Bean made me read Jane Eyre. Or, let’s say strongly requested that I do so. Couldn’t get immersed, kept bouncing off the pages, couldn’t fall in. After several hundred of them, nearing the last 60, or so, in wrapping up, I finally connected. Call it a slow build, I guess. The flowery melodramatic language had me laughing at points where laughter wasn’t intended. I suppose I saw some (I did) of my own impassioned declarations mirrored there, but hey, some things simply warrant them. Got a half dozen relatable quotes out of it including:
“Miss Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy; she was too inferior to excite the feeling. She was very showy, but she was not genuine; she had a fine person, many brilliant entertainments; but her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothing bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delighted by its freshness. She was not good; she was not original.” -Excerpt from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.
May such words never be thought nor uttered of me. So far, so good.