My husband suffers, I think more than most people understand. I, of course, realize it because I'm usually the one inflicting his sufferings upon him. Seriously, who but me has the desire to watch every version of Jane Eyre ever made?
Jane Eyre is my favorite book, has been since 7th grade (I think.) In fact, Edward Rochester, the book's main male role, was my very first love. I fell for him for all the reasons a girl falls for someone at that age. He was strong and rich, not exactly handsome. Although Jane is a simple governess he can see that her spirit and heart are the equals of his own and treats her that way.
So, when I found out that someone had made a film version of Jane Eyre, I knew I had to see it. More than anything else so that I could discover how someone would dare interpret the giant of my imagination. Since then, it has been like a sickness. Everytime I find out about a different version, I have to watch it. Netflix and the library loan system have been my great aids in this endeavor. I own two different versions and just this week two others arrived at the library for me. My favorite version so far is probably the older BBC version with Timothy Dalton.
Poor Nathan, usually he just holes up in his office and passes through the room occasionally, shaking his head at me.