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Charlotte Bronte: The Clive Cussler of Victorian Literature

For those unaware, my friend Doug sometimes reviews classic novels that I make him read. His previous awesome reviews that make my normal posts look bad can be found under 'doug reviews things.' This time, he did Jane Eyre. Enjoy.

++++++

I have a problem. I actually liked this book. 'Oh, Doug,' you're no doubt thinking. 'You stupid, sad, fuck-up, you're supposed to like Jane Eyre!' First of all, hey! Secondly, writing reviews of Wuthering Heights and Pride & Prejudice was easy because I absolutely hated the holy hell from both those books. Now I have to write a review without utilizing merciless venom or copious dick jokes. Well, others have done it. Here we go...

I think Nike should come out with a pair of shoes called Eyre Janes.


Um... hmm...


So, here are some characters that sucked all the dick there was to suck. Not Jane, though. That chick fly.


We start off with 10-year-old orphan Jane living with her uncle's widow and her two rat-bastard kids. Her aunt hates the fact she has to raise someone not of her own blood and encourages her kids to ignore her completely. Unfortunately, the boy takes 'ignore her completely' to mean 'dropkick that orphan like she was going for the last slice of pie.' Jane tells on her cousin to his mom and gets in trouble for it.


I want to quickly mention that this is a first-person POV book, and the aunt does keep saying that Jane is a little demon monster from the darkest regions of Satan's Arse-hole. You know, cause they're British. Point is, maybe we're not getting the whole story. I've written to Charlotte Bronte to ask about this, and burnt the letter over a pentagram. It'll get there.


For tattling, Jane gets locked in the room her uncle died in, which is a total mind-fuck. Blah-blah, Jane gets sent to boarding school.


Boarding school sucks, but Jane does manage to make a friend who then quickly dies. In fact, many of the school children die of sickness. This is what is called in the educational system as 'a rough go.' Jane graduates and stays on for a couple more years before deciding to be a live-in tutor.


She moves to Thornfield which is a manor occupied solely by servants and the little French girl who's to be her student. Then the master of the house, Rochester, shows up and he's down to get his aristocratic party on. (But not the cool aristocratic party where everyone wears masks and silently watches two people have awkward sex on an uncomfortable marble blood-altar.)


That donation to Romney was a total waste of a golf
membership. Now I have to golf with Romney. Fuck.

While his guests are staying at Thornfield, Rochester is called away on business. During this time a Jamaican gentleman shows up. Roch-dog returns dressed as a gypsy fortune teller and fucks with his friends by telling them some disturbing shit that they totally secretly believe. Jane goes in and he gets her to admit she's in love with him. This is what is known in the douche-bag system of the 1900s as 'a roofie.' Rochester finds out Jamaican dude is there and politely loses his shit. Then everyone goes to bed.

Middle of the night there's a scream cause one of the servants is crazy and decides to cut up Jamaican dude like a samurai with a piñata full of honor. Jane takes care of him all night and then he gets the hell out of there before anyone wakes up.


Jane and the Rock decide to get married. Jamaican dude shows up and throws a jerked chicken-stained moist towelette on the whole affair cause, whoops, Rochester is already married to his blade-wielding sister that Roch-crusher has been keeping locked up for years because she's cuckoo for coco-arson.


Burn it down! Burn it all
the fuck down!

In an attempt to get Jane to stay, 38-year-old Rochester explains that he's gone through seven or eight 18-year-old girls before deciding that she's the one. For reasons I cannot figure, this did not work.

Jane leaves Thornfield with no money, possessions, or idea where she's going. This is what is known in the real world as 'becoming a hooker.'


She trips across a family of two sisters and a brother who take her in. Eight hundred pages later the brother discovers Jane's true identity and informs her that her long-lost relative died and left her a fortune... and also that they're cousins. Funny how that works.


The brother, named St. John (pronounced retardedly), is a missionary who decides to teach the gospel in India. (Awesome move, bro. You totally didn't dick the future.) He chooses to marry his (goddamn it) cousin Jane. Jane would be all over that hot business, but she feels he loves the Lord more than her and wisely decides to say screw that noise.


Sinjin (yup) verbally abuses the shit out of her for the next month in an effort to get her to marry him. This seems to be a theme in Romantic English literature through the 19th century. This may seem rude, even barbaric, but between cavemen, them, and us, who uses fewer clubs to damage women's brains into hooking up?


Jane tracks down Rochester and finds him to be a hero who saved all of his servant's lives when psycho-wife burned down Thornfield. Did I say hero? 'Cause he winds up with no friends, respect, sight, and only one hand. What a dong.


Jane shows up and vows to take care of him for the rest of his days. Also, St. John dies at 40. It's unexplained why, but it is the last line of the book.


The other characters are unimportant -- even compared to miscellaneous side characters in Wuthering and P&P -- but damn it, they deserve their turn!


Just kidding. I've been writing for 3 hours. Good night.

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