{"id":9415,"date":"2016-12-14T17:19:36","date_gmt":"2016-12-14T23:19:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.publicbooks.org\/?p=9415"},"modified":"2020-06-23T15:12:14","modified_gmt":"2020-06-23T20:12:14","slug":"charlotte-brontes-anger","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.publicbooks.org\/charlotte-brontes-anger\/","title":{"rendered":"Charlotte Bront\u00eb’s Anger"},"content":{"rendered":"

You might think that a museum show about an iconoclastic Victorian author would, in these postelection weeks, constitute a kind of escapism. Not so when that author is Charlotte Bront\u00eb.\u00a0An Independent Will<\/em>,\u00a0assembled by the Morgan Library for the two hundredth anniversary of Charlotte\u2019s birth, provides a lesson in the righteous application of anger.<\/p>\n

Like other popular accounts of Bront\u00eb\u2019s life, the exhibit does its best to downplay her rage, framing her as a self-sufficient genius worthy of reverent awe.1<\/a><\/sup>\u00a0Visitors are greeted by an impossibly small dress of blue and white print, the one Bront\u00eb likely wore on an epically awkward visit to the novelist William Thackeray. The dress is accompanied by two little breadsticks of shoes and displayed on a headless, handless mannequin in a glass case, more reliquary than exhibit. Many of the other items on display feel equally miniscule, haunted, personal. Tiny, densely written books\u2014the Bront\u00eb siblings\u2019 juvenilia\u2014are accompanied by magnifying glasses and mounted like butterflies in eye-level vitrines. Hanging near them, Branwell Bront\u00eb\u2019s famous portrait of himself and his more talented sisters looks ungainly. Branwell\u2019s face has been scrubbed out, making him a ghostly presence in the background, while the three awkwardly proportioned girls\u2014Anne, Emily, and Charlotte\u2014stare blankly off in different directions. In the context of the other objects, it seems more like a magnified sketch than a real painting, something little and secretive that has been distortedly enlarged for public view.<\/p>\n

Like the protagonists in Bront\u00eb\u2019s novels, the appeal of these objects lies largely in the contradictory way they seem to solicit intimacy while keeping us at arm\u2019s length. In her smart, moving 2015 book about the Bront\u00ebs and their possessions, Victorianist Deborah Lutz writes that she longs to \u201ccrawl into and inhabit\u201d\u00a0Wuthering Heights<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>and\u00a0Jane Eyre<\/em>; she feels somehow \u201cknown\u00a0by their heroines.\u201d2<\/a><\/sup> Lutz is hardly alone in these sensations, but identification and its corollary assumption of understanding often seem like inadequate responses to the burning indignation of Bront\u00eb and her characters\u2014they seem to want our attention more than our friendship. Consider the page to which the exhibit\u2019s original\u00a0Jane Eyre<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>manuscript is turned: \u201cDo you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! \u2014I have as much soul as you\u2014and full as much heart! \u2026 I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh; \u2014it is my spirit that addresses your spirit.\u201d3<\/a><\/sup> The scene is erotic; Jane speaks these words seconds before Rochester embraces her. But just as Rochester\u2019s kiss silences Jane, so too does our tendency to answer Bront\u00eb\u2019s furious cries with passionate identification seem to misunderstand their aim. Jane isn\u2019t calling for Rochester\u2019s adoration (though she desires that too); she wants a more basic, poignant kind of recognition. She\u2019s demanding that she be valued\u2014not as a love object, but as a person.<\/p>\n

Consider too the prickly self-reliance of Bront\u00eb\u2019s letters and journals. One note sent to her friend Ellen Nussey includes a remarkable sketch in which Ellen, in a pretty dress and stylish curls, is shown departed for the Continent with a tall, top-hatted man. He clasps Ellen\u2019s hand while extending his other towards a dwarfish, misshapen Charlotte. She smiles, and waves goodbye to the couple in a manner that looks suspiciously like she is shooing them away. \u201cGo that route if you must,\u201d Bront\u00eb seems to say, \u201cbut don\u2019t expect me to follow.\u201d Other fragments from the years Bront\u00eb worked as teacher and governess read like desperate bottled messages flung from a desert island. A journal page from her time as an instructor at Roe Head School shows an exhausted Bront\u00eb retreating into a fantasy of Angria, the fictional kingdom she and Branwell created in their childhood. \u201cI cannot get used to the ongoings that surround me,\u201d she writes, \u201cAs God was not in the wind, nor the fire, nor the earth-quake, so neither is my heart in the task, the theme or the exercises.\u201d4<\/a><\/sup> Such entries are records of frustration and boredom, but also of resistance. Compelled by economic circumstance and gender norms to labor in a job she resents, Bront\u00eb unapologetically lays claim to spare seconds\u2014in the classroom between recitations, in her room before she\u2019s called to tea\u2014to write her own ideas and stories, as if by realizing them she is fomenting a small, private mutiny.<\/p>\n

Charlotte Bront\u00eb’s dress, 1850<\/i>. Photograph by Graham Haber \/ Morgan Library<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Before Bront\u00eb was revealed to be the \u201cCurrer Bell\u201d who authored\u00a0Jane Eyre<\/em>, Victorian reviewers, certain that \u201cBell\u201d was a woman, framed the novel as a thinly veiled autobiography.5<\/a><\/sup>\u00a0Bront\u00eb herself, though, demanded something else. In a quote that serves as a kind of epigraph to the Morgan Library show, appearing in its introductory wall text, she states, \u201cTo you I am neither man nor woman. I come before you as an author only. It is the sole standard by which you have a right to judge me, the sole ground on which I accept your judgment.\u201d6<\/a><\/sup> The statement is taken from a letter in which Bront\u00eb responded to critics, who claimed that\u00a0Jane Eyre<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>was praiseworthy if written by a man but \u201codious\u201d if the work of a woman. The placement of this declaration next to a feminine blue and white dress might seem ironic, but in the context of Bront\u00eb\u2019s authorial career, it\u2019s appropriate. Bront\u00eb eventually revealed her identity to her publisher, and when her true name became more widely known, she continued to insist that she be read as an ungendered author, even after her anonymity had fallen away.<\/p>\n

In the wish-fulfilling world of\u00a0Jane Eyre<\/em>, the equivalence of human souls promises to nullify the power imbalances of gender, money, and class. Bront\u00eb, of course, had no such luck, yet by insistently maintaining an authorial persona distinct from, if inevitably linked to, her \u201creal\u201d identity, she staked her right\u2014forcefully, defiantly, furiously\u2014to a scrap of utopian equality. It\u2019s not coincidental that anger is the dominant emotion in so much of her work. Anger is private and public; it takes its power from its specificity and its universality; it calls out to be heard, and for action to be taken in its name. It can\u2019t be answered merely with empathy or identification. Right now, postelection, it feels good to see a brilliant woman\u2019s anger on display, even if the specific constraints against which Bront\u00eb directed her anger seem (for now) very distant. Anger is an appropriate response to the systematic denial of one\u2019s autonomy. It is not paradoxical, Bront\u00eb reminds us, to claim a specific identity while demanding equality on the basis of a shared humanity. On the contrary, it\u2019s impossible to do otherwise.<\/p>\n

  1. The tendency to present a more docile, less angry Bront\u00eb begins with her first posthumous biography, Elizabeth Gaskell\u2019s\u00a0The Life of Charlotte Bront\u00eb<\/em>, published by Smith, Elder & Co. in 1857, two years after her death. \u21a9<\/a><\/li>
  2. \u00a0Lutz,\u00a0The Bront\u00eb Cabinet: Three Lives in Nine Objects<\/em>\u00a0(Norton, 2015), p. xx. \u21a9<\/a><\/li>
  3. \u00a0Charlotte Bront\u00eb,\u00a0Jane Eyre, An Autobiography<\/em>\u00a0(manuscript, The British Library, 1847. The British Library), MS 43475, f.176. \u21a9<\/a><\/li>
  4. \u00a0Charlotte Bront\u00eb, written at the Roe Head school (unpublished ms., Henry H. Bonnell Collection, The Morgan Library, February 4, 1836) MA 2696.18. \u21a9<\/a><\/li>
  5. \u00a0See, for example, G. H. Lewes\u2019s unsigned December 1847 review in\u00a0Fraser\u2019s Magazine<\/em>. \u21a9<\/a><\/li>
  6. \u00a0Bront\u00eb to William S. Williams, August 16th, 1849, in\u00a0Selected Letters of Charlotte Bront\u00eb<\/em>, edited by Margaret Smith (Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 140. \u21a9<\/a><\/li><\/ol><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    You might think that a museum show about an iconoclastic Victorian author would, in these postelection weeks, constitute a kind of escapism. Not so when that author is Charlotte Bront\u00eb.\u00a0An Independent Will,\u00a0assembled by the Morgan Library for the two hundredth anniversary of Charlotte\u2019s birth, provides a lesson in the righteous application of anger. Like other […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":9435,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2497],"tags":[102,288,89,19,20,289],"pbpartner":[],"section":[1864,1131],"pbseries":[],"class_list":["post-9415","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-reviews","tag-biography","tag-charlotte-bronte","tag-feminism","tag-gender","tag-literature","tag-woman","section-feminism","section-lives-histories"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nCharlotte Bront\u00eb's Anger - Public Books<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"You might think that a museum show about an iconoclastic Victorian author would, in these postelection weeks, constitute a kind of escapism. 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