Sofie's Reviews > Jane Eyre

The first time I read this I was the same age as Jane and I was immediately smitten with this beautiful lovestory. Mr. Rochester was as irrestible to me as he was to Jane. I judged the madwoman in the attic for being insane and a burden to my heroes’ lifes. Now I’m half a life older, I’m Rochester age now, and I must – in spite of myself – admit that I still find him irrestibly attractive. That is, until he obviously starts lying to Jane and manipulating her. When you see someone in your room and the person you love and trust tells you that you’ve dreamt it, knowing fully well what, or rather whom, you actually saw, well, there’s a word for that … He’s gaslighting you, Jane. Run!

Jane herself is still my heroine. The way she takes control of her life, takes responsibility, dares to speak out, truthfully, in a way very exceptional for a woman in those days, I admire and love her, still, as I did when we were the same age. She’s funny and straightforward.

- "Am I hideous, Jane?"
- "Very, sir; you always were, you know."

Gotta love that woman! She's badass! Although I also wonder if her brutal honesty doesn’t result from her being somewhere on the autism spectrum. But maybe I’m reading things too much from a 21st century point of view.

As for the madwoman in the attic, it’s about time I read her story too, because I don’t think we can afford to read Jane Eyre in 2020, without also reading the story from the point of view of this so called madwoman, Bertha Mason. So next up: Wide Sargasso Sea!

All in all, Jane Eyre is still a wonderfully, beautifully written book, its wit still amazes me, and I still count it as one of my favourite novels of all time.

“I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself." - Jane Eyre