Warning: minor spoilers ahead if you don’t know the history of the Brontë family. Read with caution.
Romancing Miss Bronte is a disappointing historical fiction about Charlotte Brontë, her sisters Emily and Ann, and how they came from obscurity to write some of the most enduring fiction the West has known.
The first part of this story was the best. The reader gets a unique glimpse into the minds of the Brontës, what their lives were probably like and how unfortunate their brother’s existence turned out to be.
I loved hearing Juliet Gael’s vision of their character and personality quirks.
The second half of the book, focused primarily on Charlotte and her relationship with Arthur, was a drag.
Up until that point, the women were surprisingly self sufficient, considering the times in which they lived. Yes, they coddled their alcoholic and opium-addicted brother. Yes, they indulged the whims of their ailing father, but for the most part, they acted how they pleased.
Once Arthur enters her life, Charlotte centers every action around him. He tells her who she can write. He controls their social schedule.
The book enters a repetitive loop: Charlotte does something Arthur doesn’t like, he reprimands her, she writes her friend a letter about how annoying it is but she simply adores her husband so it’s ok… and repeat.
This was probably the reality of her situation but it sucked. I can’t imagine that I would have been happy living like that. I don’t believe she was either.
The cringe-inducing letters Gael describes in the story actually exist. I also think that if I was a sensitive and reclusive person like Charlotte Brontë, having my personal letters published after my death would be a nightmare situation.
Charlotte and her sisters were forced to live a sub-par existence because they were women.
Traditional roles for women left so little room for living. It’s astonishing that the Brontës were able to write anything at all, when you consider when they lived and the disadvantages to their station.
They were poor, lived in the middle of nowhere and had no one they could rely on except themselves.
Add to the mix a dose of religious guilt and social expectations… again, the world is fortunate to have their stories.
I suggest reading Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights instead of this.
Thanks for reading!
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