on Jane Eyre as the anti-Cinderella
summerfling posted a link to articles about men's and women's favoured reading (where we got the full 20 for men and only five for women, go figure). Their description of Jane Eyre was so connected to thoughts I've been having lately that I ran immediately to my LJ.
Is this a tale of a repressed, dependent woman who ultimately marries her tyrannical employer? Or is it a groundbreaking work, full of metaphorical allusions to a woman embracing her sexuality? Whichever reading you subscribe to, Charlotte Brontë's novel is an odd choice for a book that makes women "feel proud to be a woman".
How about neither? When I first read the book, sexuality was sort of a minor factor for me, and it has never been the angle from which I've approached it, even if I can see it there.
As for the first definition, people keep saying that and WOW for missing the point with a mile.
It's only a couple of weeks since I read someone snidely calling Jane "the little governess who marries the boss," so this time I was more prepared to be pissed off.
I mean, Jesus, it's not like you need that much context to see that this is the opposite of what the book is about. You only need to have read or seen Cinderella and then make a point by point comparison to see that - what do you know - that's not Jane at all!
So here's Jane's tale of refusing to be Cinderella:
It starts when as a child Jane refuses to be patiently sweet to her stepfamily and instead tells them exactly how awful they are.
She refuses to let Rochester dote and her and buy her things when they're getting married. She also refuses to quit her governess duties when he tells her to.
She refuses to stay with him once she finds out that he's a would-be bigamist.
She refuses to marry the nice, handsome young man who offers her a lifetime of doing good.
She inherits a good sum of money so she won't have to work or be a charity case any longer. (Okay, so that's not a refusal in itself, but it gives her the possibility to refuse to wait for a prince to save her.)
She refuses to play sweet to Rochester when she finds out about the fire and his disabilities - instead, upon her return she calls him ugly and points out that if she wanted to, she could have married a much better man than him. She also points out that she's wealthy enough not to marry at all. ("I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own mistress." And to really drive the anti-Cinderella angle, she assures him that, "I love you better now, when I can really be useful to you, than I did in your state of proud independence when you disdained every part but that of the giver and the protector.")
And then they live happily ever after.
Jane's a twee little thing, and she has a way of expressing herself that's sappy and melodramatic, but she's not meek, and certainly not repressed and dependant. She's like a cat: if she wants to, you can flop her over on her back, but if she doesn't want to, you can't make her.
To me, Jane's story is about how even if you're set up to be the Cinderella, you don't have to be. You don't have to let others define your life or your happiness - when you have nothing else, at least have your integrity. And, because this is a romance, integrity may make things harder but eventually it also makes things better.
I know that I should be filling this analysis with IMO and YMMV, but when it comes to the Cinderella reading of Jane Eyre I simply find it too baffling for any of that. To make a bad joke, it's a reading blinder than Mr. Rochester, because at least he recognizes Jane for who she is.
The articles also missed the point of Jane Austen's books, but then, there's nothing new there - Amy Heckerling seems to be one of the few people who sees what I see. One day I might write an LJ post on why I find Clueless the most Austenite of the Austen film adaptations I've seen, but I don't have time to do it today.
ETA: It occurred to me - right after I left home and couldn't return to this post for hours - that if one looks at Bertha not so much as a character but as a device in Jane's story, then her function is twofold. First, she prevents Jane from marrying Rochester halfway through the book. At this point, Rochester is still proud and bossy, and Jane has to struggle to stop him from tranforming her entirely - her love and her sense of integrity are at odds. That's where Bertha appears, as an obstacle - and not just any obstacle. She's the woman who did marry Rochester and went mad. A big warning sign, in other words.
Her second function is when she burns down Thornfield and cripples Rochester. At this point, Jane has come into her own, and Bertha then helps her achieve her happy ending by turning Rochester into the more humble character that Jane can marry. The happy ending becomes happier than it would have if Jane had simply married Rochester right away.
Thus, Bertha's part in the book is so beneficial to Jane that if I was making an adaptation, I'd be sorely tempted to either have Bertha appear as an idealized angelic figure, or have the same actress play both parts.
Is this a tale of a repressed, dependent woman who ultimately marries her tyrannical employer? Or is it a groundbreaking work, full of metaphorical allusions to a woman embracing her sexuality? Whichever reading you subscribe to, Charlotte Brontë's novel is an odd choice for a book that makes women "feel proud to be a woman".
How about neither? When I first read the book, sexuality was sort of a minor factor for me, and it has never been the angle from which I've approached it, even if I can see it there.
As for the first definition, people keep saying that and WOW for missing the point with a mile.
It's only a couple of weeks since I read someone snidely calling Jane "the little governess who marries the boss," so this time I was more prepared to be pissed off.
I mean, Jesus, it's not like you need that much context to see that this is the opposite of what the book is about. You only need to have read or seen Cinderella and then make a point by point comparison to see that - what do you know - that's not Jane at all!
So here's Jane's tale of refusing to be Cinderella:
It starts when as a child Jane refuses to be patiently sweet to her stepfamily and instead tells them exactly how awful they are.
She refuses to let Rochester dote and her and buy her things when they're getting married. She also refuses to quit her governess duties when he tells her to.
She refuses to stay with him once she finds out that he's a would-be bigamist.
She refuses to marry the nice, handsome young man who offers her a lifetime of doing good.
She inherits a good sum of money so she won't have to work or be a charity case any longer. (Okay, so that's not a refusal in itself, but it gives her the possibility to refuse to wait for a prince to save her.)
She refuses to play sweet to Rochester when she finds out about the fire and his disabilities - instead, upon her return she calls him ugly and points out that if she wanted to, she could have married a much better man than him. She also points out that she's wealthy enough not to marry at all. ("I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own mistress." And to really drive the anti-Cinderella angle, she assures him that, "I love you better now, when I can really be useful to you, than I did in your state of proud independence when you disdained every part but that of the giver and the protector.")
And then they live happily ever after.
Jane's a twee little thing, and she has a way of expressing herself that's sappy and melodramatic, but she's not meek, and certainly not repressed and dependant. She's like a cat: if she wants to, you can flop her over on her back, but if she doesn't want to, you can't make her.
To me, Jane's story is about how even if you're set up to be the Cinderella, you don't have to be. You don't have to let others define your life or your happiness - when you have nothing else, at least have your integrity. And, because this is a romance, integrity may make things harder but eventually it also makes things better.
I know that I should be filling this analysis with IMO and YMMV, but when it comes to the Cinderella reading of Jane Eyre I simply find it too baffling for any of that. To make a bad joke, it's a reading blinder than Mr. Rochester, because at least he recognizes Jane for who she is.
The articles also missed the point of Jane Austen's books, but then, there's nothing new there - Amy Heckerling seems to be one of the few people who sees what I see. One day I might write an LJ post on why I find Clueless the most Austenite of the Austen film adaptations I've seen, but I don't have time to do it today.
ETA: It occurred to me - right after I left home and couldn't return to this post for hours - that if one looks at Bertha not so much as a character but as a device in Jane's story, then her function is twofold. First, she prevents Jane from marrying Rochester halfway through the book. At this point, Rochester is still proud and bossy, and Jane has to struggle to stop him from tranforming her entirely - her love and her sense of integrity are at odds. That's where Bertha appears, as an obstacle - and not just any obstacle. She's the woman who did marry Rochester and went mad. A big warning sign, in other words.
Her second function is when she burns down Thornfield and cripples Rochester. At this point, Jane has come into her own, and Bertha then helps her achieve her happy ending by turning Rochester into the more humble character that Jane can marry. The happy ending becomes happier than it would have if Jane had simply married Rochester right away.
Thus, Bertha's part in the book is so beneficial to Jane that if I was making an adaptation, I'd be sorely tempted to either have Bertha appear as an idealized angelic figure, or have the same actress play both parts.