Students who read Jamie Oliver and doctors who read Jane Eyre

In the Guardian, Stuart Walton discusses the very interesting topic of 'Literary life after death'and concludes:

The debate about whether we ought or ought not to have been allowed to read [Kafka's] The Trial is in one sense wholly pointless, for reasons to do with horses and stable doors. Its appearance reminds us that authors are not the only arbiters of their work, and that the grave robs them, brutally enough, of any rights over its fate. Better that than dwelling on the image of Charlotte Brontë stuffing what remained of Emily's papers on to the Haworth Parsonage fire.

Although the image is vivid enough and rather likely, we'd rather state in Charlotte's defence that it is not known who destroyed Emily's papers. It may have been Emily herself, an image which is poignant enough too.

The London Evening Standard is outraged to discover that

Exams now typically include extracts from, say, a Jamie Oliver book or a British Heart Foundation pamphlet rather than anything literary, and schools echo these implicit priorities. "Teachers are required to introduce many more different kinds of texts and time pressure means you can't do the whole of, say, Jane Eyre, in class." (Susannah Herbert)

And yet also today the Grimsby Telegraph reports that

In addition, it is now possible to study for a Master of Arts degree in medicine and literature; investigating the interaction between the two disciplines. After all, some of the world's greatest authors knew a thing or two about what being human really entails.
Think, for example, of the works of Emily Brontë (Wuthering Heights), Shakespeare (A Midsummer Night's Dream), Tolstoy (Anna Karenina), Thomas Hardy (The Woodlanders), Charles Dickens (Bleak House), Charlotte Brontë (Jane Eyre) and DH Lawrence (Women In Love). The list is endless.
All these authors explored the emotional depths of humanity; that is why their works have found a lasting place in our collective souls; their characters are reflections of what it is to be human; to be you and me in all our times of trial and happiness. So next time you wonder whether your GP is up-to-date, don't ask which medical journals he or she is reading; ask whether your GP has recently read a classical novel. If the answer is "yes", you may have found a doctor who understands what being human is all about. (Dr Robert M Jaggs-Fowler)

We're totally on board with the idea.

AOL MyDaily discusses chicklit and the classics:

I find it annoying enough when snobbish types knock this incredibly popular, lucrative genre, the chick lit haters who seem to think us ladies are incapable of not confusing modern chick lit with the love-and-marriage of Jane Austen or the explosive passion of Wuthering Heights, but I am truly amazed by this attack. Personally I love to read all sorts, as I'm sure you do. The fact that I'm the chick lit critic at the Daily Mail does not mean I don't rush out to buy the latest Philip Roth or Jonathan Franzen. (Sara Lawrence)

We don't find it annoying when people 'read all sorts'. What we find annoying is people who consider Jane Austen or the Brontës 'the grandmas of chicklit' and things like that. Read whatever you like but know what you're reading.

Yesterday we had the 'description' of a modern Heathcliff and today we seem to have another take on the subject, courtesy of The Frisky:

Brit-Lit Gents
Examples:
David Copperfield from David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
Dr. Frankenstein from Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
There is no doubt that these dudes are interested in conventional beauty, but they are looking for a little something extra, too – and lifelong familiarity seems to fit the bill. Indeed, one shared quality of the romances of each aforementioned novel is the fact that the romantic lead fell for the lady he was raised alongside as virtual siblings. Even David Copperfield, who originally married hot bimbo Dora, got bored with her pretty quickly and was encouraged by her untimely death to pursue sister-figure Agnes, his true love. Chances are, if you are reading this, you have already missed the boat on being raised in the same household as the object of your sexual desire. Your next best bet is probably to contract tuberculosis, which is sure to coax him into your bed when he finds your rosy flush and hacking cough impossible to resist. Unfortunately, this strategy will lead to your early demise. (Natalie Shure)

And if The Telegraph is to be believed Daniel Craig is a modern Heathcliff too:

It is important to keep in mind that, pugnaciously handsome as he is, Daniel Craig only became quite this desirable once he became James Bond. Yet while we might know with the sensible part of our brains that Weisz has actually bagged a 43-year old father-of-one who went to school in West Kirby, somehow this does not alter our secret conviction that she just married 007. We know that their honeymoon will be spent with him abseiling in through the hotel window, bearing a vodka Martini and sporting the brooding countenance of Heathcliff. (She will, of course, be both shaken and stirred.) (Jojo Moyes)

The Times wonders whether it is heroic or cowardly to hide behind a pseudonym:

But when the choice is between a false name or silence, anonymity becomes a necessary deceit. Middlemarch and Jane Eyre were published under male names because that was the way to be heard. (Ben Macintyre)

On Writing posts about Jane Eyre and February discusses Wide Sargasso Sea.

Categories: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights