Reader, I find myself struggling to adequately sum up such a harrowing, beautiful, dark, and hopeful story in a mere review. However, I will do my best—for it is all I can do.
What is it about this story that presses itself into my heart so tenderly? Is it the glowing prose—with all the em dashes, the lilt, and the rhythm? Is it the themes of resilience, reliance on God, integrity, and love? Is it the gothic elements: the windy English moors, the gloomy manor house, and the dark secrets? No. While all of the above elements are important to the story, they are not the fulcrum upon which the whole tale turns. And that fulcrum, reader, is Jane herself.
We are given the privilege of meeting our beloved heroine when she is a child—and a vulnerable child at that. Our Jane is scoffed at, abused, and neglected. Both Mrs. Reed and Mr. Brocklehurst use Christian values to justify their mistreatment of Jane as she is actively shunned and ostracized. Mrs. Reed labels Jane a liar when she does nothing but tell the truth, and Mr. Brocklehurst clothes his students in plain, threadbare dress while his daughters are clothed in "velvet, silk, and furs." What painful ironies for a child to learn!
However, the example of Helen Burns (our Christ figure) keeps Jane from growing embittered. She tells our heroine that "if all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends." She models a Christian life well-lived as she shares with Jane that she relies "implicitly on His power and confide[s] wholly in His goodness." The examples of Helen and Miss Temple teach a young Jane the importance of grace, mercy, and (maybe most importantly) integrity.
Jane then makes her move to Thornfield Hall where she takes a position as a governess. She accepts this new position with a humble, simple, gratitude; she does not envy those in power or prestige. It is here that Bronte begins peppering the pages with hints of gothic literature: a laugh here, a suspicious fire there—creating just the right amount of unease in the reader.
Our heroine thus passes her days as Adele's governess. However, the days copped up begin to wear on Jane. She confides in the reader that she grows "weary of an existence all passive" and she asserts that it "It is thoughtless to condemn them [women], or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex." Jane desires some excitement, some variance in her life!
The eventful arrival of Mr. Edward Rochester (and Pilot!) to Thornfield provides Jane with just that. And as the story goes, slowly, minute by minute, conversation by conversation, and glance by glance, she falls in love with him. She tells the reader that she "had not intended to fall in love with him." In a remark that I found hilariously relatable, she confides that she "could not keep [her] lids under control": her eyes would rise and fix on Mr. Rochester all on their own.
While a woman in love, Jane is not ignorant of class or station. She knows that she "must smother hope." Since she is a subordinate in every way to Edward there is no chance of a requited love. Despite this logic, her heart yearns for him: "while I breathe and think, I must love him."
As Jane's feelings for Mr.Rochester continue to grow inside her, she receives a summons to return to Gateshead to speak to her Aunt Reed and her cousins. However, as this is a review focusing primarily on Jane Eyre, I will not spend too much time detailing this interaction. It will suffice to say that Mrs. Reed, John, Georgiana, and Eliza all met a very bitter end; Bronte paints them as severe and sarcastic—wanting of softness and grace. However, our heroine treats them, including her Aunt, with all the warm civility that she possesses—forgiving them whole-heartedly, without hesitation, and genuinely wishing the best for them.
After about a month's absence, Jane returns to Thornfield where she learns that Mr. Rochester is about to be married. The pain she feels is unbearable, and she tells him that once he is married she will leave him. In a bold declaration, she asks Rochester "Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton?—a machine without feelings?...Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart!...I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even mortal flesh;—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,—as we are!"
"Equal—as we are." What incredible words for a twenty year-old woman to speak to a powerful man twice her age. Her faith informs her belief in equality, so she is able to assert herself with the perfect balance of grace and truth. In this heartfelt (and my favorite) scene in the whole novel, every passionate thought and secret desire is let loose from Jane's chest. She simultaneously experiences great love for Rochester and great pain at the notion of losing him. She passionately declares that she is "no bird and no net ensnares [her]...[she] is a free human being with an independent will."
Mr. Rochester then reveals that he means to marry her—moreover, that he loves her and desires her to be his "best earthly companion." Her wildest hopes have come true! She answers that she will marry him, and so the slew of wedding preparations begin. I love how Jane remains "poor, obscure, plain, and little" as the wedding festivities begin: she refuses to be adorned with elaborate dress or jewels—she remains ever true to her simple, humble self.
At last the day arrives, but marital joy quickly turns to shocking despair. Mr. Mason reveals that Mr. Rochester has a wife already living—Bertha Mason! Jane's response to this news is absolutely bone-chilling: there is no fit of passion, no great cry bemoaning a lost love. She behaves almost like an automaton—methodically taking off her wedding clothes, packing her trunk, and staying closed away in her room. We, the readers, know what a passionate, emotional creature our Jane is, so the fact that she displays nearly no emotion in this great trial reveals the depth of her hurt.
When her love, her Edward, implores her to stay, she refuses. What integrity and character! Just as she asserted her passion toward Rochester mere chapters ago, she asserts her refusal to stay with him: "I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man."
And so our Jane leaves. Our wandering Jane, turned a beggar and exposed to the unforgiving elements, nearly starves to death. It is in this desperation, however, that she feels God's presence most acutely. The kindness of St. John saves her life and opens his (and his sisters' Diana and Mary) home to her. I must pause here to say that Diana and Mary are the perfect companions for Jane—they are gentle, compassionate, and avid readers.
(If my future home looks even slightly like Diana's and Mary's with books open, candles lit, and company welcome, I will be satisfied.)
St. John, however, strikes Jane as emotionless and severe. Not only does he boast a cold character, but "Nature was not to him that treasury of delight it was to his sisters...never did he seem to roam the moors for the sake of their soothing silence—ever seek out or dwell upon the thousand peaceful delights they could yield." According to Bronte, if a man does not enjoy peaceful walks outside, that is a red flag!
Before long, Jane begins looking for employment. She is not one to sit idle, so she soon finds a job as an instructor at a cottage school. She finds great contentment there, though it is much below her station. When St. John asks her what she will do with her fine accomplishments, she admirably replies that she will "save them till they are wanted. They will keep." What a humble answer! Though her living space is sparse, she contently notes that her "cottage is clean and weather-proof; [her] furniture sufficient and commodious. All [she] see[s] has made [her] thankful, not despondent." Our Jane balances self-respect and humility in a beautiful way. I feel she lives out Philippians 4:11-13 in a lovely way.
Not only is our heroine content with what she has, but she is quick to be generous and thoughtful—not selfish. After she has been working at the cottage school for a time, she learns that her uncle has died and bequeathed her 20,000 pounds. Our Jane—an heiress! Even more exciting to her, she learns that Mary, Diana, and St. John are her cousins! Finally, she is not alone in the world, and that is a great comfort to her. While most, myself included, would take the inheritance and see the world, gather luxuries, and live for themselves, Jane's first reaction is to share her wealth with her new family ("I abandon to you, then, what is superfluous to me"). Her first instinct is to divide the 20,000 among the four of them. What admirable humility and generosity!
However, Jane's humility does not extend so far as to her abandoning her purpose ("God did not give me my life to throw away"). Therefore, when St. John asks her to come to India with him as his wife, she is unable to accept. She respects herself too much to marry someone who does not, who cannot love her. She knows that she cannot "bear the consciousness that every endearment he bestors is a sacrifice made on principle" rather than genuine love and affection. Even when St. John gaslights her and guilts her for refusing him, she relies on God's truth and in what she knows is right.
Do not think, reader, that in this new life that Jane forgets about Mr. Edward Rochester. Rather, one night, in a fabulously gothic way, she hears him calling out to her. Since all her written inquiries into Mr. Rochester's well-being have gone unanswered, she decides to find out for herself whether he lives or not. Her findings are shocking: Thornfield manor burnt down, Bertha dead, and Mr. Rochester, blind and crippled.
This state, rather than repulsing Jane, endears him to her. She tells her Edward that "to be [his] wife is, for [her], to be as happy as [she] can be on earth." They are married in a simple, plain ceremony—just as Jane wanted the first time.
I hope, reader, that you can see the common thread throughout this novel is Jane herself: her agency, her will, and even her narration—for it is through her that we hear this story in the first place. Our passionate, self-respecting heroine, our simple and plain woman, is finally rewarded with all the joy and gladness that she deserves. Combine such a character with Bronte's magnificent writing, and you're left with a story that leaves you feeling nothing but thanks to God that he allowed such a story to be penned.