Eyre Head

Once in awhile you’ll come across a story, and then think to yourself, “Books like this are why I read novels.” They are books that have the ability to hold a mirror up to your own heart, and show you how it works. Once in a great while you’ll read something that is crafted in such a way that it engrosses you while you’re reading it, then keeps coming back to you long afterwards, forming your thinking, making you question your preconceptions.

Jane Eyre has been one such novel for me. It isn’t a perfect work of art, there are problems in the plot structure, and the dialogue is meant to be a window into what the characters believe, instead of how people actually speak. But that is neither here nor there, to point out things like stilted dialogue is like finding fault with a Rembrandt because the frame is dusty.

I’ve read several book reviews on Jane Eyre – it has a myriad of avid supporters. The gothic inspired plot twists, the Byronic anti-hero, the independent natured protagonist all get lots of air-time. It *is* a corking good story, if you just want to read for entertainment. But what has kept me enthralled with this novel for nearly a decade, what keeps me going back to it to read and re-read is the central theme of passion vs. reason in the human heart.

This is a book that asks big questions --- should we measure our lives by an objective standard, or should we act on what we believe will bring us the greatest happiness and pleasure? Do circumstances alter cases? Is it better to be virtuous even if that also means you will be lonely, poor, and desolate? What effect does a profligate pursuit of pleasure have on the mind and soul? What effect does an opposite stoicism and asceticism have?

Some months ago I was contemplating this book, and on the choices Jane made, and the choices that anyone young and passionate will face at some time, it got me to writing. Here is what I wrote.

A Song for All Janes

Who is this Wisdom, that I should take heed,
When blood’s running hot, and fired with need?
Your strength of body, my vigor of mind
Would blossom together, joining, entwined
A fulsome joy that for past grief atones.

Lady Wisdom – that staid, withered, old Crone,
Would say to us, “Stay – I can not condone
Such haste and such heat, such unseemly lust
Only brings sorrow, and feeling you must
Fling caution aside, your Reason does err!”

Cast Wisdom away! What care I for her?
Prating what place and position confer.
For when I see the sun bright on your skin
And do feel your strong fingered hands – I win
Contented pleasures no riches can buy.

The glorious hues of your fringed eyes,
Do blind me to all I know to be wise.
Soft lips that sweet nibbling kisses invite
Fill my soul with encompassing delight
Each passion, most ardent, does gain and grow.

But Wisdom is much more wily a foe
She will not, content, stand by till you know
And acknowledge the force of her refrain
It poisons sweet pleasures, fevers my brain
Till sick with folly, I turn as I ought.

For pleasures aren’t pleasures when too dearly bought,
And Virtue, not Comfort, the friend I’ve long sought.
So turn from me, Dear, your radiant eyes,
Let me remember again to be wise,
For Wisdom brings Peace when let to advise.

_originally posted on fb 6/9/09_