So... I started out tonight continuing on my (third?) re-reading of Jane Eyre and thinking that modern culture just doesn't encourage the same kind of thought-provoking, soul inspiring work... and then I happened across a portion of Dancing with the Stars (which I never watch except by accident) and discovered the awe-inspiring sight of half-naked men on my Prime Time television set giving pelvis thrusts that would put a blush on even Elvis' cheeks. And so, I stand corrected.
Letís give a sample of the late, great, Charlotte Bronte... one of my favorite parts in the book... and let the audience here decide, shall we?
To set the scene, we are being jumped forward in years immediately after the heart-breaking scene in which our heroine Jane fell asleep on the shoulder of her dying, childhood friend, to find that she had passed away in the night. This jolt is enough to bring the reader to tears (and it still does when I re-read it) and so the change of scenery in the book is as welcome as Jane's train of thought as she stands, eight years later at the age of 18, contemplating her future.
"I walked about the chamber most of the time. I imagined myself only to be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but when my reflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoon was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me, namely, that in the interval I had undergone a transforming process;...
I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were the two wings of the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts of Lowood; there was the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other objects to rest on those most remote, the blue peaks: it was those I longed to surmount; all within their boundary of rock and heath seemed prison-ground, exile limits. I traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between two; how I longed to follow it further! I recalled the time when I had traveled that very road in a coach; I remembered descending that hill at twilight: an age seemed to have elapsed since the day which brought me first to Lowood, and I had never quitted it since. ...And now I felt that it was not enough: I tired of the routine of eight years in one afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing. I abandoned it and framed a humbler supplication; for change, stimulus: that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space: 'Then," I cried, half desperate, "grant me at least a new servitude!"
You can sense Jane's desperation, her need for change and for something else in her life. Something to believe in and a place where she can test her own strengths.
Now go from this mentality to glancing up at the television to seeing scantily clad, dancing men making eyes at the camera.
Its a toss-up, I know.
P.S. What type was the friend Helen Burns you think... INFJ?