North and South, Chapters V-X

Dear Amber,

I also have the “North and South” miniseries in my Netflix queue. I’m not quite done with the book yet – it’s my bedtime book, and it always seems to take me a little longer to get through a book that way. However, I’m well-prepared to talk about the next few chapters.

We left off when Mr. Hale has told Margaret about his decision to leave the church, and we pick up with Margaret bracing herself to tell her mother of their impending move. I have to say, I’m not particularly fond of Margaret, but I do admire the way she doesn’t procrastinate when she’s got something disagreeable to do. I’d torment myself for a while, imagining worst-case scenarios and mourning over the impending move, but Margaret gets her job over with as soon as possible, telling her mother the bad news almost as soon as her father leaves the house.

Again, this chapter emphasizes Mr. Hale’s cowardice. In your last letter, you said that Mr. Hale reminded you of Mr. Bennett from “Pride and Prejudice,” but I don’t think Mr. Bennett is cowardly. Lazy and self-indulgent, yes, but I can’t see him avoiding Mrs. Bennett for a whole day and making Elizabeth tell her something disagreeable. I’m reminded of Lizzy’s refusal of Mr. Collins and Mr. Bennett’s defense of her decision. In the same situation, Mr. Hale would have hemmed and hawed and told her that maybe she was being too hasty, and it would make her poor mother happy if she would just accept Mr. Collins’ offer.

Two chapters later, we’ve moved North, and Margaret gets her first glimpse of Milton, gray and smoky with its factories and rows of identical houses, as I imagine it. I can’t help thinking of some of the winter drives I made to Youngstown when we were still in school – those leaden skies and abandoned mills. Though it wasn’t all that long ago that Youngstown and Warren would’ve been our equivalent to Milton, with booming industry and crowded suburbs.

Margaret and the reader also meet Mr. Thornton for the first time in this chapter. Margaret doesn’t make the best first impression on Mr. Thornton, and frankly, this is where she really started to irritate me, too. As I mentioned before, in the first few chapters, Margaret comes across as too perfect. In this chapter we see her major flaw – she’s a huge snob. Though her father’s decision to leave the church has left her in far more reduced circumstances than she’s used to, she considers herself superior to Mr. Thornton, a self-made man, a wealthy man … but a tradesman! Now, I’ve been in Margaret’s situation, when you’re tired and not in the mood for company but have to be polite to someone who’s dropped by, but Margaret later reveals that Mr. Thornton’s impression that she looked down on him was entirely accurate.

The female Hales have a hard time settling down in Milton. Mrs. Hale finds that the “bad air” of Helstone is vastly preferable to the smoky air of Milton. And Margaret is put off by the attitude of over-familiarity that the factory workers of Milton seemed to have. However, this freedom of speech and familiarity is what introduces her to Nicholas and Bessy Higgins. Nicholas Higgins comments on her pretty face, and she’s struck by his own careworn face and later, by his clearly ill daughter Bessy. Interestingly, Margaret is friendlier to the Higginses than she is to Mr. Thornton — perhaps it’s because the Higginses “know their place” and recognize the class differences between them, while Mr. Thornton has, in Margaret’s eyes, set himself as an equal to the Hales, or perhaps, due to his wealth, above them.

The difference in Margaret’s attitude to these new people she has met in Milton is emphasized in the next chapters, as Mr. Thornton is invited to tea. While Gaskell writes that Margaret’s interest in the Higginses makes Milton more tolerable to her, she still disdains the company of Mr. Thornton. And it’s this attitude that causes Mr. Thornton’s rather intimidating mother to dislike Margaret before even meeting her.

I have to say, I like the Thorntons. Mr. Thornton is like a working man’s Mr. Darcy, but Mrs. Thornton is by no means a Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She takes a fierce pride in her son, though she might not show it through huge outpourings of affection. The Thorntons are who they are and don’t pretend to be otherwise.

During Mr. Thornton’s visit, he and Margaret get into a brief verbal dispute—taken far more seriously by Margaret—about the differences between the North and the South. As you mentioned in your letter, Northerners, represented here by Mr. Thornton, value hard work and the success that accompanies it. Margaret’s defense of the South seems to be that the poor people of the South are better off than those working for a living in Mr. Thornton’s mills. When she accuses him of making enemies of those who cannot achieve success, he gently corrects her by saying that those who are unsuccessful are not his enemies, but their own, and that if they are unhappy or impoverished, it’s because they were too self-indulgent at a previous point in their lives.

I don’t think either Margaret or Mr. Thornton have it quite right here. There are all too many examples of people who are born poor, live poor and die poor, despite any and all efforts to break the cycle. Salon had a great article this week about how our society, in recent years, has begun to criminalize poverty. 

And Margaret is over-romanticizing the poor people of the South. In “Our Mutual Friend,” we read about the watermen of London whose job was fishing usable things from the river, including bodies. And we’ve both learned about the conditions in which the children of London – chimney sweeps and urchins – lived. Surely these people were as miserable, if not more so, than the workers in Milton.

I’ve gotten super longwinded this time, so I’ll quit here. What are your thoughts on the Thorntons, and Margaret and Mr. Thornton’s argument, which we return to throughout the book?

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth

"North and South," response to chapters I-IV

Dear Mary Beth,

I'm so glad you've posted already! I finished North and South two nights ago and have been eager to discuss it. I was planning on posting as I read the book (and pacing myself!), but alas, that didn't happen. I ended up racing through the novel and neglecting other things pretty badly. Then, when I finally decided to post, I realized that Eric had taken the iPad on his out-of-town trip, and I had read it as an ebook on our nifty little tablet (I wasn't able to find it in print from either of my usual outlets--the bookstore or the library, oddly enough). Fortunately, I had the wisdom to take notes for the first 12 chapters before I let myself get lost in the book.

I'd like to add a bit to your discussion of the title. I read that Elizabeth Gaskell had originally titled the novel Margaret Hale, but the publisher suggested North and South as a more appropriate title. I couldn't agree more. Not only does the title refer to the two main charters--Margaret represents the ways of the South while Mr. Thornton represents the North--but it highlights how different two regions of one country can be. I honestly never thought about it myself before, that the South was more fixated on the aristocracy and inherited wealth, while the North favored earning a higher rank in society through hard work. It makes sense, and I'm glad I read this novel if only to learn that one little thing.

It took me a while to really get into North and South. By starting out with Edith's wedding, and with Edith being such a flake, I was wondering what kind of novel this would be. Then Henry Lennox's proposal! I was quite surprised to come across a proposal so early on, and I though Henry would become the "love interest," but then his character seemed to fade into the background, as did Edith.

You mentioned the similarity between North and South and Pride and Prejudice (even the titles have parallels!); I noticed that immediately as well. In fact, my first reaction upon finishing the novel was that North and South was a rip-off of Pride and Prejudice, but I think the former is too complex to make that a fair judgement. You mentioned finding Mrs. Shaw similar to Mrs. Bennett, which I honestly had not thought of. I had, however, immediately compared Mr. Hale to Mr. Bennett in that they're both weak and unable or unwilling to deal with their own responsibility (Mr. Bennett and Lydia, Mr. Hale and his decision to leave the Church). But I found another novel to compare North and South to, at least in some ways: The Mill on the Floss. To me, Mrs. Hale is a pre-existing version of Mrs. Tulliver. Both women married men who disappointed them later in life, and both women dishonored their families and themselves by failing to take responsibility for their decisions and make the best of their situations. Instead, both women make their daughters miserable, albeit Mrs. Tulliver moreso than Mrs. Hale.

Speaking of Mr. Hale's decision to leave the Church, I found that part incredibly confusing. Upon doing some minor research (Wikipedia, I admit it), I found out that Elizabeth Gaskell's husband did the same thing upon converting to a Unitarian. I felt much more comfortable with the novel upon learning that, and it added a bit of scandal to the Hales' situation as well. Mr. Hale's religious doubts weren't the only thing I found confusing, though. What is the deal with Frederick's mutiny and following exile? I became more comfortable with this aspect of the novel as well once it was explained, but I still find it an odd side-plot.

Finally, I wholeheartedly agree with your suggestion that this is a novel best read through a Marxist lens. I, too, often default to a feminist reading of just about everything, but there simply wasn't much to go on in North and South (although I got really sick of all Margaret's crying by the end of the novel, sheesh). Marxism, on the other hand, is all over the place. I don't know how anyone could read North and South without focusing on the labor, class, and social-status issues, and I think this is the aspect of the book that I enjoyed the most. In fact, I have always been fascinated by both gender and class issues, whether in literature, film, or modern-day life. I just find them so pervasive, and it is particularly so in North and South.

Well, I knew this was going to be a long post, but I really was hoping to do more than just respond to your points on the first four chapters. North and South seems to get more and more complex as I think about it, and I think it is an excellent choice for our blog, especially as a follow-up to Shirley. I've been meaning to read this novel for years now (ever since Dr. Gergits's Victorian lit class), and Netflix has been suggesting the 2004 BBC mini-series to me for about as long. I've resisted thus far, though sorely tempted, but am happy to say that having finished the novel, I'm finally off to start watching the mini-series. Let's hope we get further into the novel in laters posts than we did in the first round!

Your Friend,
Amber

"North and South," Chapters I-IV

Dear Amber,

Upon hearing that the next selection for our Victorian books blog was “North and South,” my husband assumed that it was about the Civil War. I explained that having been published between 1854-55, the Civil War hadn’t even taken place yet. But I imagine that’s a misconception a lot of people might have about this book, especially since John Jakes wrote a book in 1982 called “North and South” that was about the Civil War and was later turned into a popular miniseries.

The reason I start out talking about misconceptions is that Elizabeth Gaskell begins her book in a way that could easily lead the reader to misunderstand what the book is about. We meet our main character, Margaret Hale, living with her well-off aunt and cousin, helping with the preparations for her cousin Edith’s wedding. It’s a scene that wouldn’t be out of place in a Jane Austen novel — in fact, Aunt Shaw is reminiscent of Mrs. Bennett in “Pride and Prejudice,” with her imagined complaints and her skewed view of marriage and romance. (Be warned, this won’t be the last time you’ll hear me comparing “N&S” to “P&P” — despite the fact that we picked this book due to its similarities to “Shirley,” I keep finding myself thinking, “This is a lot like ‘P&P.’”)

However, the wedding takes place off stage, and Margaret is quickly whisked away to her parents’ home in Helstone (a place not to be confused with Caroline Helstone, with whom we spent so much time while reading “Shirley”). At Helstone, Margaret lives much more modestly than she did as companion to her cousin for so many years, but she seems not to care too much for the fashionable society she left behind and is happy to be home and reunited with her parents.

Things aren’t as blissful at home as she had imagined, though, since her father, a minister, is distracted and troubled by some unknown worry, and her mother is constantly complaining about Helstone and its “poor air.”

Margaret is hardly settled in before Mr. Henry Lennox, brother to her cousin Edith’s new husband, arrives for a visit and ultimately declares his love for Margaret and proposes marriage. Astounded by this, Margaret refuses him none too gently, and Mr. Lennox leaves, hurt, but unconvinced that Margaret is completely indifferent to him.

Here we have fodder for an entire novel — the contrast between life in London and life as the daughter of a country preacher; a suitor scorned, but who may yet convince his lady to reconsider. It’s “Sense and Sensibility” meets “Pride and Prejudice.” But we’re only on chapter IV, and Gaskell hasn’t even sprung the true plot of the book on us yet! See what I mean about misconceptions?

The true plot of the book begins while Margaret is still reeling from Mr. Lennox’s unexpected proposal. (Unexpected to Margaret only, I have to say. I knew as soon as Mr. Lennox appeared in chapter I that he was in love with Margaret.) Margaret’s father, Mr. Hale, confesses to her that he has been having doubts, so he can no longer be a minister and the family will be leaving Helstone in two weeks’ time for the factory town of Milton-Northern, where Mr. Hale would work as a tutor.

What?

I was so perplexed by Mr. Hale’s vague description of his reasons for leaving the ministry that I did something I almost never do when reading Victorian literature: I read the introduction. Rather, I skimmed it to find an explanation for Mr. Hale’s behavior.

I usually don’t read introductions because they’re full of spoilers. Yes, I realize that “N&S” was written a century and a half ago, but the first time I read a book, I do want to be surprised as I go along, and the intros to classic books tend to give everything away. But this time, I needed more information. Alas, my introduction was at first less than helpful: “It is not important to know exactly what Mr. Hale’s doubts were …” But it explained that Mr. Hale considered himself aligned with the Dissenters of the 17^th and 18^th centuries, and that his beliefs seemed to lean toward Unitarianism, not Anglicanism, which was why he could no longer be a minister in the Church of England.

Once Mr. Hale has dropped his bombshell on Margaret, he asks something of her that I consider cowardly and inexcusable: he wants Margaret to tell Mrs. Hale that they’re leaving Helstone. He has come to the decision to uproot his family without consulting them. He is moving them to a less desirable place where they will live in reduced circumstances, and he has the nerve to ask his daughter to be the one to break the news to his wife.

I have to say, at this point in the book, I don’t have a very high opinion of any of the characters. Mr. Hale is spineless. Mrs. Hale is whiny, as is Aunt Shaw. Edith is spoiled. And Margaret is too perfect and innocent. I liked Henry Lennox, but he’s gone to lick his wounds after Margaret’s refusal.

But despite Gaskell’s misdirection in the first chapters and my grievances with the characters, I’m really enjoying “N&S.”

So what are your thoughts on the beginning of “N&S?” And have you settled on a critical perspective to view the book through? I can’t seem to get a handle on my usual feminist perspective — Margaret doesn’t strike me as a feminist heroine. I suppose a Marxist perspective would be the most logical choice. What do you think?

I’m looking forward to our discussions of this book!

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth

The Ending of "Shirley"

Dear Mary Beth,

I'll give my reflections on the ending of Shirley by discussing the fates of its two main characters, Shirley and Caroline.

You mentioned that part of Shirley's disappointment in Robert's proposal was because she was probably aware of Caroline's feelings for Robert. I agree with you. Shirley and Caroline know each other quite well by the end of the novel. And Caroline seems to be the only person (other than Shirley) who sees Shirley's feelings for Louis. Caroline tells Robert, in Chapter 35 when he's confessing to his proposal to Shirley, that she thinks Shirley is in love with someone who has not yet made Shirley an offer. Clearly Caroline is referring to Louis. If Caroline can pick up on Shirley's feelings for Louis after such a short time, then surely Shirley is aware of Caroline's feelings for Robert, which have been obvious for the entire novel.

As for Shirley and Louis's relationship, I suppose I see things a bit differently than you do. I don't think Louis sees himself as unworthy of Shirley (at least, no moreso than any Victorian man sees himself as unworthy of the woman he loves); rather, I think Louis is painfully aware of the class/fortune differences between the two, and the likely objection of Shirley's uncle to such a match (and geez, is he right, yikes). Louis always seemed to me to be very self-confident, self-aware, and socially aware, not to mention very intelligent. As for Shirley, I don't see her as giving up her purpose to marry Louis. Sure, she backs off on the running of Fieldhead, as she confesses to Louis after they're married, but I think she did that to give Louis a chance to step up and be seen as her equal by the people at Fieldhead and in the community. I imagine the two of them running the show together before long.

As for Caroline's fate, it reminds me quite a bit of Jane Eyre's. Both women long for more than an ordinary life but end up in seemingly ordinary endings with their husbands. I find both endings a bit difficult to reconcile with the feminist messages that precede them. However, I tell myself that Charlotte Bronte felt the need to give the reader happy endings to sort of sugar-coat her message. At the same time, Robert indicates that he hopes to build up the community around his mill should he continue to be successful, and that Caroline will teach Sunday school, and Caroline and Shirley may someday run a day school for the children of Robert's workers. I think such an arrangement would suit both women particularly well, especially given some of the points you have made about their characters.

Feel free to have another go at the ending of Shirley. There's no such thing as being done discussing something when it comes to Charlotte Bronte! On the other hand, there's also the burning question, what do we read and discuss next? I'll leave the choice up to you!

Your Sincere Friend,
Amber

Shirley, Chapters XXV-XXXVII

Dear Amber,

I think that while we’re meant to think that Caroline’s illness is the result of pining over Robert Moore, it’s really a culmination of all the things we’ve been talking about with regard to Caroline – her lack of purpose and the benign neglect she’s subjected to growing up in her uncle’s care. She also seems to be a person who needs someone to love and care for – and I think this is why Robert’s apparent indifference wounds her so much. As we’ve read, she’s developed detailed fantasies of what it would be like to be Robert’s wife and to care for him. Shirley cannot fill this need for her because she is so supremely independent.

Caroline’s yearning for a mother, which she had also expressed prior to her illness, is not only a wish to be mothered, but a wish to do some mothering of her own. Indeed, she acts on this almost immediately upon learning that Mrs. Pryor is her mother – “lecturing” Mrs. Pryor on fashion and declaring that she should have a new dress.

This is a side of Caroline we have not seen prior to this – Caroline in charge, Caroline being “bossy.” This interlude with Mrs. Pryor and Caroline sets up the interaction between Robert Moore and Caroline later.

After Robert is shot and is convalescing in the Yorke home, Caroline conspires with young Martin Yorke to sneak into the home to visit Robert. We could not imagine the Caroline of the first part of the book, timid and shy, defying the inexorable triumvirate of the Mrs. Yorke, Hortense Moore and the brutish, drunken nurse, Miss Horsfall.

But what a reward Caroline receives for her daring! Robert Moore confesses that he has wished for her, and Caroline tells him that had she even dreamed that he would want to see her, she would have found a way to see him sooner. Again, could we imagine Caroline, prior to her illness, making such a bold declaration?

But let’s talk about Robert Moore for a while. As we have seen throughout the novel, Robert is a man of great ambition combined with a cool head and a willingness to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. Indeed, his actions can be considered cold at times – his actions seem heartless to the workers who lost their jobs when Robert decided to bring in the mechanized frames. He does not care about public opinion and shows that he is willing to literally back up his beliefs with firepower. Though he is not too proud to ask Shirley for financial backing, he does have a rather high opinion of himself. He even describes himself in mechanical terms to Mr. Yorke when describing his ill-fated proposal to Shirley: “The machinery of all my nature; the whole enginery of this human mill: the boiler, which I take to be the heart, is fit to burst.”

Before he can be considered worthy to have Caroline for his wife, he must be completely humbled – first, by Shirley.  He admits to Mr. Yorke that he proposed to Shirley not out of love but out of self-interest. He admired Shirley a great deal, but his only motive for marrying her was money. Shirley sees right through him (and notes that she respected and admired and liked him as a brother, for in her heart of hearts, she did want him as a brother!) and lambastes him for his mercenary impulses. I wonder, though, if some of Shirley’s disappointment is for Caroline’s sake. Surely she sensed Caroline’s affection for him.

Next he is humbled by injury and illness, left helpless to the mercies of Mrs. Yorke, his sister Hortense and Miss Horsfall. And it is at this time that he realizes who his true match is, and Caroline gets her happy ending.

What a contrast Robert Moore is to his brother, Louis! Though Louis is a man of keen intellect, patience and reserve, he does not think himself worthy of Shirley, whereas Robert Moore sees himself worthy of any woman, at least, until Shirley sets him straight. To wander into a different genre for a moment, Louis Moore reminds me of Remus Lupin — another man of keen intellect, patience and reserve who, due to poverty and lycanthrope, did not think himself worthy of a woman’s love.

What I find curious, though, is how after everything is settled and Shirley and Louis have declared their love for one another, Shirley becomes completely passive, leaving all decision-making to her fiancé. I find this a little hard to swallow. As I mentioned in my last letter, Shirley was not a woman to whom housewifely pursuits came easily. She was too quickly bored with sewing, her housekeeper cheated her constantly, and so forth. Her real interest lay in the affairs of her estate. But if she gives those over to Louis, what is left for her to do? Shirley is a woman of energy and spirit, and though rich, never idle. It’s odd that at the end of the book, Caroline, who has longed for purpose, finds it, and Shirley abdicates hers.

Once again, I’ve grown long-winded, and I didn’t even touch on some of the things I wanted to address: All of Shirley’s proposals and the battle of wills with her uncle; the incident with the mad dog — based on a true story! — and Martin Yorke and the shifting of the narrative to his point of view during the chapters covering Caroline and Robert’s courtship.

I may have to come back and discuss these end chapters a little more!

In the meantime, what’s your take on the end of Shirley?

Sincerely yours,

Mary Beth

Shirley, Chapters XXV-XXX

Dear Mary Beth,

I think you made a very good point with the passage you quoted about Shirley not doing much with her gift. The Bronte sisters are certainly not the only literary greats whose destitution drove them to write. Dickens and Poe come immediately to mind, but of course there are many others. So although the Bronte sisters endured much misery in their lives, the world is a much better place because of it. These writers driven to the pen out of need were fortunate enough in their misfortune to have had the requisite education needed to write what they did. As you pointed out, how many people had that same potential and education but lived in luxury and thus had not the need to make money by writing? And how many more had the potential and the need to make money, but not the education to make them literate? How many geniuses have gone utterly undiscovered simply because of their situations? I suppose we should be grateful for the ones history produced for us.

As for this section of the novel, I think there are some important things going on here. First, we find out (as does Caroline) that Mrs. Pryor is actually Caroline's mother. After this revelation, Caroline's health immediately begins to improve. I think this is significant because it shows that Caroline's illness is not just the result of her pining after Robert (I admit, that's what it seemed to me at first). It's much bigger than that and gives, I think, Caroline's character more depth.

Shirley, too, has a lot going on in these chapters. Her family comes to visit, including the family tutor, Louis Moore, who is also Robert's brother. Thus begins a parade of suitors before Shirley and pressure for her to marry as soon as possible. The major hint of where her heart truly lies, though, comes when she is bitten by a dog. She fears she now has rabies and will die soon but tells no one what happened, despite the obvious change in her disposition. No one, that is, but Louis. She tells him the truth. We find out in the following chapter that Louis is in love with Shirley and begin to suspect that she returns his affections.

Louis's arrival in the novel made me realize that Charlotte seems to include doubling consistently in her novels. When Caroline first sees Louis approach Robert and Hortense's house, she thinks it is Robert but at the same time knows it is not. They also both have a relationship of some kind with Shirley. Robert mistakenly thinks that Shirley loves him, but it is Louis that she truly loves. There is some doubling with Caroline and Shirley, too. Shirley is, as I've mentioned before, what Caroline wants to be. Robert even proposes to Shirley (as is revealed in this section) although he has all along loved Caroline. There is also some doubling in Charlotte's other novels, famously in Jane Eyre with Jane and Bertha, and in Villette with Lucy and Polly. I think it's particularly interesting in Shirley that there is doubling with both men and women, whereas in Charlotte's other novels (and in most novels of the period), the doubling is limited to female characters, a reflection of the Victorian attitude that women are essentially interchangeable.

I think it's time to wrap up this letter. I'll let you finish off the final 7 chapters of this wonderful book and be the first to give your opinion of the ending. Before I do, though, I'll prod you with the cliffhanger from the end of chapter 30: Robert is shot by one of the workers!

Your Friend,
Amber

Shirley, Chapters XVIII-XXIV

Dear Amber,

At long last, I’m revisiting Shirley again!

You’ve summed up those less exciting middle chapters (XV-XXI) nicely, so I won’t go into those too much. I have two points: first, “Which the Genteel Reader is Recommended to Skip, Low Persons Being Here Introduced” is a such a great name for a chapter. I don’t really associate Charlotte Bronte with humor, but there’s a sly wit about chapter titles like that one, and as we will later encounter, “Wherein Matters make some Progress, but not much.”

Second, Charlotte’s description of Caroline’s despair in chapter XX is almost painful in its accuracy. It immediately brings to mind those dark times in my own life when I felt exactly that way. And as much of Shirley does, it reminded me of Charlotte’s own life, and what she must have been going through when she was writing this part of the book. According to the timeline in my book, Charlotte finished the first volume of Shirley – chapters I-XI – in September 1848. Branwell Bronte died Sept. 24, 1848, and of course, Emily followed just a few months later. Charlotte went back to her writing after Emily’s death, but of course, Anne became ill and died in May of 1849. According to “The Life of Charlotte Bronte,” Charlotte picked up with chapter XXV after Anne’s death.

I can’t read the middle section of this book, especially the chapters dealing with Caroline’s long illness, without thinking of Charlotte and her siblings. How many nights did Charlotte sit up with a sick sister, like Mrs. Pryor did with Caroline? I’m reminded, too, of how Charlotte became the “woman of the family” after losing two older sisters, her mother, and her Aunt Branwell. Like Caroline, she must have longed for a mother – someone to comfort her through all the tragedies and heartbreaks she endured. Caroline’s prayer is granted, and she pulls through because she has her mother at her side at long last. Charlotte, however, must soldier on alone, having given her literary doppelganger the happiness she could never have.

But I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. There’s an interesting part in chapter XXII I’d like to touch on.

As I mentioned before, I’ve read that Shirley Keeldar is an idealized version of Emily Bronte. And in chapter XXII, Charlotte describes Shirley in more detail than we’ve had before. We learn that Shirley is restless. Sitting and sewing quietly are practically impossible for her; she greatly prefers visiting the animals on her estate and talking to her foreman, John. Shirley enjoys reading, but again, sitting still is not her forte. Instead, she lies on the rug, like a child, with her dog beside her. She is imaginative and keenly appreciative of beauty, but Charlotte makes a point of noting that Shirley does nothing with this gift of seeing all that is good and wonderful in the world. She writes:

“If Shirley were not an indolent, a reckless, an ignorant being, she would take a pen at such moments; or at least while the recollection of such moments was yet fresh on her spirit: she would seize, she would fix the apparition, tell the vision revealed. Had she a little more of the organ of Acquisitiveness in her head – a little more of the love of property in her nature, she would take a good-sized sheet of paper and write plainly out, in her own queer but clear and legible hand, the story that has been narrated, the song that has been sung to her, and thus possess what she was enabled to create. But indolent she is, reckless she is, and most ignorant, for she does not know her dreams are rare – her feelings peculiar: she does not know, has never known, and will die without knowing, the full value of that spring whose bright fresh bubbling in her heart keeps it green.”

So if the Bronte sisters had been better off in health and wealth, would we not have Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Agnes Grey, and our Shirley? Charlotte seems to be saying that Shirley’s leisure makes it unnecessary for her to pursue her inborn gift of creativity, while the Bronte sisters turn to writing for a living only when the other avenues open to them fail to be fruitful. If Shirley, the idealized Emily, is not inspired to write, does this mean Charlotte believes that in better circumstances, Emily’s genius would have gone untapped as well?

And yet, writing was in the Brontes’ blood, as evidenced by the thick volume of juvenilia currently residing on my bookshelf. Before it became a means of making a living, writing was an engaging pastime for the young Brontes. Was it because they grew up poor in Haworth Parsonage? Does Charlotte believe that poverty nourishes genius and talent better than wealth?

 I’m getting long-winded again, so I’ll leave off here for now.

Yours sincerely,

Mary Beth