The Brontës' hinterland

The Telegraph has an opinion column on the Pride Month posts by the Brontë Parsonage Museum.

I should be clear; I am not against gay historical figures having that side of their personalities and contributions explored. You can imagine it being quite a big deal, say, for the estate of Oscar Wilde. But trying to shoehorn 21st-century concepts of the “queer” into the lives and works of three vicar’s daughters from the mid-19th century, isn’t just deranged but faintly insulting.

One justification for this fantasy alternate universe appears to be that the Brontes used male pseudonyms to publish their work. Yet they adopted these not for fun, or to achieve the “queering” of gender boundaries, but out of cold necessity. (In Charlotte Bronte’s case, nothing screams “gender-queer” like being forced to publish under a man’s name, before dying from complications in the early stages of pregnancy.)

To most people, claiming something that was the product of repression as a choice made as part of some greater struggle sounds tangibly insane. However, it gives an insight into the mindset of many custodians of our cultural treasures. Theirs is a moral world where it is impossible to say that something is “good” for its own sake, because that would imply the existence of categories of objective “goodness”, or, shock horror, a morality different to their own. Instead, culture must always be repurposed to fit the prevailing ideology. [...]

Truly getting to grips with literature of the past involves entering a thought-world different from our own, doing serious legwork with things like attitudes to death, faith and truth. The easy option is simply to impute contemporary ideologies onto these texts, rather than spending hours poring over the King James Bible in an effort to understand their hinterland.

I suspect that one reason for the soaraway success of the podcast series The Rest is History is that it doesn’t view the past as a stick with which to beat the present – but as its own place, whose stories are valid and interesting. People who don’t feel comfortable inhabiting the past, or at least engaging with it on its own terms, are entitled to their opinion. But perhaps they shouldn’t be handed the keys to the museum. (Madeline Grant)

Of course, Daily Mail jumps on the bandwagon, too.

A contributor to The Evening Sun is thinking of recipients of 'Brontë Award for Memorable Characters in a Novel':

I’m back with more recipients of the Brontë Award for Memorable Characters in a Novel. And since I named the award after those two scriblerus gals, it seems only appropriate to start with their handsome, bad-tempered heroes: the types of men who always have and always will cause women to cry bitter tears.

Mr. Rochester, by Charlotte Brontë. When first introduced in Jane Eyre, Mr. Rochester throws off his cloak, jumps off his horse, and imprints himself on Jane’s (and our) consciousness with a dash and flare that take our breath away “…with his broad and jetty eyebrows … his grim mouth, chin, and jaw—yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake … He was moody, too…But I believe that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former faults of morality…had their source in some cruel cross of fate.”

Heathcliff, by Emily Brontë. Another passionate, brooding man, Heathcliff was the wild gypsy boy brought to Wuthering Heights by Cathy Earnshaw’s father. From the moment they meet as children, Cathy and Heathcliff’s souls are welded together by a power greater than love. At age 19, Heathcliff “…had grown a tall, athletic, well-formed man … A half-civilized ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; and his manner was even dignified.” (Shelly Reuben)

Times Now News includes both Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights on a list of '10 classic books with the most memorable characters'. Rogue Valley Times reviews Oregon Shakespeare Festival's take on Jane Eyre;

Adapted by playwright Elizabeth Williamson from the novel by Charlotte Brontë, everything's just just right. Well, almost. There is some strange choreography introducing scenes at the beginning, middle and end. It wasn’t necessary, but it got a contingent of young people sitting in the balcony all excited, so we’ll call it a draw. (...)

Actress Jennie Greenberry seems quite at home with her portrayal of Jane. She understands Jane’s uncompromising values, her sense of morality and her compassion towards others. This is important, because as Jane moves through her life, she is presented with the opportunity to be with the love of her life, but refuses when she learns he's married. Jane inherits great wealth but instead of hoarding it, she shares it. Indeed, Greenberry must convince us the guiding principles that guide Jane’s life are important to her as well. Since she is the person upon which so many pivotal moments depend, it is important she be as good as she is. (Lucie K. Scheuer)