My romance reading has mostly been confined to late twentieth and early 21st century titles, but of course the genre did not spring up ex nihilo. Pam Regis’s A Natural History of the Romance Novel (2003) situates contemporary romance within a tradition she traces back to 1740′s Pamela. Among the earlier books Regis analyzes is Jane Eyre, along with Pride and Prejudice, Framley Parsonage, and A Room With a View). Regis chose them for their chronological distribution, representation of different styles of English literature, popularity with critics and public alike, quality, and vivid heroines. She writes, in a statement that may not be widely accepted by today’s readers, “In a genre whose focus is the heroine, novels portraying intense, vigorous women provide the purest account of the genre.” (p. 55).
Regis departs from earlier efforts to define the romance novel by focusing on narrative elements (courtship and betrothal) rather than themes (“love relationship”). According to Regis, a romance novel is a work of prose fiction that tells the story of the courtship and betrothal of one or more heroines. It has eight elements, and Jane Eyre has all of them.
1. Society Defined: near novel’s beginning; probably in some way flawed.
Society, especially Jane’s place in it, is a major preoccupation of the novel
2. The Meeting: usually near beginning — hero and heroine meet.
A gripping meeting that brings together so many elements, including the Gothic, romantic, and feminist elements of the novel. An enigmatic man on horseback literally falls at our heroine’s feet!
3. The Barrier: series of scenes — reasons why they cannot marry.
The biggest one, obviously, is that Rochester is already married. Also class and gender issues (her I mean the internal barrier presented by Jane’s reluctance to be a charity case, even in the context of love). And then the fake barriers Rochester erects, as in his courtship of Blanche Ingram.
4. The Attraction: scene or series of scenes — reason they should marry.
Like an old school romance (by which I think is normally meant a romance written in the 1970s through the 1980s), we only directly get Jane’s version of falling in love. But how wonderfully Bronte captures the complex, uncontrollable, emotion, based on both things that can be named, particular qualities (his respectful treatment of her, his kindness, etc.), but also on the primal or inchoate, as when Jane says “he is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; — I am sure he is, — I feel akin to him, — I understand the language of his countenance and movements: though rank and wealth sever us widely.”
Rochester holds his own, though, as in chapter 23 when he describes their connection as a “string somewhere under my left ribs tightly and inexplicably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame”.
They become beautiful in each other’s eyes, in that mysterious way love makes possible.
5. The Declaration: scene or scenes in which hero declares love for heroine and vice versa.
Chapter 23, baby. Jane says “whereever you are is my home — my only home”, and later Rochester says, “You-you strange-almost unearthly thing!– I love as my own flesh.”
6. Point of Ritual Death: moment when union between hero and heroine seems absolutely impossible.
For Regis, this is the moment when Jane, after feeling Rochester, finds herself on the steps of the cottage at Marsh end and thinks, “I can but die”. I would personally put it at the moment after Jane learns about “Bertha”, and is mechanically taking off her wedding dress and pondering what it all means (“I looked at my love … never more could it turn to him”.) Jane’s taking leave of Rochester might be another.
7. The Recognition: point when author gives new information overcoming barrier.
Jane dream Rochester needs her. She returns to Thornfield to find it burned down, and Rochester’s wife perished.
8. Betrothal: hero asks heroine to marry him and she accepts (or vice versa).
We get two of these.
Regis’s discussion of the novel is brief (as indeed is every discussion in this book. It is quite focused.). She notes that Jane Eyre showcases the flexibility of the form, and incorporates elements from other genres, such as the quest-plot, the northern (England) Gothic, Bildungroman, feminist themes. She notes the overriding theme of freedom — Jane’s — which supports a claim against the supposed natural antipathy between feminism and the romance novel to which she has already devoted a whole chapter. Indeed Brontë “finds the romance novel form a natural medium for this theme” (p. 87).
For Regis, the novel is all about freedom — not only Jane’s, but Rochester’s which is bestowed by Jane herself. Does Jane achieve “real equality”? Critics are split, with some arguing that while there may be a “mythical” equality, when romance triumphs, equality is necessarily sacrificed. Others note that Jane herself earned her triumphs, and was not saved by a prince. The latter is Regis’s view. As she puts it, Jane “is profoundly bourgeois, but bourgeois values of independence, individualism, and freedom have been the goals of her quest: her marriage to Rochester is simply an extension of these, not a concession to literary form” (p. 91).
[What does "feminist" mean in discussions of Jane Eyre? In Regis, it seems to refer to a popular contemporary conception of feminism. Was Brontë influenced by the feminism of her day?]
A partial list of random things that remind me of contemporary romance novels:
- Anachronisms (as in the apparent conflict between Jane’s comment that Sir Walter Scott’s Marmion is a new book (published in 1808), but then reading Byron’s The Corsair (1814). (see interesting discussion of chronology here).
- Rochester’s diminutive pet names for Jane, as when he calls her “my little sceptic.”
- The heroine as an orphan, as vulnerable, as isolated.
- The dark, brooding hero who is older, richer, and more powerful (her employer) [Regis at one point claims that "Jane controls the courtship from the platform of her profession". (p. 88) I found that very hard to see.]
- In general, the power issues between hero and heroine
- The heroine’s lack of bodily control (control of passions) around Rochester
- The false courtships
- Rochester’s guests and the scenes when Jane is forced to sit with them reminded me of Patricia Gaffney’s To Have and to Hold.
- The hero in disguise!
A partial list of things that diverge from contemporary (by which I mean, published today) romance novels:
- The hero is married
- The extended courtship of Jane by another man
- The emphasis on Jane’s journey, including her childhood
- Jane’s religious identity
A few of many things worth thinking a lot more about:
- Jane’s art — is it just a plot propeller? Or is it more significant? Does it express her self-image?
- Christian morality — A contemporary reviewer wrote that “No Christian grace is perceptible upon her.” (more reviews here)
- Postcolonial readings. How is to to read Jane Eyre after reading Wide Sargasso Sea? Can you root at all for Jane and Rochester the way one is supposed to in a romance?
Finally, did I like it?
I would say I appreciated it more than I enjoyed it. Like any good genre reader, much of my pleasure came from situating the text within the genre. As a moral philosopher, I enjoyed Jane’s struggles with principle and emotions and Christian morality. But as a reader simpliciter (whatever that is)? I wasn’t transported by the prose, although I found the plot gripping (despite knowing how it was all going to unfold). There were stretches of slogging. Glad I read it.
Tell me what you think:
Have you read Jane Eyre? Did you like it?
If you read romance, and this IS a romance, why wouldn’t you consider reading it?
They say this is one of those books that, while being widely assigned by English teachers in the US, is also pretty popular outside the classroom. Why is that?
Yay you read it!
I think Jane’s art is an important expression of her personality. She doesn’t usually draw ordinary scenery; she draws wild, stormy fantasy scenes that represent her nature much more than, say, tame watercolors of a cow in a field. The art shows how different she is from society.
Looking forward to reading the rest of the comments!
I’ve realized that so many contemporaries–or even historical romance–derive from the template. The false coutship, especially, and the dark secrets, and the forced-stifling of love. Oh, goodness, I really love this book. Thanks for giving me the push to read it again.
I’ve posted my thoughts on the blog–it’s going to be a series; this rereading has affected me in so many ways, I have to explore them all. Here is part 1, then part 2. I don’t know when it will end, actually.
I swooned when Rochester gave us that string quote.
@Victoria Janssen:
You’re right: She’s not a soft-watercolor scene kind of girl. I think this detail is helpful to both the Gothic feel of the novel, but more so to what a kind of person Jane is–strong, not easily felled by harsh realities or images.
Girl’s got guts.
@Sasha: @Victoria Janssen: Oh, that’s helpful.
I was thinking about the difference between Rochester’s and St. John’s views of her work. Whereas St. John ripped off a piece for the practical purpose of identifying her, Rochester seemed to appreciate them more as expressions of her qualities and thoughts.
And with regard to the false suitor, it’s true that there is often that man or woman who seems on paper perfect for the hero or heroine, but readers know s/he isn’t.
When I reread the novel, I fould I had forgotten how big a chunk of the book is spent on Jane’s childhood. Her character is firmly established long before she/we meet Rochester. I also think that the book has a great example of the author punishing a character, Rochester really pays for deceiving Jane, losing a hand and his sight.
@HelenB: Helen, I agree. I really enjoyed the first part of the book. Critics and teachers tend to divide up the book by places, from what I can tell: Gateshead, Lowood, Thornfield, Moor House, and Ferndean, that each represent a stage in Jane’s personal development. I loved the first two sections.
We rarely see more than a short prologue of our hero or heroine’s youth in today’s romance novel … do we? At least I haven’t. I can think of a few exceptions, such as Lisa Kleypas’s Sugar Daddy.
And I am glad you mentioned the punishing of Rochester. Boy was he ever. Then again, he totally deserved it. Can we equate this to the “grovel” in romance I wonder?
I loved Jane as a child. Loved her. What a sassy, dramatic, funny girl.
Jane Eyre is my icon. This book is no morality play – the author, IMO, castigates convention, the social mores of the time, and ‘Christian’ charity. Jane finds her own way through the world into which she is born, makes her own decisions and treats others with the respect they are due…or not. Jane leaving Rochester broke my heart. Jane acknowledging her love for him and returning of her own free will, regardless of circumstances again, broke my heart. The person who frightened me the most in the book? St. John Rivers. What a pure narcissist! Rochester, who should be the narcissist by virtue of his social station, is nothing of the sort. I read Jane Eyre once a year – have since I was twelve. Charlotte Bronte is my inspiration.
I’ve read Jane Eyre many times. Maybe a year ago, my book club read Wide Sargasso Sea, so I re-read it again to prepare for the discussion. I somehow came out of reading WSS still liking Rochester, finding him the more sympathetic character. I wondered about the author’s intentions there. (Was I supposed to not like Rochester? He comes across as a victim there, to me anyway.)
Rochester is a few things a contemporary romance hero cannot be. He’s not attractive physically, he’s a bully in a lot of ways. I can’t put my finger on why I like him in the end; it may just be because he gets some of the wittiest lines in the book. Or I like him because Jane loves him and I like Jane. And I appreciate that he falls for her even as she’s standing up to him, because she stands up to him and surprises him.
I don’t think I’ve ever thought of what happens to Rochester as a punishment–I wonder if Bronte intended it as such? Its main function seems to me to be as an equalizer of the power imbalance between him and Jane.
I confess I haven’t recently re-read JE. But I did just finish listening to Sophie Kinsella’s Remember Me?, which made me think about Jane as a foremother of chick lit and romance heroines.
Kinsella’s book basically flips the chick lit plot on its head (and then reinstates it): the heroine awakens in hospital and cannot remember the last 3 years, during which she has had a chick-lit style life trajectory. She’s had a make-over, has a gorgeous rich husband, a dream job. At first she’s thrilled, but she then she finds she isn’t happy in this life and isn’t “herself” in these roles (these aren’t really spoilers).
Years ago I TA’d for a class reading Jane Eyre, and a student asked whether there were Victorian novels with a Blanche Ingram as the heroine. The answer is, well, no, not really [the closest I got was Gwendolen in Daniel Deronda, who isn't the heroine but a main character]. Because the heroine who is lovely, socially accepted, fits in, has nowhere to go, and so much of the Victorian novel is about self-making.
In that way, I think Jane is a precursor of Bridget Jones and her ilk as well as many romance heroines. The imperfect heroine is easier to identify with, and to provide with a story arc involving growth. (Sure there are plenty of gorgeous romance heroines, but they often don’t see or discount their own looks).
So often the “villain” or antagonist of chick lit or contemporary romance is the beautiful, successful woman. There are plenty of feminist comments to make about why alpha males are heroes and alpha females lose out (and are called “the Cobra” and “bitch boss from hell” and must repent to be the heroine). In fact, I can see a reading list for a women’s studies/lit class coming together right now . . . what am I teaching next fall?
@Julia Rachel Barrett: What an endorsement! I agree that St. John is a scary figure. to me he represents duty gone beserk, without any counterbalancing emotions.
@fshk: I think this is a traditional romance in the sense that you are supposed to like the main characters. The HEA has to be satisfying to the reader as well. In fact, I don’t think a book would count as a romance if the hero and/or heroine were totally awful and unsympathetic. Perhaps that is a 9th condition Regis should have added?
(although not exactly a narrative milestone)
But I agree that Rochester would not be a hero today. Can you think of a blind hero? (I can think of a blind heroine, the Spymaster’s Lady, actually). or any hero with two disabilities? The fact that he is married — I can;t think of an example of that in romance today. As for his looks, that is a tough one. I think there are heroes today who are not handsome, like Derek Craven in Dreaming of you by Lisa Kleypas. Also, Rochester is beautiful to Jane.
Thank you for reporting on your view of JE after reading WSS. There is no question that the attitude towards “Bertha” in the book is awful.
@willaful: Hmmm. I wonder what counts as Rochester’s punishment? Was it Bertha going mad? Or the house burning and losing his sight and hand in the process?
I agree that it has the effect of equalizing the power imbalance. While I think Bronte is very sympathetic to him (she would have to be for this to be a romance), I get a sense of disapproval of how he handled the Bertha situation.
How interesting. I nurse a dislike for Jane Eyre (as a romance novel) since I was a mite. Please bear it in mind it’s been a while since I read it (first time, I was twelve and the second and last time, I was perhaps nineteen) and that these comments below are in context of a romance novel.
Cons:
- Jane is a martyr, which is my least favourite type of heroine, but it seems to be everyone else’s favourite type.
- I couldn’t understand how or why Jane fell for Rochester and vice versa.
- age gap. Isn’t he perhaps fifteen or twenty years older than Jane?
- I may have misremembered but Rochester’s comments about his trade overseas and an implication it was the reason why his married his first wife, which didn’t impress me.
- the revelation at Jane and Rochester’s wedding (where it’s revealed that Rochester was already married)
- the fact that he intended to commit bigamy without informing Jane, thus making her potentially party to his crime, put me off. At this point I considered him a selfish wanker.
- the fact that he’d imprisoned his wife enraged me, probably because I was already aware of England’s then-existing practice of men imprisoning their wives, daughters or female relatives/wards for various reasons. I couldn’t view Rochester as romantic Hero from thereon.
- It’s strongly implied that blindness is an act of divine punishment (which was, in fairness, the usual view of disabilities at the time. Disabilities of all children who were born with were taken as visible sins of their parents and admittedly, this view still exists today.)
- the fact Jane forgave Rochester’s dodgy decisions put me off, considering how much of an moral absolutist she had been. It’s as if – in order to get what she wants, e.g. Rochester, she’s willing to compromise her principles. This makes her – in my mite’s eye – a hypocrite. My mother argued with me on this, but I’m sorry but if Jane’s willing to judge other people then by god, I have a right to judge her.
- And the wife’s death? Deus ex machina much?
Pros:
- an acknowledgement that religious charities aren’t always benevolent nor good.
- being obedient isn’t always the right way (Jane’s childhood friend…Helen? is one example)
- an acknowledgement of the flawed/unfair class system and its effects on the society
- highlights of English women’s plight
- endorsement of women’s individualism and a right to make choices
In short, it’s an awesome novel, but a massive failure as a romance novel. I may have misinterpreted/misunderstood Jane Eyre, but that’s how I saw it back then. My dislike for both – Jane and Rochester – is still too huge for me to overcome enough to give it another try.
Edited: Sorry about the awkward layout and errors. It’s too late in the night for me to remember how to write English properly. Sorry.
@Maili:
Hmm, pretty much my sentiments. I was afeered I was the only person in Christendom who didn’t find either Jane or Rochester particularly sympathetic characters. Despite Jane’s principles and intentions, she’s way too naive and, well, a martyr. Rochester may have been manipulated into a mad wife and unwanted child because it was the right-thing-to-do; so becoming a cantankerous bully and “selfish wanker” somehow redeems him (if only in his own mind)? And that he has no idea what to do with Bertha (“madwoman in the attic” or asylum argument aside) doesn’t speak well for his acumen.
And then there’s the florid prose and syntax. The literati get all caught up in the colonialism and attitude toward foreigners. Why must Bertha be a non-Anglo?
And I’ll grant that it’s a dense and deftly woven novel, replete with symbolism, metaphors, doppelgangers and all that is literary (so too is most of Hemingway and Joyce), and structurally, it’s a romance–but it’s a tedious read.
The first time I read JE, I was 12. At that time, my favorite book was A Little Princess, with The Secret Garden a close second — I read and re-read them, identifying with the lonely girls because we had just moved and I knew no one in our new town. So I asked my father for something to read (the way I found most classics at that age), and he gave me JE. My reaction was a combination of Jessica’s and Maili’s — I loved the part about Jane’s childhood (I remember comparing her to Oliver Twist and David Copperfield, as well as Burnett’s girls), but her martyr tendencies bothered me. I didn’t like Rochester at all; I was bothered by his lies, and letting Jane be so hurt and humiliated. In the end I was glad Jane was happy, which I didn’t think she could be with St John, but I thought she deserved better.
As I got older, I found myself liking Rochester more each time I re-read the book. I softened towards him as my own experience made me aware that people in love sometimes do crazy things, even wrong things. I decided that I was glad Jane and Rochester got a second chance, not just because he was the only man Jane could love, but because he had suffered and paid for his bad choices. And I started to find the “string” speech totally romantic! I read JE back-to-back with Tess of the D’Urbervilles in a university course, and that helped me go from seeing Jane as a victim/martyr to seeing her as a heroine with strength to bend where others might break.
Rochester’s still not my favorite type of hero (although when Ciaran Hinds plays him, that changes!). I don’t care for the “proud hero brought low so that the heroine can save him” device. I do like how much time the book spends developing Jane as she grows up, rather than in flashbacks as most romances today would handle it, and I appreciate the complexity of having a hero who’s actually married to the wrong person. I can’t imagine an author getting away with that today in romance, although maybe in chick lit.
@Liz:
What an interesting question.
In the first half, I actually don’t see Jane as having character flaws, per se, just youth. (bearing in mind I am no literary expert). I think she struggles between two fairly honorable lifestyles in the second part.
I had not thought of that (in part because I don’t read chick lit, although I have seen the films Bridget Jones Diary and The Devil Wears Prada and can see your point just from that). Would make a great course. Send along the syllabus when you get it ready!
ps. Did I mention we lost our WST grad concentration and major in the cuts? I am too upset to even blog about it.
@Maili:
Yes, I agree. Rochester was really really bad. I agree with all the political points you have made, but I made allowances since the book was written in 1847. In fact, if I look at it form that point of view, I actually see it as progressive for some of the reasons you mention.
I don’t see Jane as a martyr. Helen, yes. Jane, no. I mean, she triumphed over everyone, not juts at the last minute, but at each stage.
I know you are not suggesting that you do this, or that anyone else do it, but if I restricted my contemporary romance reading to books that comported with my political views … pickings would be slim indeed.
@Maryan: Hey, it;s the First Cause of my reading this book! And now you tell me you hate it?!
I did find it tedious at times. Maybe all my romance reading has conditioned me to shorter books.
But your point that “structurally” it is a romance, but…
makes me wonder if there are other things that the romance novel should possess beyond Regis’s list of 8. she wanted a list of narrative signposts for the purpose of comparing across subgrenes and dates, but it seems to lack something. I mentioned about that it lacks the sense I get that we have to root for the hero and heroine (hence the names) — we are not indifferent to their experiences. But that would be adding a reader response element to the genre definition, and Regis’ list is purely structural.
@SonomaLass: Rochester’s still not my favorite type of hero (although when Ciaran Hinds plays him, that changes!). I don’t care for the “proud hero brought low so that the heroine can save him” device. I do like how much time the book spends developing Jane as she grows up, rather than in flashbacks as most romances today would handle it, and I appreciate the complexity of having a hero who’s actually married to the wrong person. I can’t imagine an author getting away with that today in romance, although maybe in chick lit
I said it was the template (Evans’ St. Elmo is nearly Jane Eyre redux) and single most important influence on 19th century women writers and romance in the US. I didn’t say I liked it.
One of the problems I have with the Eyre formula/structure: the mistreated, maltreated, neglected, isolated, orphaned waif. The dominant theory is that the female protagonist must have all of her support pillars destroyed and her principles violated; she’s reduced, as close as possible, to a tabula rasa from which she will recreate herself, and in doing so, develops a successful relationship with the hero. If y’all dislike the “proud hero brought low so that the heroine can save him,” why allow the same thing of the heroine? Would you feel the same about Jane and Rochester had she not been the mistreated, isolated, lonely orphan?
This waif trope appears in most of the US romances throughout the turn of the 20th century. I’m working on the cultural context for it.
Maryan – interesting! I have no problem with either construct – a hero brought low or a heroine brought so low that she rises, like the phoenix from the ashes of her life and recreates herself. It’s myth. Jane walks through the valley of the shadow of death – at several points in the book – sometimes metaphorically – and emerges on the other side, stronger and with a powerful sense of herself.
The story resonates with me. Many of us are brought low and rise above circumstances. Besides, the theme was common when the book was written.
As far as the prose being lengthy and boring (I actually love every word)…in the romance world, we have quickies – 5000 word stories, something you can read over your half-hour lunch break. That doesn’t exactly leave space for a great deal of lengthy character development and a back story.
@Maryan: I think this doesn’t bother me so much because I see Jane not in the context of (other) romance heroines as in the context of Victorian heroes. Dickens is full of male orphans reduced to nothing who recreate themselves, for instance. I don’t think of this as a ROMANCE trope in Jane Eyre, but as a VICTORIAN one. (There is quite a bit of criticism on orphans in that context, I think).
When I say Jane reminds me of a chick lit heroine, I don’t mean so much that she is flawed as that she sees herself that way (small, plain, less than Rochester). I think that’s quite common in both romance and chick lit, and it bothers me that “we” still seem to want a woman to be humble, or modest, or martyred, or reduced in some way to be a heroine. The “humbling” of Rochester annoys me in the same way. How come Jane couldn’t be, or become, worthy of an UNbroken Rochester? I do like the novel, but find the ending really unsatisfying.
@Jessica: ? I’m sorry but I’m not sure what brought that on. My previous comments are a collection of my reactions when I was a pre-teen and a teen. I wasn’t politically minded at the time.
If I were to make a contribution as I am now, it’d would be this: Jane Eyre is a Gothic [contemporary] romance, rather than a straightforward contemporary romance. The fact I have never liked Gothic romances (historical or not), Jane Eyre never stood a chance with me.
Traditional Gothic romances revolve around similar themes and a couple of trademarks (stormy sea, dark building (castle, tower, belfry, etc.), and a touch of the paranormal or supernatural*, don’t they? (In Jane Eyre, if I remember right, Jane thought she heard Rochester calling for her, which prompted her to go to him?)
I think what usually separates Gothic romances from Gothic novels are the hero (who’s usually the focus of heroine’s fears and hopes) and the HEA. Heroes of Gothic romances usually are tormented, forbidden, older and deeply flawed, and we rarely get to see their POVs. A Gothic rom is usually much darker than a typical contemporary romance of its time (and today, too). One example of today, let’s say: Gothic themes and styles appear in many of Anne Stuart’s contemporary romances. Not surprising as she was a Gothic romance author and she trulys loves this genre. Anyroad, IMO, Rochester is a typical Gothic romance hero if not the Gothic Hero template, which is why I wasn’t keen on him (sorry about using that erm, inelegant term to describe him). In fact, if you don’t mind me digressing: although I believe Gothic romance genre is the origins of Romantic suspense, what separates them is the hero’s flaws. Heroes of GR tend to be much more flawed – and sometimes, without redemption and/or apologies – than heroes of RS usually are. This is all my take, though, so I may be wrong. Sorry for digressing.
So I suppose Jane Eyre works really well as a Gothic contemporary romance, but – for me – not so much as a straightforward contemporary romance. IMO, anyhow.
I’m going to make short, little statements because I don’t have time to flesh this out they way I want. So here it goes.
When I read Bronte’s Villette for the first time this year, I was forced to re-think Jane Eyre. Bronte is a lot more complex and disturbing than I think we expect our romances to be.
Which is why I think it is mistake to read it as a romance. Not because it isn’t a romance but because it is not a modern romance even though the plot elements are similar to many modern romance novels. It is something else, from another time period, doing something else.
I also think that a lot of how we feel/see Bertha and Jane is influenced by what we know or think we know about both the book itself and The Madwoman in the Attic. I disagree with Gilber and Guber’s reading and think that to reduce the characterization of Jane into Angel/Martyr vs. Bertha monster/succubus is wrong. Wrong gothic novel. That’s Rebecca. Jane is not a martyr. She struggles with those tendencies . . . as one would if she were proud but still did not believe that it was possible for anyone to love her.
When Jane says she is small and little and plain I do not believe she is one of those chick lit heroines who simply does not see herself as attractive. I think, rather, that she is being truthful. Further, it is not simply her lack of beauty that makes her unloveable. Jane is not a particularly bending or forgiving person. She does not make friends easily. She keeps her distance from people. She is very judgmental and extremely proud. I think this is why so many contemporaneous reviewers found her so objectionable and many people do not like her. She isn’t any easy heroine (Lucy Snowe is even worse).
As for Rochester, I like him more and more as I get older. I have sympathy for him. That doesn’t mean I think that he isn’t a dick but he’s not horrid either. He’s just a man. And he abuses his power, that isn’t so unbelievable, is it? So neither character is particularly likeable or good. But I rather think that’s the point and they love each other anyway. Plus, Jane puts up with his bullshit but only to an extent. She leaves him, finally, when the situation offends both her pride and principles.
So while I agree with Regis to an extent, I think it would be better to say that Jane Eyre is less a precursor of modern romances than it is the transcendence and culmination of gothics, the ones that came out of the 18th century. It is a response to these. Jane is everything an old gothic heroine is not, not very good, not blonde, doesn’t swoon at the drop of a hate and leaves. No golden haired, good hero that comes and saves Jane. She leaves and comes back on her own two feet. And Rochester is the villain. He’s the hero, too but mostly he’s the villain. There is no hero, not really.
The language is beautiful, sensual and sexual. I wish modern romance writers would pay half as much attention to their language. Tedious? I think that’s more a matter of taste and also it having been written in the 19th century. We are used to short, abrupt writing thanks to Hemingway. I appreciate the language a lot more as an older person than I did when I first read the book, although I understand that long, opulent passages are not to everyone’s taste.
I think they teach it in schools because it is a rich text and I think people love it because Bronte hits an emotional vein. You may not like it, but it stays with you.
@Angela/Lazaraspaste
I agree.
I’m surprised because you’ve described JE’s Gothic traits I associate with old Gothic romances. I don’t remember seeing blonde heroines (I did take notice because I wanted to have blonde hair at the time). I wonder I had a long bad streak of luck when come to picking Gothic romances? From what I remember, heroes were villainous heroes who may or may not be murderers or smugglers (most weren’t and a few were), Not the anti-hero type, it’s the different sort. Not all heroines were frightened mice, either. Most were orphaned, and some were governesses or wards (heroes were either employers or guardians). Now I’m worried about my memory. Heh. Gah.
Great discussion.
@Jessica: For blind heroes the only other one I can remember is Wrath from the BDB Books by J.R. Ward.
@Angela: I love that you pointed out Rochester is the villain, because that’s one of the things I have always loved about this book but never thought of in quite that way (if that makes sense?)
In general Jane Eyre is one of my favorite books. I love that Rochester was an imperfect, damaged, belligerent man who made some awful choices and I loved that there wasn’t a tidy HEA.
Angela/Lazaraspaste: Villette is my favorite Brontë book. Now I want to re-read it! Also, I agree that when Jane says she is little and plain, she’s giving an honest assessment. Both she and Rochester learn that really isn’t important when you love someone for their character qualities. I wish there were more romances like that today — too many beautiful people.
I’m not proud of this, but when I tried to read Jane Eyre a few years back, I couldn’t for the life of me get past the halfway point. I enjoyed the section about Jane’s childhood, but once Rochester showed up, I struggled and struggled to keep reading, but it was like being stuck in quicksand. The prose was dense, the pacing slow and the hero was neither appealing nor interesting. I knew what the big secret was and how things would unfold from a movie version I had seen in childhood, so that didn’t help, either.
I tried really hard because I’m a big Sharon Shinn fan and I had the conviction that I should read Jane Eyre before tackling Shinn’s future-set version of the story, Jenna Starborn, and Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair, which I was also interested in. Ultimately, the latter two books went unread, and Jane Eyre languished on my bedside table for months and then spent years on my bookshelf before I finally donated it to a good cause.
Penny Jordan had a blind hero in Silver, a contemporary single title romance that was first published in the late eighties and according to Amazon, reprinted in 2003.
@Angela/Lazaraspaste:
“. . . it would be better to say that Jane Eyre is less a precursor of modern romances than it is the transcendence and culmination of gothics. . .”
So you’re suggesting, what?, that modern popular romance is distinct and different than romances of previous centuries? If that’s the case, then Pam Regis’ entire structural analysis is pretty much blown out of the water because the formula is becomes irrelevant.
Or is it that Eyre is Great Literature? No one will argue (seriously) that Ann Radcliffe wrote Great Literature. Does that mean that modern popular romance cannot “transcend” the formula and become Great Literature?
@Maili–I was speaking more of Jane in opposition to older gothic heroines like from The Mysteries of Udolpho. They may not have been blonde, but I think they were usually beautiful. I think heroines of gothics since are much more like Jane Eyre.
@Pamelia–He totally is the villain. I think it’s the genius of the Brontes is that they figured out that the person everyone’s really interested in isn’t the hero. Not even the heroine. Kind of like Milton’s Satan. You can argue about his intentions for Paradise Lost all you want but in the end Satan’s the hero because Satan is the person you are with as the reader.
@SonomaLass–Isn’t Villette amazing? I am so glad I was forced to read it for class.
All,
Great discussion!
For the record, my definition of romance has shifted a bit since 2003: “A romance novel is a work of prose fiction that tells the story of the courtship and betrothal of one or more protagonists.” So, “heroines” becomes “protagonists” in response to M/M, F/F, and menage romances, which I hadn’t thought very much about a decade ago, but which have the same structure. Still, for most of its history, romance was M/F, with a focus on the heroine. A lot of it still is.
I teach Jane Eyre, and find that it is one of those books that girls and women will read even if you don’t put it on a syllabus. Males in class have a harder time with it.
Thanks for the post, Jessica.
–Pam Regis
I want to sit at Angela’s feet and drool. Is that permissible? Wow – what an impressive take on Jane Eyre. I never thought of Jane as a martyr nor did I ever once believe she thought of herself as one. When she claimed to be small and plain, I believed her to be small and plain, especially according to the standards of the time period in which the book was written.
Angela/Lazarapaste wrote: Not because it isn’t a romance but because it is not a modern romance even though the plot elements are similar to many modern romance novels. It is something else, from another time period, doing something else.
Yes. Yes yes yes. I love your comment.
There’s a blind hero in Entwined by Emma Jensen.
Very delayed comment but I just wanted to note that Maria Tatar has an interesting chapter in her book Secrets beyond the Door: The Story of Bluebeard and His Wives regarding Jane Eyre and its similarities and dissimilarities to the classic Bluebeard tale. Well worth checking out if you’re interested in the way folklore and fairytale influence modern cultural production (same chapter analyzes Du Maurier’s ‘Rebecca’).
FWIW, I love Jane Eyre (the book and the character) but I see it more as a female Bildungsroman than as a romance in the accepted 20th century genre sense of the term. Rochester is a powerful (and, I think, deeply sympathetic character) but while he’s important and attention-getting and Jane’s love for him is profound, he’s really not the whole of Jane’s story or the focus of the novel. I sometimes wonder if we only see this as a “romance” because a woman wrote it.
Angela, just (belatedly) read your comment at #20 and I completely agree with you. Especially the bit about ‘Jane Eyre’ being both a culmination and transcendence of the classic 18th century Gothic novel. Maria Tatar makes a similar although qualified point (she notes Jane’s apparent lack of real interest in Bertha Mason and Rochester’s Bluebeard-like “secrets” making her a perhaps less transgressive heroine than she might have been) in the book I reference in my comment above.