Layers of extraordinary depth

The Times republishes an article from a century ago on the "revolutionising of education for girls":

One remembers Charlotte Brontë’s passionate appeal to the “men of England”, urging them to seek for their daughters an interest and an occupation, “which shall raise them above the flirt, the manoeuvrer, the mischief-making tale-bearer”. 

The Boston Globe begins the summer reads recommendations season:

 “Villette”

By Charlotte Brontë

This 1853 novel is not as well known as Brontë’s “Jane Eyre,” but as literature and commentary, it is superior to it. The novel is stunningly and surprisingly modern, depicting the protagonist’s search for freedom and independence, despite her equally deep need for love.

Set in the fictional city of Villette, in the similarly mythical kingdom of Labassecour (actually based on Brontë’s experience in Brussels, Belgium), the novel follows the story of Lucy Snowe, a young English woman who settles there to escape her poverty and troubled past and to seek new opportunities. She accepts a job at a boarding school and tries to engage with the people around her, but she is still painfully lonely.

Lucy explores the themes of love, identity, freedom, and the search for meaning. The prose is evocative but precise, capturing Lucy’s struggles with remarkable depth and insight. The narrative is unconventional and often challenging because the author uses evasion – even lies – to describe or hide events. It includes powerful feminist themes and commentary on social class and gender roles, which are still with us despite the passage of the years. Villette is intense, complex, powerful, and has layers of extraordinary depth. (Ilil Arbel of New York, N.Y.)

In defence of libraries. Malorie Blacksman in The Guardian:

They saved my life. They are the reason I became a writer. The librarians got to know me and they recommended books like Jane Eyre, saying read this. And so it just breaks my heart that they’re not available. (Harriet Sherwood)

The Herald reviews The Lives of the Working Class Countryside by Rebecca Smith

Raised amid a soundscape of birdsong and roaring stags with a wonderland of woods to wander and hills to roam like “a modern Brontë sister”, Smith’s yearning for that bucolic environment is palpable. (Susan Flockhart)

The Sunday puzzle of NPR's Up First is quite something:

Will Shortz: Yes, it came from listener Peter Collins of Ann Arbor, Mich. I said, think of a well-known author - nine letters in the first name, eight letters in the last. I said, change the first letter of the last name and anagram those six letters to spell a word. And then read everything together - the author's first name, plus the anagram with the letter change to the last name - and you get a certain professional athlete. Who is it? Well, the author is Charlotte Bronte. Change the B to an H and scramble. You get a Charlotte Hornet.

Collider talks about the 1997 Clint Eastwood film, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil :

These elements may not be the same as the ones employed in the Scream franchise, but are akin to ones in Frankenstein or Wuthering Heights and are still effective at achieving a level of terror. (Megan McCaffrey)

El Correo de Andalucía (Spain) vindicates the writer Carmen Martín-Gaite:

De su labor como traductora, no es extraño que eligiera obras tan femeninas como Madame Bobary (sic), Cumbres borrascosas o Jane Eyre. (Álvaro Romero) (Translation)

Libération (France) reviews the graphic novel Sybilla by Max Baitinger:

Non plus la biographie de Sibylla Swcharz mais une réflexion sur la façon dont on met en images une vie si lointaine qu’on n’est pas trop sûr de comment dessiner les poignées de porte que la poétesse utilisait pour sortir de chez elle ou aller aux toilettes. La splendide bâtisse sous la neige sortie des Hauts de Hurlevent que l’auteur a pris le temps de peindre ? Elle est barrée de deux coups de feutre noir, parce que la seule chose dont Max Baitinger est certain, c’est que, statistiquement, il y a peu de chance qu’elle ressemble vraiment à ça. (Marius Chapuis) (Translation)