D and I have begun watching the latest film adaptation of Jane Eyre, a book that I have adored since I was in high school.
I had no interest in the book at the time I first read it. Had to force myself to read it for Mrs. Daub's class in time to take the test. I was scrambling, to say the least. It is a slow read until the orchard scene. A slow, sometimes painful, burn.
But oh, how that one scene changed it all. Now I had to force myself to stop reading to satisfy nature's calls to eat and urinate and sleep.
After the test, Mrs. Daub showed our class the 1946 film version, starring Orson Welles as Edward Rochester. Oh heavens---was I in love. You can imagine the strange looks I got when I said I thought Orson Welles was a sexy romantic hero.
As a teen, I adored Jane Eyre for its love story.
I reread the book in my twenties, and while the love story was still good, I was more focused on Jane as a feminist. I read more closely the descriptions of her as elfin and bird-like.
My book club is reading Jane Eyre for our December discussion, and I am interested to see what themes of the book I will focus on this time, as a mother, as a woman nearing her forties, as a woman who has suffered from a mental disorder for some years now. I wonder if I may pay attention closely to Bertha, if I will feel more sympathetic to her character who in the past has not grabbed my attention too much.
Unfortunately a giant crack on the Netflix dvd has thwarted our attempt to finish the movie this weekend, but I know from what we have seen that Michael Fassbender might just kick Orson Welles out as top Mr. Rochester in my book.
I think I may have actually been holding my breath in the scene where Jane saves Mr. Rochester from the fire in his room and he takes her hand as she is leaving. Be still my heart.
Who needs porn when you have this!
I had no interest in the book at the time I first read it. Had to force myself to read it for Mrs. Daub's class in time to take the test. I was scrambling, to say the least. It is a slow read until the orchard scene. A slow, sometimes painful, burn.
But oh, how that one scene changed it all. Now I had to force myself to stop reading to satisfy nature's calls to eat and urinate and sleep.
After the test, Mrs. Daub showed our class the 1946 film version, starring Orson Welles as Edward Rochester. Oh heavens---was I in love. You can imagine the strange looks I got when I said I thought Orson Welles was a sexy romantic hero.
As a teen, I adored Jane Eyre for its love story.
I reread the book in my twenties, and while the love story was still good, I was more focused on Jane as a feminist. I read more closely the descriptions of her as elfin and bird-like.
My book club is reading Jane Eyre for our December discussion, and I am interested to see what themes of the book I will focus on this time, as a mother, as a woman nearing her forties, as a woman who has suffered from a mental disorder for some years now. I wonder if I may pay attention closely to Bertha, if I will feel more sympathetic to her character who in the past has not grabbed my attention too much.
Unfortunately a giant crack on the Netflix dvd has thwarted our attempt to finish the movie this weekend, but I know from what we have seen that Michael Fassbender might just kick Orson Welles out as top Mr. Rochester in my book.
I think I may have actually been holding my breath in the scene where Jane saves Mr. Rochester from the fire in his room and he takes her hand as she is leaving. Be still my heart.
Who needs porn when you have this!
1 comment:
WTF?! You were engaged at 19 - how did I not know this?
Susan
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