I read Austen and Jane Eyre and became mentally colonized by English period literature. “Jane Eyre,” by Charlotte Brontë, was my favorite book. She is an Austen heroine who has undergone therapy and developed a healthy anger for the social norms that have forced her into a narrow life unlike what her soul craves.
Jane is acutely aware of the dynamics between herself and Rochester, an older man with wealth and power and her boss. “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.” Yass girl, I yelled inwardly. It’s only when a fire has destroyed Rochester’s wealth and body, and Jane becomes an heiress, that the dynamics between them are more equal. It is on these terms she accepts him.
When I reread “Jane Eyre” today, I think of Bertha Mason, the “mad” wife and Jamaican woman of “intemperate” blood, locked in the attic by Rochester. I think of the “Hindoo” heathens Jane wants to convert in India. Jane’s temptation to convert Indians and her unquestioning acceptance of the “crazy” ex-wife being locked away start to sit uneasily as I pick at the legacy of these books in my life.
I so identified with Jane that I had been blind to who I would be to someone like Charlotte Brontë. A brown lady in need of conversion? Was Jane Eyre a white feminist? I wondered. The kind that marched out shrieking about oppressed brown women with a superior air?
Still, “Jane Eyre” remains my favorite book. The complex questions it raises reflect the evolution of my ambiguous relationship with the western “canon” as a person of color, existing both inside and outside it, both as observer and observed. It is the literary tradition I inherited as an English-speaking woman in the west – but not in a deliberate, official way, like the eldest son inheriting his fortune in an Austen book; more in a roundabout accident, like the bastard child of an affair on the continent after a plague wipes out the real heirs.
This kind of culture is consumed by us accidents of immigration and colonization with a double register, a register only people of color know. It’s a sort-and-filter adaptation, in which we become fully suspended in a world completely different from our own but whose internal rhythms and emotional range we can slip into, like western society itself.
We attempt to imbibe as much as we can to identify with the emotional reality of the characters before us. And we do that like a game of dress-ups, moving around in western Judeo-Christian history and literary traditions in disguise, understanding the secrets of the people we watch while divulging none of our own.
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