“Jane Eyre” by Charlotte Brontë

“Jane Eyre” was the joy of my childhood – the book that supported me when I was sad and inspired my imagination when I was feeling creative. Needless to say, in those days I read it in Russian – the original came later, much later. But the translation was good.

Despite all the differences in time, environment and nationality, I’ve always felt a weird similarity between my personality and Jane’s. It can’t even be undone by the fact that Jane was deeply religious and I have always been a hardcore atheist. I saw myself in Jane at once – especially when she rebelled against abuse. Then I proceeded to find the prototypes for other characters: Mrs Reed, her son John, Helen Burns and others. I just couldn’t find anyone to represent Mr Rochester when I was a child. Well, that, perhaps, is a good thing, otherwise I would have got stuck and, probably, never found my sweetheart. He has something in common with Mr Rochester in appearance, to be honest, but not in character, of which I’m glad.

Granted, my life has so far been much happier than Jane’s (except the part in which she inherits a fortune and marries her love, of course). But it doesn’t reduce our likeness.

I’ve heard the opinion that Charlotte Brontë’s English is harder to understand than Shakespeare’s. I don’t know – I didn’t notice that with “Jane Eyre”, probably, because I still remembered the Russian version of the book quite well at the time I was re-reading it in English. I thought it very beautifully written, but I could be biased, given my love for the book.

Today, at the beginning of the 21st century it’s not easy to believe that in its time the novel was considered rebellious. Today it all looks and sounds rather quaint. I should also note that the author has taken care not to hurt the reader unnecessarily, despite the horrors of having to encounter the first Mrs Rochester or, even before that, the abuse little Jane was subjected to by Mrs Reed or Mr Brocklehurst. I’m extremely sensitive, and often put aside the books that make a point of hurting the reader – but I’ve never felt the slightest urge to put “Jane Eyre” aside.

The book sings to me – I can re-read it over and over again as I grow older, and the charm I felt as a girl never goes away. Nor does the strange similarity between me and an imaginary character of the book, a character belonging a different century and a different place. I still firmly associate myself with Jane.

In a nutshell, the novel has everything to be a great read: a lot of passionate love, a bit of fun, a bit of mysticism and many social problems raised – the impossibility of divorce, the position of the woman in society, the poverty and many more. No wonder it’s been filmed so many times – not as many times as The Hound of the Baskervilles, of course, but not far behind. Still, I’m a book person rather than a movie person, so it’s the book my heart is given to. All the adaptations of all books I’ve seen so far – Jane Eyre included – pay too much attention to the plot and visual effects at the cost of losing much of the underlying meaning of things.