Too Many Janes...too many Edwards...

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.

Reading list

One day, while I was wandering around Barnes and Noble, I decided I needed to carry a little notebook with me when I went into bookstores so I could write down all the titles of the books I saw and wanted to read so I could order them from the library.  Not long after, I acquired the notebook and started scribbling down titles I wanted to look into.  This is what I have come up with so far.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog
Mistress of the Art of Death
Romancing Miss Bronte--Read it, loved it
Water for Elephants--Reading it now
Wide Sargasso Sea
The Secret Garden
Les Miserables
The Clowns of God
Chasing Shakespeares--Read it, found it aggravating...see previous post
The Forgotten Garden
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
How the West was Won
The Jewel of St. Petersburg
The Eyre Affair
Captive Queen
Lost in Austen
The Agony and the Ecstacy
Rooftops of Tehran
The Lacemakers of Glenmara
Within the Hollow Crown
Quo Vadis
Agnes Grey
Shirley
The Insomniac
Villette
American Lion
Goodbye Mr. Chips
Silas Marner

 That's it for now, but the list is ever-growing, ever changing.  If you can think of something you think I should read, let me know.

I'm for the Glove-maker's Son...

I'm nearing the end (thank God) of a book called Chasing Shakespeares by Sarah Smith.  I was going to go off on a profanity-laced rant in this post, but I've had some time to think about it and had a drink and I'm a bit calmer now.  This book (ostensibly a novel) is used to push forward the theory that William Shakespeare, the glove maker's son from Startford-on-Avon, was not the man who wrote the world's greatest poetry and drama.  According to her book, the Earl of Oxford is the best bet to be the man who wrote Shakespeare's words.  I have two problems with this theory, first she goes through the whole book saying there was no way the Avon Shakespeare could have known what he did about gentry life.  It makes a case that it is nearly impossible for ordinary people to do extraordinary things.  My other problem is that it takes away a lot of the legend from storybook England.

I believe in storybook England.  It may not be right at  the surface all the time, but I'm sure that somewhere on a plane between sweet green earth and steely grey sky in England there exists this entire other world created by the country's artists and writers.  I believe in Manderley and Pemberley and Thornfield.  I believe in Haworth Parsonage and three sisters sitting together on dark Yorkshire nights writing stories that became masterpieces.  I'm for Christopher Robin and the Hundred Acre Wood.  I believe in Arthur and his Knights.  I'm for Chaucer, More and Keats.  I'm for the Glove-maker's son.

Nevermore

I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but ravens (or crows) are HUGE this year as far as Halloween decorations go. I do not remember a year in which I have seen black birds line store shelves as "seasonal decorations" quite like this year. When I first saw them I thought it was interesting, but could not for the life of me figure out why, suddenly, ravens were "it."

Then, one day as I talked to Pam, a thought struck me and I went to Wikipedia, keeper of all knowledge, to find out. Wikipedia confirmed my theory, 200 years ago this past January, Edgar Allan Poe was born. I take a pretty gloomy view of how aware the average American is of national history (or any history).

And I have to say, a big round of applause to the American marketing industry. I was flabbergasted that someone in corporate America thought "Hey, a great American writer would be 200 years old this year, let's make the icon of his most famous poem a Halloween decoration."

After that I was determined I had to have one and my wish came true. Thanks, Mom!

I may not be a huge fan of American literature in general, but I do love Poe.