Jane, not RadFem enough

Mountain Home Observer talks about the upcoming performances of Jane Eyre (in the Charles Vance adaptation) at the Twin Lakes Playhouse:

Twin Lakes Playhouse will present Charlotte Brontë’s Gothic romance “Jane Eyre” with an enhanced focus on the novel’s dark, supernatural elements in a three-weekend run beginning Aug. 8.

Director Olivia Wolfe emphasizes the Victorian novel’s Gothic atmosphere in this adaptation, highlighting the mysterious occurrences at Thornfield Hall and the brooding romance between the orphaned governess and her enigmatic employer.

Charlotte Brontë published “Jane Eyre” in 1847 under the masculine pen name “Currer Bell,” as female authors faced significant prejudice in Victorian England. The eldest of the three literary Brontë sisters, Charlotte drew from her own experiences as a governess and her time at the harsh Clergy Daughters School at Cowan Bridge, which became the model for the novel’s Lowood School. (Chris Fulton)

The Critic publishes an essay by Sybil Ruth where she shares her experience as a reader in different moments of her life with Jane Eyre. Her current reader seems to be focused on considering Rochester a bully serial predator, and her disappointment with Jane Eyre's return to him at the end of the book. A classic reading of not judging the book by what it is, in its context, but what it should be in the (very) strict reader's contemporary view world. 

Rochester is a disaster on legs. (On horseback too) The man isn’t just a red flag. He is a whole CCP parade of flags. This guy’s a serial predator, getting handsy with everyone he half-fancies — Bertha, Celine and Blanche. He is a glammed-up Gregg Wallace. For Rochester, sex is about laying the blame on others. His family. The women themselves. He is never responsible.

So does the narrative offer any escape route? Not really. Jane Eyre is a post-modernist text. Women get multiple choices but no right answers.

First, we have conservative feminism, in which it’s a heroine’s duty to be savvy. For the good of wider society, she must calculate which bloke is most likely to stick around, who is the safest bet to make babies with. (Handy tips: avoid missionaries. Also anyone who’s got a wife already.)

Option Two is liberal. Jane must break free from the repressive establishment (the Reed family, Lowood) and open herself to new sensations. Which brings us to the thorny question of sex at Thornfield. 

Yes, there is physicality in your average nineteenth century novel, but it is mostly vanilla stuff — perhaps a few charades, maybe an accident that nudges the hero and heroine towards intimacy. Charlotte Brontë pushes further with her portrayal of Rochester as King of Kink.

This isn’t romance. It’s grooming. Those cosy after-work chats are not “banter” but bullying. He is the tomcat, while she is Jerry, the nimble mouse. Having awoken her affections, Rochester humiliates Jane, who gets to see him flirt with super-bitch Blanche. As if that wasn’t enough, Rochester disguises himself as a female gypsy to tell Jane’s fortune. (Make no mistake — today the man would identify as non-binary.)

Jane Eyre is a tragedy where only the chorus has common sense. Trouble could be averted if Jane would only listen to Mrs Fairfax. “He might almost be your father… Try and keep Mr Rochester at a distance.”

The third solution requires us to go RadFem. After what the heroine’s been through, it seems only fair. Especially when, with a flourish of the authorial wand, Jane becomes a woman of independent means. She is free to set up a high-minded commune with Mary and Diana, her newfound cousins. 

And yet, with the end in clear view, Charlotte Bronte goes fourth-wave on us. Like some zealous NHS manager, her imagination won’t allow female-only space. With a late plot twist — and it could hardly be more twisted — Jane goes into reverse, scuttling back to sit on the knee of her so-called Master. Her modern equivalent would use Instagram to boast, “Reader, I married him!” 

My instinct is to unfollow. Unfriend. 

The Telegraph & Argus announces the line-up of the upcoming Brontë Festival of Women's Writing on September 26-28 in Haworth, featuring Emerald Fennell alongside authors like Tracy Chevalier and Holly Ringland, with a focus on Bradford's City of Culture year and new Angria-inspired stories from writers in Bradford and Ghana.

The director of the new Wuthering Heights film, starring Margot Robbie, will be a guest at this year’s Brontë Women’s Writing Festival.

Taking place in Haworth, the festival will celebrate novelists and the North, with a focus on Bradford, in its year as UK City of Culture, as the home of the Brontës.

Actor, writer and film-maker Emerald Fennell, who wrote and directed cult hit Saltburn, will discuss her much-anticipated big screen version of Wuthering Heights, filmed in the Yorkshire Dales this year and set for release early 2026.

Other guests include best-selling author Tracy Chevalier, who wrote Girl with a Pearl Earring, and Australian author and TV presenter Holly Ringland, reflecting on how their writing has been shaped by the Brontës’ legacy.

This year’s festival theme is Writers From and Based in the North, with a focus on stories shaped by northern landscapes and the influences of the Brontë sisters, and showcasing new work from northern publishers. (Emma Clayton)

Daily Express shares a list favourite period dramas: 

Jane Eyre 2006

Based on the best-selling novel of the same name, written by Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre is a series not to be missed.

Starring Ruth Jones and Toby Stephens, the mini-series is about a young governess who falls in love with her master. However, his dark and mysterious past may destroy their relationship forever. (Rebecca Jones)

Masala lists songs inspired by literary sources like Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights. USA Today's Crossword Puzzle includes a "Brotnë heroine" question. The Brontë Sisters UK explores in her new video how Yorkshire's moors, dialect, and culture shaped the Brontë sisters' novels and legacy. AnneBrontë.org posts how a piece of Napoleon's coffin found its way from St. Helena to Charlotte Brontë via her unrequited love, Monsieur Paul.