Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

     Questions about which characters are “likable” are sometimes difficult to answer because I sense that the characters we like in a book we wouldn’t like in real life. I think, though, that likability issues have some relevancy here because the book seems so often to lack a figure with whom the reader can identify. Jane Eyre, by contrast, made the reader-stand-in its narrator. Here, though, there are a few narrators, and none have quite the charisma of Jane. I think the book’s central accomplishment, especially in the early chapters is in getting readers invested in such a troubled romance as Healthcliff’s and Catherine’s. Nelly states that “the two, to a cool spectator, made a strange and fearful picture” (189), but I think, on the contrary, that there are many who will identify with the frenzied passion of these characters, even if these moments of recognition are not ones to be proud of.

     Heathcliff makes an engaging centerpiece for the novel. There's something intriguing about his ambiguous background and how that might affect how the others respond to him, including Bronte. Is he a gypsy? If so, I am specifically interested in the question of whether or not Bronte meant to depict racism in her characters’ reactions against Heathcliff, or if his ethnicity were only a small part of his role as an outsider as she imagined it—an element she added subconsciously. Early in the book, Healthcliff laments his status when he cries, “I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, and was dressed and behaved as well, and had a chance of being as rich as he will be!” (66) Nelly counsels him against understanding himself purely as a victim, but she later remarks that, in his moments of jealousy and guardedness, he seems almost monstrous. “I did not feel as if I were in the company of a creature of my own species” (191). Does Nelly recognize that prejudiced perceptions like these have made Heathcliff such a subversive figure? Does Bronte? ­

Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

Thoughts half-way through:

     I am unfamiliar with this book (and with the Bronte sisters in general). I wonder how feminists have traditionally responded to it. I suspect that Bronte imagined herself creating a subversive, pro-feminist figure—an intelligent young woman, comfortable learning new skills and placing herself in a new environment when she feels threatened or unhappy. Is this how her figure is interpreted today? Or have contemporary feminists scholars objected to the way that she learns from her friend at Lowood that “It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you” (40). A scene that might be interpreted two ways, for example, is the one in which young Jane quietly endures Mr. Brocklehurst’s punishment for accidentally breaking her slab. Is this today interpreted as a regrettable message from Bronte that subversive women should be more passive? Or do we read it like the author intended—a depiction of a young woman learning to take the moral high ground?

     In some ways, Eyre seems infatuated with her boss in ways that I suspect a contemporary, liberated woman might frown upon. One might ask why Bronte depicts Eyre’s happiness as being so contingent on being near Rochester. However, feminists might also appreciate the degree to which Eyre is unintimidated by Rochester’s guile. A more misogynistic writer might have depicted young Eyre learning discipline from the older, worldier Rochester, but Bronte seems to depict the two as intellectual equals. Eyre is able to keep up with Rochester tit-for-tat. Jane even states, “I don’t think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time and experience” (103). What are we to make of this relationship in the contemporary day?

Upon finishing the book:

     I suspect there are some who object to Jane ending up with Rochester. This relationship is, after all, a reaction against the more intellectual brand of love Jane is offered by St. John (of course, this relationship with St. John is objectionable for different reasons, but that’s a different issue). Although there may be some who might have liked the novel to end with Jane completely independent, I will admit that I found myself completely won over by the romance between Jane and Rochester. Bronte creates an endearing chemistry between them in the early chapters, and, she makes the relationship more palatable to feminists in the end by diminishing Rochester’s agency and increasing Jane’s. On page 343, Jane says, “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 giver and protector.”

     Bronte's faith is an interesting component of the novel. There is a line in Bronte’s Preface that has stayed with me. “Self-righteousness is not religion…to pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee is not to lift an impious hand to the crown of thorns.” The book itself seems to reflect this nuanced take on faith. Helen Burns is presented as a sympathetic character who urges Jane to “Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says and how He acts; make His word your rule, and His conduct your example” (42). However, later in the book, the very pious St. John is presented as a somewhat unsympathetic character. I suspect that Bronte, like Jane, valued her faith in the sense that it inspired feelings of self worth and freed her from petty vexations. St. John’s faith by contrast seems to have more to do with an anxious zeal which seems to Eyre to spring from “a depth where lay turbid dregs of disappointment” (270). The difference between his faith and Helen’s might make for an interesting study.