I still worship at the feet of this masterpiece: there's a beautiful relationship (albeit it's not the one I loved before), the social commentary is way ahead of its time, and the plot is enticing. But unlike before, I see cracks in the glass. There are huge problems with Mr. Rochester that the reader is supposed to ignore, and some of the messages can be damaging to young and impressionable women.
The first time I read Jane Eyre, I saw a passionate and exciting relationship unveil itself between Rochester and Jane. The second time, I found a peaceful love somewhere else: between Jane Eyre and Helen Burns.
I could go on and on defending and dissecting Jane-and-Helen scenes, from the casual hand holdings to the endearing "darlings." I could build an argument based on Bronte's open-minded nature and queer sister to show that it was on purpose—but, to be honest, I don't think it was. I don't think Bronte was so ahead of her time that she included a WLW relationship.
I also don't think it matters.
Yes, literature is partly about what it meant in its own time period and how the author intended it, but, especially in a queer context, literature is also about how it speaks to people today. Like many marginalized groups, the LGBTQ+ Community doesn't have the luxury of centuries of mainstream stories. There are so few queer moments in classic literature, especially classic lit that has actually survived, so if a queer person says they see themselves in the love Jane feels for Helen, that's it. You accept it as a possible interpretation. In my experience, dismissing that feels like dismissing my queerness. You don't have to say that you see it or that it was intended, but you do have to accept it as a viable takeaway, especially when, to modern ears, everything Jane and Helen say to each other is romantic. It's not coming out of left field when Helen is the only person who can make Jane feel like she's worthy of love and when Jane literally says that Helen is her favorite person and when they curl up together during Helen's final breaths. It just doesn't make sense to count that out as a reasonable modern reading.
And the book is far more interesting when you have this relationship to compare to that of Jane and Rochester. The novel frames the stoic and oppressive relationship between St. John and Jane as a counter to the passionate and intense relationship between Rochester and Jane, but they're not really opposites, since, in both cases, the man has the upper hand. There is no equality in either relationship, shown by the countless examples of manipulation from either man. But look at the relationship between Helen and Jane: calm, peaceful, equal. There is balance: Jane is independent and unforgiving, while Helen is caring and loving. They teach each other about equally important viewpoints, and it's not in the cold and mean way that St. John and Rochester both teach Jane. Jane and Helen's relationship does more than open the book to queer voices; it give the novel more depth and a new angle.
But a little extra gay isn't the only thing I found in Jane Eyre the second time around. In general, its feminist social commentary is unlike anything anyone had ever seen during the Victorian Era. Sexist, classist religious institutions are insulted, and overall, what matters most in Jane's life is Jane's opinion—not any of the many men who continually tried to shape her.
The most shocking part of Jane Eyre's feminism is its willingness to call out how easily the Catholic Church's rules can be manipulated to trap women, most prominently shown by St. John's characterization. St. John is always, always, always portrayed as a "man of the church." His life revolves around religion, his supposed "calling." In any other Victorian Era novel, a man like that would be written so the audience could love him without objection, despite many people in the same position as him (some kind of priest, I think? Church rules confuse me, but he's a Church leader) wielding their power for the worse in real life. In Jane Eyre, however, Bronte refuses to shy away from that truth. St. John is as manipulative as the Victorian Era church itself, sapping all of Jane's joy out of her and pressuring her into marrying him. He essentially thinks of marriage as an unbreakable bond of one-way servitude where the wife always draws the short straw. These ideas—joyless devotion, manipulation, confining marriage—were prominent in the Victorian Era church. Bronte points out this flaw in the system, and she does so without ever blaming religion itself. If one thing is made clear about St. John's position, it is that he is the evil, not the God he uses against everyone.
But to be a feminist text, a writing piece must in some way show that a woman's own opinion is what should always matter the most in her life, regardless of if it actually does, whether that be by having controlling men ruin her life (à la "The Yellow Wallpaper") or having her learn to trust herself, as is the case in Jane Eyre. At the end of the novel, although Jane still greatly cares for and values Rochester, her personal beliefs are what guide her the most. Throughout her entire life, Jane is strong-willed enough to challenge the orders of the men around her, starting with Mr. Brocklehurst, who did everything in his power to to mold her into the sad, dull orphan he wanted, all the way until Rochester and St. John, who both try to force her into a marriage for one reason or another. Although Jane learns to find forgiveness for those who have hurt her, she never gives in. The reader gets the sense that the forgiveness she offers is more for her own peace than the peace of her abusers.
On top of all of that forward-thinking feminism, Jane Eyre has an interesting plot, pure and simple. It starts Harry Potter-ish, with evil cousins and a boarding school, except Jane Eyre's Hogwarts is hell, and the protagonist ends up in a mysterious mansion full of mindgames. How could that not be fun?
But Jane Eyre isn't as flawless as I used to think it was. Mr. Rochester is, quite frankly, a terrible person. He lies to, manipulates, and even threatens Jane, all in the name of love. The reader is supposed to adore him, forgive him instantly like Jane does, but it's hard when everything he says is either about depending on Jane to live, locking up his wife, or, occasionally, hating his ward Adele. What is the reader supposed to like about him? It's especially challenging to approve of his relationship with Jane when he's constantly bringing up the age gap. I felt like I was watching Casablanca again, but instead of Rick calling Ilsa "kid" over and over again, Rochester was talking about Jane's innocence and youth. I know that age gaps were more common in previous centuries, but it's harder to get past when it isn't brushed under the rug like it is in other novels, like Pride and Prejudice.
I also didn't always agree with the messages for young women in Jane Eyre, despite being a primarily feminist text. After St. John makes Jane perpetually unhappy and treats her inhumanely, she forgives him enough to put in the effort to keep contact with him. He starts to drift away, but she purposefully holds on. Why? There are even undertones that the reason Jane tries so hard with him is, on some level, because he's a man. His treatment of Jane is pretty much as terrible as Blanche Ingram's, maybe even a little worse, but you don't see Jane running to hell and back to be friends with Blanche. She accepts that there isn't a place for Blanche in her life and happily moves on. Why couldn't she have done that with St. John? It feels really unhealthy for young women to get the underlying message that they should go to great lengths to find forgiveness for men, even if they never apologize or own up to their mistakes. The sexist undertones aren't a huge part of the book, but they're there, and until my second, more enlightened reading, I didn't notice them.
I'm not usually one for rereading books, unless they're a comfort book (The Folk of the Air, Carry On, the Six of Crows Duology, Ella Enchanted, Heartstopper), but this was an illuminating experience for me, and I'm glad I did it. With every read, no matter the book, you get something new out of a text, and your opinion on it solidifies. I can now wholeheartedly recommend Jane Eyre without the fear that there's something I missed or forget that actually makes it a terrible book for the recommendee.
This may or may not be my last post until the fall. The final weeks of school are busy for me, and it's hard to find the focus or motivation to post during the summer, especially since that's the easiest time for me to work on longer projects, like novels and screenplays. So until next time, whenever that may be, keep reading, readers.