Jane Eyre

"One would almost say that, if there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall, this would be its haunt" (108).

Jane Eyre is another text that I was assigned as a high school student and cannot, for the life of me, remember reading. I must have, because I certainly recall submitting an essay on the topic. Perhaps I hated it so much that I blocked out any details? Difficult to say. Ultimately, my experience with the book did not stick with me whatsoever. I have lived with a vague acknowledgement of its prominence in British literature for many years and not felt compelled to delve between its pages in adulthood.

This year, I decided that I should probably spend some time reminding myself of what I either repressed or never truly engaged with in young adulthood. One conclusion at which I have arrived: Jane Eyre is not a book that precludes feeling. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it demands feeling. The characters are complex and experience both growth and stagnation; their actions are sometimes excusable and often completely outlandish, but also painfully relatable. This novel is one that you think about, for days afterward, and try to move on. But you can't. The tragedy and ecstasy of each plot point continues to revolve in your mind, making you pine for a windswept English hillside and the darkened halls of a country estate, haunted by the living as much as the dead.

1. "Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! -- I have as much soul as you -- and full as much heart" (250)!

The passion. Jane goes through a series of life changes that illustrate the capriciousness of circumstance. She is alternately an angry child plotting revenge on her cruel family members and a grown woman leaving behind her fiancé when she can no longer face his lies and deception. In between, her emotions fluctuate with the changing of the weather: Jane is abandoned and then she is in love, she is content and then she dreams for a different life. She speaks with gentle understanding, acquiescing to the desires of others, and then her true character reveals itself when she stands on her convictions and refuses to yield. Who is Jane? She is all of us--any woman who has traversed the undulating mountains or valleys of adolescence and young adulthood. Charlotte Brontë allows her heroine to make mistakes and to learn from them, to be mostly right but a little bit wrong, and to come out on the other side hoping for, at the very least, strength of character and endurance.

2. "'What must you do to avoid [hell]?' I deliberated a moment: my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: 'I must keep in good health, and not die'" (35).

The wit. The draw of Jane Eyre, and perhaps most 19th century British authors, is the biting dialogue. The smart articulation and stoic flirting between characters is unmatched. Who has never thought of a perfect comeback hours after a conversation, wishing that the brain had cooperated and produced such a retort in the moment? Reading books of this genre are as satisfying as saying the pithiest riposte every time. 

3. "I looked with timorous joy towards a stately house; I saw a blackened ruin" (416).

The dramatic romanticism. Arguably, no one is more dramatic than a Brontë sister. Why have a normal and healthy relationship with a single man when you can find one with his insane wife hidden in the attic? Dark romance is successful only when the characters are making absolute spectacles of themselves for the good of the melodrama. I think this aspect is largely why the genre has become so prevalent, as stories of brooding and emotionally stunted men with dark secrets who fall for brave but sensitive orphan girls really fulfill some deep need in a woman's psyche.

4. "I understood that, sitting there where I did, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome form before me, I sat at the feet of a man, erring as I" (399).

A terrible example of a romance. The greatest problem in modern evaluations of Jane Eyre happens to be its greatest triumph historically speaking. At the time of its publications, the author used a pen name in order to hide that she was female, because public opinion of female writers was generally unfavorable. Insinuating that women were just as worthy, intelligent, strong, and flawed as their male counterparts. Brontë is essentially arguing for the humanity of her female characters by showing their vast internal landscapes. However, that attempt has not aged well in every aspect of the text...Rochester is, unfortunately, a complete disaster as a love interest. He is rude, selfish, mercurial, and an outright liar who commands Jane like an army general. Jane, for her part, cannot get over the inequality in their relationship--he is wealthy, older, and a man, meaning that she is at his mercy. This reality does not sit well with her, and she can only fathom acquiescing to marriage after Rochester has had a terrible accident and becomes physically dependent on her, essentially evening the field. There are other examples, but overall, there is unfortunate romanticization of very unhealthy relationship dynamics.




Jane Eyre is an undertaking, and it does not allow the reader to walk away without contradicting thoughts and desires, mirroring the journey of the main characters. It is perfect for cold winter nights when the wind is howling and the lamps are glowing warmly.

Death on the Nile

 

"Her eyes met his, just for a swift moment. Thinking it over the next day, he came to the conclusion that there had been appeal in that glance. He was to remember it afterwards" (144).

Mystery's unmatched mistress, Agatha Christie, produced work that was uniquely set, but with casts of characters that formulated a suspenseful crime-scape with consistency. What successful blueprint did Agatha land upon, one might ask? I believe her success has to do with, number one, the inclusion of all elements that attract fans of the genre. The reader can nearly check them off of a list: stock characters with too many secrets, strange occurrences that can be written off as coincidence until the shocking crime is produced, red herrings that drive suspicion and distrust within the investigation, and the internal machinations of a mercurial detective piecing together what the audience hopes to understand before the grand reveal.

And yet, despite all of these expectations, mystery novel readers don't want the plot twist to be revealed to them too readily. They come in order to have very specific desires fulfilled within the text, but if the perpetrator is too obvious, then the satisfaction of reading is compromised. To write a classic mystery thus requires a very talented author, as one is given specific and nearly un-varying tools with which to work, but must produce something surprising enough to be thrilling. Death on the Nile does this task through subverting expectation enough that the reader begins to question his or her own logic, until the ending reveals that the secrets were within reach all along.

1. "They came out from the shade of the gardens on to a dusty stretch of road bordered by the river" (40).

The setting. Egypt is a land ripe with majestic awe. The cultural elements add an exotic and unfamiliar background, and the contrast between the ancient monuments and modern accoutrements of the characters adds to the thrill. Almost one hundred years ago, those sandy Nile shores held a fascinating escape for the European traveler. It has remained a stalwartly striking setting for the modern reader.

2. "The body of the dead woman...lay on the floor of her cabin. The two men bent over it" (258).

Bonus murders. The primary murder is obviously portrayed and advertised before one can even crack open the book. The bonus murders are a perfect addition, as they add trepidation and throw complications into whatever thought process the reader may have concerning the guilty party. Of course, many of the characters have reason to despise the life of the wealthy heiress. But what relationship would any of them have with the other corpses?

3. "But now that she is dead and that her husband, as you have just pointed out, inherits, the whole thing is different" (302).

Missing shock factor? There were many twisting turns that my mind took as I was reading, and several of them resulted in musings over climaxes that could have been quite unexpected. The resolution is one that perhaps could (and should) have been assumed from the beginning, but Christie has the habit of causing one to doubt oneself continually. Was I unsatisfied with the result? Perhaps partially. I was quite attached to some of the hypotheses that I constructed along the way. But I also feel a certain amount of gratification in the fact that my suspicions from the beginning were confirmed, albeit put under heavy scrutiny as so many other possibilities crowded my mind. On both accounts, Christie remains triumphant.