Brönte, being plain, and the curse of beauty

I've been indulging in a bit of Brönte lately. I recently re-watched Jane Eyre (BBC 2006) and I just finished reading Agnes Grey.

I'm intrigued by the regular recurrence of heartless beauties in both Charlotte and Anne's works. Clearly, beauty is a big deal for the Brontes. But not in a good way. 

The beautiful Blanche Ingram (with plain Jane in the shadows). 

The beautiful Blanche Ingram (with plain Jane in the shadows).

 

There's a distinct similarity in Agnes Grey, Jane Eyre, and Villette in which the first-person narrator feels largely invisible as a quiet, thinking person and as a plain-looking female. Of course, in all these stories, there is often also a consideration of class wherein the narrator's social position is one of diminished importance compared to those around her. 

Is this a peculiar feeling to the Bronte sisters, who were obviously brilliant intellects and astute observers? Or is it a common burden for any girl of the era who has more intelligence than good looks? Do the beautiful girls get all the attention? 

Well, not always of course. Rochester chooses Jane over Blanche.

Good choice, Rochester.

Good choice, Rochester.

Conversely, perhaps it is actually something of a curse to be born beautiful as a girl in that era. Is there really an inverse relation of brains to beauty, or are beautiful girls taught early on to consider their self-worth as largely pertaining to appearance? Do they steadily grow into all-consuming vanity after years of being raised to give inordinate attention to the outside package?

Agnes Grey confesses that "it is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves, or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the the exterior. So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we to the children of the present day. All very judicious and proper, no doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience?"

It feels like Agnes is trying to use good sense and logical reasoning to quell a longing for a little more beauty. Her musing on beauty comes at a time when she discovers that the dazzling Miss Murray intends, merely as a vain game, to attract the attention of the man Agnes loves. The plain-looking Agnes Grey acknowledges that "we are naturally disposed to love what gives us pleasure, and what more pleasing than a beautiful face...?"

Poor Agnes is in anguish over the thought of being passed over simply because she lacks the power to make herself known; a gift or benefit naturally accorded to those that are beautiful. If a woman "is plain and good ... no one ever knows of her goodness, except her immediate connections." Whereas, those who are favored by nature to be beautiful may have "an angel form [which] conceals a vicious heart."

Miss Murray does seem to have something of a vicious heart. In toying with the affections of one her four suitors, she finds his heartfelt marriage proposal an amusing incident to relay to others -- even after the suitor begs her to keep his failed overture a secret. She has little or no concern for others.

In Villette there is a Miss Fanshawe who enjoys keeping two or more men dangling after her. And one of them is admired by the plain-looking narrator, Lucy Snowe. Again, the beautiful Miss Fanshawe is portrayed as having little consideration of others' feelings. The world exists to amuse and venerate her. 

The belle of the county in Jane Eyre, however, seems merely ambitious, not vicious. Blanche Ingram is interested in becoming mistress of Thornfield. Her beauty enhances her prospects, so custom assumes, in realizing her goal. But Rochester discerns that she is incapable of loving anyone. Such beauties like Blanche seem to truly lack the ability to put another person's happiness above their own. 

The inability to care for others reminds me of someone else at her most vicious. (Fanny Watson - BBC 2004)

The inability to care for others reminds me of someone else at her most vicious. (Fanny Watson - BBC 2004)

Where does all this vanity and indifference to others come from? Does being born with good looks naturally create a heartless, narcissistic female?

Social conditioning has a great deal to do with creating these hollow shells. Parental expectations and values are often transferred to their offspring. Parents guide their children's minds into channels of thought either conducive to or wholly opposed to worthy pursuits that enrich character, such as self-improvement, and respect for others.

There is a recurring theme in Agnes Grey that reveals how children are turned into selfish, undisciplined brats by their parents' own inflated sense of self-importance, based on the shallow markers of wealth, class, or physical appearance. 

I loved the particularly candid observation made in a conversation between Agnes and her love-interest: 

"... some people think rank and wealth the chief good; and, if they can secure that for their children, they think they have done their duty." 

"True: but is it not strange that persons of experience, who have been married themselves, should judge so falsely?"

With such empty values being transmitted to children, it is hardly surprising to see the pretty Miss Murray get her just deserts. Having been taught to seek grandeur and wealth her entire life, she achieves her goal in marrying a titled man with impressive property. After a glamorous honeymoon through the capitals of Europe, she becomes perfectly miserable within a year -- tied to a man she detests, and living with an overbearing mother-in-law.

Taking such lackluster results into consideration, the highest advantage may ultimately belong to the plain girls, who have to rely on something other than beauty to bolster their identity and self-worth. It's the quiet girls in the shadows, after all, who have much more opportunity to observe and reflect and grow a heart while others earn society's attention. 

What should a girl aspire to be? A thinker (and lover!) or a showpiece? 

 

When do John and Margaret Stop Arguing?

The BBC's John Thornton tries to recover from Margaret's rejection.

The BBC's John Thornton tries to recover from Margaret's rejection.

No, this isn't a trick question. There's a definite end to their arguing in the book. And you may be surprised at the answer. 

When John comes to declare his love for Margaret the morning after the riot, the tense relationship between the master and the Milton newcomer reaches a blistering vocal climax. Pent-up emotions on each side explode into forceful words and both are left stunned by the unexpected vehemence of their exchange. 

Margaret is temporarily immobilized after Thornton's departure.

Margaret is temporarily immobilized after Thornton's departure.

After this staggering tempest, the dynamic between these two strong-minded individuals is forever changed. After this day, Margaret never again raises her voice to argue against him. In fact, the very next day she finds herself defending Thornton to a grieving and bitter Higgins.

The end of the verbal battles between Thornton and Margaret comes precisely at the half-way point of the book. The remaining two hundred pages of the story reveals a softer, meeker Margaret in relation to Thornton. She is jolted into taking a closer look at the man behind the master's mask.

Thornton is too bitterly jealous to really see a softer and repentant Margaret.

Thornton is too bitterly jealous to really see a softer and repentant Margaret.

But wait, isn't there still bristling friction between these two passionate people throughout the second half? Yes, of course. But it no longer stems from any perceived ideological or character differences. Outbursts in this portion of the drama erupt not from an indignant Margaret but from an emotionally tortured Thornton, who simply cannot control his bitter jealousy.

The potent tension between Thornton and Margaret after the failed proposal is the result of repressed passions and the accumulation of misunderstandings. The unfortunate havoc wrought by Frederick's appearance convinces Thornton that Margaret loves another and causes Margaret to believe Thornton could never love a confirmed liar. The mistaken belief that they are despised by the other costs both of them almost two years of unnecessary suffering.

This is wholly romantic tension, which has nothing to do with socio-economic conflicting opinions. And it is not resolved until those final pages (or the illustrious train station scene), when their pathetic illusions dissolve in the glorious light of reality.

The very last page has playful arguing between the lovers -- perfect.

Was it Love at First Sight for Thornton?

Valentine's Day has come and gone, but I'm still thinking about the celebration of romantic love. It's the perfect reason for taking a closer look at the dizzying emotional whirlwind we call "falling in love." Eros is that that form of love that can make mature adults suddenly feel like awkward teenagers and send perfectly rational people into frenzies of mildly insane behavior.

Was it love at first sight for Thornton when he met the Southern girl from Helstone? Something definitely happened in those first few moments of being in Margaret's presence that rocked the mill master's world.

The book's first meeting between John and Margaret may seem dull compared to the explosive action in the BBC's version of North and South, in which the vicar's daughter plays the moral hero against the onslaught of violence erupting from the cotton factory's CEO. But if you take a closer look at Gaskell's narrative, the scene she wrote is far from dull. Although Margaret is wishing her father's Milton contact would leave so she could take a nap, there are some internal fireworks going on inside the Thornton systems that the man can barely contain. 

BBC's John Thornton surveys newcomer Margaret Hale

BBC's John Thornton surveys newcomer Margaret Hale

Let's take a look at what's going on with Thornton. He's taken by surprise the very moment Margaret enters the room: first, because she isn't Mr. Hale (or a little girl) and second, because she is "a young lady of a different type to most of those he was in the habit of seeing."  

What is is that sets Margaret apart from the rest? What is he seeing? She has a self-composed natural dignity, a straight-forward unabashed manner, a simple yet elegant costume, and a beautiful countenance. All this he notices in a few seconds.

Then Margaret speaks: "Mr. Thornton, I believe." 

And he can't even formulate a response! "The ready words would not come."

He's standing there, staring at her, already tongue-tied. Can you picture this? I hope he at least remembered it's not polite to leave your mouth hanging open!

Since Thornton seems mute, Margaret takes command of the social situation. Explaining that her father will return soon, she asks Thornton to sit. Here's how Thornton -- venerated Milton magistrate and master over hundreds of men -- reacts: 

"Mr Thornton was in habits of authority himself, but she seemed to assume some kind of rule over him at once. He had been getting impatient at the loss of his time on a market-day, the moment before she appeared, but now he calmly took a seat at her bidding." 

He manages to utter something about going to find her father. And as she replies about the house her family intends to take, Thornton suddenly feels that the place he approved for the Hales in Crampton will not be good enough "now that he [sees] Margaret with her superb ways of moving and looking."

Okay, so now she at least got him to sit down, but I don't think he's been able to take his eyes off of her. I mean, he's known her for less than two minutes and he's internally raving about "her superb ways of moving and looking?!" I think the man has been gobsmacked.

Margaret, however, has no clue she's causing any internal combustion. But as she takes off her shawl and takes a seat in front of him, Thornton is drinking in every detail of her feminine appearance: 

"... her full beauty met his eye; her round white flexile throat rising out of the full, yet lithe figure; her lips, moving so slightly as she spoke, not breaking the cold serene look of her face with any variation from the one lovely curve; her eyes, with their soft gloom, meeting his with quiet maiden freedom."

There's only so much that Gaskell can describe while staying within the confines of Victorian propriety, but with these well-chosen words I am imagining Thornton's gaze roving over Margaret's body in a way that is unmistakably sensual. He's watching her lips as she speaks and noticing her bare neck? Whew! But that's not all. If his eyes are sweeping up to notice her throat "rising out of the full, yet lithe figure," I think we can assume he hasn't missed surveying the ample curves found below the neck. Ahem.

Go ahead and read that passage again and visualize where Thornton's gaze is lingering. The physical attraction is potent. 

Yet, it's not merely physical attraction that enchants him. The beauty he sees in her is tied to the qualities she exudes: self-possessed dignity, serene freedom, natural grace, gentle frankness, unshrinking self-confidence and strength. He seems to discern the essence of Margaret Hale in one short occasion. She's a rather amazing blend of both masculine and feminine natures. And Thornton is drawn to her expression of these qualities, so many of which he himself possesses and venerates.

So how does this unexpected powerful attraction to a woman impact Thornton? He's thoroughly discombobulated. He can't formulate full sentences in response to Margaret's attempt to make conversation. He's irritated and mortified to recognize that "while he looked upon her with an admiration he could not repress, she looked upon him with proud indifference." He feels inadequate as a match for her and feels resentment rise at the thought that she must look down on him. And when it's time for him to leave, her respectful bow to him makes him feel "more awkward and self-conscious in every limb than he had ever done in all his life before." 

I love that he exits that scene almost literally off-balance! Even walking is a new sensation when Margaret is in the room.

Can we, then, certify that Thornton has fallen in love at first sight? Well, let's see if we can tic the boxes on a few common elements of what falling in love often looks and feels like:

  • Undeniable, strong physical attraction.  √
  • Vaulted admiration of character/qualities. √
  • Feeling awkward, self-conscious, and unworthy. √
  • Bumbling, stuttering like an idiot. √

Whether or not his feelings can actually can be called "love" after such a brief encounter, Thornton has all the symptoms of falling for Margaret at their very first encounter. 

And it only gets worse from him as the story continues. Poor man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What does North and South mean to you?

If you're like me, you first discovered Gaskell's story as a captivating drama on film. The BBC's television adaptation of North and South made Milton come to life, and brought a little known romantic hero -- John Thornton -- into glorious, palpitating presence on the world stage with a reverberating gasp.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel the impact of my first viewing like I'd been struck by lightening. I only re-watched the ending once (or maybe twice!). I didn't even realize how much I had been pulled into the power of the drama until I found myself constantly reimagining scenes and wondering about the characters's feelings. I plunged into C19 (an Internet forum) within days, because I needed to ask questions. I needed to talk to someone about this story. And I've really never stopped wanting to talk about it.

I've since fallen in love with Gaskell's book. I regularly see its relevance to all the pressing issues of our world today. Gaskell had a heart and mind that saw the human scene with hope.

North and South turned me into an author, it introduced me to a new world of friends and fanship, and it inspired me to dive into similar classic novels. I owe much to Gaskell's North and South, as it's given me so much to think about and to share with others. 

So what does North and South mean to me? It means so many things that lay close to my heart, that it seems daunting to try to explain. But here (beyond the fervent appeal of the gold standard for all romantic literary heroes -- John Thornton) are some of the many hopes, ideals, and concepts found in North and South that invigorate my soul and enliven my heart:

Love. Love in all its variations: erotic and romantic love, brotherly affection, self-sacrificing duty, genuine respect, and consideration for others.

The utter necessity of individuality -- forging your own path and living your own values.

Moral courage -- the strength and determination that moves us forward in crushing circumstances.

Widening our view of the world and our sphere of caring -- interacting with and learning from those different from us.

Seeing past class, gender, religion, and economic status to the equal worthiness of every human being.

Loneliness and the desperation of being misunderstood, and the corresponding desire to cherish and to be cherished.

The overpowering yearning to do good in this world, not just exist in it.

Striving for what matters most.

The possibility of a kinder, gentler capitalism that contributes to humanity's progress.

Hope of harmony in relating to our fellow beings. Finding unity among all mankind.

Finding home, finding our purpose.

These are just some of the many themes that make North and South my favorite novel of romantic love and Elizabeth Gaskell a favorite author for her hope for humanity. 

What does North and South mean to you?