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A review by skylarh
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë
3.0
What do you get when a Puritan marries a libertine? A lot of misery, a lot of cataloging of that misery, and a lot of lecturing about why people shouldn’t do the sorts of things that cause such misery.
I found [b:The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|337113|The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|Anne Brontë|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51ARyCk5iGL._SL75_.jpg|1389477] slow going at first. It took me a long time to get into it; in fact, I think I was more than half way through before I was really caught up, but caught up I was, and, in the end, I’m glad I read it, even if I didn’t love any of the characters. It was interesting to hear a romance narrated from the point of view of a man for a change, even if I found the epistlatory structure that allowed a shift in narration back and forth between Helen and Gilbert to be largely unbelievable. (Who writes 15 pages letters recording dialogue?)
I find myself uncertain about how I feel about both the book and its main character. I alternated between admiring Helen’s moral strength and singleness of purpose and seeing her as an inspirational example for enduring whatever suffering occurs at the hands of others in my own life, to finding her a moral prig who, though in possession of good values, has taken them to an extreme that admits little enjoyment of the good things of life. Her position should be pitiable, but it is hard to surmount the fact that she went into her marriage with ample warning from family and friends and that not even her husband really deceived her about his character.
In the world of the Brontes’ (I noticed this especially here and in [b:Jane Eyre|10210|Jane Eyre|Charlotte Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1266450134s/10210.jpg|2977639]), there’s a strong emphasis on supressing your passions in order to do the right thing whether or not you feel like doing the right thing. Some might say [b:Wuthering Heights|6185|Wuthering Heights|Emily Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1255584435s/6185.jpg|1565818]doesn’t fit this bill, but I think that’s what [b:Wuthering Heights|6185|Wuthering Heights|Emily Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1255584435s/6185.jpg|1565818]was also about after all – the ill consequences of giving into the passions rather than following cool, calm moral reasoning. (The second half of the book, which is often forgotten, concludes with an eventually matured and tempered couple - who are, if droller, far happier than the miserable Catherine and Heathcliff.) The Brontes want their readers to come out on the right side in, as [b:The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|337113|The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|Anne Brontë|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51ARyCk5iGL._SL75_.jpg|1389477]terms it, the “violent conflict between reason and passion.”
Very little romantic literature focuses on this theme, and I believe it is great to have these examples of truly strong women (feminists of a special breed) who do this. The Brontes admit it is not easy and involves much emotional pain. But fortunately in the Brontes’ fictional world (and this book is no exception), one is always ultimately and conveniently rewarded for doing the right thing: even when you walk away from your heart’s desire to do what’s right, you end up with your heart’s desire (and usually money!) in the end. It’s convenient, and not precisely true to life (because virtue is not always rewarded in the end of earthly life), but it’s not overly convenient – the virtuous must always suffer awhile for their virtue first, sometimes in a personal purgatory that can last years. Indeed, it’s not much of an advertisement for virtue. Yet there’s an admirable strength in these women, Jane and Helen, hanging onto virtue by tooth and claw, long after the world has screamed at them to discard it.
I say there’s an admirable strength, but I’m not entirely sure where that strength morphs into stubbornness and self-righteousness. I found spiritual truths in this book, but it felt like – I don’t know how else to say this – grace was somehow missing. I don’t mean the protagonist doesn’t put up with her husband enough (rather too much and too long!) or show him forgiveness, hope for his transformation, and tell him that the blood of Christ can cover his sins. Indeed, at one point, the narrator even hopes for universal salvation, putting forth a defense of the possibility in a theological, Bible-quoting conversation with her Aunt (this could not have been a popular doctrine for Bronte to dare to assert in her day). But somehow, I just felt, most of the time, a kind of absence of grace.
Maybe it was that Helen seemed too assured of her own rightness – that she knew God as Lord, surely, but maybe didn't realize she herself needed him as Savior - that she seemed sure everyone else needed transformation while she herself only needed endurance. Perhaps it was that in attempting to spare her child from the vices of his father she took extreme positions on morality. Perhaps it’s that she seemed to think she had the power to earn heaven by the sacrifice SHE makes - i.e. “and I do know that to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of heaven, is as if the groveling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quite the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air…” I can’t quite put my finger on what was niggling me; there’s certainly plenty of talk to her husband about Christ’s sacrifice and forgiveness. I can only say that somehow, on some level, I felt the heavy absence of grace, and it bothered me. Duty and perseverance and moral fortitude, certainly, but…not quite grace.
Aside from the religious questions it raises (What is true piety? How do we live a life touched by grace? How do we best respond to the sins of others? Is it possible to make an idol of duty?), Tenant raises questions about marriage (How does marriage affect women? Do women tend to rush into it too quickly and too blindly? What influence can women really have on their husbands? When should one give up hoping for a spouse’s transformation? When should a woman extract herself from a bad marriage?). I think I liked the book not for its plot or characters or even its writing, but more for the mere fact that it made me think. And I liked that it was by no means a typical romance. I think I would have enjoyed it more had I not already known the entirety of the plot from watching the miniseries.
I had to make more use of the dictionary feature of my Kindle for this book than for any I have read in some time. It was not fast paced. The hero is certainly not a man to swoon for – not even a passionate jerk like Charlotte’s Rochester or a pitiable and detestable psychopath like Emily’s Heathcliff – just a – well – just some guy. I mean, his name’s Gilbert, if that gets the point across.
If you intend to read only one book by Anne Bronte, I’d advise [b:Agnes Grey|298230|Agnes Grey|Anne Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1237155773s/298230.jpg|2222441] instead. But if you have time and perseverance, you can stick with Helen and find some reward.
I found [b:The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|337113|The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|Anne Brontë|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51ARyCk5iGL._SL75_.jpg|1389477] slow going at first. It took me a long time to get into it; in fact, I think I was more than half way through before I was really caught up, but caught up I was, and, in the end, I’m glad I read it, even if I didn’t love any of the characters. It was interesting to hear a romance narrated from the point of view of a man for a change, even if I found the epistlatory structure that allowed a shift in narration back and forth between Helen and Gilbert to be largely unbelievable. (Who writes 15 pages letters recording dialogue?)
I find myself uncertain about how I feel about both the book and its main character. I alternated between admiring Helen’s moral strength and singleness of purpose and seeing her as an inspirational example for enduring whatever suffering occurs at the hands of others in my own life, to finding her a moral prig who, though in possession of good values, has taken them to an extreme that admits little enjoyment of the good things of life. Her position should be pitiable, but it is hard to surmount the fact that she went into her marriage with ample warning from family and friends and that not even her husband really deceived her about his character.
In the world of the Brontes’ (I noticed this especially here and in [b:Jane Eyre|10210|Jane Eyre|Charlotte Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1266450134s/10210.jpg|2977639]), there’s a strong emphasis on supressing your passions in order to do the right thing whether or not you feel like doing the right thing. Some might say [b:Wuthering Heights|6185|Wuthering Heights|Emily Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1255584435s/6185.jpg|1565818]doesn’t fit this bill, but I think that’s what [b:Wuthering Heights|6185|Wuthering Heights|Emily Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1255584435s/6185.jpg|1565818]was also about after all – the ill consequences of giving into the passions rather than following cool, calm moral reasoning. (The second half of the book, which is often forgotten, concludes with an eventually matured and tempered couple - who are, if droller, far happier than the miserable Catherine and Heathcliff.) The Brontes want their readers to come out on the right side in, as [b:The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|337113|The Tenant of Wildfell Hall|Anne Brontë|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51ARyCk5iGL._SL75_.jpg|1389477]terms it, the “violent conflict between reason and passion.”
Very little romantic literature focuses on this theme, and I believe it is great to have these examples of truly strong women (feminists of a special breed) who do this. The Brontes admit it is not easy and involves much emotional pain. But fortunately in the Brontes’ fictional world (and this book is no exception), one is always ultimately and conveniently rewarded for doing the right thing: even when you walk away from your heart’s desire to do what’s right, you end up with your heart’s desire (and usually money!) in the end. It’s convenient, and not precisely true to life (because virtue is not always rewarded in the end of earthly life), but it’s not overly convenient – the virtuous must always suffer awhile for their virtue first, sometimes in a personal purgatory that can last years. Indeed, it’s not much of an advertisement for virtue. Yet there’s an admirable strength in these women, Jane and Helen, hanging onto virtue by tooth and claw, long after the world has screamed at them to discard it.
I say there’s an admirable strength, but I’m not entirely sure where that strength morphs into stubbornness and self-righteousness. I found spiritual truths in this book, but it felt like – I don’t know how else to say this – grace was somehow missing. I don’t mean the protagonist doesn’t put up with her husband enough (rather too much and too long!) or show him forgiveness, hope for his transformation, and tell him that the blood of Christ can cover his sins. Indeed, at one point, the narrator even hopes for universal salvation, putting forth a defense of the possibility in a theological, Bible-quoting conversation with her Aunt (this could not have been a popular doctrine for Bronte to dare to assert in her day). But somehow, I just felt, most of the time, a kind of absence of grace.
Maybe it was that Helen seemed too assured of her own rightness – that she knew God as Lord, surely, but maybe didn't realize she herself needed him as Savior - that she seemed sure everyone else needed transformation while she herself only needed endurance. Perhaps it was that in attempting to spare her child from the vices of his father she took extreme positions on morality. Perhaps it’s that she seemed to think she had the power to earn heaven by the sacrifice SHE makes - i.e. “and I do know that to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of heaven, is as if the groveling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quite the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air…” I can’t quite put my finger on what was niggling me; there’s certainly plenty of talk to her husband about Christ’s sacrifice and forgiveness. I can only say that somehow, on some level, I felt the heavy absence of grace, and it bothered me. Duty and perseverance and moral fortitude, certainly, but…not quite grace.
Aside from the religious questions it raises (What is true piety? How do we live a life touched by grace? How do we best respond to the sins of others? Is it possible to make an idol of duty?), Tenant raises questions about marriage (How does marriage affect women? Do women tend to rush into it too quickly and too blindly? What influence can women really have on their husbands? When should one give up hoping for a spouse’s transformation? When should a woman extract herself from a bad marriage?). I think I liked the book not for its plot or characters or even its writing, but more for the mere fact that it made me think. And I liked that it was by no means a typical romance. I think I would have enjoyed it more had I not already known the entirety of the plot from watching the miniseries.
I had to make more use of the dictionary feature of my Kindle for this book than for any I have read in some time. It was not fast paced. The hero is certainly not a man to swoon for – not even a passionate jerk like Charlotte’s Rochester or a pitiable and detestable psychopath like Emily’s Heathcliff – just a – well – just some guy. I mean, his name’s Gilbert, if that gets the point across.
If you intend to read only one book by Anne Bronte, I’d advise [b:Agnes Grey|298230|Agnes Grey|Anne Brontë|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1237155773s/298230.jpg|2222441] instead. But if you have time and perseverance, you can stick with Helen and find some reward.