The Secret History of Jane Eyre

While not agreeing with everything this author theorizes, I enjoyed The Secret History of Jane Eyre. It was a quick read and the biographical snippets of Charlotte Bronte’s life were interesting, though I do feel like Pfordresher unfairly focused on the darker aspects of her character.

There are some intriguing analogies between Charlotte Bronte’s life and her most famous novel, but Pfordresher overreaches himself at times. While Bronte certainly did draw on the people around her to build her characters, Pfordresher underemphasizes that key player in every writer’s life: imagination.

There were times where Pfordresher needed to offer more evidence. For instance, he states that Charlotte’s damning portrayal of her school, Cowan Bridge, was justified according to sources and that it was much worse than she portrayed in Jane Eyre (assuming she used Cowan Bridge as the model for Lowood), but then he doesn’t cite any of those sources.

There was a lot of discussion of Charlotte’s juvenilia. It seems obvious that her later works grew out of her early writings; the time spent analyzing the connections mostly seemed irrelevant.

I don’t believe Jane Eyre was as completely autobiographical as Pfordresher claims, but I appreciated the connections he made between her life and her novel. I was surprised that he didn’t spend more time discussing Villette and relating it to Jane Eyre, as it is certainly the most autobiographical of Bronte’s works.

Overall, this was a worthwhile read, but it wasn’t as revelatory as the captivating title lead me to believe.

The Country of the Pointed Firs

It is hard to articulate why I loved this book so much. It’s not really a novel, more a loose series of character sketches. The main characters are mostly unmarried and widowed women whose dispositions have been shaped and sculpted by the rough winds of life. They are as beautiful and solid as the rocky Maine shoreline. This is one of those books you read with your heart. You feel every nuance, everything that’s not said, and every small joy and great disappointment of each character.

The characters in this book reminded me of those found in L.M. Montgomery’s stories, but they were more somber and mature. William, especially, reminded me of Matthew Cutburt: the quiet dignity, the shyness, and the patience – it was like reading an alternate storyline for Matthew.

The only thing that threw me was the narrator. I could never quite figure out who she was, why she was there, or what her real purpose was. Yet, I think in leaving the narrator undeveloped, Jewett allows her reader to effectually become the narrator. Her experience is our experience. Her observations ours. There is no distance. In reading The Country of the Pointed Firs we live for a season on the coast of Maine. We develop relationships and sympathize with a host of folks who are in the autumn of their lives. We conclude, like our narrator, that “in the life of each of us … there is a place remote and islanded, and given to endless regret or secret happiness; we are each the uncompanioned hermit and recluse of an hour or a day; we understand our fellows of the cell to whatever age of history they may belong” (89).

Ramona

This was an interesting, overdramatic, and occasionally entertaining read. First published in 1884, when contextualized with other 19th century social reform novels, I can appreciate what Helen Hunt Jackson was trying to do: bring awareness to the sad plight of the California Indians. In many ways, I think she was successful. I learned a great deal about the injustices that occurred to the Indians at both the hands of the Mexicans, and the Americans. 

The narrative flowed well and Hunt's writing was lovely. Her characters were fraught with more emotion than sense though. The most interesting character was probably the Señora Morena. She was awful, but she was complex. As for Ramona, I started to get irritated with her half-glass-full mentality just as much as I became annoyed by Allesandro's bleak fatalism. Those two really were a match made in heaven. 

I don't even know what to say about the deeply Oedipal relationship between Señora Morena and her son, Felipe, whose lack of cojones was truly appalling. 

"Felipe bowed his head in his mother's lap. She laid her hands on his hair, and stroked it with passionate tenderness. 'My Felipe!' she said. 'It was a cruel fate to rob me of you at the last!'
'Mother! mother' he cried in anguish. 'I am yours, -- wholly, devotedly yours! Why do you torture me thus?'" 

And I'll just leave you with that ... 

I actually enjoyed this novel quite a bit, but certain characters are so obviously marked out for suffering, that it was hard not to criticize it as I read. I can honestly say the ending surprised me, which is hard to do in a didactic novel. It's definitely worth reading, just be prepared for some melodrama. 

The Cellist of Sarajevo

Isn't it disappointing when you've been looking forward to reading a book only to discover it's not that good once you finally read it? 

Despite having The Cellist of Sarajevo on my "To Be Read" list for several years, I had no idea that this story was based on a real person until I googled the book. After a mortar attack killed 22 people waiting for food in a downtown Sarajevo marketplace in 1992, the cellist, Vedran Smailović, became famous for playing Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor (a fittingly haunting and lamentable piece of music) for twenty-two days straight at the site of the attack. He did this under the threat of snipers. He would also play in ruined buildings around Sarajevo and during funerals. 

I won't go so far as to say there is nothing to be gained from reading this book. It was easy enough to follow and I did learn a bit about the Siege of Sarajevo, but getting through it was a slog because the writing had the unmistakable tang of a creative writer desperate to compose something meaningful & over-conscious of his craft. The phrase, “the men on the hills” seemed to appear on every page and there was too much pontificating on death and war. The unceasing silent soliloquies of the three main characters were meant to be thought provoking, but they were so artlessly done that they fell as flat as their own undeveloped characters. Overall, this is a short book that never seems to end. The real story of the Cellist of Sarajevo, Vedran Smailović, is incredibly inspiring. The fictional account is not.

The death knell of this book really rang though when I read that Smailović, who survived the siege and is now living in Ireland, felt incredibly angry when he found out about it. He said, "How is it possible? They steal my name and identity. Nobody can take the rights to that from me. It's quite clear that it is me in the book ... I expect damages for what they have done, an apology and compensation." I was surprised that Galloway undertook to write about Smailović without asking permission. I find it very disrespectful. He has capitalized on Smailović's story; a story Smailović should have been allowed to tell in his own time and way, if that is what he wanted to do. 

This article gives a good rundown of the controversy. It was written ten years ago though and I can't find any information about how things were finally resolved. I'm guessing they never were.