In my thoughts on Wuthering Heights, I gave Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre faint praise, which is rather unfortunate. It does not deserve it. Indeed, Jane Eyre may be as beloved as Emily’s presumably darker tale.
Is Wuthering Heights indeed darker? I do wonder about
that on reflection. In many ways Charlotte’s debut novel is as dark as Emily’s
sole novel, both published in 1847. That said, Wuthering Heights, despite its intermittent
unreliable narration, is a far more straightforward tale, however coloured by
Heathcliff’s earlier abuse and latter brutality. (If you have not read it, I
highly recommend it to you.) Jane Eyre, on the other hand, was notable for its
social commentary (not that Wuthering Heights does pull punches in that regard)
seen through rather Calvinistic Jane’s eyes.
One should not diminish Jane, however. She is a strong
female character, written at a time I expect this was a rare thing. She endures
prejudice, exclusion, “banishment,” loneliness, and uncertainty. She also
radiates strength, overcoming all these setbacks, and decides to make her way
in the world.
But as I mentioned earlier, all is not as it seems.
I can’t not spoil this novel if I’m to do it justice.
Beware below if you haven’t read this novel and don’t want the story ruined.
But Bertha’s family has a history of madness, one she
herself can’t escape. She goes mad, and Rochester decides to take her away from
the West Indies back with him to England, where he hides her away, his marriage
secret.
This explains Rochester’s sullen nature, and why he
spends so little time at his ancestral seat, preferring to spend his time in
London and on the continent, flirting much, but never marrying, gaining the
reputation of a philanderer while at it, one imagines.
Rochester returns to Thornfield, becomes smitten with
Jane. Our story unfolds.
It is dark indeed.
It’s quite a tale. I found Charlotte’s prose less engaging than Emily’s. I also thought the dialogue that passes between Jane and Edward wooden. To be fair, the novel is over 200 years old. And I wonder how much experience she herself had with romantic love. Charlotte was a governess, and only married years after this novel was published. Take that as you will.I might note that another novel is linked to this one: Wide Sargasso Sea, by Jean Rhys. Published in 1966, Ms. Rhys sought to tell the tale of the mad woman in the attic, fleshing her out, humanising her. It is defiantly a feminist take on what lies before and beneath Charlotte’s classic novel, but a believable one, a decidedly powerful one.
I’ll speak on this later.