The Brontes
Jul. 26th, 2010 09:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marinessSo, I finally got around to plodding through Juliet Barker's monumental, comprehensive biography of The Brontes, published back in 1994 (which is when I initially planned to read it)and used as a reference source for Bronte scholars ever since.
Alas, I must be truthful to you, my readers: this book is dull. Deadly, deadly dull.
That the tale of a rigidly moral Irish social climber and self-made man and his six children, what with tragic young deaths, illegitimate children, falling in love with unavailable married men, the occasional riot, spanking new trains, alcoholism and oh, yes, a few best selling novels here and there could be made dull is almost incomprehensible, but, alas, 'tis true.
Make no mistake: Barker has done a phenomenal research job here, picking up scraps of paper and information from just about everyone and everything. And yet, even with this, something seems missing. Barker seems convinced, for instance, that Emily Bronte will always be a cipher – presumably unable to reconcile the generally cheerful, strong minded personality who appears in her letters with the passionate mind behind Wuthering Heights. And, despite early claims that she will not be dismissing Anne Bronte as the least of the sisters (a critical assessment first made by Charlotte Bronte, and followed by scholars ever since), Barker...dismisses Anne Bronte as the least of the sisters. I imagine Anne Bronte resting not quietly in her grave, muttering to herself, think of me as just a quiet peacemaker, hmm? Right! ZOMBIE ATTACK!
(Forget Jane Eyre as vampire slayer – yes, I've seen the book cover, nope, haven't read the book, what the world really needs is Anne Bronte as critic slayer. But then she would probably show up to slay me. I really need to think these through. But I digress.)
And Barker has other questionable conclusions here and there. She questions, for instance, Charlotte's sense of dullness when she lived at Haworth in 1831, arguing that far from leading a dull life, Charlotte had been "...out to tea twice in the last month, expecting company at the parsonage that afternoon and the following Tuesday and to having had a letter from Leah Brooke, a former pupil at Roe Head."
And that's it. Four social engagements in one month, all of which sound decidedly dull, and a letter, is Barker's argument that Charlotte Bronte's life wasn't – socially, at least – boring? Charlotte was not meeting friends or good conversationalists at these meetings; she was writing to a friend who socialized three to four times per week, not per month, and had a wider circle of acquaintances and was more financially and socially able to travel. Here, Charlotte Bronte's self-description reads more true.
Considerably more problematic is Barker's insistence that Charlotte Bronte was only unhappy working as a governess because of her own attitude. Perhaps Charlotte's attitude didn't help, but it is more likely that both Charlotte and her sister Anne hated working as governesses because the job sucked. As both detailed, the job was time-consuming, difficult, exhausting and paid extremely poorly – by the time the governess paid for her clothes and travel expenses, she generally had little to no money left. Governesses to the nobility could expect more, but the only well paid governess that I'm aware of is the entirely fictional one in Georgette Heyer's The Nonesuch, which I doubt has a strong basis in reality. Nor were the Brontes governesses to the nobility or the exceedingly wealthy, which might have paid better; they worked a step below that, and they were not the only governesses to have problems with the jobs. (It's only fair to note that employers had problems with governesses, claiming that they were not well educated or prepared to teach.) Notably, when the Bronte sisters were attacked for dramatization, exaggeration and "coarseness," no one attacked their description of the governess – that rang true. (Actually, Anne Bronte appears to have done remarkably well, compared to others.)
Thus, sentences like, "Charlotte's attitude alone had been responsible for her unhappiness as a governess," failing to assign any blame to a system that prevented Charlotte and Anne from seeking better paid employment that more matched their talents, are unsympathetic at best and deeply troubling at most. Yes, that same system brought us Jane Eyre and Agnes Grey, but, those are powerful texts because they are protests against the system. If Charlotte cheered up once she saw a possible escape route and found her place "almost congenial" (Barker's phrase, not Charlotte's), this was more likely from knowing that yes, her misery did have an end, not that her job was "almost congenial."
Barker seems to believe, too, that since depression kept Charlotte from writing, it must have kept Branwell from writing as well, stating that Branwell's depression was only "supposed" since it occurred at the same time as the publication of some of his poems. It is absolutely true that depression can keep a poet from composing, but it is equally true that some poets continue to write poetry – frequently gloomy – in the depths of depression, and also true that while publication can be cheering, it may not be enough to lift someone who, like Branwell, feels the weight of heavy failure and frustration.
I don't approach the Brontes without bias myself – I like Charlotte's writing, that is, Jane Eyre and Villette (Charlotte's other two novels bore me), but I can't find myself liking Charlotte, with her casual dismissal of her sister Anne's literary gifts and insights and her hypocrisy towards her brother. Anne may not have been as great a poet as Emily Bronte (a description that fits nearly everybody), but she was a master of irony and realism: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is better than at least three of Charlotte's novels, and possibly four. Charlotte Bronte created characters you might want to meet; Emily Bronte created characters most of us would never want to meet; Anne Bronte created characters we might actually meet.
Which is why I find myself wondering what was truly behind Charlotte's dismissal of her sister's novels, and her successful work in suppressing The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. A recognition that her sister, not she, was the first to create the ordinary, plain heroine in Agnes Grey, and a fear that quite a few discerning readers might notice that Charlotte had lifted aspects from her sister's earlier, more realistic novel? Jealousy over Anne's closeness to Emily? Fury that Anne had watched as their brother had fallen deeply, painfully and eventually, destructively in love with their employer – and done and said nothing, as Branwell began his rapid descent into death by alcohol? (Combined with probable tuberculosis. He might possibly have recovered from the alcoholism – possibly – but not from alcoholism and tuberculosis.) Jealousy that a certain curate found her younger sister more appealing? Jealousy that her sister succeeded in earning her own place and (marginal) income, and was less of a burden on the family, and, despite shyness, found it easier to make friends, and was liked by more employers?
Or, maybe not jealousy: just a blind spot. Barker notes how frequently Charlotte misjudged her sister, and misreported her thoughts and feelings (for instance, far from being resigned and eager for death, as Charlotte reported, Anne fought her illness, made plans for her future, and as death approached, was terrified and angry, as her poetry reveals, a not surprising attitude from a 29 year old writer whose Christian beliefs still wavered between belief and deep doubt, and who had only written two of many planned novels, and not seen a quarter of the places she wanted to see).
And Charlotte, it seems, had no critical appreciation for delicate humor and irony, strongly disliking, for instance, Jane Austen – the English writer her sister most resembled. (Like Austen, Anne Bronte was interested in the process of discovering a romantic partner, and in understanding the differences between social appearances and reality; the chief difference is that she has her heroine actually marry the Willoughby/Wickham character, and discover matters only after marriage. Then again, she'd also shown why women might well be unwilling to look too deeply at Willoughbies/Wickhams in Agnes Grey.)
But I wonder if part of the problem was that Charlotte, reading The Tenant, recognized that if her sister had not died so tragically young, she, too, would have outshone Charlotte. And that was something that Charlotte, who always wanted to and needed to know that she was unique, that she was gifted, could not have borne.
Barker goes into none of this. Which leaves so many questions unanswered, even with her avalanche of detail. Forest for trees, and all that.
Alas, I must be truthful to you, my readers: this book is dull. Deadly, deadly dull.
That the tale of a rigidly moral Irish social climber and self-made man and his six children, what with tragic young deaths, illegitimate children, falling in love with unavailable married men, the occasional riot, spanking new trains, alcoholism and oh, yes, a few best selling novels here and there could be made dull is almost incomprehensible, but, alas, 'tis true.
Make no mistake: Barker has done a phenomenal research job here, picking up scraps of paper and information from just about everyone and everything. And yet, even with this, something seems missing. Barker seems convinced, for instance, that Emily Bronte will always be a cipher – presumably unable to reconcile the generally cheerful, strong minded personality who appears in her letters with the passionate mind behind Wuthering Heights. And, despite early claims that she will not be dismissing Anne Bronte as the least of the sisters (a critical assessment first made by Charlotte Bronte, and followed by scholars ever since), Barker...dismisses Anne Bronte as the least of the sisters. I imagine Anne Bronte resting not quietly in her grave, muttering to herself, think of me as just a quiet peacemaker, hmm? Right! ZOMBIE ATTACK!
(Forget Jane Eyre as vampire slayer – yes, I've seen the book cover, nope, haven't read the book, what the world really needs is Anne Bronte as critic slayer. But then she would probably show up to slay me. I really need to think these through. But I digress.)
And Barker has other questionable conclusions here and there. She questions, for instance, Charlotte's sense of dullness when she lived at Haworth in 1831, arguing that far from leading a dull life, Charlotte had been "...out to tea twice in the last month, expecting company at the parsonage that afternoon and the following Tuesday and to having had a letter from Leah Brooke, a former pupil at Roe Head."
And that's it. Four social engagements in one month, all of which sound decidedly dull, and a letter, is Barker's argument that Charlotte Bronte's life wasn't – socially, at least – boring? Charlotte was not meeting friends or good conversationalists at these meetings; she was writing to a friend who socialized three to four times per week, not per month, and had a wider circle of acquaintances and was more financially and socially able to travel. Here, Charlotte Bronte's self-description reads more true.
Considerably more problematic is Barker's insistence that Charlotte Bronte was only unhappy working as a governess because of her own attitude. Perhaps Charlotte's attitude didn't help, but it is more likely that both Charlotte and her sister Anne hated working as governesses because the job sucked. As both detailed, the job was time-consuming, difficult, exhausting and paid extremely poorly – by the time the governess paid for her clothes and travel expenses, she generally had little to no money left. Governesses to the nobility could expect more, but the only well paid governess that I'm aware of is the entirely fictional one in Georgette Heyer's The Nonesuch, which I doubt has a strong basis in reality. Nor were the Brontes governesses to the nobility or the exceedingly wealthy, which might have paid better; they worked a step below that, and they were not the only governesses to have problems with the jobs. (It's only fair to note that employers had problems with governesses, claiming that they were not well educated or prepared to teach.) Notably, when the Bronte sisters were attacked for dramatization, exaggeration and "coarseness," no one attacked their description of the governess – that rang true. (Actually, Anne Bronte appears to have done remarkably well, compared to others.)
Thus, sentences like, "Charlotte's attitude alone had been responsible for her unhappiness as a governess," failing to assign any blame to a system that prevented Charlotte and Anne from seeking better paid employment that more matched their talents, are unsympathetic at best and deeply troubling at most. Yes, that same system brought us Jane Eyre and Agnes Grey, but, those are powerful texts because they are protests against the system. If Charlotte cheered up once she saw a possible escape route and found her place "almost congenial" (Barker's phrase, not Charlotte's), this was more likely from knowing that yes, her misery did have an end, not that her job was "almost congenial."
Barker seems to believe, too, that since depression kept Charlotte from writing, it must have kept Branwell from writing as well, stating that Branwell's depression was only "supposed" since it occurred at the same time as the publication of some of his poems. It is absolutely true that depression can keep a poet from composing, but it is equally true that some poets continue to write poetry – frequently gloomy – in the depths of depression, and also true that while publication can be cheering, it may not be enough to lift someone who, like Branwell, feels the weight of heavy failure and frustration.
I don't approach the Brontes without bias myself – I like Charlotte's writing, that is, Jane Eyre and Villette (Charlotte's other two novels bore me), but I can't find myself liking Charlotte, with her casual dismissal of her sister Anne's literary gifts and insights and her hypocrisy towards her brother. Anne may not have been as great a poet as Emily Bronte (a description that fits nearly everybody), but she was a master of irony and realism: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is better than at least three of Charlotte's novels, and possibly four. Charlotte Bronte created characters you might want to meet; Emily Bronte created characters most of us would never want to meet; Anne Bronte created characters we might actually meet.
Which is why I find myself wondering what was truly behind Charlotte's dismissal of her sister's novels, and her successful work in suppressing The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. A recognition that her sister, not she, was the first to create the ordinary, plain heroine in Agnes Grey, and a fear that quite a few discerning readers might notice that Charlotte had lifted aspects from her sister's earlier, more realistic novel? Jealousy over Anne's closeness to Emily? Fury that Anne had watched as their brother had fallen deeply, painfully and eventually, destructively in love with their employer – and done and said nothing, as Branwell began his rapid descent into death by alcohol? (Combined with probable tuberculosis. He might possibly have recovered from the alcoholism – possibly – but not from alcoholism and tuberculosis.) Jealousy that a certain curate found her younger sister more appealing? Jealousy that her sister succeeded in earning her own place and (marginal) income, and was less of a burden on the family, and, despite shyness, found it easier to make friends, and was liked by more employers?
Or, maybe not jealousy: just a blind spot. Barker notes how frequently Charlotte misjudged her sister, and misreported her thoughts and feelings (for instance, far from being resigned and eager for death, as Charlotte reported, Anne fought her illness, made plans for her future, and as death approached, was terrified and angry, as her poetry reveals, a not surprising attitude from a 29 year old writer whose Christian beliefs still wavered between belief and deep doubt, and who had only written two of many planned novels, and not seen a quarter of the places she wanted to see).
And Charlotte, it seems, had no critical appreciation for delicate humor and irony, strongly disliking, for instance, Jane Austen – the English writer her sister most resembled. (Like Austen, Anne Bronte was interested in the process of discovering a romantic partner, and in understanding the differences between social appearances and reality; the chief difference is that she has her heroine actually marry the Willoughby/Wickham character, and discover matters only after marriage. Then again, she'd also shown why women might well be unwilling to look too deeply at Willoughbies/Wickhams in Agnes Grey.)
But I wonder if part of the problem was that Charlotte, reading The Tenant, recognized that if her sister had not died so tragically young, she, too, would have outshone Charlotte. And that was something that Charlotte, who always wanted to and needed to know that she was unique, that she was gifted, could not have borne.
Barker goes into none of this. Which leaves so many questions unanswered, even with her avalanche of detail. Forest for trees, and all that.