I grew up in a house where books weren’t just part of the furniture, they were practically family. From the short stories that left me daydreaming in my childhood to the heavy novels I now wrestle with, books have always been my constant companions. I owe this love to my parents who must have secretly hoped I’d become the type to quote Shakespeare by age 12.
Every time I grabbed a new book, eager to dive into whatever escapade it promised, my mom would always say “When you get older, you have to read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë”. It took me years (I was in 11th grade) to finally pick it up. I could hear the dramatic drum rolls like I was being invited to join the ranks of the intellectual elite as I flipped through the long introductory pages just to get to the first chapter.
As the story unfolded, I could tell that Jane Eyre was far from your regular Victorian female protagonist. No frilly gowns, no embroidery and painting lessons, Jane was too busy calling out her cousins and her aunt like a pint-sized revolutionary. Her refusal to be pushed around by her wealthy relatives was like watching a tiny morally-driven hurricane. As she boldly declared to her aunt, “You have no business to take my hand; I am not your servant.”, it was clear she wasn’t the type to fold under pressure, no matter how much they tried to shove her into the role of the meek orphan. And when Aunt Reed, having had enough of Jane’s defiance, decided to send her off to Lowood School, Jane did not cower. Instead, she coolly remarked “I am not going to cry, because I know this will be better for me.” Sure Jane, because being sent to a cold, dreary school where hygiene was apparently optional and where girls had to survive on a diet of “sad porridge and harsh discipline” sounds like the perfect getaway. But leave it to Jane to turn misery into a character development episode.
However, Jane being Jane, didn’t just survive Lowood but thrived. She somehow managed to rise above the appalling adversities to become a model student and eventually a teacher at Lowood itself. After surviving the joys of Lowood, Jane Eyre found herself at a crossroads. With no money and no family fortune to fall back on, Jane decided to do what any sensible woman in her position would do. She put out an ad in the local paper for the position of a governess. A governess was one of the few respectable jobs available to women of Jane’s social class, and while it wasn’t necessarily glamorous, it did come with something Jane craved—independence. It was a solid escape from the suffocating clutches of Aunt Reed and the other oppressive forces who did nothing but exacerbate her situation.
And boom, she gets a reply from none other than Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper at the grand Thornfield Hall. She was hired to teach Mr. Rochester’s ward, Adele. Mr. Rochester. The man, the mystery, the myth. At first, Mr. Rochester came across as the slightly sarcastic and altogether unapproachable type. He crashed his horse into a tree and Jane had to help him out of the mess, which was basically the Victorian equivalent of a meet-cute. The more Jane interacted with Mr. Rochester, the more his mysterious nature came out.
Jane, after being emotionally tossed around by the stormy winds of Mr. Rochester’s moods, finds herself in the midst of what appears to be a romantic moment in the garden at Thornfield. Mr. Rochester, who has made it clear he’s not the most conventional of suitors, suddenly drops the bombshell and says “My bride is here because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?” declaring his love for Jane in the most Rochester way.
Jane, being the feminist heroine that she is, didn’t fold under the weight of his dramatic proclamations. When Rochester insists that they’re meant to be together and that she’s his equal, Jane steps back and says “I am no bird and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will”. Jane slaps the patriarchy right back in its face, letting Mr. Rochester know that she is her own woman and not some prize to be won in his emotional drama.
“Do you think I am an automaton? —a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
After a back-and-forth that involves a lot of angst and emotional wrangling, Jane eventually says yes. Now, just when Jane thinks she’s about to marry the dark, brooding hero and finally live happily-ever-after (spoiler: the brooding always means something is off), the thunder strikes. Just when they’re about to say their “I dos,” a man bursts in, claiming that Rochester is already married. Yes, you read that right. Already married. Turns out, Rochester has been hiding his big, dark secret (classic Gothic plot device), and it’s… his wife, Bertha Mason, who’s locked away in the attic at Thornfield.
Now, Rochester, being the noble man he is (I use that word loosely), tries to justify his actions by explaining that Bertha is mad, that she is dangerous, that she has been a burden to him since he married her in a rather unfortunate arrangement by their families. Jane listens to his guilt laden confession and in the most Jane-like manner says “Farewell, farewell forever!”
She eventually finds refuge with the Rivers family, who turn out to be her long-lost relatives. There’s some inheritance involved, and Jane goes from being a poor governess to a financially independent woman. One fateful day, while Jane is out living her new, independent life, she receives word about Thornfield. It turns out that, after Jane left, Thornfield got a little too dramatic for its own good: it caught on fire. And guess who wasn’t able to escape the flames? Yep, you guessed it—Bertha.
On hearing this news, our feminist hero makes yet another bold move. Rather than staying with her family and enjoying her wealth, she decides to go back to the man who lied to her and emotionally destroyed her. But she’s Jane Eyre and this time she makes it crystal clear that she is in charge.
So, she heads to Rochester’s now-ruined home, where she finds him blind and humbled and he’s just as brooding as ever, only now with a significant lack of depth perception and an even grumpier attitude. The power dynamic between them has shifted, and now they can truly be equals. She goes back to him not to fix him or make his life better, but because, despite everything, she still loves him, and he loves her, too.
In the end, Jane Eyre emerges not just as the heroine of her own story, but as a beacon of independence and moral integrity, showcasing how a woman can navigate the complexities of love, power, and self-respect. From the very beginning, Jane refuses to be bound by society’s expectations of her. She stands her ground against oppressive relatives and finds a way to carve out a life for herself as a governess, all while maintaining her dignity and sense of self-worth.
The refusal to be caged by Rochester’s temptations or by societal expectations is the very essence of her feminism. Jane isn’t just fighting for equality in love, she’s demanding autonomy over her own destiny. She chooses solely out of love and mutual respect. Jane Eyre is not just a love story—it’s a manifesto of self-determination and a reminder that true independence, whether in marriage or in life, comes from within.
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