Jane Eyre in the Carnival Mirror

Finally, I'm going backwards to the scenes surrounding Jane and Rochester's wedding day, and tying those into the repeated reflections of Jane in Bertha and in Rochester himself.

Several times throughout the novel, Jane's true feelings escape the barriers she sets around them; she first lets her true feelings free when she expresses her anger at Mrs. Reed, forms barriers under the influence of Miss Temple, then has a surge of emotion after Miss Temple leaves Lowood to marry, and then much later when she weeps in the orchard at Thornfield. Jane describes this as "I said—or something in me said for me, and in spite of me…." I'm not the only one to make a connection between this and Bertha's insanity! I also think you can make a connection with Rochester, who is constantly battling between what society says is required of him, and what he needs to survive with a whole soul. "It would not be wicked to love me," he says, and she replies, "It would to obey you." This is reinforced, later, with St. John Rivers--it would be wicked for her to marry him when he did not love her, and when he would allow only obedience from her. Jane is right when she decides that would result in her death, either physical or of the soul.

Jane and Rochester both have turbulent needs, and need the other both for self-mastery and to allow freedom of their souls. Rochester says, "You master me," and Jane makes of him "an idol" while still struggling to maintain her selfhood. They understand each other very well, particularly in their flaws; more than once Rochester expresses Jane's thoughts, and she reads his motives and moods with uncanny skill. They're both very manipulative! The ultimate expression of Jane's selfhood is when she leaves Rochester, reinforcing that she cannot let him compromise her principles, which to her are equivalent to sanity. She says, "I care for myself." (It's interesting that she is physically opposite to Bertha. Jane is tiny and pale, Bertha is big and corpulent, and compared to Blanche Ingram, who is "dark" with olive skin and dark hair.)

Mirrors: when Bertha appears in Jane's room to destroy the fancy wedding veil Rochester had bought, Jane sees Bertha's reflection in the mirror. Back in the Red Room where her Uncle Reed died, child-Jane notes that the mirror world looks "colder and darker." On the morning of the wedding, Sophie makes Jane look in the mirror. Jane sees "almost the image of a stranger" in dress and veil, the plain veil Jane had made herself. She dreams of the Red Room again, and of the Moon as a Mother; perhaps in the mirror's other world?

After Bertha's existence is revealed to Jane, and Rochester is telling his story, it's a really long monologue at times, very tell not show! That section gives a different pov on many preceding events; the Male Other reveals his thoughts so he's no longer a "romantic" mystery, ironic because in most other ways Jane already knows him so well. They are so close, in fact, that the supernatural event of her hearing his heartfelt cry of "Jane! Jane! Jane!" is believable. (Jane attributes this event to Nature itself, which I find interesting; it could possibly be linked to the Moon as mother.)

Rochester and Jane being separated for a time is repeated often in romance novels that follow; the couple must be severed for a time, reminded of their solo selves, before they can truly be together as equals.

Finally, near the novel's end, when Jane is walking through the forest towards Ferndean, I couldn't help but think the description of the path was very vulvic, oe perhaps symbolic of the deep emotional depths of the psyche: "grass-grown track descending the forest aisle, between hoar and knotty shafts and under branches arches...it stretched on and on, it wound far and farther...all was interwoven stem, columnar tunk, dense, summer foliage--no opening anywhere." Deep within Jane is her connection to Rochester, and his to her. It's a good thing they end up together.

Comments?

All of the tagged Brontë posts, in reverse order.

Jane Eyre A-Wandering in Search of Family

I left off yesterday when Jane departs Thornfield for Gateshead, where her Aunt Reed lies dying. Mrs. Reed's dislike of Jane is finally explained more fully; she was jealous of her husband's affection for his sister, Jane's mother, and of his apparent preference for the baby Jane over his own children. Presumably, she resented the monetary outlay to take Jane in; and I wondered if Mr. Reed asked her permission before bringing home another baby? Since I suspect most of the work of raising the child would fall to Mrs. Reed and her servants, despite Mr. Reed's fond attention to his niece. I don't think Mrs. Reed was a nice person, but she did have reasons for her behavior.

The sisters Georgianna and Eliza Reed, Jane's cousins, provide a little parallel to Jane and Rochester, especially their talk in the garden, when Eliza tells Georgianna she needs to stop relying on others for her entertainment and happiness, and find strength within herself only. Jane seems to agree in principle with Eliza, as she strongly believes in self-respect, but she also seems to like Georgianna a little better, because she doesn't shy away from emotion. It goes back, I think, to when Jane desperately wanted love as a child. She still highly values emotional bonds.

I'm going to jump forward a little here, to the period after Jane's left Rochester. Her Wanderings in the Wilderness, friendless and repulsed at every turn, hiding even her own name, hark back to her early life at Gateshead, in which the Reeds fend her off emotionally and in John's case, abuse her, as well as harking back to her physical starvation at Lowood. Physical and emotional hungers throughout are equated to a degree, and are opposed to security/safety/love which she finds with Helen Burns, Miss Temple, Rochester, and the Rivers sisters. When Jane first sees Mary and Diana Rivers, they are relishing the study of German, which harks back to Helen Burns' love of history. I wondered if the author was thinking of her own siblings as she wrote these characters. St. John Rivers stands as an emblem of what Jane's life would be without love and freedom, in opposition to how her life would be with Rochester. Near the end of the book, Jane even states explicitly that to be with him is to sacrifice "famine for food."

The dream of a wailing child, which Jane has repeatedly before the Reeds' misfortunes, repeats before her abortive wedding to Rochester, and is reflected again when she spends the night gazing upon Adele as she sleeps, and in the morning herself weeps over the child. It might also connect with the occasional low moans or growls she hears from Bertha Mason Rochester.

One final thought I had concerns Adele. Jane's actions towards Adele throughout are in opposition to how Jane was treated by Mrs. Reed. Jane affirms it is not the child's fault that she is illegitimate, and repeatedly defends and praises her to Rochester, whose feelings about Adele are ambiguous. In the end, Jane makes sure Adele is provided not only with physical care but love as well. Adele and Jane's relationship with each other is like a microcosm of the whole book.

Side notes: I wondered more about Grace Poole this time through. Is she, like Mrs. Fairfax, a relation of some kind? She's obviously highly trusted. She's once referred to as "Mrs. Poole," by Leah I think, which makes me think she's a widow. We eventually learn she has a son.

I was searching for significance in everything as I re-read, for example the "Bridewell" charade. I didn't always come up with anything!

Richard Mason calls Rochester "Fairfax" rather than "Edward." Jane doesn't notice that Rochester calls Mason both "Richard" and "Dick," a sign of their intimate relationship (brother-in-law). Later, she refers to Rochester as "Fairfax Rochester," and Rochester calls himself "Fairfax" at least once.

It speaks well of Rochester, I think, that he did not send Bertha to an asylum, which at the time was a horrible fate. His motives might not have been pure, but that action helps me sympathize with his character more.

And still more tomorrow!

All of the tagged Brontë posts, in reverse order.

Jane Eyre Advertises, Will Travel

I'm a guest poster today at the Novelists, Inc. Blog on "Promotional Drops in the Online Bucket." Please drop by and check it out!

I recently re-read Jane Eyre in conjunction with Jessica of Read React Review, and am posting about it today, Saturday, and Sunday (there will be a discussion on her blog beginning May 23rd). That's a photo of my tattered copy to the right, which I've now had to reinforce with tape. I never read Jane Eyre until after I'd graduated college. I finally did thanks to a dear friend who'd first read it at age eight and loved it beyond the telling. This was, I think, my third or fourth read of the book, but it's the first time I've read it this closely. Note my posts will not be strictly linear, so if you haven't read the book, I apologize in advance for any confusion.

The main new insight I had on this read was how much Rochester is a sort of future or alternate version of Jane; I also felt sometimes that Brontë was using his character to comment on what womens' lives were like, and how they might escape their roles. For example, when Jane decides to leave Lowood, she can't really hope for total happiness because she can't even imagine it; she can only go so far as ask for "a new servitude." Later, Rochester (obliquely referring to his marriage to Bertha, who's now insane) insists that he has a "right to get pleasure out of life." His comment is like the next step in feminist thought! As a man (and older as well), he has the confidence to go farther than Jane yet dares. In that conversation, Rochester also talks about remorse; his dialogue could easily have been shifted to a woman trapped in an unwise marriage.

After Bertha sets Rochester's bed on fire, the emotionally intense scene between Jane and Rochester, followed by his abrupt leavetaking the next day, is echoed in thousands of romance novels down the road. "My--" He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me." He keeps Jane at a distance after that, though she does not wallow in abandonment. She immediately takes steps to try and sever her emotional ties to Rochester and find a new life for herself in a new place (she thinks of advertising for a new position).

When Rochester disguises himself as a gypsy, he seems to be trying to draw Jane into an admission that she cares for him; I think his attendance on Blanche Ingram is for a similar reason--he wants to make Jane jealous, so she will admit she loves him. Both actions are cruel; he's fooling both women in different ways, but I suspect he feels justified because he's trying to save himself with Jane. Rochester confirms some of this impression himself, later on. Later in the book, Jane tells him he can't find salvation in another person; he must seek it within. In one of the many doublings/mirrorings in the novel, this statement is echoed by Eliza Reed to Georgianna Reed.

Another interpretation of the gypsy scene, possibly happening at the same time, is that Rochester is trying to entice Jane into reaching for happiness instead of fearing to want anything for herself and remaining static. (As a child, Jane says she'd do anything to be loved. As an adult, she's much more cautious.) Also, Rochester might again be representing what a woman could be if she had a man's place in society. "I wish to foster, not to blight." I could be stretching a bit here, but that's what it made me think!

Rochester constantly uses diminutives when speaking to Jane, but what stuck out most to me is "elf" and the various other supernatural appellations. Jane is more than merely human to him; she's a hope for a life he'd thought unattainable. So while he sees her as human and tries to manipulate her at times, he's also a bit in awe of her.

Jane describes Rochester as "familiar to me as my own face in a glass; as the speech of my own tongue."

In the scene after Bertha has stabbed her brother Richard, all sorts of things happen which the re-reader understands but Jane does not; right then was Rochester's opportunity to tell Jane he's married, but he can't bring himself to do it; I think he's too afraid she will reject him (as she eventually does). He wants to cling to the illusion of the life he could have had if he'd never married Bertha. After Mason is gone, Rochester is clearly clinging to what is "real, sweet, and pure," both Jane and the garden, which early on she described as "orderly." Despite Rochester's opinion of her, Jane herself struggles for order continually, to master the wild passions she expressed as a child and that still come out in her fey artwork.

In the garden, Rochester tells Jane, in a theoretical way, about his wife. It's almost a proposal of marriage (in the aspect of asking for ultimate trust), and makes an interesting comparison with his actual proposal later. He really fears losing Jane, and that is his strongest motivation. Not only does she like him for himself, I think she reflects some of that liking back to him, so he's more able to like himself. He says she improves him; she feels he should seek improvement within, not from her. At the end of that conversation, Rochester taunts Jane with Blanche; it's a kneejerk reaction to what he sees as rejection (she hurt me, so I will hurt her). Jumping ahead in the story, when he actually proposes, again he teases her and leads her along until she confesses she wants him; only then, presumably feeling safe in her affection, does he embrace her and propose marriage.

And then, Jane is the one who leaves, when she learns her cousin John is dead and her Aunt Reed not long for the world. Jane and Rochester are friends again before she goes--I love their cute banter over her travel money, when he tries to give her a gift but she refuses, and he angles for a kiss but doesn't get it.

When she returns, many things are different, not least Jane, who reconciles herself to lack of ties with her Reed cousins.

Tune in tomorrow and the day after for more!

I welcome comments if you've read Jane Eyre or had an interesting experience while re-reading another favorite.

All of the tagged Brontë posts, in reverse order.

Reading and Reading Again

In the last couple of years I've started to become fascinated with the study of reading and narrative. I partly blame a friend who specializes in a related academic discipline. I haven't read a lot about theories of reading yet (amusing irony!) but I have some academic books in my Giant Wishlist of Doom.

I'm going to ramble on a bit about the vague scraps of ideas I've acquired so far.

One of the theories is that the experience you have while reading a book is different from the experience you have of that book after you've finished reading it. My understanding is this: while you're reading the book, you're absorbing it as something incomplete. The narrative draws you forward because you expect to get answers to questions posed by the narrative; the story can surprise you. You don't have the whole picture because in your mind the whole picture doesn't, can't, yet exist. Once you've finished reading the book, it can be more of an object; you can experience the novel as a structure with bounds instead of a linear narrative that stretches forward into a blank future. I'm not sure I agree with the linear part, since many novels aren't strictly linear, what with flashbacks, the reader remembering foreshadowing they encountered earlier in the story, narratives that jump around in time, that sort of thing. But anyway. I might not understand what theorists mean by "linear," either. Or rather, I do have a vague idea of how "linear" goes along with flashbacks and foreshadowing and such, but I can't write it down coherently yet. Maybe later.

Another idea is that, because you don't have the whole picture of the book first time around, re-reading is different cognitively. When you're re-reading, your primary attention doesn't have to be on finding answers to questions. You can't be surprised in the same manner, so your mind is freer to engage with the novel in a more critical way. You can rethink your interpretations of the text, or look for patterns in the narrative, or simply catch things you missed before.

However, I think a major reason to re-read a book is purely for pleasure. You enjoyed the book the first time, and perhaps the second; now you want to experience that pleasure again. The pleasure is only deepened when you can think more critically about the book.

For the next three days, starting tomorrow, I'm posting about my re-read of Jane Eyre. I seem to recall it was summer the first time I read it. Now, it's spring. Some days are still chilly, but they're bright and flowers are blooming. Nothing could be more unlike the beginning section of Jane Eyre, when the weather is so bad outside they can't take a walk, and the emotional weather inside is even more turbulent.

Since I know the book well, I found I can enjoy reading even the parts that disturb or enrage me because there's also enough room in my mind to think outside of the story. This time, for instance, I couldn't help drawing comparisons between bullying young John Reed and Dudley Dursley in the early Harry Potter books (which didn't yet exist the first time I read Jane Eyre). But more on my re-read tomorrow. Lots and lots more.

What's your favorite book or books to re-read? And why?

All of the tagged Brontë posts, in reverse order.