It has become popular in recent times to read Jane Eyre from a feminist perspective, and to blame Rochester for the death of Bertha, his first wife. Ever since Derrida encouraged the literary world to look askance at authors' conscious intent, people have been second guessing the classics, and Jane Eyre has been more abused than most. A reinterpretation of Jane Eyre was the foundation of a nuanced, scholarly tomb titled The Madwoman in the Attic by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar. In it they speculated that Charlotte Bronte was projecting her own resentment toward men on the figure of Rochester's first wife. This deconstructionist/feminist version blames patriarchal society for causing female writers of the nineteenth century to repress their rebellious, demanding, questioning natures. This then, according to their theory, came out in their writing as a dichotomy of female images: the saintly, prim and proper wifely types (like Jane), and the aggressive, hostile, irrepressible madwomen (like Bertha).
Then Jean Rhys' The Wide Sargasso Sea told the story of Rochester's first marriage from Bertha’s point of view. The assumption in this text is that men resent women who are deeply passionate, so much so that they consider them freaks and lunatics. In this text the problem isn't the women at all, but the men who feel threatened by strong women. Rhys' interpretation of the story might be summed up by saying that men's repressed castration anxiety causes them to project this fear onto assertive women, and then they cause hysterical and aggressive responses from a woman as they seek to control her (in this case by locking her up). In essence, she's saying that the first Mrs. Rochester is every oppressed woman.
The latest version that I’ve heard was that Rochester actually set his house on fire himself (instead of Bertha starting the fire, as suggested by the original text), in order to rid himself of that pesky woman. This is very much in line with the tradition of feminist readings of Jane Eyre. These radical interpretations make sense, if you see Rochester as a despicable husband who can't wait to rid himself of his hated burden. With no witnesses to accuse him, and all of the power of patriarchy behind him, why not do the expedient thing?
However, I believe that those who adore Jane Eyre would find this reading reprehensible. The mysterious, commanding, melancholy image of Rochester that we see speaks to us of his self-repression. The fire at Thornfield was not his first chance of ridding himself of that insane woman. He could have conveniently nudged her over the edge of the ship's deck on their voyage to England. He could have poisoned her, or denied her food and the warmth of a fire, or simply neglected her more subtly until she sickened and died, instead of providing her with a gentle keeper to care for her. Such things were certainly done in the Gothic novels of Bronte's time (see, for example, The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe).
The fact that Rochester kept his wife, and merely brooded about his ill fortune, brands him as the quintessential gentleman. Every woman craves a man who is strong enough to slay dragons for her, but that is tender and morally strong enough to deny himself for her sake. Rochester represents this dream. Take that away, and Jane Eyre loses all appeal except to a few feminist critics.
No comments:
Post a Comment