Books That Changed My Life is a new diary series that began last week with a stirring diary by Aravir. If you missed it, you may and should read it here.
It was difficult to choose which single book or groups of books have changed me most. I've been an avid reader since I was very young, to the point where I would neglect pretty much everything to read--I used to get yelled at by my Mom for reading when I should have been doing homework.
If I'm honest with myself, however, I can't deny the impact that Jane Eyre has had on my life. I feel like I grew up with her, like she's a friend that I lost contact with many years ago, but then met up with again, our relationship re-kindled in the blink of an eye.
The first time i read Jane Eyre was in 1983. I was thirteen years old, and was captivated by the BBC mini-series that had played on PBS' Masterpiece Theatre. What a concrete argument for keeping funding for PBS--it brings young people to literature in a way that can't be measured. The old copy I first read from my mother's shelves was lost to history, as they say, until I ran into it again years later on the shelves of my sister's summer home. Like my mother, she just likes to have the books around, she never actually reads them. It was like finding a treasure, opening up the green cloth cover to find my youthful signature on the inside. I had marked it as my own even back then, and after discovering my signature I insisted that I was taking it home with me.
Back then, Jane Eyre was was a melodramatic romance to me, pure and simple. On one hand it was a classic damsel in distress story where the princess-who-didn't-really-know-she's-a-princess is rescued by the rich hero who recognizes her nobility despite her shabby appearance. That thrilled me on a very Disney level, but I think what seeped into my subconscious was the much more powerful idea that Jane Eyre was a manifesto for young, not-so-attractive, smart girls (me!). We, too, could win the heart of the hero, if only we could find the right hero. I didn't know back then what a Byronic Hero was, or that I was setting myself up to search for a man as unrealistic as the teen heart-throbs of the age (personally I was a Ricky Schroeder groupie). All I knew was that I loved the idea of winning over a man with one's brain and wit and goodness.
What I didn't realize at the time but now can see clearly was that I was also obsessed with books about orphans. I didn't have a very good family situation, with a clinically depressed mother and a philandering father who wasn't around much. I devoured books about children on their own, books about self-reliance and childish internal resources. Jane's early years, raised by relatives who didn't care for her, then later cast off into an abusive boarding school, gave me backbone and courage. I didn't need the approval of my chronically withdrawn mother, I would make my own way in the world, I was smart and self-reliant, just like Jane. I would study hard and find my way out into the wide world. And so I did. If I met a swarthy, broad-chested, rich man who loved mye for my wit and goodness along the way, all the better!
As I made my way along the path of Young Adulthood, Jane stuck by my side, all through the relationship with the Boy Who Always Had His Eye Out For Something Better, through the Dreadful Philandering Boyfriend and through the Ominously Clingy Boyfriend. She whispered in my ear that she understood why, with my background, I would be attracted to such men. She told me that eventually I would be rid of them and move on to normalcy, while they would be cast off into the bin of my life, a lesson learned and never forgotten. She was right, of course.
Jane always, always believed in herself, despite whatever authority was telling her she was a liar, or ungrateful, or ugly; even when that authority was Rochester, the man she loved more than anything, trying to love her into submission. She stayed true to herself. She thought things through with her heart and her logical brain, checking her passionate feelings and remaining faithful to the lessons taught to her by her hard early life. She cast off the hypocrisy of religion, relying instead on her own innate sense of the morality that God asks of us. It was a revolutionary thought, that people could look upon their pastors and priests with skepticism and judge them as men.
Jane's ability to check her passionate side came back to lend a hand later in life, once I married a man that I can now see bears a remarkable resemblance to Mr. Rochester, (minus the rich aristocracy, I'm afraid). My son says to me, "Mama, Papa is a complicated man, isn't he?", and I reply, "Yes, son, he is." Moody, quick-tempered, but devoted and very aware of his shortcomings, always striving to be a better man. He treats me as an equal (and in many ways, he treats me like a superior), but has his macho, protective side, too. During arguments, Jane taught me to keep my tongue still and let him argue himself into a resolution. A quiet nudge here and there keeps him going in the right direction. Jane's few arguments with Rochester and later with St. John Rivers, a formidable man with an iron will, are marvels of quiet resistance and subtle will. Those poor men had no idea what they were up against.
What Jane taught me more than anything is to know myself, and to be true to myself. I'm not the greatest person, none of us are. We're not perfect. I don't live my life like many of my neighbors or family members; I have different ideas about raising my children (I was the only person in our California neighborhood who insisted my children call adults Mr. and Mrs.), I have different ideas about politics and religion than many people I meet here in the suburbs of northern Virginia. But like Jane, I try to keep them mostly to myself and live as I feel I should. We might not have tons of friends or a crazy social life of dinner parties and backyard barbecues, but, like Jane and Rochester, we live our quiet life together and are always happy to be in each others company.
As one final note, I consider myself a writer; not one of any note or success, but I did write a novel a few years back about a young girl who grows up the close acquaintance of Death, and who must at one point make a choice between engaging in Life that she sees going on all around her, or retreating to a quiet existence with Death, not knowing what will come of her once she actually does die. Only when I had finished the book and was working on re-writes, did I realize what I had done. Young girl, orphaned, living with an adequate but uninterested guardian, befriended by an older man (in this case, WAY older) who wants her to choose an unconventional life with him.
Oh, crap, I thought. She's Jane. Luckily, the similarities between the two novels ended there, but it goes to show you what kind of a deep impact Jane Eyre has on my psyche.
Thanks for reading. I think this has been a ridiculously long diary. If you've made it this far, give yourselves a clap on the back!!
One more afterthought! A new film version of Jane Eyre is in limited release next Friday, March 11. I'm hearing good buzz about it, that it's modernized but still captures the essence of Bronte's work. It stars Mia Wasikowska (Alice in Wonderland) and Michael Fassbender (Inglorious Basterds) and is directed by Cary Fukunaga (Sin Nombre). Go see it!!