‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Brontë Is Intense, Intelligent, and Far From Ideal

"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child... What must you do to avoid [burning in hell forever]?"...

"I must keep in good health and not die."

-from Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre

Upon re-reading the classic novel Jane Eyre (1847) by Charlotte Brontë, published 175 years ago, I was delighted by the thoughtful, intelligent intensity of the story—yet I was dismayed, too, in particular by the harsh character of Mr. Rochester. I suppose it’s as they so often say—the writing counts more than the story—because I still adore this superbly-written novel. So keep that in mind as I critique its premise here (warning: contains spoilers!).

Author Sophia Alexander
with her girlhood copy of Jane Eyre

As the mother of a college-age daughter, the idea of this nineteen-year-old governess being isolated at this middle-aged man’s estate and at his beck and call seemed not romantic at all this go-round!  His vitriol towards his former lovers does not bode well for Jane, either.  Not only that, but he shows a lack of regard for his Jane’s (and his household’s) safety in leaving the day after someone sets fire to his bedcurtains—even insisting that the incident be kept quiet. He soon returns with a host of people, not warning any of them of the danger, either.  He shows himself to be dishonest, not just tricking Jane over the critical matter that comes between them, but finding it amusing to toy with her feelings and to trick her at other times as well. His condescension is a bit insufferable.

That said, I adore the character of Jane Eyre herself. Her sincerity and morality are inspiring—even though she shows a certain naïvete with regard to taking Mr. Rochester at face value. I’m not sure that fault isn’t all too common, however, even among intelligent women.

I first read the novel as a girl, perhaps ten years old. At the time I hoped Jane would marry the honest, almost saintly Mr. Rivers. I was dismayed at her attraction to Mr. Rochester then, too, as no doubt I found him mean. Despite all my criticisms of Rochester thus far, though, I can now better appreciate that Jane was obviously in love with him and not with cold, scrupulous Mr. Rivers, whose life goals seem more questionable now than they did at my last reading, misguided on many fronts. So there was actually a certain sweetness for me at the end of the novel this time round that I simply could not appreciate as a girl.

Curiosities within the novel include the sanded floors and the coal and peat used in the fireplaces. I’d heard of peat being burnt in Ireland for fuel, but I wasn’t aware that this was common in Yorkshire. Are the floors really covered with sand? At one point, Mr. Rivers is dripping onto the floor after a rainshower, and then Jane has to contend with the resultant mud.

I was charmed by some of the antiquated language used by Charlotte Brontë, though she sounds surprisingly modern when Mr. Rochester says to Jane, “You look depressed.” Not melancholic, not phlegmatic, but depressed!

The author is more old-fashioned, I presume, in saying ‘unclosed’ instead of ‘opened’, so often.  How curious!  I’ll have to pay attention to see if Jane Austen does that as well. Like that very famous author, Charlotte also uses the phrase ‘does not signify’ to mean ‘doesn’t matter’. 

I was tickled when Mr. Rochester annoyingly calls Jane a ‘thing’, as my mother used to do that when she was irritated with us. “You’re a thing!” she’d say. I’d never heard that before (not that I recall), outside her family, but apparently it’s an honest-to-goodness old-time insult.  Even worse, my mother would call us, “you little nothings,” with utmost contempt when she was truly angry—and I suppose it could have been that way in Charlotte’s day, too. I wonder!

Speaking of my mother, she bears a similarity to Mr. Rivers’ sister in that she once took it upon herself to read through an entire set of encyclopedias (it was of note to me that lexicons and encyclopedias were commonplace in the early 19^th century). Otherwise, my mother never considered herself a bookworm at all, preferring crosswords and logic games. I don’t know if the encyclopedia in Jane Eyre is a multi-volume set or not, but Jane is impressed by Miss Rivers’ feat, too, even deeming her own intellect inferior to Miss Rivers’—as indeed, I felt mine was next to my wise and forward-thinking mother.

While Jane Eyre could hardly be described as a humorous novel, Charlotte certainly has her moments. For instance, when young Jane is asked what she should do to keep out of the flames of hell, she replies, “I must keep in good health, and not die.” Charlotte’s wry humor shows up only sporadically, but I found her references to fairies and elves, gipsies and magic to have an amusing, whimsical quality.

Perhaps Charlotte Brontë’s magical references were in part influenced by the publication of Hans Christian Anderson’s fairytales a decade before. She even refers to Ariel in passing, something about the wind carrying her voice, certainly a ‘Little Mermaid’ reference.

Another minor intrigue for me is that Jane admires the sunlight, calling it ‘his light’. Given her occasional pagan references, I was reminded of Amun-Ra of Egyptian mythology or perhaps the Greek god Apollo.

Now for the ‘coincidence’ that struck me most:  The beginning of Jane Eyre is very much like Harry Potter. Note that the Brits sometimes even pronounce Harry as “’arry”, which isn’t so far from the pronunciation of ‘Eyre’ (like ‘air’), just adding a -y. So Miss Eyre (our little Eyre-y) is orphaned and brought up in her aunt’s house, where Dudley—I mean her cousin John Reed—beats her up cruelly and regularly. The aunt has no sympathy for her, and at one point Jane is to be found in a closet (think ‘cupboard under the stairs’). She is isolated in an upstairs room when company is present (as Harry is later, when he has a room). When Jane insists that she wants to go off to school, the aunt asks that Jane be kept there for holidays as well (as the Dursleys did).  When Jane does go off to school, the entire cast and scene change in a rather jarring way, as they did in Harry Potter. School does become a sanctuary for Jane, but once she leaves the Reeds’, the stories become less similar—though I will point out that Mr. Rochester repeatedly accuses Miss Eyre, perhaps teasingly, of being magical (an elf, a fairy, a changeling, on and on), which seems almost out of place in this story… but mayhap it forged a jumping-off point for JK Rowling’s subconscious? Miss Eyre repeatedly denies being a magical entity, and Harry is doubtful of it himself at first.

I had actually already gone on about these similarities last week while reading the book, but last night I was reminded of it when I decided to watch (for the first time) the 1996 film version of Jane Eyre, which casts Fiona Shaw (Harry’s aunt in the movies) as Jane’s Aunt Reed!  What validation!  Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was published in 1997, but JK Rowling had written her story and Mrs. Dursley’s character well before that, though no doubt Fiona Shaw’s apt portrayal of Aunt Reed helped her to be cast as Aunt Petunia Dursley a few years later.

So interesting to consider the influences great authors have had, and I like to think that Charlotte and Emily Brontë have influenced my own writing as well.  Honestly, I believe they influenced Anne, their youngest sister, too. I’ve just begun reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and am charmed thus far. The male neighbor’s point-of-view and the landscape remind me a bit of Wuthering Heights, while Anne’s already spouted the saying about bringing ‘the mountain to Mahomet’ that Mr. Rochester quotes when he meets Jane Eyre, also having to do with an animal that won’t budge.

Anne Brontë has one other novel and Emily none, but Charlotte did write a few other novels, treasures I’ve yet to enjoy. I hope to one day soon, but from sheer nostalgia’s sake, I doubt any of them can ever rival Jane Eyre for me.

P.S.  I wonder if the saying ‘Plain Jane’ refers back to Jane Eyre?