We’re pretty much all familiar with the Brontë sisters. How many movies have been made of Charlotte’s Jane Eyre? Emily’s Wuthering Heights is nearly on equal footing and there’s even a movie about the sisters themselves: To Walk Invisible. So then, why am I writing about a Brontë sister — they’re well known!! But, umm, what about Anne? Was she somehow just lumped in together with her sisters because she had nothing unique to offer? Far from it…
“"When her father asked her at four years old
what a little child like her wanted most, the tiny creature replied—if
it were not a Brontë it would be incredible!—“Age and experience.”
The mother of an unusually verbal and out-of the-box thinker myself, I’d still have been floored to hear words out of his mouth like these at the tender age of four. How would such a child establish a healthy group of peers? Her sisters, of course!
Well, not quite. Did you know this?
“Charlotte Brontë prevented the republication of her sister Anne Bronte's novel The Tenant of Wildfell Hall after Anne's death due to concerns about its controversial content. The novel addressed issues such as alcoholism and abusive relationships, which were considered scandalous at the time.”
“[Anne’s] outspokenness raised some scandal, and Charlotte deplored the subject [matter of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall] as morbid and out of keeping with her sister’s nature, but the vigorous writing indicates that Anne found in it not only a moral obligation but also an opportunity of artistic development.
I stumbled across and read this article by The Attagirls on Twitter on the suppression of this mostly acknowledged and earliest feminist writer, Anne Brontë. So exciting when someone else, completely unknown to me, has the same epiphany at nearly the same time!
However provocative that second novel was, there was a second edition during Anne’s lifetime and she didn’t mince words in her author’s preface in defending its content:
"My object in writing the following pages was not simply to amuse the
Reader; neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to ingratiate
myself with the Press and the Public: I wished to tell the truth, for
truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it.
But as the priceless treasure too frequently hides at the bottom of a
well, it needs some courage to dive for it, especially as he that does
so will be likely to incur more scorn and obloquy for the mud and water
into which he has ventured to plunge, than thanks for the jewel he
procures;..Let it not
be imagined, however, that I consider myself competent to reform the
errors and abuses of society, but only that I would fain contribute my
humble quota towards so good an aim; and if I can gain the public ear
at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths therein than much
soft nonsense.
To represent a bad thing
in its least offensive light is, doubtless, the most agreeable course
for a writer of fiction to pursue; but is it the most honest, or the
safest? Is it better to reveal the snares and pitfalls of life to the
young and thoughtless traveller, or to cover them with branches and
flowers?"
Anne Brontë walked alone with her ideas. Maybe it’s not a total tragedy that she didn’t live long, because I imagine hers was a uniquely lonely journey. Born in January of 1820, she left this world shortly after she reached her 29th birthday, in May of 1849. During that time she wrote at least 21 poems and two novels: Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
This year, I read both of Anne Brontë’s novels and decided that, from the bottom of my heart, I wish knew her and could hang out with her—mostly I’d just want to listen and maybe, swap horror stories of encountering and interacting with sexist ideas.
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is now one of my all-time favorite novels.
It’s written from alternating points of view: the first being a young man’s, Gilbert Markham, who ultimately ends up as the love-interest of the female protagonist, Helen Graham, the other point of view Brontë assumes in the writing of this story.
Here’s the really cool thing:
Gilbert is so delightfully flawed!
In utter contrast to the brooding, dark, troubled, romanticized male protagonists in Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, young Gilbert makes mistakes, has erroneous assumptions, and struggles with fits of vanity and pride—just like other mere mortals. What attracts Helen to this unremarkable person?
THE GUY IS REAL! He’s sincere, whether right or wrong, and humble enough to change his mind when he recognizes he’s been wrong. Unlike Heathcliff and Edward Rochester, Gilbert Markham doesn’t live a secretive, mysterious, tormented double-life, wronged by society and the universe. THIS Gilbert-guy would make a great friend and be the kind of person to enter into a successful marriage with. No one has to fix him. Or Helen. Neither of the main characters are rescued by anyone. Helen Graham has to endure and dig herself out from under a whole lot of crap, but she does what she must and then, really falls for the nice guy in the end. She doesn’t “settle” for the nice guy, she loves him! (Spoiler alert)
I LOVE THIS STORY!
Despite her very short mortal existence, Anne Brontë observed, saw, and wrote with surprising accuracy about life and its inequalities. There’s a scenario that had me wanting to reach out and grab someone, anyone, and say, “oh my gosh, I’ve had almost this exact same thing happen in my life! If this book had been required reading in secondary schools, maybe no idiot would’ve approached me—or anyone else—in this way, over 100 years later!”
I’ll end by sharing a link to that favorite short excerpt from the novel (took me forever to find this online. Start reading, if you care to, here: 40+ year-old Mr. Boarham’s unwanted pursuit of 18-year-old Helen in Chapter 16.
"Helen," said she, after a thoughtful silence, "do you ever think about marriage?"
This is great. I'll add her to my list. Thank you!