Tagged: Charlotte Bronte
20 Books of Summer check in and catch up
We’re well past the halfway point, and I’ve read six and reviewed four of my 20 Books of Summer. This is pretty average for me, though I feel like something’s shifted – like I might be coming out of whatever reading slump/brain fog I fell into at the beginning of the pandemic. I’ve read 31 books so far this year, and struggled to get past forty for the whole year in 2020-2022. I’m not sure why I’m on an upward trajectory, as I’m busier now (back in the office part time, kids in activities etc.) and my own health has gone downhill in the last year (maybe it’s ageing, maybe it’s perimenopause) but I’m not going to question it too much.
The challenge is going well: I’ve read some new favourites, built up my 1001 Books tally, and had the distinct pleasure of reading a book that has long been recommended to me by a friend, and loving it.
But this challenge is *really* about reviewing! To catch up and clear the decks, here are some mini-reviews to tide you over until I write a longer one.
Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree, translated by Daisy Rockwell
Apparently there is some DNF discourse going on over on Booktube, and it might have started with this video, but I first came to it in Brian’s video about the dangers of DNFing in which he mentioned Tomb of Sand. He makes the obvious point that a book is more than its first 50 pages or first chapter – it might get better! – as well as the more interesting point that maybe you shouldn’t impose your preconceived notions about a book – maybe it’s supposed to be slow or hard to understand or whatever! Maybe that’s the point! And you’re going to miss the point if you can’t go in with an open mind.
I came close to closing Tomb of Sand several times, and had I not a) paid full price and b) been invested in the International Booker Prize, I probably would have done so after the first 100 or 200 pages. And I wouldn’t have been wrong! This is the rare case where I didn’t get a lot out of an IBP book. But I will say the failure is at least partly mine. Tomb of Sand is written in a stream of consciousness style that reminded me of Ducks, Newburyport, though if Ducks is a 10 on the stream of consciousness scale, Tomb of Sand is maybe a 6. But that consciousness is steeped in a place and culture that was so unfamiliar, I felt like I couldn’t be swept along. I was taken out of it every time I didn’t understand a reference, which was often. So while I agree with Brian that you can’t go into a book with a rigid idea of what you want it to be, and that you should think before DNFing after a few pages, I probably should’ve trusted my gut after 200, 400, hell 600 pages of this one.
The Life of Charlotte Bronte by Elizabeth Gaskell
It took me more than twenty years to get through the major works of the Brontës. I hope I can pick up the pace when it comes to the minor, biographical, and critical works. I started here and I’m glad I did. This biography is devastating and intimate. Gaskell is far from an objective observer. She was Charlotte Bronte’s friend and colleague, and was commissioned to write this book by Charlotte’s father. Various introductory texts will tell you how Gaskell suppressed unsavoury aspects of Charlotte’s life, and you can tell she’s being awfully careful in parts. She lets Charlotte speak for the most part, quoting her letters at length, but interjects with extremely evocative descriptions of Charlotte’s world, understanding the time and place in a way no modern biographer can. Gaskell’s selectiveness would probably be framed as dishonesty, but for modern readers of this work, it’s one way we can attempt to understand what it meant to be a woman with ambition and genius in a hostile society, and the compromises those women had to make.
Next up, I am reading the very juicy Howards End. I’m only disappointed that I can’t find the movie adaptation streaming anywhere.
A Very Bronte Blog Post: Villette and A Bronte Burlesque
Do you have a favourite Bronte novel? If not, go read some of their stuff. It’s okay, I’ll wait.
The perceptive Rory at Fourth Street Review suggests that many readers identify strongly with either Jane Eyre (Charlotte) or Wuthering Heights (Emily), but not both. I’ve been a Wuthering Heights girl since I read it 17 years ago, but I’ve broadened my Bronte horizons of late: I read my first Anne book, Agnes Grey last fall, I read Charlotte’s Villette last month, and just recently saw a play based on the Bronte’s lives. I’m still Team Emily, but it’s time for me to give Charlotte her due: Villette is her masterpiece (sorry Jane fans) and she’s the most interesting of the siblings.
I didn’t even get around to reviewing Agnes Grey last year. It definitely had it’s moments, but the biggest impression it left was my wonder at how things were so different in Anne’s time; mostly in terms of the qualifications needed to educate children (be female, be unmarried, have a pulse?) Villette made me wonder about this stuff too, but I also felt the universality of Lucy’s situation. She could be anyone, at any time, not just a 19th century teacher, whereas Agnes was trapped in time. Indeed, if you have ever loved someone more than they love you, you’ll identify with Lucy Snowe.
Villette reminded me of a smaller-scope Middlemarch. Both novels are named for a city and are about the divisions between classes and sexes and have wonderful feminist perspectives. Middlemarch has much more going for it, from politics to academia to satire – so much, in fact, that I’m paralyzed to write a proper review. Villette is more of a character study – a convincing portrait of Lucy and her world. It’s a tragedy, and at times gothic and romantic. It’s odd in its construction – a straightforward narrative most of the time, but then, BAM, there’s a stream of consciousness account of Lucy’s severe depression. Or a delerious description of Lucy tripping out after being drugged. An anti-Catholic rant. A ghost nun. And so on.
Jane Eyre is great, but it just wasn’t this ambitious or this awesome. I made the mistake of finishing Villette over lunch time at work, and spent that afternoon in a state of bewilderment. I may have said “oh no she DIDN’T” aloud. It’s pretty much the opposite of the satisfying “Reader, I married him,” but to me, the ending was more satisfying for being so ambiguous.
Send in the Girls in A Bronte Burlesque: Charlotte, Emily, Branwell, and Anne via https://www.facebook.com/sendinthegirls
Villette was the perfect preparation for seeing A Bronte Burlesque, a production of local theatre company Send in the Girls. Charlotte is the star, and we first meet her on her deathbed, her siblings having all died years earlier. Villette is never mentioned, and not often referenced (it’s all about Jane Eyre) but dying Charlotte, bitter and alone, put me in mind of Lucy Snow immediately.
In real life, Charlotte was newlywed and pregnant at her death, though this is never mentioned in the play. So, the story is manipulated, but what story isn’t? A Bronte Burlesque is confined to the insular world of the four Bronte siblings: Charlotte, Emily, Anne, and Branwell, the underachiever brother who I didn’t even know about till I saw the play.
It’s about exposing (get it?) the real Charlotte, how her ambition drove her to betray her siblings. She’s successful, but haunted by the past. Emily and Anne are laid bare as well – Anne and her jealousy, Emily and her depravity.
I had always wondered about Emily: how did she write so convincingly about obsession and loss, living such a short and isolated life? This play suggests that there was some Flowers in the Attic action going on up at Haworth, which made me question my teenage obsession with Wuthering Heights for a second before realizing this is a work of fiction about another work of fiction and every interpretation is as valid as the next – icky or not.
The burlesque element was fun, and worked well on a metaphorical level – you know, exposure, identity, femininity -but sometimes I would remember that they were supposed to be related and it got a a little weird. Or a lot weird. Seeing Emily throw herself at her own brother to the strains of Radiohead’s “Creep” was one of the more bizarre experiences of my life. This play was not exactly date night material.
The set, music and costumes were gorgeous. I was entertained and I gained a serious appreciation for Charlotte Bronte. And I simply love the fact that there’s a local theatre company doing something like this with literature and history! I never read biographies, but now I’m on the lookout for a good one – maybe Elizabeth Gaskell’s on Charlotte, or Daphne Du Maurier’s on Branwell.
Tell me, are you Team Emily or Team Charlotte? Is there a Team Anne? Branwell??
Reading in Bed 