Mar 30, 2007 08:47
Presentiments are strange things! and so are sympathies; and so are signs: and the three combined make one mystery to which humanity has not yet found the key. I never laughed at presentiments in my life; because I have had strange ones of my own. Sympathies, I believe, exist (for instance, between far-distant, long-absent, wholly estranged relatives; asserting, notwithstanding their alienation, the unity of the source to which each traces his origin): whose workings bafle mortal comprehension. And signs, for aught we know, may be but the sympathies of Nature with man.
I am re-reading Jane Eyre. The last time I read it I was, oh, fourteen or fifteen -- at any rate, not a mature reader. What I expected to discover were riches beyond the wildest dreams of my fourteen-year-old self, who only cared that there was a love story, a freaky twist, and some passages that "sounded beautiful." I did, of course, discover this, to my great delight. I could talk about this novel forever. I am dying to teach it one day. And so on.
I also discovered that it is a deeply strange novel. Perhaps the strangest I've ever read. (Including Joyce, Pynchon, Nabokov.) I will perhaps post about this strangeness later, when I have finished it. In the meantime, read it if you haven't and render me unable to pull what I pulled for poor Hermione with Anna K (I still feel badly about that). And then let's talk about it!