You will, at some point, be expected to write something about the Brontës

The Telegraph publishes an article about A new study [that] has proved beyond doubt that women love cads and bounders. And you will never imagine who is mentioned:

To be frank, is this really a surprise? Literary fiction loves a rogue. From self-centred Jane Eyre?'s Mr Rochester to Rupert Campbell-Black in Jilly Cooper's Riders, from the Marquis de Valmont in Les Liasons Dangereuses to the Alfie, the 1970s cheeky chap brought to life by Michael Caine, fiction has long celebrated the attraction of the anti-social charmer who steals the heart of even the sternest females in their midst. (...)
Flirts get their woman because they bother to tell them how wonderful they are; usually in witty, elegant style, although the Heathcliff approach of obsessive glowering and mooning about on the moors can also work. (Glenda Cooper)

Libération qualifies White Chalk, the latest work of PJ Harvey as "Brontë rock". More on this on previous posts.

The Northern Times comments a screening of 2004 film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera. The reviewer is able to see, we don't know under the influence of which substance, Wuthering Heights echoes:

The story has an intrinsic appeal. Echoes of Wuthering Heights and rooting for the underdog. It has been said that the story is based on the splitting up of Al Webber and his then wife Sarah Brightman. Superficially, maybe, but the story has a more ancient theme, that of unrestrained passion and the disfigurement of obsession with anything or anyone.

Stuck in a Book talks about Alfred Sangster 1933 theatre piece "The Brontës". The play was quite popular on the 1930s-40s, being performed in several theatres (or here) and even recorded:

Sangster does all the usual tricks - Patrick is a stern bully of a father; Bramwell [sic] is a destructive drunk whenever he appears; Emily is mysterious and melancholy; Anne is timid; Charlotte... well, the stage directions are thus - "She is eager and interested, small of stature, almost bird-like in movement, and might be called insignificant if it were not for the large, dark eyes below the fine brow, for ever questioning - seeking - ". From this point on, whether pondering existential matters, or asking for a cup of tea, Charlotte is perpetually 'seeking...' in an endless ellipsis. Basically, take all the cliches about the Brontes you've ever heard, jumble them along with some 1930s jargon (can you really imagine Emily saying "I can't. I'm all wrong. All jumbled up inside...") and that's what Sangster produced. It's very entertaining.

The post ends with this comment:

As EM Delafield wrote, in advice to anyone considering becoming an author:

1) You will, at some point, be expected to write something about the Brontes.
2) There is nothing new to say.

So true :). She published in 1935 her own book on the Brontës.

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