So Slow

Well, it hasn't taken me that long to read a book since ... I don't remember when. I mean, in a typical week, I read 5-10 books; but Jane Eyre, like so many classics, defies my quick-reading skills and pulls me down into the bog of slow, one-word-at-a-time slogging through the morass. Although, in all honesty, I still read 3-4 other books each week while I was reading our book club pick.

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Okay, so I just wanted to use the word "morass". Maybe it's the vocabulary of the classics that make them harder for me to read. Which seems odd, since I read the scriptures a lot faster than I read Jane Eyre. I often pass the classics shelf at the library, giving it no more than a cursory glance, but every once in a while I am tempted enough to pick up a book and try it out. Tarzan was a reasonably fast read, Pride and Prejudice was in the middle, Les Miserables was the slowest book I ever finished, and Jane Eyre was about two steps away from Les Mis.

I often won't even attempt the hard reads. Why? Because I don't like getting a headache from trying to pay attention while the author wanders through various descriptive phrases that do absolutely nothing to advance the plot. But some authors, in spite of all their literary exploration of how each ray of sunlight is reflected from each dewdrop on each daffodil in each clearing that the book happens to pass through, ... what I was saying before that sentence got way to long is: some authors make their plots and characters interesting enough that I am willing to slog away, making my way slowly through the less interesting parts of the book in order to catch another glimpse into the "real story". Sometimes I think "classics" are judged on how much fanciful descriptiveness is contained in their pages.

I'm not trying to insult literary descriptiveness - it just doesn't do anything for me. Walden Pond, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, I've read a bunch of books for fun and for school. I just know what I like, and 90% of Jane Eyre was not it.

But for all that, the underlying story of Jane Eyre is awesome. Does that surprise you that I think that? I love her teacher at the school - it can be difficult to disallow others' opinions about someone and trust the person themself, but "by their fruits ye shall know them" and she trusts Jane to reveal her own character. How much effect would malicious gossip or even incorrect assumptions have on us if people trusted us based on how we acted instead of what was said about us. I used to have a MormonAd poster that said "Gossip - Don't Pass It On" and showed a bunch of hands passing along this black glop. The gossip stuck to everyone who touched it, making them dirty too.

The Aunt made me sad - living your life blind to reality, with such prejudices that make you miss out on valuable relationships and love ... it made me feel that much of her life was wasted. I wonder if it was bitterness at her husband's death? Being raised with strong prejudices?

Sadly, I didn't love Mr. Rochester. He did some interesting things - dressing up as a gypsy, keeping secrets, etc. But while Jane may forgive him, I didn't. His attempt to justify his lies and deceit just fell flat with me. And who knows - maybe his wife would have had better care if he had not kept her locked up in the attic.

But the St. John cousins were dear - it seemed to me that this was Charlotte Bronte's ideal family. Although the brother was a little fanatical, at least he behaved with enough propriety. It did make me laugh a little at how he expected his fanatacism to rub off on Jane. The sisters were just dears. Educated, loving, charitable, willing to accept their situations in life even when it meant working, accepting of a stranger into their hearts without judgement. I like them.

So, the funny thing to me was that I kept expecting this scene on the roof of Rochester's house - where his wife goes mad, attacks him with sewing shears, and is subdued but manages to start the house on fire still in her wildness. Why? Well, because I read a really funny book called The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. It's a lot wierd, and is beyond normal sci-fi and fantasy in some respects, but the heroine of that book manages to travel within Jany Eyre and interact with the book's characters too. So I guess that rooftop scene was only in Fforde's book, and not in the original.

Am I glad I read it? I guess - hopefully I'll have the chance to see the movie too. Will I read it again? Not for a long, long, long, long time.