(no subject)

It's the oddest thing; I'm actually quite into Jane Eyre (latest assigned reading in my 19th Century Novel class). As in, I was so caught up and curious about what happens next that I actually read beyond what was assigned. And I'm actually scared of being spoiled. Which is somewhat silly, since I think I've seen a BBC/A&E adaptation of it, but like years ago ('97). So a) that much time is bound to make one forget things, and b) the fact it was so long ago means I was young enough when I watched it that it never really sank in, in the first place. So as I'm reading, these tiny little hints of memory start coming to me, and then are gone as soon as I try to think any harder about them (you know how, in the dark, sometimes it's easier to see something if you aren't trying to look straight at it? It's like that). Someone in class yesterday made some comment about "and we won't even talk about Bertha yet" and I was like, who the hell is Bertha? and seriously, I almost wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and go lalala. I remember just enough that I know that whatever the deal is with the woman in the attic, it is Big Dramatic Stuff, which actually is almost worse than not knowing anything at all, 'cause there's this overhanging sense of dread.

I'm getting a much better impression of Mr. Rochester through the book than I remember from the miniseries. I remember being very, "wtf, Jane likes _him_?!" (which, yes, I realize now is part of the thing about Mr. Rochester; he's not a conventionally lovable man). Part of this, too, was probably the fact that at the time I was too young to properly appreciate Ciaran Hinds. But I'm actually having squeeful moments while reading. Some of his lines have me giggling like a fangirl. It's quite embarrassing and has led to me _not_ reading it while at school, lest I actually squeal with glee in the middle of the University Union.

(no subject)

It's the oddest thing; I'm actually quite into Jane Eyre (latest assigned reading in my 19th Century Novel class). As in, I was so caught up and curious about what happens next that I actually read beyond what was assigned. And I'm actually scared of being spoiled. Which is somewhat silly, since I think I've seen a BBC/A&E adaptation of it, but like years ago ('97). So a) that much time is bound to make one forget things, and b) the fact it was so long ago means I was young enough when I watched it that it never really sank in, in the first place. So as I'm reading, these tiny little hints of memory start coming to me, and then are gone as soon as I try to think any harder about them (you know how, in the dark, sometimes it's easier to see something if you aren't trying to look straight at it? It's like that). Someone in class yesterday made some comment about "and we won't even talk about Bertha yet" and I was like, who the hell is Bertha? and seriously, I almost wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and go lalala. I remember just enough that I know that whatever the deal is with the woman in the attic, it is Big Dramatic Stuff, which actually is almost worse than not knowing anything at all, 'cause there's this overhanging sense of dread.

I'm getting a much better impression of Mr. Rochester through the book than I remember from the miniseries. I remember being very, "wtf, Jane likes _him_?!" (which, yes, I realize now is part of the thing about Mr. Rochester; he's not a conventionally lovable man). Part of this, too, was probably the fact that at the time I was too young to properly appreciate Ciaran Hinds. But I'm actually having squeeful moments while reading. Some of his lines have me giggling like a fangirl. It's quite embarrassing and has led to me _not_ reading it while at school, lest I actually squeal with glee in the middle of the University Union.