My readers know how much I love the Emma M Lion books, and since Emma is so taken with Jane Eyre that she owns two copies of the book (one stolen on her behalf), I decided it was time to finally read Jane Eyre. I probably read it or skimmed it in college, though if I did, I didn’t like it enough to remember it well. 

Perhaps most interesting was to read it through Emma Lion’s lens–to appreciate its impact on a character in 1880s London struggling–like all women–to be seen, heard, and valued beyond a wife, mother, governesses or servant. Emma is energized in 1883 by Jane Eyre’s 1847 depiction of independence, grit, and outspokenness. Remarkable then and remarkable now, 175 years later, as women still face criticism and scrutiny for being too powerful, for speaking out and refusing to settle for something less than they want. 

Seen as a “feminist manifesto” and as a commentary on the ostentation of the rich and the invisibility of the poor (not to mention the cruelty enmeshed in educational institutions and the complete disregard for mental illness), the book has a lot to say about society’s ills. 

And threaded among these many issues is the romance of the novel–with all its imbalance of power and gender roles–that so many readers remember most. I found the romance a bit of a slog, and even understanding the context of mid 1800s marriages, it was still annoying to watch Jane fall in love with a man who treats her like a pet (his “pale little elf” his “good little girl”). She sways between speaking her truth, refusing upper class jewels and clothing and then succumbing to Mr Rochester’s flattery and devotion. 

Still, what we remember most is her perseverance, her independent spirit, and her courage. She finds shelter when she’s homeless, she uses education to advance herself, she says no to one marriage and yes to another. For female readers of the mid and late 1800s, Jane must have seemed a marvel and an enigma. Charlotte Bronte (who originally published under a male/female pseudonym, Currer Bell) offered readers a gift, though many saw the novel as a threat to gender and societal traditions. 

I’m glad I read this and also I’m glad to be done and moving on to other books. Having recently read Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, I should have been more aware of its similarity to Jane Eyre. I appreciate having read them close together, and though they are certainly different (yet similar in theme, character, and genre), each offers its own merits. But of the two, I think I liked Rebecca better. 4⭐️