I think I have had my fill of Victorian women for a while. They are utterly fascinating and so easy to love as characters, yet they are so limited and constrained by their societies that the shine of their inner brilliance is utterly muted. They either become endearing in their modesty and hesitance, or utterly annoying in their vibrantly prissy acceptance of their role.

Lucy Snowe is of the former--one of the most hesitant of Victorian women. It is typical to see women who don't see their brilliance, but Miss Snowe goes to great length to deny her abilities or accept her sagacity. She goes out of her way to deny herself the full embrace of life--but in the stifling female world of the Victorian woman, who can blame her? She is orphaned at thirteen (although she never says exactly what happened to her family), loses her position and financial situation and must stake out a place in the world, one mere soul in the eye of a tumultuous storm. Plus, the women around her are self-involved and seem out for themselves; the men around her, too, are quite unappealing and tightly wound. (Oh, I wish there were more fish in the sea for her!)

Charlotte Brontë's Villette is, indeed, an important glimpse into the mind of the Victorian woman. Lucy Snowe is a feminist icon of that era, but she isn't flashy. (Snowe is also highly autobiographical, and I can't wait to read more about Brontë's life). She lacks "little woman" Jo March's charm and vibrancy; in a way, she is the anti-Jo March. But I still loved her, I still wanted the world for her, I still wanted to tell her that the people around her, those women and men who fill the novel's pages were not worth her time (and there really are few likeable characters outside of Snowe in the novel). What Brontë has done here with Snowe's narration is utterly amazing, but it doesn't mean I looooved to read it. At times it was excruciating to read of Snowe's self-denial. Her choice to stand outside the embrace of Life, and for so long, was often frustrating. I would have much rather read a book about Lucy Snowe in solitude, rather than her observations of these rather unappealing people.

I do recommend Villette, and I think I would like to read the novel again someday, because I do not think there is a better glimpse of the Victorian female mind (and possibly the overall female mind). The first 100 pages are absolutely brilliant, as Lucy leaves home and finds herself amongst the world with only herself to rely on and ends up in France--Villette to be exact. She is a frustrating, endearing, prickly narrator, but the girl has got tons of that muted brilliance. Too bad she lived among such fools.