Last night I completed Charlotte Brontë’s classic novel Jane Eyre. As a child, I moved around quite a bit, especially in high school. Going to three different high schools has left some large gaps in my literature education, and many of the books one would ordinarily have read in high school I admit I have never read. No matter — I’m not sure I would have been ready for this one in high school, anyway.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the story, Jane Eyre stars the eponymous heroine Jane Eyre, who when orphaned by her parents at an early age goes to live with her cruel Aunt Reed until she is unceremoniously sent away to a harsh boarding school called Lowood. Jane eventually becomes a teacher at Lowood until a beloved mentor leaves the school to marry, at which time Jane decides to leave as well. She advertises for a position of governess and is hired by Mrs. Fairfax of Thornfield Hall, the housekeeper for one of literature’s great Byronic heroes, Edward Fairfax Rochester. Mr. Rochester falls in love with Jane, but he harbors a dark secret in his attic that nearly proves the undoing of both his and Jane’s chance at love and happiness.

Although I liked the novel, I didn’t find it difficult to put down, and indeed, one reason why it took me so long to finish is that for long stretches, I wasn’t really into reading it. However, overall I enjoyed Brontë’s writing style. I found her characters believable, with the exception of the children in the early part of the novel — who talked like no children I’ve ever heard. I admired Jane for standing fiercely by her convictions and valuing herself even when she thought no one else did. It is easy to see why so many literary admirers have borrowed Jane Eyre for inspiration, and I did enjoy the book in its entirety, if not the slower parts. I was inspired to read it after the characters in Diane Setterfield’s novel The Thirteenth Tale (my review here) admired it profusely in one of my favorite passages in the book. My daughter Sarah is reading this book right now, and Iwill be interested to get her take on it.

I am anxious to see how well this novel translated to the screen in one of its many movie adaptations. I am going to start with the 1944 production starring Joan Fontaine and Orson Welles, and I am anxious to read Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea if for no other reason than to see a little more of enigmatic Bertha Mason.

As I predicted, I did not finish my R.I.P. Challenge by Halloween, but I am soldiering forth at any rate, and I hope to finish it by Christmas.

[tags]jane eyre, charlotte brontë, book review, literature[/tags]

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn poignantly captures the hardships of the Soviet Union’s labor camps in Siberia, as well as the arbitrary unfairness of living in that regime in his novel One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich , and I’m glad I read it for that reason.  Solzhenitsyn himself was arrested after criticizing Stalin in a personal letter.  He was sentenced to eight years in a labor camp, and permanent internal exile following his labor camp sentence.  This sentence was, however, apparently commuted after he was treated for cancer.  He was deported from the Soviet Union in 1974, but returned in 1990 following the collapse of the Soviet Union.  Much of Ivan Denisovich Shukov’s experiences in the labor camp must have been modeled after the author’s own.

I found the novel difficult to read.  In order to preserve the narrative thread, which captures one day in an average prisoner’s life in the camp, the book is not divided into chapters.  This lack of division made it difficult to stop reading.  I am generally not a reader who can read an entire book in one sitting.  For one thing, I’m a slow and generally careful reader.  Even if that were not the case, however, as a mother of three I don’t have the luxury of reading in one sitting most of the time.  Therefore, with Ivan, I had to frequently re-read passage so I could pick up the thread of the narrative again.  To be honest, having to re-read so much made the book something of a chore to get through.  I would imagine a few of my more politically-charged students might have found the book interesting, but I would be surprised if the majority liked this book more than Siddhartha or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

I didn’t find the book difficult to understand; H. T. Willetts’ translation was accessible.  However, the unfamiliar names did impede my comprehension somewhat.  I’m not sure I did a very good job keeping the characters straight.  For example, I would imagine most American readers would have no problem understanding if a character named Robert were suddenly called Bob.  Likewise, it probably throws off no Russian readers when Ivan is addressed as Vanya, but it didn’t immediately occur to me that Vanya was a nickname, and I was confused.  I started to look up the name, thinking perhaps it was a term I was unfamiliar with and then it hit me as I looked at the name that it was a nickname.  In general, however, the book’s footnotes did an excellent job helping Western readers understand the allusions in the book.

I think One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is an essential text — a true-to-life account of what life was like in the Soviet Union, and I think people who read this book may come away feeling more thankful for the freedoms they have.  However, I can’t really say that I found it enjoyable.  Perhaps a book about a Soviet labor camp shouldn’t be described as enjoyable?  Let’s say it wasn’t gripping, then — at least not for me.

[tags]aleksandr solzhenitsyn, one day in the life of ivan denisovich, book, review, literature[/tags]

Last year when I was deciding which summer reading book to study with my seniors, I picked One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest because my particular students were somewhat free-spirited neo-hippies if you will. I really liked that about them, and I thought they’d enjoy Cuckoo’s Nest for the whole counter-culture aspect and association through Ken Kesey with the hippie movement. One student, however, lobbied for a study of Siddhartha. He proclaimed it had been his favorite summer reading book. This from a student who found something to dislike in just about everything we read. It made me think. We couldn’t study it last year, frankly, because I hadn’t read it. I didn’t want to be pigeonholed into one selection this year, which is why I resolved to make sure I’d read all the summer reading books the students were required to read.

After having read Siddhartha myself, I can say that I’m not sure I’ll select it yet again. One thing my principal and department head have always made clear is that I should select the book that really grabs me the most. I think Siddhartha is intriguing. In many ways, I can see why it might be interesting to study with a class, but I’m not sure if my sort of lukewarm response to the book might be obvious.

If you are not familiar with the novel, it is an allegorical story of the quest of the title character for spiritual enlightenment. It strikes me that Siddhartha is much more receptive to learning from all different kinds of people than most people are. I think in this he is wise. He meets Gotama, whom we most often refer to as Buddha, but decides that he cannot learn from Gotama what he must experience himself. If the truth be told, he reminded me very much of Henry David Thoreau and John Dewey in some of his ideals. In fact, Siddhartha’s best teacher, the ferryman Vasudeva, is the one who realizes that he is a facilitator — Siddhartha must learn for himself. In fact, it might be interesting for teachers to read this book for its commentary on education. If I don’t decide to teach the novel in class, I can at least compose better topics for essays. It was a short book and only took me a couple of days to read, even with all the other interruptions in life *cough* computers and TV *cough*. I’m glad I read it, and I think I’ll be turning it over in my head for some time.

[tags]siddhartha, hermann hesse, literature, book, review[/tags]