre's "coarseness", but the public was thrilled and Charlotte was a celebrity. Gaskell waspishly described her first sight of Charlotte in a letter: "She is underdeveloped, thin and more than half a head shorter than I ... [with] a reddish face, large mouth and many teeth gone; altogether plain." Gaskell described her encounters with Charlotte to friends in long, gossipy, gawking letters. "I have so much to say I don't know where to begin ..." And Charlotte noticed Gaskell's need to weaken and infantilise her, writing to her publisher, George Smith, "she seems determined that I shall be a sort of invalid. Why may I not be well like other people?" Gaskell was already hungrily plotting the biography, which she convinced herself was an act of charity. She wanted to rescue her friend from the accusations of "coarseness" and she did not have to wait long: Charlotte died in 1855, nine months after her wedding to Arthur Bell Nicholls. Gaskell portrays Charlotte as Victim Supreme. She begins to sew her shroud from her first chapter, when she copies out the Brontë grave tablet in Haworth church, voluptuously listing those who died of consumption: Charlotte's mother, Maria, her sisters Maria, Elizabeth, Anne and Emily, and her brother Branwell. Charlotte, Anne and Emily were "shy of meeting even familiar faces". They "never faced their kind voluntarily". The Brontës are shown, with understated relish, as lonely, half-mad spinsters, surrounded by insufferable yokels and the unmentionable stench of death. Under Gaskell's pen, they become the three witches of Haworth and she hurls on the Gothic gloom, ravaging the moorlands and the town for appropriate props. She has a particular fondness for the graveyard outside their front door: "It is," she notes, "terribly full of upright tombstones." She is bewildered by the Brontës. She could never accept they were, quite simply, talented. There had to be a magical mystery at work on those moors ... Gaskell carefully fillets the letters to match her agenda. Any hint of Charlotte as a sexual being is tossed on to the historical furnace. Charlotte's correspondence with the (married) love of her life, Monsieur Heger of Brussels, is ignored, as is her thwarted romance with George Smith. Gaskell could hardly leave out Charlotte's marriage to Arthur Nicholls - but no doubt she would have liked to. Her biography is the ultimate piece of feminine passive-aggression, a mediocre writer's attempt to reduce the brilliant Miss Brontë to poor, pitiful Miss Brontë. Gaskell wrote the Life as a tragedy, not a triumph. But if Charlotte Brontë's life is a tragedy, what hope is there for the rest of us? Let me introduce you to the real Charlotte Brontë. She was not a wallflower in mourning. She always wanted to be famous; she pined to be "forever known". Aged 20, she wrote boldly to the Poet Laureate Robert Southey, asking for his opinion of her talents. He replied: "You evidently possess and in no inconsiderable degree what Wordsworth calls 'the faculty of verse'." Then he chides her: "There is a danger of which I would ... warn you. The daydreams in which you habitually indulge are likely to induce a distempered state of mind. Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life and it ought not to be." Charlotte ignored Southey but Gaskell couldn't believe it. She concluded the correspondence "made her put aside, for a time, all idea of literary enterprise". Charlotte continued in her position as a schoolteacher, which she had already held for a year. But she hated her profession and heartily despised the aggravating brats she was forced to teach. As the children at Roe Head School did their lessons, she wrote in her journal: "I had been toiling for nearly an hour. I sat sinking from irritation and weariness into a kind of lethargy. The thought came over me: am I to spend all the best part of my life in this wretched bondage, forcibly suppressing my rage at the idleness, the apathy and the hyperbolic and most asinine stupidity of these fat headed oafs and on compulsion assuming an air of kindness, patience and assiduity? Must I from day to day sit chained to this chair prisoned within these four bare walls, while the glorious summer suns are burning in heaven and the year is revolving in its richest glow and declaring at the close of every summer day the time I am losing will never come again? Just then a dolt came up with a lesson. I thought I should have vomited." Note to Mrs Gaskell: Charlotte didn't want to kiss those children; she wanted to vomit on them. Charlotte did not only feel passionate hatred for small children; she felt passionate love for men. Unlike the female eunuch created by Gaskell, she was obsessed with her sensuality. She wrote to a friend: "If you knew my thoughts; the dreams that absorb me; and the fiery imagination that at times eats me up ... you would pity and I daresay despise me." The thwarted lust of a parson's daughter? Gaskell dismisses it as "traces of despondency". In Brussels, studying to become a governess at Heger's school, the virgin became ever more lustful. She wrote obsessive letters to him, begging for his attention. "I would write a book and dedicate it to my literature master - to the only master I have ever had - to you Monsieur." Later she writes: "Day or night I find neither rest nor peace. If I sleep I have tortured dreams in which I see you always severe, always gloomy and annoyed with me. I do not seek to justify myself, I submit to every kind of reproach - all that I know - is that I cannot - that I will not resign myself to losing the friendship of my master completely - I would rather undergo the greatest physical sufferings. If my master withdraws his friendship entirely from me I will be completely without hope ... I cling on to preserving that little interest - I cling on to it as I cling on to life." When Gaskell heard of these letters she panicked. "I cannot tell you how I should deprecate anything leading to the publication of these letters," she clucked to her publisher. Charlotte's "master" did not return her love, but Jane Eyre's did. Charlotte's fixation with sex could not be realised in truth - so she realised it in fiction. Jane Eyre has spawned a thousand luscious anti-heroes, and a million Pills & Swoon paperbacks. Her prose is dribbling, watchful and erotic. It's much better than The Story of O, or Naked Plumbers Fix Your Tap. In Jane Eyre she created the men she could not have in the sack: rude, rich, besotted Edward Rochester and beautiful, sadistic St-John Rivers. Both, naturally, beg to marry Jane and Charlotte draws every sigh and blush and wince exquisitely. She writes long, detailed scenarios for her paper lovers. Jane loves to argue with them and she always comes out on top. In the throbbing, climactic scene, after Rochester has teased her (lovingly, of course), she pouts: "Do you think, because I am poor, plain, obscure and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! I have as much soul as you and full as much heart. And if God have gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh - it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed though the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal - as we are." Rochester melts. "'As we are!' repeated Mr Rochester - 'so,' he added, enclosing me in his arms, gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: 'so, Jane!'" The St-John fantasies are filthier yet, as Charlotte's masochism oozes on to the page. "Know me to be what I am," he tells Jane. "A cold, hard man." Jane watches St-John admire a painting of a beautiful woman and the voyeurism excites her; "he breathed low and fast; I stood silent". I know Charlotte had an orgasm as she wiped the ink from her fingers and went to take her father his spectacles. Charlotte was not only randy; she was rude. She was sent a copy of Jane Austen's Emma and spouted bile all over it. "[Austen] ruffles her reader with nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound," she B***hes. "The passions are perfectly unknown to her ... the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death - this Miss Austen ignores." Later she smacks her more firmly over the bonnet. "Miss Austen is not a poetess. Can there ever be a great artist without poetry?" If Charlotte slagged off Austen - her only real rival in the canon of superb, sex-starved writers - what would she have made of Gaskell's blackwash? I suspect she would have seen it for what it was - the one parasitic shot at immortality of a second-rate writer. I decide to visit Saint Central - the parsonage museum at Haworth - to see if anything of the real Charlotte remains. Might a leg, or an arm or a finger be sticking out from under Gaskell's smiling tombstone? It doesn't look good for Charlotte. Just nine months after the 150th anniversary of her wedding (there was a mock ceremony, with a shop manager as Mr Nicholls and the villagers as the villagers) the Brontë groupies are excitedly preparing the "celebrations" for the 150th anniversary of her death. A "light installation" is projecting a shadowy grim reaper. Yes - it is Death. It crawls across Patrick's pillows, returns and crawls again. Pictures of the "Brontë waterfall" are gushing noisily over the front of the parsonage. Inside the house are the relics, pristine and pornographic. Charlotte's clothing is imprisoned behind glass: her ghastly wedding bonnet, covered with lace; her gloves; her bag; her spectacles. I can see from the dress that she was a dwarf. A genius indeed, but a dwarf. In the shop, Gaskell, again, has won. There is every Brontë-branded item the mother of the cult could wish, except, perhaps, enormous golden Bs. I choose a gold fridge magnet, a tea-towel that says "Brontë genius - love, life and literature" and a toy sheep stamped with the word "Brontë". There is a Jane Eyre mouse mat that says, "I am no bird and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will." This souvenir disgusts me, but no doubt Mrs Gaskell would love it. In Jane Eyre, Charlotte wrote "independent human being". She did not write "independent mouse mat". I can find no remnant of the breathing, brilliant novelist in Haworth; it is merely the site of a death cult that weirdly resents its god. I wander up the road to the moors and am surprised they haven't packaged the mud - "Real Brontë Mud!" As the taxi bumps down the famous cobbled street, past the Brontë tea-rooms, the Villette coffee shop, Thornfield sheltered housing (imagine 50 creaking Mr Rochesters) and the Brontë Balti (Brontë special - Chicken Tikka; it's true), I yearn to rip the road signs down and torch the parsonage. This shrine needs desecrating, and I want to watch it burn. I want to see the fridge magnets melt, the tea-towels explode and the wedding bonnet wither. Somewhere, glistening in the ashes, there might remain a copy of Jane Eyre. That is all of Charlotte Brontë that need loiter here. Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2006(Farkle! I don't know why the click links won't work, but those are the addresses! Mods, please help! Thank you!) --Catbird [It is best to use the url= and /url tags when posting links.]: [url= link address ] Short description relating to linked item [ /url ] No spaces. PS: Thanks, jethro! I never knew how the tag things worked. Love ya, mean it!
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