Dear Victorianists,
For Thursday’s discussion of Jane Eyre, please read through
chapter 21, in which Jane returns to visit the Reed family for the first time
since she left to attend school at Lowood.
This point, roughly the middle of the novel, allows us to measure how
much Jane and her life have changed. What
has she achieved by taking the position of governess? What does it offer that teaching at Lowood
did not? What precisely is the position
of a governess in Victorian society?
As you ponder these questions of Jane’s identity, consider
also how Brontë uses language to describe—or fail to describe—her
protagonist. What characterizes Brontë’s
prose style? How does she shape
sentences and paragraphs?
Some governesses in art:
 |
| Richard Redgrave's The Governess (1844) |
 |
| Bernard Partridge cartoon from Punch |
The Partridge text reads:
Mamma: "Now go and say good-night to your governess, like a good little girl, and
give her a kiss."
Little puss: "I'll say good-night, but I won't give
her a kiss."
Mamma: "That's naughty. Why won't you give her a
kiss?"
Little puss: "Because she slaps people's faces when they try
to kiss her."
Mamma: "Now don't talk nonsense; But do as you're
told."
Little puss: "Well, mummy, if you don't believe me, - ASK
PAPA!"
First of all: hysterical Punch cartoon, not least of all because of the name "little puss." Ummm, what?
ReplyDeleteAnyway.
Structurally, Jane Eyre has a soft-building brilliance that manages to move slowly, not rush, yet steadily and constantly make moves of progress for plot and character. For instance, every time I read JE I forget for just how few pages we interact with Helen. Yes, month pass in the the timeframe of the novel's world, but the physicality of the book devotes but a couple of chapters to a relationship that packs a serious emotional punch and appears to have a lasting impact on Jane's development. Charlotte Brontë doesn't ever test the reader's patience, for which a certain sister of hers has a propensity. Chapter 10's opening paragraph is a fantastic example of Brontë's direct, no fuss approach to writing this autobiography, which is "not to be a regular" one in the genre. This is not a daily journal, neither is it a detached narrative. With the delicate "the daily events of my insignificant existence," Jane maintains intimacy and sympathy with the reader, while insisting that we move along to the next Significant Moment in order to keep that meaningful relationship with the reader strong and honest. She is as invested in keeping her reader interested. As was mentioned in class, being that the book was serialized in three pieces, Brontë's choices are all the more brilliant. She doesn't close volume one after Helen's death, 10 chapters in, perhaps an obvious or natural stopping point. No, she insists that we move on to the next phase, and chooses the high-payoff moment of after the fire for the full stop of the volume. We're lucky enough to have the full story before us; can you imagine the aggravation/excitement of finishing that chapter 15 without the next words! As we get further in, deeper into the Rochester years, Young Jane/Old Jane slowly fuse more and more together. With the stronger assertions of self, like at the beginning of chapter 16, "I both wished and feared," the reader is being urged to feel the emotional response of experience less and less tainted by distance and memory. In the governess years, Jane is more assertive, offering statements, not just asking questions. Her emotions grow less cognitive, like her memory of standing on that horrid stool -- affecting, but still with the protective veil of a long ago childhood. "The gay tones set my heart at ease" she says at the end of Chapter 19: more immediately, she, her very life-giving organ, is feeling. More now, less "once upon a time."
I feel a bit silly latching onto the later part of this section, where Jane’s affections for Rochester begin and she concedes that she can’t call them back, but there’s a passage in XVIII that interests me a bit. After the pantomime game, we take a little aside with Adult Jane (i.e. backward-glancing Jane), in which she tells us that she cannot “learn to unlove him.” Her reasoning, however is interesting. She begins by saying that he has given her no reason to “unlove” him because all that he has done is ignored her and is paying more attention to Miss Ingram. According to most romantic plots, displacement from the centre (or even an inner sphere) of affection would be /precisely/ the cause of a rift. Yet Jane acknowledges that she herself has never been within that sphere for Rochester, only that he has occupied that sphere within her /own/ affections. It strikes me as the complete opposite of “the friendzone” as people call it today-- beside for the fact that she’s female (and that’s usually an area associated with “rejected” males), she is completely alright and does not project any bitter emotions onto Mr Rochester himself.
ReplyDeleteBlanche, on the other hand…
Here’s where the second bit comes in: Jane claims that not only does she not resent Rochester for loving Miss Ingram, she is not jealous of Miss Ingram either. Prior characteristic experiences with Jane might contradict this; she does not think kindly of those who deplace or misplace her, which she does believe Ingram to have done, to a certain extent; this is despite her constant mantras of “she is prettier than you” (a la the portraits) and “she is wealthier thank you” “titled,” etc. Instead, Jane explains that she was unable to be jealous of Miss Ingram because Miss Ingram was /below/ jealousy. Jane proceeds then to list all of Blanche’s faults (as well as some of her accomplishments, to be fair). In demeaning her “better” and claiming that she is /beneath/ her in some way, Jane asserts a very odd, and for the times and culture, somewhat inappropriate form of power over Blanche (however silent and private to her own mind it may be). Attitudes and asides like this in the novel are probably what ticked off the anti-Charterists; they are revolutionary, blunt moments, anti-convention and very empowering for a non-gentry individual.
As for insight to Jane’s character at this point: I am surprised at how well-adjusted she is. After such an abusive childhood and a dreary adolescence which also had its fair share of abuse of a different sort, she is amazingly well-adjusted in many ways. She acknowledges her own faults while being highly aware of her strengths, and has a clear grasp of her emotions. Although the story is obviously told in retrospect, the explanation of her torn feelings at this point are not given over as they were when she was a child, with additives such as “not at first aware” and so on; this is likely because Adult Jane is tellings the story of a Slightly Younger Adult Jane, and at this point she was articulate enough to express her own thoughts even in the moment of the events’ occurrence. Her self-awareness and clarity is astounding to me; it’s not simply that she’s stubborn and critical character, but that she can handle those traits without being extremely pessimistic (and she is, in fact, more realistic with a smidge of idealism) along with having an elevated sense of self (which is not narcissistic in any way), all in a somewhat healthy fashion.
Jane Eyre seems to be an exploration of identity and coming into oneself. Jane is in between worlds. She is not quite family, not quite friend, not quite servant, but not quite lady. Therefore, her identity seems always to be up in the air. Although the reader can infer things about her, Jane prefers to be sparing with the personal self-description. About halfway down page one, the reader realizes that it is impossible to divorce Jane from her writing style, and so it is here where we get the real Jane. Her phrases and clauses are intricately woven, and nothing is simple to young Jane or narrator Jane. Her style is refined, informed, incisive and educated. Every sentence is entrenched in reference, analysis, and description. Jane rarely tells us about herself. However, those characteristics describe her as well. So even when those around her tell us another story, the very way Jane relays those details negate that.
ReplyDeleteWe have established that Jane is smart. This intelligence allows her to command herself in a world in which she is without a place. She calls Miss Ingram inferior and, acknowledging the paradox of it, says that Miss Ingram is inferior because of her intelligence, and her inability to grow and change due to her constant charade. Jane, who is unabashedly forward, sees this as a hindrance to growth and Miss Ingram will always be inferior. Miss Ingram is another case in which a character’s speech and little details tell more about them than their actions. Miss Ingram (class act by the way) is a faker. Jane can see through that based on the way Miss Ingram speaks, and conducts herself.
Mr. Rochester himself has a conflict in his identity. He becomes something suspended (like Jane) not a gypsy, not a man, not a woman, not a master. Jane refers to him as mother rather than as master, and suddenly they are equal.
Similarly, when Jane comes back to the Reeds, one of the most shocking moments is when the reader realizes how little they have changed. Jane, on the other hand, is almost unrecognizable. She is no longer the angry, bitter child, she is not a smart adult, able to find a way to speak to her cousins. She is not bogged down by the past and able to leave them behind. Mrs. Reed is never able to do that. (Side note: if Mrs. Reed had not died at the end of that chapter I would have killed her)
The characters that are the most likable, the ones you root for, are the ones whose identities continue to adapt and change.
My favorite part of the novel (although sadly, there isn’t much of it) is the dialogue. Bronte effectively gives her characters distinct voices; as a result, she shows rather than tells us a lot about her characters. Rochester, for example, clearly demonstrates his personality through the way he speaks. He often starts his remarks with an exclamation (“Humph!” or “Ah!” or “There again!”). He talks loudly and boldly, and his remarks are witty and blunt. Jane never has to tell us that he is smart, or snarky, or slightly wicked – she lets his own words speak for himself. Mrs. Fairfax’s speeches are uninteresting and simple, creating a clear picture of the insipid, pragmatic woman. Adele’s exclamations as well give her a distinct character – we know she is materialistic and shallow in a benign way, without Jane having to tell us so. Rather than dictate to us exactly who they are, Jane tells us how she feels about them, and then leaves it up to us to pass judgement.
ReplyDeleteMore than just revealing their personalities, the dialogue helps us navigate the relationships, and the subtle (or not so subtle) way that people change the way they act based on whom they are talking to. With Jane, for example, it is starkly clear how differently she speaks with different people. She is always recognizably Jane, but the level of respect, questioning, and passion in her speech adjusts according to the person she is speaking with – whether it be Mrs. Reed, Helen, Mrs. Fairfax, or Rochester. One can see how free she is talking with Helen, for example – she exclaims, she gives long speeches, and is much more ebullient in general. With Rochester, on the other hand, it is a whole different story. At first she speaks in short, clipped sentences – her silence is as telling as her words. Even when she gets more worked up, discussing the topic of Rochester’s “badness”, her tone is still more controlled than her passionate arguments with Helen. Without her saying so, we know she is very conscious of their differences, of her status, of maintaining dignity – all from what she says.