Such is the profundity of eight-year olds these days.
I am enjoying Jane Eyre a lot more than I thought I would. I sometimes find the depth of Mr Rochester’s language a bit attention-sapping, sometime almost bordering on disconnected gibberish but I am sure Charlotte Bronte knew what he meant. Jane Eyre herself seems to be the ultimate voice of reason in all this, already acting the cool wife who saves her mad husband from himself. I keep making comparisons with modern books, where there is a quarter of the narrative. The human brain extrapolates so much of its experience from the relatively limited sensory input we have but Jane Eyre seems to fill in all the gaps for you, at least those that involve human emotion. As I said before so much of the described environment could be anything, my opinion having been coloured by all the standard early-Victorian background that goes with the TV and film adaptations. Like this one I suppose.
It might be considered strange to recommend a programme which details The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive but the blurb says it is entertaining and informative and it is presented by Stephen Fry as well.
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