Current mood:	complacent
Entry tags:	jane eyre

Eyrean musings
Since having finished my annual reading of Jane Eyre, now officially my favorite book (since it has at last been acknowledged by me to have displaced The Princess Bride in the number one spot), I have noticed myself adopting what I have termed "Eyrean" vocabulary and syntax. The previous sentence serves as a perfect example. In the car the other day with roommie supermer, I actually used the word "inanition."

Of course, the adoption of the style of a recently read author is nothing terribly new. But it has amused me of late. Perhaps more amusing have been the reactions of others when they understand my word "Eyrean" to be "Aryan" (sp?). I don't really associate the word "inanition" with Nordic peoples or with Nazis. (Incidentally, there is a tall, pale, shaved-headed man sitting at the computer across from me who could probably pass for an Aryan. Why is he at the Meredith College library?)

I have mentioned before that I came across some sections of Jane Eyre that had fresh meaning for me on this reading. I have finally remembered to bring the novel with me to get online. When Jane is on her way to Thornfield for the first time, she thinks:

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connexion, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it: but then the throb of fear disturbs it [. . .]

I read that passage as if for the first time. It had never connected with me before. I hadn't experienced the sensation and could comprehend it only intellectually, not sympathetically. Now, I feel I know what Jane was saying. I have felt cut adrift too, far away from those who love me unconditionally (family) and from my nearest friends, almost to the preclusion of any practical aid therefrom (more Eyreanism).

An even more resonating passage happens later when Jane is restored to Mr. Rochester. I have often, of late, tried to explain to others my horror of "annoying people." I hate, above everything except feeling I have acted wrongly, feeling that I am annoying/bothering/offending someone. It is a struggle between my natural desires (as a Myers-Briggs NF, see Keirsey's book) both to be sincere and to please others. The desires are often at variance, and the ensuing struggle painful. I have before described ultimate bliss on earth as being assured that the person in my presence is not, will not, and cannot be annoyed by me. I know of fewer than five such people.

Jane has such a relationship with Rochester. She describes it thus:

There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought life and light to my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived, and he lived in mine.

I thought to spend much more time online posting, but it is getting later. I really do need a home net (Net?) connection so that this writing doesn't have to be scheduled and limited.