One of the things I dislike about Mr. Rochester in this section of the book is his tendency to think of himself as a victim. "Oh, poor me, I was wronged by my mistress," (never mind that having a mistress is a sin) "and my father tricked me into a terrible mistake when I was young," (never mind that he's been using that as an excuse to behave badly ever since) "and now I'm just going to pity myself to the end of my days, or I was, until I had this great idea of how to be happy," (which is also bad) "and when that goes all wrong too, it will be the fault of the people who messed up my plans, not mine for making bad plans to begin with."
The man has a lot to learn. But I've said that already, haven't I?
So anyway, here we learn the long, detailed story of how Mr. Rochester's grande passion for Celine Varens died when he found her in the arms of another man. And then he casually mentions he fought a duel with the other guy and wounded him in the arm, la la la. That part goes by much too quickly for my taste, whereas we have to spend absolute pages on him hanging out on the balcony smoking and eating chocolate (mmm, chocolate) and eavesdropping. So I always have to spend a bit of time imagining out the duel, complete with hazy dawn mists and lots of stoic resolve on Mr. Rochester's face.
Anyway. I had totally forgotten that by the time Mr. Rochester broke with Celine, Adele was six months old! Huh. Though he denies his paternity of her, I do still like him for pitying her and taking her in, though it seems he did it out of stern English conviction that France is slimy and England is pure. Hmm.
But enough of all that! Because the second half of the chapter is so much more interesting. Creepy, demonic laughing in the night, a candle left unattended in the hallway, and then Mr. Rochester in Deadly Peril! And Jane having the great presence of mind to douse the fire herself! Movie versions always seem to have Mr. Rochester wake up and finish putting out the fire, but nope, Jane does it all in the book. And then I have to grin and chuckle over how Mr. Rochester just doesn't want her to leave. He almost confesses he loves her there, that he has loved her since he first beheld her, but instead he says she "strike[s] delight to my very inmost heart" (p. 180), which I think is one of the sweetest, most romantic things he could have said anyway.
Lastly, I love it when Jane muses that she "grieved for his grief, whatever it was, and would have given much to assuage it" (p. 176). That's a lot of what draws me to Byronic Heroes -- their sadness makes me sad, and I want to cheer them up.
Okay, not really lastly. Jane has that dream at the end that is full of Portents of Things to Come. She floats on a sea "where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy" (p. 181), and she can't quite get where she wants to go. How Very Prophetic.
Favorite Lines:
My thin-crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filled up; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh and strength (p. 175).
Gratitude, and many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object I best liked to see. His presence in a room was more cheering than the brightest fire (p. 175).
"My cherished preserver, good-night!" (p. 180).
Possible Discussion Questions:
Mr. Rochester says that his ideas, no matter how twisted or wrong, cannot harm Jane's pure and healthy mind, that in fact, "while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me" (p. 172). Do you think he's right?
It seems fairly obvious that Jane is falling in love with Mr. Rochester, and he with her. Do you think Mrs. Fairfax has noticed yet?
For days, Jane has little to do with Mr. Rochester. Sometimes they pass each other, and she learns that he has very changeable moods. Then he calls for her company again, along with Adele and Mrs. Fairfax, and thus begins a most extraordinary conversation.
I don't blame Jane for being a bit confused by him, do you? I've read this book and know most of what he's talking about, alluding to, and planning, and I still get dizzy trying to keep up with his "deep and rather sarcastic voice" (p. 155).
So if you've never read this before, and you're a little lost and trying to figure out what he's talking about, don't despair! He's talking to hear himself think, at some points. And Jane may be right -- he may have had a bit more wine with supper than he ought to have, who knows.
But anyway, I'm heartily amused by the early parts of their discussion, when Jane tells him she doesn't think he's handsome, then tries to apologize for her truthfulness, and he won't let her. He obviously likes her so much for being unconventional. This was a great comfort to me when I was an unconventional teen! Maybe I would be stuck with a man whose past was filled with dark secrets, but at least I wouldn't have to be alone forever just because I found so many conventions irksome.
And who can help but love Mr. Rochester for insisting on not treating Jane as his inferior just because he inherited his money and she earns hers? Though he's not especially kind to Adele. Still, it's so decent of him to keep and raise her, even if it is "rather on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous sins, great or small, by one good work" (p. 167). As I recall, this is about as close as he comes to accepting paternity of Adele.
But Jane, of course, is correct that an idea is not right and good just because it is attractive. Sigh. Mr. Rochester, you have a lot to learn. Good thing there's lots of book left for you to learn it in!
Favorite Lines:
"Confound these civilities! I continually forget them" (p. 155).
Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complaisant or submissive smile either (p. 159).
"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence; one, I rather like; the other, nothing free-born would submit to, even for a salary" (p. 161).
"I mentally shake hands with you for your answer" (p. 161).
"Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life" (p. 163).
"Your language is enigmatical, sir; but though I am bewildered, I am certainly not afraid" (p. 165).
Possible Discussion Questions:
Rochester and Jane disagree as to whether repentance or reformation is the cure for remorse. What is your opinion?
So... I didn't like this book as much as I was expecting to. I liked it so much more!!! I had read something about it somewhere a while ago (gee, can I vague that up for you a little?), and when I saw it at the bookstore last week, I said, "Aha! That sounded good, I think," and bought it on a whim. I almost never buy brand new books on a whim (you know what a cautious fellow I am), but I had a coupon...
Anyway. Great book! Really, really fun. It concerns the three unmarried Kopp ladies, Constance, Norma, and Fleurette, who live on an isolated farm in New Jersey in the 1910s. They have a literal run-in with a dreadful man named Henry Kaufman when his motorcar smashes up their buggy. Instead of paying to have their buggy repaired like he obviously ought to, he starts harassing the women with drive-by taunts, bricks through windows, threatening notes, and eventually more. Constance and Norma Kopp learn to shoot pistols and have a series of adventures that involve not only Henry Kaufman, but also an unwed mother whose baby boy has disappeared.
And it's based on a true story. Did I mention that? Yes! The Kopps were real people -- there's even a photograph of Constance at the back of the book. The title comes from the headline of a real-life newspaper article written about their efforts to protect themselves from Kaufman and his associates.
But all that isn't why I loved the book. I loved it, of course, because of the characters. Constance Kopp is precisely the sort of resourceful, level-headed, determined woman I have always striven to be. Had I been in her situation, I would have armed myself and set out to protect my family much like she did. Her sister Norma is a homing pigeon fanatic, but equally sensible and down-to-earth -- in some ways, she reminded me a great deal of my best friend. Fleurette... at first, Fleurette did annoy me. She's just a teenager, while Constance and Norma are in their 30s, and she's flighty and frolicsome and fashion-obsessed. But she grew on me, with her frog-catching and -cooking, her knack for sewing, and her calm confidence in Constance and Norma's abilities to save her from being kidnapped and sold into white slavery.
And then there's Sheriff Heath. Oh, Sheriff Heath, with his mustache and his eyes, and that name that makes me think of a certain Barkley Boy. He wasn't exactly a love interest, but he did provide some nice manly scenery.
A sequel, Lady Cop Makes Trouble, is getting released this fall, and you can bet I'll be buying that one too -- and not on any whim!
Particularly Good Bits:
I worried that I was destined to die in the same bed my mother had died in, leaving behind nothing but a cellar full of parsnips and uneven rows of stitches along cuffs and collars that nobody even remembered me making (p. 27).
In my mind, Henry Kaufman existed only in those moments when I had seen him, and the rest of the time he was still and quiet, like a marionette hung backstage by his strings, motionless until someone took him up and sent him skittering back to life (p. 83).
The granite courthouse behind us, the rows of brick offices and shops across the street, and the trolleys running along their tracks, all seemed to speak of a crisp and orderly world in which people could walk the streets in peace (p. 404).
If This was a Movie, I Would Rate It: PG-13. There are two unwed mothers in this story, and while there are NO detailed scenes of how they came to be that way, there are oblique and veiled references to such things, and to white slavery as well. There is some violence, including gunplay and arson. There are some very tense moments, and not a small amount of danger. However, there is almost no bad language -- only one curse word as far as I can recall.
When Jane says, "for my part, I liked it better" (p. 141) regarding Thornfield with its master at home, I muttered a hearty, "Hear, hear!" Because my goodness, did this book just get FUN! Almost this entire chapter is spent in spirited banter between Jane and Mr. Rochester. How it delights me.
I do worry a little about Jane and her "heavy, unwelcome thoughts" (p. 142), though. There's that little thread of depression or trauma or whatever, popping up again. Hooray for the arrival of Mr. Rochester to liven up her world, and of Mrs. Fairfax to call her out of her solitude. Oh, this new change in her world is going to be so good for Jane!
(Yes, it is too! Shh, now.)
Rochester and Jane amuse me so much. The margins of this chapter are full of little notations, like "hee hee" and little hearts and stars and smiley faces. And a smiley heart or two at especially delightful spots. I love how Jane finds his abrasive manner freeing rather than stifling. She says that "I could not have returned or repaid it by answering grace and elegance on my part. But harsh caprice laid me under no obligation" (p. 144). In the previous chapter, she reacted similarly, saying that "the frown, the roughness of the traveller, set me at my ease" (p. 135). Aren't she and Rochester admirably suited to each other from the first?
And Rochester accusing her of being a fairy is completely adorable. Almost as adorable as her answering him quite seriously. Love it, love it, love it.
We also end with a some delightful hints about Mr. Rochester's Sad and Mysterious Past. Oh, how tantalizing!
Favorite Lines: "A present has many faces to it, has it not? and one should consider all before pronouncing an opinion as to its nature" (p. 145).
"Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid I should hardly have been able to guess your age" (p. 148).
"As to the thoughts, they are elfish" (p. 151).
Possible Discussion Questions:
This is the second time we've gotten detailed descriptions of unusual artwork. This time, it's by Jane's own hand. Do you think these foreshadow coming events the way the ones she saw in a book at the beginning appeared to?
Mrs. Fairfax claims she "never clearly knew" (p. 152) about Mr. Rochester's past, but has only conjectured a few things. Do you think she is telling the truth?
This week, The Broke and the Bookish have chosen the topic "Top Ten Books I Enjoyed That Have Under 2000 Ratings On Goodreads." So, I consulted my (by no means comprehensive) Goodreads list and came up with these, which I'm arranging alphabetically by author (because I can!):
Jane Austen's England by Roy and Lesley Adkins -- a thorough look at life in England during the time of Jane Austen.
Vendetta for the Saint by Leslie Charteris -- the first full-length Saint adventure I read, and so much fun.
An Unexpected Cookbook by Rachael Chris-Oseland -- a delightful, delicious cookbook.
And Now Tomorrow by Rachel Field -- a heart-warming, inspiring story of a woman struggling to figure out who she is and what she wants.
Corral Nocturne by Elisabeth Grace Foley -- a charming western re-telling of the Cinderella story.
Henry Tilney's Diary by Amanda Grange -- a delightful retelling of Northanger Abbey!
Keeping Watch by Laurie R. King -- a thriller, which I liked sooo much better than the book it follows, Folly.
Bring Me a Unicorn by Anne Morrow Lindbergh -- a consuming collection of letters and diary entries that detail the author's adolescence and the beginnings of her romance with famous aviation pioneer Charles Lindbergh.
A Skeleton in God's Closet by Paul L. Maier -- a fictional story of a startling archaeological mystery.
A Family Affair by Rex Stout -- my absolute favorite Nero Wolfe mystery.
What about you? Do you have favorite books that don't seem to be as popular as they ought to be? Have you read any of these?
Erm. So, my memory of this series just gradually becoming less and less enjoyable is kind of true when it comes to this book. Not that it was bad, or completely boring. It was just kind of... flat. Some of Anne's many kids have adventures (her daughter Diana has basically the same adventure twice), but none of them are as winsome as Anne. They're more like each one embodies a small piece of Anne's personality, and what makes me love Anne so much is that she's complex. But the kids aren't all that complex. Sigh. Also, way too much gossip. So many chapters (or it felt like so many, anyway) of old women telling what are supposed to be humorous tales of weird things their neighbors or relations have done. Felt like filler.
However, the last 3 chapters, where Anne suddenly succumbs to melancholia and convinces herself that Gilbert no longer loves her -- that part was intensely awesome. She and Gilbert have been married for 15 years, and Cowboy and I just celebrated our 14th anniversary, and... I have no fears about my husband having ceased to love me, but I know there are days where everything just grates on me, or where he's tired from working overtime and doesn't say much, and... if several days like that piled up, I could totally see something like this being possible. That last section was far more believable and emotionally engaging than the rest of the book combined. And... it centered on Anne. Not on her kids. If Montgomery hadn't relegated Anne to being a side character in her own series, this book might have touched me a great deal more than it did.
And then there was Aunt Mary Maria. But the less said about her, the better.
Not looking hugely forward to Rainbow Valley, I must admit. Though I did always get a big kick out of the minister's children and their graveyard picnics. So I'll survive it.
Particularly Good Bits:
Her heart sang all the way because she was going home to a joyous house... a house where every one who crossed its threshold knew it was a home... a house that was filled all the time with laughter and silver mugs and snapshots ans babies... precious things with curls and chubby knees... and rooms that would welcome her... where the chairs waited patiently and the dresses in her closet were expecting her... where little anniversaries were always being celebrated and little secrets were always being whispered (p. 14).
She would hold all the threads of the Ingleside life in her hands again to weave into a tapestry of beauty (p. 55).
"I have never altogether liked cats myself, Miss Dew, but I maintain they have a right to wave their own tails" (p. 60).
Walter was again sitting on the steps with eyes full of dreams. Dusk had fallen. Where, he wondered, had it fallen from? Did some great spirit with bat-like wings pour it all over the world from a purple jar? (p. 213).
"An imagination is a wonderful thing to have... but like every gift we must possess it and not let it possess us. You take your imaginings a wee bit too seriously. Oh, it's delightful... I know that rapture. But you must learn to keep on this side of the borderline between the real and the unreal. Then the power to escape at will into a beautiful world of your own will help you amazingly through the hard places of life. I can always solve a problem more easily after I've had a voyage or two in the Island of Enchantment" (p. 244).
If This was a Movie, I Would Rate It: G for good and clean, if not particularly delicious.
This is my 42nd book read and reviewed for the Classics Club! And my 11th for the Women's Classic Literature Event.
Jane settles nicely into her calm, comfortable life... and gets bored. So very bored. Jane, honey, it's not like you've had a calm and comfy life up to now -- why are you bored so quickly? Is it just so weird and different? No one's beating you or humiliating you or starving you, so life is now too dull?
Sigh.
However, here to rescue Jane from domestic dullness, and us from a suddenly whiny narrator, we have Mr. Rochester. At last. Finally. My goodness, the man takes forever to show up!
Sorry. Jane's whining is probably rubbing off on me.
It's just that... I love Mr. Rochester. A lot. He was my first Really Major Literary Crush as a teen. I have horrible taste, I know. He's damaged goods. He's barely nice, even when he wants to be. I don't care. I fell for him when I first read this, when I was probably 16 (I really should look back through my records and journals and see if I can figure out when I did first read it), and I read Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier soon after, and between Edward Rochester and Maxim de Winter, I was hooked on Byronic Heroes but good. Have been ever since. Fictional ones, of course. In real life I'd probably be very annoyed with them and tell them to get a grip already. But fictionally, I can't resist them. They're so sad! So tortured! So desperately in need of a good hug, of someone to love them despite their flaws. They need someone to help them be happy again.
That's all I want, really. I want my Byronic Boys to be happy again. Is that so much to ask?
Um, yeah, sorry. Rochester has barely shown up, and I'm rhapsodizing already. Let's talk about Jane's great little feminist manifesto for a minute, shall we?
"Women are supposed to be very calm generally; but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them; if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex" (p 130-131).
Well, amen, sister-friend! I don't generally consider myself a "feminist," simply because that title seems to involve all sorts of man-bashing these days. But although I myself love knitting and playing the piano, I also enjoy writing novels and not having to publish them under a male pseudonym because they won't be taken seriously if I don't. I'm anti-stagnation for anyone, regardless of their gender, and want my daughters to grow up knowing that if they want to become farmers or lawyers, they can, even if there once was a time that those professions were relegated to the males of the world. Similarly, I want my son to grow up knowing that if he wants to knit or embroider, make puddings or play the piano, he can, even thought there was a time when they were considered only for females.
I'm not saying men and women are interchangeable. I firmly believe they are not. But I also firmly believe that most activities in this world are perfectly acceptable for either gender to enjoy, practice, or learn. Which, I think, is what Charlotte Bronte is saying here. What do you think she means? Is she an "early feminist," as people these days often claim? Those can be our Possible Discussion Questions for the day.
Also, randomly, I love that it's Rochester's gruff frowniness that sets Jane at her ease and makes her insist on helping him. She reminds me of myself there, and my oldest daughter.
Favorite Lines:
It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity; they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it (p. 130).
In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies, bright and dark, tenanted my mind (p. 133).
My help had been needed and claimed; I had given it; I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive (p. 137).
Another Possible Discussion Question:
Did the whole idea of the "Gytrash" remind anyone else of the "Grim" from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban?
