Three great love stories that started it all…

Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights are three of the greatest novels in English literature. Now joining them is Pride, Prejudice and Popcorn, a decidedly different take on these classics. You will laugh with delight as you learn:

The importance of thoroughly investigating your employers before accepting a job at their isolated, creepy house (Jane Eyre)

The sad fact that not every bad boy has a heart of gold (Wuthering Heights)

How to make a proper proposal—and how not to. Hint: don’t insult your beloved while attempting to talk her into marriage! (Pride and Prejudice

Join blogger and romance aficionado Carrie Sessarego (smartbitchestrashybooks.com) as she takes us to the movies with Jane and Liz and Cathy. In her own unique, hilarious style she discusses the books and the various movie and TV adaptations. Your living room will be graced by heartthrobs like Timothy Dalton (twice!), Colin Firth (he shows up twice, too!), Michael Fassbender and Tom Hardy.

Whether you are in the mood for serious academic discussion or lighthearted snark, whether you prefer Regency romance or Gothic passion, and whether you prefer your love stories on the screen or on the page, this book has something for you.

Pride, Prejudice and Popcorn

Carrie Sessarego

Harlequin E POP!

Dedication

To three generations of inspiring women: Phoebe, Mary and Linden. And to Glen, who always said I could.

Contents

Introduction

Part I: Jane Eyre: In Which Self-Respect Conquers All

Jane Eyre: The Book

The Big Picture

The Adaptations

The Final Scorecard

Part II: Pride and Prejudice: In Which Two People Learn Not to Trust Their First Impressions—and Society Is Much Pleased With the Result

Pride and Prejudice: The Book

The Big Picture

The Adaptations

The Final Scorecard

Part III: Wuthering Heights: Oh, There’s a Romance—but It’s not the One You’re Thinking Of

Wuthering Heights: The Book

The Big Picture

The Adaptations

The Final Scorecard

Part IV: They All Lived Happily Ever After (Unless They Were in Wuthering Heights): Final Comparisons and Conclusions

Part V: Special Features

Behind the Scenes with Charlotte Brontë

Behind the Scenes with Jane Austen

Behind the Scenes with Emily Brontë

Trivia

Playlist—Unofficial Music Connections

Part VI: Roll Credits

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

About the Author

Introduction

Great books are notable for the fact that your relationships with them as a reader change over time. My relationships with Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights have changed dramatically as I’ve viewed the books through different philosophies and life experiences. They’ve also changed as I’ve watched film adaptations of the books. Some of these adaptations were marvelous, and some were dreadful, but all of them taught me something important about the books.

My relationship with Jane Eyre started when I was about ten years old. I had an aunt (a kind one, who in no way resembled Mrs. Reed) who had a lot of books. I used to crawl between the back of an easy chair and the floor-length window curtains and read. I read adult books because that’s what this aunt had on her shelves. So Jane and I became friends when I opened a book that had interesting pictures, only to discover another girl in the book’s pages, one who was about my size, and who was, likewise, hiding at the window with a book that was difficult to read but had good illustrations.

Jane and I grew up together, and as I became older, I became more interested in the romance. As a young woman, I tried to decide whether or not Rochester was a worthy hero, and I admired Jane for her determination to be free and respected. My relationship with Jane (the book) has become more analytical and critical as I’ve gotten older. I see it through a lens of class, gender, religion and my own more mature view of human relationships. My relationship with Jane (the character) remains fiercely loyal. My relationship with Jane, the book, and Jane, the character, began as a profoundly personal one, and it has stayed that way through thirty years of annual readings. Watching film adaptations of Jane has only reinforced this, even as it has highlighted things that I often overlooked—Jane’s longing to be part of a family, for instance, and how very, very cruel the manipulations of Rochester are. My ire is relentless against any adaptation that fails to address the power of Jane’s spirit and her refusal to settle for anything that undoes her self-respect. My admiration for any adaptation that gets it right is boundless!

My relationship with Pride and Prejudice began in high school when I had to read it for English class. Dear readers, it pains me to tell you that my plaintive complaint to my teacher was, “This book is boring! Nothing happens!” I perked up quite a bit when Lydia ran off with Wickham, but I must admit that Pride and Prejudice seemed dry to me for many years after. Like Charlotte Brontë, I felt that it was passionless and constrained:

I had not seen “Pride and Prejudice,” till I read that sentence of yours, and then I got the book. And what did I find? An accurate daguerreotyped portrait of a common-place face; a carefully fenced, highly cultivated garden, with neat borders and delicate flowers; but no glance of a bright, vivid physiognomy, no open country, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses (Juliet Barker, “Letter from Charlotte Brontë to G. H. Lewis” In The Brontës, Wild Genius on the Moors [New York: Pegasus Books, 2012], 724–725)

What kept me interested in Pride and Prejudice was the passion of its fans. Much of my reading and writing involves fantasy and science fiction, and as a passionate fan of these genres, I am never more at home than I am when attending a Renaissance Faire or a science-fiction convention. Likewise, the serious Jane Austen fans, with their Regency Ball reenactments, fit right in to the idea that you can love something so passionately that you want to recreate it as closely as possible, as frequently as possible, with like-minded people. This kept me going back to the book, and every time I read it I liked it a little more, but I still didn’t really get what all these people were so excited about.

For me, it was the film adaptations of Pride and Prejudice that opened up the book to me. My husband and I were watching one of the adaptations (I think Colin Firth had just come out of the lake) when he (my husband, not Colin Firth, although it’s easy to confuse them) said, “You know, this is just like science fiction. There’s an alien society, and it operates under a rigid social code, with a rigid hierarchy—one that we don’t fully understand. And they speak in this alien language, and everything is in code, so you have to work really hard to understand what’s going on.”

Triumph! Suddenly, I understood Pride and Prejudice! There was passion, and happiness, and despair, and all the other things that I had been missing, but it’s all in code, under the surface. As I watched actors use their bodies and faces to communicate, the words took on new meanings. Even when actors varied wildly in their interpretations of the text, it still helped me pick apart what was really being thought and communicated (usually not the same thing). I am now an ardent fan of Pride and Prejudice—I’m just sorry that it took me so long to get there.

Finally we come to my nemesis, Wuthering Heights. Prior to working on this project, I would have told you that I loathe Wuthering Heights. I didn’t merely dislike it—I hated it. Every time I would have to mention Wuthering Heights I would start channeling Madeline Kahn in Clue, “I hated her so much, I just…Flames. Flames, on the side of my face….” The one good thing I had to say about Wuthering Heights was that for something to raise my ire so completely it sure must have hit a nerve.

I think my problem with Wuthering Heights was that it has this cultural legacy as a romantic love story. When I read it again for this project, I tried to read it as though I had no preconceptions. And that’s when I discovered that it’s not a love story between Cathy and Heathcliff. It’s a horror story. But it’s also a story in which a secondary couple’s love heals everything, so it ends up being a romance after all, just not with the couple that we all think of when we think about Wuthering Heights. I’ve become a bit of a crazed evangelist about this interpretation. It’s become so obvious to me that I want to stand around on street corners wearing those big sandwich signs. Only, instead of saying “The End Is Near,” my sign would say, “Heathcliff and Cathy are horrible people who do not know the meaning of real love! But the social themes in Wuthering Heights are very important! So you should read this book, even though it will destroy your very soul!” (That’s a lot to fit on one sign, so I’ve tabled my literary-street-sign-activism project for the time being.)

Frankly, I’m not thrilled with the result of any of the Wuthering Heights adaptations. But my understanding of the book got better as I realized why I was so annoyed at the things they left out. Adaptations have a tendency to soften Cathy’s behavior so she is more of a sympathetic victim, and diminish the role of Cathy’s daughter and of Hareton. This helped me understand that the fact that Cathy has temper tantrums in the book is important. The fact that Heathcliff beats Isabella is important. The fact that Hareton and Cathy 2.0 think of each other’s well-being is important. If you emphasize the idea of Heathcliff and Cathy as a tragic romantic couple, you are missing the point of the story entirely, and, of course, most adaptations go for the romantic-couple angle.

I have become an ardent defender of Wuthering Heights, but not as a romance (or rather, not as a romance between Heathcliff and Cathy). I’ve become fascinated with how many topics the book takes on—class, gender, patriarchy, familial relationships, money, race, education, isolation and the legacy of child abuse from one generation to the next. Above all, by reading and watching and rereading the story of Hareton and Young Cathy again, I’ve grown to believe that this book is not even a tragedy. There’s a very redemptive story to be found here, about what happens when you choose to be as happy as you can, as fully realized a person as you can be, within even the most constrained circumstances, and when you are able to think about the needs of another person over your own.

I love all three of these books in many different ways, and I’m grateful to all the film adaptations that have opened up new aspects of them for me (yes, even the MTV version of Wuthering Heights). I hope readers of this work will enjoy the adaptations, and, above all, enjoy the original books!

What You’ll Find in This Book

In this book, I use film adaptations of Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights as a way to better understand the original books. So this book is not so much intended to be a set of reviews but rather a discussion about some of the different ways people have tried to interpret the novels and how those interpretations can illuminate our reading of them.

This book is not a comprehensive guide to the books’ TV and film adaptations, but I’ve tried to provide a sampling from different time periods and of different styles. All of the adaptations described in this book are currently fairly easy to find (I used Amazon.com, Netflix, and my beloved local library). I limited my reviews to TV and film adaptations as opposed to print adaptations and plays purely to limit the scope of this book.

So here’s what you’ll find in each of the main parts of this book:

• The Book. If you haven’t read Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights, go do that right away! Take your time! But even if you’ve read them, you might have forgotten about Jane’s obnoxious foster sisters, or just how many balls Lizzy attended, or that time that Heathcliff murdered a nest of baby birds because he was mad at Cathy (Gah! I hate him so much!). So this synopsis is intended to refresh your memory and tease out some of the important moments and themes of the books.

• The Big Picture: I’m not a purist when it comes to adaptations. Want to have Lizzy climb through a magic portal into a modern-day person’s bathroom or express herself by way of vlog? I’m cool with that. But I want adaptations to stay true to certain key themes and messages in the original books. In this section, I list what I consider those key points to be. A filmmaker can make those points in all kinds of ways, but I do not consider an adaptation to be successful unless it has covered these points.

• The Adaptations: And we’re off to the movies! Popcorn…check! Brownies…check! Wine and/or hot cocoa depending on your personal preference…check! Let’s do this!

• The Final Scorecard: This section lists some of the high and low points of the adaptations.

Then, following the discussions of the three books and their adaptations, I tie everything together and wrap it all up in the “Final Comparisons and Conclusions” section. Finally, as a bonus, a “Special Features” section is included providing “Behind the Scenes” biographies of Charlotte Brontë, Jane Austen and Emily Brontë, and a little bit of context as to how their work was received during their lifetimes. And what’s a “Special Features” section without trivia and a music playlist?

I hope my readers have as much fun reading this book as I did writing it. I wish we were all hanging out in a big living room, eating popcorn together and arguing about whether or not Heathcliff is really a romantic figure. (No! He’s not! Don’t even go there!) But since we can’t hang out in person, I wish you happy reading and happy watching!

Part I: Jane Eyre: In Which Self-Respect Conquers All

Jane Eyre: The Book

Here’s the story of Jane Eyre, as told in the original novel by Charlotte Brontë. Before we begin, have you read the book? No? Go read it. I’ll wait.

Oh, good, you’re back. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Here’s the story:

Chapters I–X: In which Jane survives a miserable childhood and applies for a job.

Once upon a time there was an orphan who was raised by a cruel guardian (Aunt Reed) and tormented by her guardian’s evil children. This child, Jane Eyre, is first seen reading a book and immediately being whacked in the head with said book by her cousin. Thus does Jane instantly win our sympathies, for not only does her cousin try to give her a concussion, but he also loses her place. What an ass.

Jane tackles her cousin, the ass, and is promptly shut up in a room by Aunt Reed. It happens to be the same room in which Jane’s uncle had died, and Jane has a fit brought on by either her imagination or a visit from a ghost. Aunt Reed sends Jane away to Lowood Institution, a charitable school run by the vain and corrupt Mr. Brocklehurst. Some readers find this part of the story to be tiresome, but you can’t skip it, because here Jane finds two important mentors—Helen, a friend who teaches Jane about forgiveness and patience, and Miss Temple, who clears Jane of Mr. Brocklehurst’s accusations (he tells the other girls to shun her because she is a liar). Jane learns many valuable lessons at Lowood:

1. Hypocrisy is a bad thing. It is also a bad thing to either live your life in total self-indulgence or in total self-sacrifice (shown by the needless suffering of the Lowood students and the disgust with which Jane regards Mr. Brocklehurst’s spoiled, overdressed daughters).

2. If you simply rage bitterly all the time, you will destroy yourself. If you practice restraint and forgiveness, you will be more likely to find justice and you will certainly be happier.

3. It is very important to wash your hands frequently and to cover your mouth when you cough.

Alas, it is only my own wishful thinking at work with regard to number three. A typhus epidemic strikes Lowood, and Helen, who has been suffering from consumption all of this time, dies in Jane’s arms. With her final words, Helen reminds Jane of the glories of heaven. In almost every film adaptation, she does this while coughing directly into Jane’s face, as if to bring Jane along as quickly as possible. But Jane is made of tough stuff, and she does not contract typhus or consumption. She graduates from Lowood and works as a teacher there until she grows restless and applies for a position of governess at the remote Thornfield Hall.

Chapters XI–XV: In which Rochester appears.

Jane likes Thornfield well enough, although it is a confusing place, as gothic estates so often are. The first mystery is who everyone is—Mrs. Fairfax, who Jane assumes to be the owner, is in fact the housekeeper, and Adele is not Mrs. Fairfax’s daughter but is rather the ward of Rochester, who is absent. There’s also the mystery of the strange laughter Jane hears at night. Mrs. Fairfax blames this laughter on Grace Poole, a servant who doesn’t seem to do much except drink port.

Eventually Rochester shows up. In true gothic fashion, Jane is walking through the woods in the mist when Rochester almost runs over her (with his horse) and calls her a witch. The next day, Rochester tells Jane to have an after-dinner chat with him, as he is, evidentially, bored. Over the course of the next few weeks, Rochester and Jane have many talks, in which she forces him to use some semblance of decent manners toward her, and he tells her all about his past life of scandal, including the fact that his last mistress claimed that Adele was his daughter, an accusation he does not believe.

Jane and Rochester are drawn even closer when she saves his life. She is awakened by strange laughter, smells smoke, and follows it to Rochester’s room, where his bedclothes have caught on fire. Jane awakens Rochester by throwing water in his face, which leads to the hilarious line, “Is there a flood?” (Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre [New York: Random House, 1943], 110). They put out the fire and he tells her to stay in his room. He leaves, comes back, and concludes the fire was probably caused by Grace Poole. Jane, ever the voice of reason, points out that maybe the homicidal, cackling, drunken maniac should be ordered to leave, but Rochester says not to worry, everything’s fine. He proceeds to gaze at Jane with such evident adoration that she freaks out, goes back to her room and stays awake all night in a state that will be painfully relatable to any of us who spent junior high school wondering if That Boy liked us, and if so, did he really like us, and if so, did he like us as more than a friend, or what? Alas for Jane, when she wakes up in the morning Rochester has gone to visit friends, at least one of which is gorgeous, single and female. Drat.

Chapters XVI–XXIII: In which Rochester is a total jerk, with happy results…or are they?

Rochester shows up at Thornfield with a group of rich, snobby people, including Blanche Ingram, the book’s Mean Girl. In a particularly cruel twist, Rochester order Jane to attend all the guests’ venomous little get-togethers, so that she can witness every second of flirtation between Blanche and Rochester himself. She’s also treated to rants about how useless and despicable governesses are.

Rochester leaves for a day, and while he’s gone, two strangers arrive. One is Mr. Mason, who claims to be a friend of Rochester’s. The other is a gypsy woman, who insists on telling everyone’s fortune. She tries to get Jane to admit that she (Jane) likes Rochester, but Jane won’t admit a thing. Kudos to Jane—because the gypsy woman turns out to be Rochester in disguise. Rochester is quite smug about his game until Jane mentions that a Mr. Mason has arrived. Rochester is horrified but with a great deal of moral support from Jane, he sallies back to the party looking cheerful as ever.

An aside: Readers, I love this book. I have a copy of it wrapped in plastic in my earthquake/flood/zombie-apocalypse emergency kit in case I have to restart civilization from scratch (I also have The Lord of the Rings and many, many ballpoint pens). But please do not date a guy who stages an elaborate plan to publicly humiliate you and make you jealous. Just don’t.

Later that night, everyone wakes up to the sound of screaming. Rochester sends everyone back to bed but has Jane come with him to a secret room where Mr. Mason is bleeding copiously. Jane has to sit alone with Mason, “sponging” the wound (apparently no one in the Victorian age knew about applying direct pressure) while Rochester fetches a doctor. With the dawn, Mason is smuggled off to the doctor’s place.

Not long afterward, Jane goes to visit Aunt Reed. She’s dying and has asked for Jane. Here we get another lesson about the problem with living life at one extreme or the other: of Aunt Reed’s three children, Eliza is about to become a nun, a path Jane views as something of a waste of Eliza’s formidable intellect; Georgiana is looking for a rich husband and is regarded by Jane as hopelessly frivolous; and John, the cousin who was an ass, is now a dead ass, having wasted his life and his money with gambling and drink. Jane forgives her aunt, and her aunt reveals that Jane has an uncle who had asked about Jane long ago and wanted to adopt her, but Aunt Reed, who hated Jane, told him Jane had died at Lowood. The aunt dies, and Jane goes back to Thornfield. This is such a tangent that many adaptations leave it out, but in addition to being thematically important, it sets up a later plot twist.

Jane tells Rochester that when he marries Blanche, she (Jane, not Blanche) will have to leave. More parties ensue until finally, there is great joy, for Rochester proposes to Jane! He was never going to marry Blanche! He was just trying to make Jane jealous! He adores her! Everyone is happy, except Blanche, who is still looking for a rich husband, and Mrs. Fairfax, who finds the entire situation to be appalling. Of course, before proposing, Rochester has to test Jane by making her jealous one last time and telling her she should stay at Thornfield even after he marries Blanche. It is here that Jane has her greatest, though not happiest, hour:

Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? 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? You think wrong! I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty, and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh; it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal—as we are (190)!

Just copying that out makes me so overwrought that I have to go run around the block and then lie down. All of what makes Jane awesome is crystallized in this stunning scene. Sing it, sister.

Chapters XXIV–XXVIII: Disaster!

Rochester turns out to be even more patronizing as a fiancé than he was an employer, and Jane has her hands full trying to keep their relationship grounded as he keeps trying to dress her up like a very rich, fancy doll. Finally the wedding day comes, but who should appear but Mr. Mason, who objects to the wedding on the grounds that Rochester has a mad wife locked in the attic at Thornfield. This does, in fact, turn out to be true (she was the source of the laughter, the fire, and the copious bleeding) so the wedding is off. Rochester claims that he was tricked into marrying the madwoman, whose name is Bertha, and once her madness progressed to an unbearably awful point, he brought her to Thornfield to be cared for as well as possible.

Rochester begs Jane to stay with him. In a heartrending passage, he explains his history with Bertha, and he begs Jane’s forgiveness for keeping Bertha a secret. Then, in a move that is both heartbreaking and incredibly whiny and dick-ish, he tells Jane that she must stay with him, because otherwise, he would be so sad that he would have no choice but to fall into dissolute ways again. Jane is wracked with heartbreak but still sensible enough to point out that neither she nor Rochester is doomed to dissolution; they can both separately endure, and they can choose to live decent lives. Still, Jane is terribly tempted to stay with Rochester, both for her sake and his own. She believes that if she becomes his mistress he will come to despise her, but she also thinks that she should save his life, thinking of her own, “Who in the world cares for you?” At which she answers herself:

I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself (239).

Chapters XXIX–XXXV: In which Jane flees Thornfield, becomes rich, acquires relatives and is hit on by a pastor.

Jane wanders the moors and almost starves to death before being taken in by two sisters, Mary and Diana, and their brother, St. John Rivers, a pastor who is planning to go to India as a missionary. Jane gives her name as Jane Eliot, and St. John gives her a job teaching in the village school. This is a long, slow section but here’s what’s important:

1. St. John finds out that Jane Eliot is Jane Eyre, and that Jane Eyre is, in fact, an heiress. Remember that uncle that Aunt Reed mentioned? The one who wanted to adopt Jane? Well, he died and left Jane a huge fortune.

2. The reason St. John knows this is that they are cousins. Jane is, to St. John’s confusion, considerably more overjoyed by learning that she has relatives than by learning that she is rich, and she gives most of the money to her newfound family, although this still leaves a generous amount for herself. She is now financially independent for life.

3. St. John proposes to Jane because he wants a companion to join him when he goes to India, and for propriety’s sake they must be married. When Jane protests that she does not love St. John in a romantic way, nor does he love her, and that being in a marriage of convenience to him in a harsh physical environment would both physically and emotionally destroy her, he pretty much asserts that her life should be sacrificed to God. But Jane has some practice with people telling her not to value her own life or happiness, and she continues to decline St. John’s proposals. After much effort on his part, though, she wavers—until she thinks she hears Rochester calling her name, and she takes off to find him.

Chapters XXXVI–XXXVIII: Reader, I married him.

When Jane gets to Thornfield, it has burned down. She discovers that Bertha escaped the attic again and set fire to the house. Rochester got all the servants out and then tried to save Bertha. She jumped from the roof, died, and launched a thousand feminist essays and works of revisionist fiction (most notably, the excellent but depressing Wide Sargasso Sea, by Jean Rhys, and The Madwoman in the Attic by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar). Rochester survived the fire but lost one hand and became blind in one eye. Jane finds him and engages in some hilarious repartee as, in an attempt to tease him out of melancholy, she tries making him jealous for a change. They get married, have a baby, find a school for Adele that is close enough to allow for regular visits (boarding schools are the norm at that time, but Jane makes sure that Adele’s school is not Lowood 2.0) and enjoy Jane’s new extended family. The end.

The Big Picture

For any film adaptation to be successful in my eyes, it must touch on the central themes of the book. I don’t care how many details change as long as these things are apparent:

1. Jane maintains her sense of self-respect against all those who disparage her. She clings to a sense that although she should live to a high standard of ethics and of service to others, her own life is important and worthwhile and must not be thrown away. Although the most quoted line in the book is, “Reader, I married him,” the most important line, and the one that has caused the book to be adored for centuries, is “Do you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart!”

2. During most of the book, Jane is lonely and frustrated. She longs for both family and adventure, or at least a sense that her life has some importance or meaning. She is quiet and lacks self-confidence, but is smart and funny.

3. Jane has a strong sense of morality and a strong sense of spirituality, which is expressed in both Christian and supernatural terms.

4. There are actual reasons why Rochester is attractive to Jane. Much like my synopsis, many adaptations leap from event to event and skip most of Jane’s conversations with Rochester. Judging from events, Rochester is a shithead. While his shitty qualities cannot be denied, those long passages of conversation reveal two people who like each other’s senses of humor, who respect each other (more or less—Rochester veers from genuinely respecting Jane to thinking she is his “pet lamb”), and who are good companions. Any adaptation should show that Jane and Rochester have great chemistry and that they are great companions for each other. We should root for them because they seem to be kindred spirits, not because they are the only single people for miles around.

5. Despite their chemistry, there are also actual reasons for Jane to stay the hell away from Rochester. In addition to the social gulf between them, there’s the pesky fact that’s he’s often an asshole to her. Jane is completely dependent on him for her livelihood as well, a fact that he exploits every time he orders her to talk to him. She is good and honest and he loves this about her, yet he rewards her for these virtues by playing vicious mind games with her and forcing her to endure public humiliation by his houseguests.

Also, in the book, Rochester is forty years old to Jane’s eighteen (and their romance isn’t a case of outdated values—even Mrs. Fairfax thinks Rochester is too old for Jane).

So why on Earth do we long for Jane to end up with Rochester? Although I consider this book to be an early romance novel, it differs from the genre in one crucial aspect, and that is that the romance is not really the point. We care about Jane. We are Team Jane, all the way, and if being with Rochester will make her happy, by golly, that’s what we want for her. If what she wanted to become a pirate queen, then that’s what we would care about. We just want Jane to be happy.

6. The point of the story is not that Jane gets married. The point is that Jane marries Rochester as his equal. At the end of the book she has not only romantic love but also independent financial security, and family and friends who she respects and who respect her. Additionally, Rochester respects and loves her as a person and not a pet, and she loves him as a husband and not a master.

If Jane had married Rochester at the midpoint of the book, and never found out about the insane wife in the attic, then it would not have been a happy ending even though Jane and Rochester would be together and Jane would have married rich, just like Cinderella. The Rochester she was originally engaged to, the one who tried to dress her up and called her his pet lamb, would not have made Jane happy. Jane has to gain the independence and sense of belonging that she craves, and Rochester has to learn to respect Jane.

The triumph of Charlotte Brontë is that she manages to convince many, probably most, readers that the Rochester we see at the end of the book really will be one with which Jane can have a happy life. Rochester has to change, and so does Jane, but once that happens, he can truly be her life’s companion.

7. Jane Eyre is a gothic story. It’s not as gothic as Wuthering Heights, which out-gothics everything pretty much ever, but Jane is pretty darn gothic. Jane spends a lot of time wandering around creepy halls with a candle. She shares these creepy halls with a mysterious being who cackles evilly and bites people, and who turns out to be an insane woman who is locked in the attic and likes to escape and set fire to people’s beds. Jane is dependent in every possible way on a mysterious and domineering (and sexually attractive) employer. She is so isolated that an escape attempt from the bizarre estate of Thornfield almost causes her to die of starvation as she wanders the blustery moors. No matter how sun-drenched an adaptation of Jane Eyre may be, it should strive to convey that sense of menace, mystery, melodrama and isolation.

Anyone who wishes to adapt the novel has two major challenges. One is that although the novel is not unusually long, there’s an awful lot in it, and some of the stuff that is the least cinematic (long conversations) is the most thematically important. The other is that Jane narrates the novel. Although she speaks fairly little, we hear her thoughts constantly. This is an obvious challenge to a scriptwriter, who has to communicate all Jane’s thoughts to the audience without turning her into a chatterbox.

So, let’s see how well these adaptations do with conveying the central themes of this complex book.

The Adaptations

The Classic Movie Adaptations

Movie adaptations of Jane Eyre, both classic and modern, usually benefit from generous budgets and good production values but struggle with length. Because they have to tell the whole story in approximately two hours, they tend to leave out anything that doesn’t involve the love story. This works up to a point, but it’s unsatisfying when you get to the end of the movie and realize that Jane has basically the same relationship dynamic with Rochester that she had during their first engagement.

Jane Eyre, 1934—The One With Colin Clive and Virginia Bruce (½)

This movie doesn’t have much in common with Jane Eyre, but it’s wonderfully entertaining in its unabashed cheesiness. This is the first movie adaptation of Jane Eyre with sound, and you can tell they were excited about it, because not only does Jane play the piano, but she also sings a song, and poor crazy Bertha screams her head off all the time.

They didn’t mess around in the 1930s, so we get to zip right through this story, leaving crucial plotlines in the dust. Jane is a sassy kid who becomes a sassy adult. She’s blonde and beautiful and has ringlets and giant ruffles on her dresses. Rochester is nice from the start—at least until he makes Jane try on earrings. He makes Jane pick out the furnishings for his soon-to-be-wife’s room, and jewelry for his soon-to-be-wife, all the while claiming that the soon-to-be wife is Blanche until suddenly he’s telling Jane that actually he’s going to marry her now. Jerk.

Jane has a small inheritance and Rochester is eagerly awaiting an annulment from poor Bertha, which really removes all the actual conflicts, doesn’t it? I mean, except for the lying, but then you have to wonder why on earth the lying would even come up. Why wouldn’t Rochester just say, “Hey Jane, would you marry me as soon as my annulment arrives in the mail? Also, have some jewelry!” Rochester is already polite and Jane is already a confident and outgoing independent person, so that removes all the actual character growth. This is possibly the most pointless adaptation of all time, although it must be admitted that the stars are very pretty to look at in that 1930s-movie-star way.

I’m listing these adaptations in chronological order, but this was actually one of the last ones I had actually watched. So by the time I watched this, I had seen a lot of Jane Eyre. This adaptation is a mess, but it includes a grown-up Jane calling Mr. Brocklehurst a crocodile, and it’s only an hour long. An hour! I know somewhere out there some English Literature majors are toiling through their Jane Eyre thesis. This movie was made for you, and only for you. Gather your fellow students together, make lots of popcorn, and throw it at the screen every time Jane seems inappropriately cheerful. Everyone else, stay away!

Jane Eyre, 1943—The One with Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine (★★★)

The great thing about this adaptation is that someone finally noticed that Jane Eyre is a really creepy story. A defenseless, penniless, naive young woman is essentially trapped in a totally isolated house, with no cell phone or electric lighting, and someone keeps trying to get into her room at night and starting fires and chewing on people. This is scary stuff, and the movie goes all-out with the gothic. The moors have never been so misty nor Thornfield so ominous.

Obviously no force on Earth can make Joan Fontaine look “plain and little,” and they don’t even try—she even sleeps in full makeup and perfect hair. But she’s very expressive, which is the most important element an actress can bring to Jane, since Jane doesn’t often speak her mind. Meanwhile, Orson Welles is a force of nature as Rochester. He’s rude, he stalks around wearing a billowing cape, he’s not particularly good-looking (as suits the part), but he’s charismatic as all get-out. He spends a great deal of time delivering dialogue while looking straight into Jane’s eyes, and let me tell you, when Orson Welles looks at you intently, by golly, it makes an impression. He’s beyond intimidating—he’s scary. Yet he’s also a tragic, magnificent, sinisterly sexy character. He keeps the story eerie while also making it plausible that Jane is drawn to him.

The supporting cast (Agnes Moorehead as Aunt Reed! Elizabeth Taylor as Helen!) is wonderful, as is the cinematography and the music by Bernard Herrmann (who also wrote an opera based on Wuthering Heights). Many of these people worked with Alfred Hitchcock, most notably Joan Fontaine, who starred in Rebecca and Suspicion, and Bernard Herrmann, who composed the score for Psycho. The whole movie has a Hitchcock feel to it. The only problem is that it doesn’t feel like Jane Eyre, and that’s because so many plotlines are cut that the message of the movie become this: be a moral person and everything will work out. Not a bad message, and certainly one Jane would approve of, but all that great stuff about self-respect and autonomy is lost. At the end, Jane finds Rochester where he is living in the burned ruins of Thornfield (as one does), and instead of the banter that establishes her as his intellectual and financial equal, she tearfully begs him to let her stay. Jane is still his “little friend.” The only things that have changed are that the house has been forcibly redecorated and Rochester is now single.

Jane Eyre, 1970—The One with George C. Scott and Susannah York (★★)

You can tell that this movie was made in the 1970s, because while every adaptation seems driven to cast a gorgeous actress as “plain” Jane, at least they usually have the sense to wash off the actress’s makeup (Joan Fontaine, from the above-mentioned 1943 version, aside). Not so here: Susannah York plays Jane as a tall, statuesque, glamorous woman, with red hair in a fancy hairdo and full makeup. Meanwhile, George C. Scott doesn’t even attempt a British accent. So, although they both act up a storm, their efforts are unintentionally and consistently hilarious. I actually liked both performances—if I thought of them as completely different characters. George C. Scott is quite funny, and Susannah York exudes sheer class, so it’s an enjoyable movie to watch once you release any memory of the book.

There is one thing that this movie gets just right. I think that filmmakers have a hard time showing the audience why Jane shouldn’t stay with Rochester after she discovers that he has a secret wife. In this version, Jane lays it all out in a wonderful speech. She specifies that she wants a relationship with him in which she is equal and respected. As his mistress, she has no legal or social or economic power. She would be socially and legally disposable. Susannah York really rocks this speech, and pairs the fiery discourse with a moment of great tenderness and great determination.

Incidentally, I don’t talk much about how these adaptations deal with Jane’s childhood, but this one really brings on the sadism. These adaptations have a hard time figuring how to fit Jane’s childhood into the narrative, knowing that the viewer wants to get to the grown-up romance. Some of them deal with this by making the child abuse in the original book, which is extensive, even more extravagantly over-the-top just to make sure that we get the point—Jane’s childhood sucked. So, in this version, it is Jane who has her hair cut instead of Helen, and instead of Helen’s stoic response, Jane begs and screams and sobs through the ordeal (contrast this scene with the one in our next adaptation, from 1996, which also diverges from the book but in an empowering manner). Helen is basically murdered by having to stand in the rain, in a bit clearly influenced by Helen and Jane’s rainy punishment in the preceding version from 1943. I find the sadism in both this version and the 1943 version to be ugly, emotionally manipulative and desensitizing.

Modern Movie Adaptations

Jane Eyre, 1996—The One with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg (★★)

This film takes all kinds of liberties with Jane’s childhood and yet does the best portrayal of her childhood that I’ve yet seen by conveying the spirit of it, if not the details. For one thing, Miss Temple is shown to be the strong mentor that she is in the book. For another, Helen manages to be a moral guide without being hopelessly treacly. In the book, there’s a scene in which Mr. Brocklehurst orders Helen’s hair to be cut. The movie takes this scene and elaborates it into something more Hollywood-y, but it works, because it shows that Jane is a passionate and loyal friend without the preachy dialogue of the book. This is especially notable in comparison to the 1970 version, in which Jane has her hair cut instead of Helen, and she wails and begs for mercy. That version shows Jane purely as a victim, whereas this version shows both her victimization and her refusal to be broken by it. I must say that this scene was quite a kick-ass moment for young Anna Paquin, who plays Jane as a child.

Charlotte Gainsbourg is one of my favorite Janes—up to a point. I love that she has a truly odd little face. It’s beautiful in its own way, but she has a strange jaw and imperfect teeth, and it’s easy to see why she’d be described as plain or as elfin or unearthly. I love her quiet intensity and the fact that she truly seems young. However, the book’s Jane is capable of some laughter and mischief, especially toward the end of the book, and I would have liked to have seen that in the movie. Part of the joy of the story is seeing Jane come into her own, and Gainsbourg’s Jane never does.

William Hurt is a terrible Rochester but a very good William Hurt—that is to say, pensive, intelligent and bland. His Rochester is polite from the first meeting and always seems like he wants to take a nap. I am sad to report that he and Charlotte have no chemistry whatsoever. St. John, on the other hand, is so delightful that I’m at a loss as to why Jane doesn’t just marry him. Another side character who shines is Bertha, who conveys vast amounts of suffering and emotion without uttering a single line.

Jane Eyre, 1997—The One with Ciarán Hinds and Samantha Morton (½)

What in the name of all that is holy is this? Did a producer sleep with Cthulhu and pop this out like some sort of Elder God baby? Ethics compels me to tell you that this is only a partial review, because at about the halfway point I turned the gibbering monstrosity off and fled, screaming, “My eyes! My eyes!” Poor Samantha Morton struggles gamely along as Jane, but Ciarán Hinds, who by all accounts is normally a terrific actor, seems to have contacted some particularly horrid form of rabies as Rochester. He yells, he screeches, his eyes bulge, he drools over Jane’s hand, “So little…so [drool] delicate.” It’s at this point that I fled the scene. Rochester is supposed to be way too old for Jane and he’s a manipulative, secretive jerk, but he isn’t supposed to be a rage-aholic shrieking pedophile.

Here’s what I do think is good about this particular adaptation: it forces you to look at just how dark Jane Eyre is. First of all, the opening sequence, in which Jane is trapped in the room where her uncle had previously dies, is creepy as hell. Secondly, I guess somebody had to take on the job of reminding us that Rochester really is an incredible asshole to this young woman, who has no money, nowhere to go and no helpful knowledge about the world beyond. Rochester isn’t a sexy heartthrob—he’s a wreck of an older man who takes advantage of Jane’s good nature and dependent condition, and Hinds shows this.

In terms of the rest of the movie, it looks like it was shot on a very small budget. The production values are quite poor, and the movie is so dumbed down with helpful exposition rendered in voice-over, that for a while I assumed that it was made for schools as a study aid as opposed to an actual movie for regular viewers. It moves at lighting speed—seriously, Jane’s entire childhood is over with in about ten minutes. The entire movie is only 108 minutes long. This is the CliffsNotes version of Jane Eyre, with much helpful narration from Jane to help us along. For instance, as Jane is being carried away from Helen’s corpse, she says, in voice-over, “I missed Helen so much. No one could take her place. I remained at Lowood for a further eight years. Six as a pupil, two as a teacher. But I was desperate for change.” And…she’s off to Thornfield. The maxim is that in art, one should show, not tell. And this production is all about telling.

Jane Eyre, 2011—The One With Michael Fassbender and Mia Wasikowska (★★½)

As a fan of pretty much all the actors in this movie, I had high hopes for the 2011 Jane Eyre. I was disappointed to the point of fury. This movie is difficult to follow, stilted and monotonous. Fassbender and Wasikowska are clearly charismatic actors, but everything that makes the Jane and Rochester relationship dynamic has been stripped away by the director. I’m suspecting that the reviewers who liked the movie, and there were many, thought of Jane Eyre as “Wuthering Heights Part II”. Otherwise I can’t see why you’d like a movie in which Jane is given nothing to say but has to spend an extremely long time wandering the moors and whimpering.

There were some good points to the movie. For one thing, Judi Dench is Mrs. Fairfax, and she adds all kinds of layers to a character who is usually portrayed simply as a dotty old lady. I thought the narrative structure had potential, with the movie beginning as St. John’s, where his sisters take Jane in and ask her to explain what happened to her. Unfortunately, it grew difficult to follow, especially for my viewing companion who *gasp* had not read the book. Jamie Bell plays St. John, and he bears absolutely no resemblance to the character of St. John in the book, but I liked him. He is very cute and awkward and dorky. If you simply accept that he is a completely different character who has the same name and serves the same narrative purpose, all is well. It adds some suspense that his character is at least relatable, because it creates the possibility that Jane might actually want to marry him or at least keep him as a pet (although she doesn’t).

Michael Fassbender and Mia Wasikowska are both powerful actors who seem to be suffering from terrible direction. Fassbender is a great brooder, but he simply has nothing to do. He has no opportunities to show Rochester’s wit or menace or charm—he just broods, while looking sexy. Also, he cries a lot. The only notable thing about his role is that he’s the only Rochester I’ve seen who actually wears a nightshirt to bed. Mia has this wonderful calm, clear, penetrating gaze that is pure Jane, but she doesn’t have anything to do, either, except alternately weep and look calmly at things. When they are together, the couple stares at each other longingly, and speaks in low, repressed voices. Mia’s one great moment is when she discovers that St. John and the sisters are her cousins, and she lights up with joy. It’s the only moment in the movie where she seems fully awake.

A huge amount of the story is cut, most notably all the conversations that Jane and Rochester have that build their relationship, and most of Jane’s important lines about herself. Instead, there are long sequences of poor Mia wandering the moors, whimpering with hunger and despair. Granted, the cinematography is gorgeous. If you have to film someone wandering the moors, cinematographer Adriano Goldman is your guy.

This movie is a great example of a case where the story is filmed very prettily, and yet, all the meaning is leached away. There’s not much contact between Jane and Rochester, so there is no reason to think that they would fall in love—except for the fact that there appear to be only two men in England, and we know Jane will end up with the first one. Jane doesn’t grow very much and there’s no indication of why she is a role model for so many readers, or why the story is important. It’s just another story about a poor girl who marries a rich man and lives happily ever after.

The Miniseries

Jane Eyre, 1973—The One With Michael Jayston and Sorcha Cusack (BBC) (★)

In my notes for this adaptation, I have three words: bland, nice, faithful. Purists will delight in this series because it is faithful to a fault. Nothing is omitted and most of the lines come directly from the book. Jane even delivers quite a bit of her internal thoughts in voice-over, although sometimes the script adds lines to fully explain exactly how Jane feels at any given moment, which is a bit insulting to the viewer.

Readers, it is my painful duty to inform you that I failed as your reviewer. I watched the first two-thirds of the series and then gave up. It’s not because it’s awful, it’s simply boring. If I put all these adaptations on a spectrum, the Colin Clive/Virginia Bruce adaption would show just how thoroughly you can destroy your adaptation by changing too much of the source material, and this adaptation would illustrate the grave dangers of failing to change anything at all. Jane Eyre is a splendid book, but you can’t just throw the lines on the screen and call it a miniseries. It is deadly lifeless and dull, even as it is clearly made with a deep love for the text.

It doesn’t help that Cusack and Jayston seem like very nice but not terribly compelling people. Cusack is a lovely woman, and she sure seems like a nice person, but she lacks passion and drama. Jayston, likewise, seems smart, funny and nice. And the thing is, these characters aren’t “nice.” Jane is “good,” but she’s not simply nice—she has many layers. Rochester is certainly not “nice”—he’s sexy, menacing, kind, patronizing and mysterious by turns. I hate to criticize this series, because it truly seems that everyone who worked on it loved the book, but it is totally lacking in a sense of mystery or drama or passion. It does have a huge fan base among purists, though, and it is certainly very complete in its delivery of the book’s content.

Jane Eyre, 1983—The One with Timothy Dalton and Zelah Clarke (BBC) (★★★★)

This miniseries is the real deal. My personal favorite is the Ruth Wilson/Toby Stephens version (see the miniseries review that follows), but let’s face it, it’s Jane Eyre–lite. If that version is candy, then this version, with Timothy Dalton growling (growling!) with irritation, is like a really wonderful, nourishing loaf of bread warm from the oven.

I had grave doubts about being able to believe in Timothy Dalton as Rochester because he’s permanently marked in my brain as several hammy and delightful science-fiction/fantasy characters. Well, never underestimate Timothy Dalton, because as Rochester, he strikes just the right balance between subtlety and grandiosity, and tenderness and crankiness. He has a wicked temper and an even more wicked, and clever, sense of humor. He gets so cranky that he growls. Mysteriously, he sleeps fully dressed, including pants and vest, and yet he manages to make the one undone button of his shirt convey a greater sense of nudity than, well, actual nudity. Unlike other Rochesters, who tend to sport a post-fire eye patch and a hand bandage, he actually loses his hand and eye to the fire, and he’s real pissed about it. There’s no hiding how cruel he is to Jane and yet there’s also no denying how magnetic his personality is. It’s certainly not mysterious that Jane would be hopelessly attracted to him.

Zelah Clarke is almost alarmingly quiet and timid as Jane. This can be stifling to watch, but it allows for tons of character growth. Few things are more satisfying than watching her allow herself to get properly angry (Rochester: “Do you doubt me?” Jane: “ENTIRELY!”). It’s a delight to see her blossom when she discovers her relatives and becomes part of a family at last. Her teasing of Rochester regarding St. John is all the more deliciously wicked given just how completely subdued she was earlier. So, while Ruth Wilson is my favorite Jane, I can see why so many people admire Clarke’s performance, which takes us all the way from total restraint to total confidence.

In addition to the strong performances, this adaptation benefits enormously from being very faithful to the book. There were scenes where I actually sighed in relief at being presented with a character or a speech that is usually cut (not that everything from the book is included—it’s only four hours long, after all).

Alas, the production values are absolutely horrible. The look is painfully dated and the music is grating in the extreme. You will never forget for a moment that this is made for TV, but it’s marvelous in terms of acting and is the most faithful to the book with the exception of the previously described Jayston/Cusack debacle of boredom.

Jane Eyre, 2006—The one with Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson (Masterpiece Theater) (★★★★½)

My personal favorite, this adaptation finally sees a pairing of great actors with great direction and production values. It’s fairly faithful to the book, but not afraid to make some changes. I didn’t find the changes jarring because they served as a way to emphasize aspects of the book that are difficult to convey without Jane’s internal narration.

First, let’s talk about the actors. Stephens is much too pretty for the part of Rochester but his acting is flawless—even though he is clearly handsome, you believe that he thinks he is not, and he does an amazing job of combining arrogance, cruelty, tenderness, humor and, above all, intense loneliness and vulnerability. He is so funny and vulnerable, and he has this gruff manner and these puppy eyes…sorry, I’m having a moment here. At the same time that he’s hopelessly loveable, he is also shockingly cruel. It’s not that he does anything the other Rochesters don’t do, it’s just that he is so magnetic, and Ruth Wilson is so raw, that it really hits the viewer that he’s playing a horribly cruel game with her when he forces her into one humiliating situation after another.

Meanwhile, Ruth Wilson is certainly not plain, but she has an unusual and fantastically expressive face. When she smiles, it’s a transformative event. She delivers such a powerful performance that I could hardly bring myself to watch the doomed wedding scene because I couldn’t bear to see her cry—and then she’s too shocked to cry, and that’s worse. And when she’s happy, all the air would rush out of me in this happy sigh of relief and all felt right with the world. I often judge the relationship between Jane and Rochester by the post-reunion teasing scene, and theirs is one of the best—funny and poignant and sexy. It doesn’t hurt that Wilson and Stephens have so much chemistry that I kept expecting them to just start ripping off each other’s clothes at random. Incidentally, Wilson isn’t actually a small person, but since everyone else in the film is enormously tall, she seems teeny. So that works.

Every character gets to have some layers—even Blanche, who demonstrates Mean Girl nastiness but also genuinely hurt feelings. And the director is marvelous at setting up scenes that help convey the meaning of the book and the characters’ interior lives. In a flashback, we see Bertha led into Thornfield Hall for the first and last time, and as she walks through its courtyard she looks adoringly at the moon. In that moment, we feel total sympathy for her. In the present day, we see Rochester struggling to calm her, and we see that her room is hung with tapestries and has a warm fire and decent food, and it is obvious that Rochester is truly trying to keep her comfortable. Seeing that causes the viewers to feel total sympathy for Rochester while losing none of our sympathy for Bertha. There’s another directorial trick involving two family portraits (one at the beginning of the story, and another at the end) that conveyed Jane’s longing for family so powerfully that it moved me to tears.

Final Scorecard

Best Movie: It’s a bit of a mess, but I love the gothic horror of the Orson Welles/Joan Fontaine version. In second place is the version with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg, right up until William Hurt shows up and it all falls apart horribly. Way to rock that haircut, Anna Paquin!

Best Miniseries: Toby Stephens/Ruth Wilson, with Timothy Dalton/Zelah Clarke running a close second. Purists will prefer the Dalton/Clarke version, and unabashed romantics will prefer the Toby/Ruth version.

Best Attire: Michael Fassbender deserves special notice for wearing a nightshirt to bed. Nice legs, Michael!

Best Rochester: Timothy Dalton, with Orson Welles and Toby Stephens tying for second place with their very different, but both very effective, portrayals.

Best Jane: Ruth Wilson, hands down. Zelah Clarke comes in a strong second.

Best Bertha: Maria Schneider, in the William Hurt/Charlotte Gainsbourg version.

Most Surprising Sweet Moment: In the Hurt/Gainsbourg version, when Jane hears a scream in the night, everyone runs into the hall, but she runs to Adele’s room to check on her. Thank you, Jane, for actually remembering that there’s a kid in the house!

Most Surprising Moment of Awesomeness: Anna Paquin and her haircut of badassery. Sometimes messing with the original text works.

Most Effective Overall Text Tweaking: The use of the family portraits in the Toby Stephens/Ruth Wilson version. So many tears, you guys.

Best Couple: Toby and Ruth, 4Evah.

Part II: Pride and Prejudice: In Which Two People Learn not to Trust Their First Impressions—and Society Is Pleased with the Result

Pride and Prejudice: The Book

From the smoking remains of Thornfield in in Jane Eyre, we move to the refined drawing rooms of Pride and Prejudice. My relationship with this book was very different from my relationship with Jane Eyre. I found Jane Eyre to be instantly accessible, even as a child, although, of course, I think about it much differently now than I did when I was ten. So I viewed the film adaptations with a suspicious eye, not wanting them to do any disservice to my favorite book. Pride and Prejudice was a tougher sell for me as a reading experience. In fact, although I read it several times, I didn’t begin to understand it until I had seen a couple of film adaptations. The key for me was realizing that all these people are speaking in code. Once I realized that, and saw how funny and emotional the book is once the code is broken, the book just opened up for me, and now it’s one of my favorites.

On a more personal note, I would say that Jane Eyre is a book I read that in no way resembles any outward aspect of my own life but that perfectly mirrors my internal, emotional development as a person. Pride and Prejudice is incredibly relatable on a more superficial level, even though the clothes are nicer. Basically, it’s about high school, only in my case, being a social disaster in high school meant I hung out in the hall with my other social-disaster friends and we now live perfectly happy adult lives, serene in the knowledge that we will never have to go to high school again. For the Bennet sisters, being a social disaster means a future of poverty and dependence. Same awkward dances, very different stakes.

Of the three books I’m discussing, P&P is the easiest to film, because it has a lot of dialogue and is an actor’s delight. But it’s also the hardest to summarize, because not many events take place. A true summary of Pride and Prejudice would go like this:

Everybody talks a lot. Everybody thinks a lot. Darcy is a jerk, but then he saves the Bennet family. Lizzy makes a lot of assumptions, all of which are wrong. Darcy and Lizzy grow up, become better people and get married. The end.

And yet, this tells you nothing. It’s the details in P&P that count, the conversations and internal dialogue and complex rituals of behavior, so you’ll really have to read it to get the full effect. Remember that everything happens beneath the surface.

Chapters I–VI: In which a truth is universally acknowledged, everybody goes to a ball and everybody talks about it.

Our story begins as Mrs. Bennet exhorts her husband to pay a call on their new neighbor, the rich, and single, Mr. Bingley. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have five daughters. They are:

Jane: The sweet one (and the prettiest)

Lizzy: The snarky one (and our heroine)

Mary: The pompous one (and secretly my favorite, since she loves to read)

Lydia: The silly one

Kitty: The other silly one

Mrs. Bennet is the silliest one of all, but she has real concerns, and much of her silliness stems from the fact that while she is frantic about her daughters’ future fate, her husband is sublimely unconcerned. My generous view of her plight aside, it is also true that she has no tact, no sense of social decorum and is, frankly, not very bright. Mr. Bennet is what would today be called “emotionally unavailable.” He adores Jane and Lizzy, especially Lizzy, but spends most of his time in his study searching for peace and quiet.

The problem the Bennets face is this: The Bennets live a life of modest gentility on a small estate that is entailed. When Mr. Bennet dies, the estate will go to a distant relative (Mr. Collins). At that point, Mrs. Bennet and any unmarried daughters will lose their home and all their income. Mrs. Bennet is understandably frantic to get as many of her daughters married off before this happens, preferably to husbands who are rich enough to support a mother-in-law and a sister-in-law or two.

Rich, single Mr. Bingley seems like the answer to all of Mrs. Bennet’s prayers. He even comes with a rich, single friend, Darcy. When the Bennet daughters finally meet Mr. Bingley, at the Meryton Assembly Ball, Mr. Bingley shows himself to be good-natured, friendly and quite taken with Jane. Alas, Darcy is terribly proud (as in stuck-up and antisocial). He refuses to dance with anyone, and Lizzy has the great misfortune of overhearing Darcy insult her, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to affect me” (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice [New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 2003], 102). Jerk.

Mr. Bingley settles in at Netherfield, and many pages are devoted to all of the characters dissecting the Meryton Ball. Perhaps most notably, Lizzy, her sisters and her best friend, Charlotte Lucas, have a long discussion about pride. Charlotte points out that Darcy deserves to be proud since he has money and family and every other good thing going for him, to which Lizzy replies, “That is very true, and I could easily forgive his pride if he had not mortified mine” (121). Mrs. Bennet is loudly declaring that Jane is as good as settled. Surely this lack of discretion and common sense will not cause problems for everyone…or will it?

Jane and Lizzy have some visits with Bingley and his friends. Bingley and Jane seem to be hitting it off, but while it’s obvious to Lizzy that Jane likes Bingley, Charlotte has concerns. Jane is so reserved that while her affection may seem obvious to people who know her well, such as Charlotte and Lizzy, Bingley might think that Jane isn’t interested at all unless she is a little more forthright about her interest. Charlotte also thinks that it does no good to get to know your potential spouse before marriage, for “happiness in marriage is only a matter of chance” (127).

Little does Lizzy know that Darcy has begun to find her rather fascinating. At a gathering at the home of the Lucas family, Lizzy is puzzled and annoyed to find that Darcy keeps staring at her. When Mr. Lucas presses Darcy to dance with Lizzy, she refuses. Mr. Bingley’s sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, says many snobby things in disparagement of the gathering to Darcy, who coolly replies that he rather likes Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who has “fine eyes” (137). Miss Bingley spends the remainder of the book making catty comments about “fine eyes” but alas, it fails to have the desired effect of turning Darcy away from Lizzy, and instead it makes Miss Bingley seem like a character from Mean Girls. (Apparently every story needs a Mean Girl—in Jane Eyre, it’s Blanche; in Pride and Prejudice, it’s Miss Bingley; and in Wuthering Heights, it’s Cathy Earnshaw, at least, according to her sister-in-law, Isabella.)

Chapters VII–XII: In which Lizzy and Jane have a sleepover with the Bingley party.

Jane is invited to Netherfield to visit Bingley et al. Mrs. Bennet insists that Jane go on horseback, for it looks like rain, and if it rains, Jane will have to stay at Netherfield overnight. Mrs. Bennet has high hopes that this will cause Jane and Bingley to get to know one another better. (Not that much better—jeez, I can’t take you anywhere.) Mrs. Bennet is delighted when Jane is caught in the rain, develops a cold and has to stay at Netherfield for several weeks. Lizzy insists on going to Netherfield to nurse her sister.

This spontaneous sleepover results in Lizzy having several humorous and thought-provoking conversations with Darcy and with Miss Bingley, and it provides a prolonged opportunity to contrast the free-spirited yet reasonably well-mannered Lizzy with the proper-to-a-fault Bingley party. Miss Bingley, for instance, is horrified that Lizzy walked (walked!) to Netherfield and (*gasp*) got her clothes dirty. Miss Bingley is nasty and jealous, but frankly, one can hardly blame her for seizing upon a new topic of conversation. This is the most bored group of rich people ever assembled in one place.

This is a difficult section to summarize because absolutely nothing happens and yet every thing that is said is important. For example, at one point Darcy and Miss Bingley list so many requirements for a woman to be considered accomplished (music, singing, drawing, dancing, languages, a “certain something” in her way of speaking and moving, and “constant improvement of her mind by extensive reading”) that Lizzy remarks, “I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished woman. I rather wonder now at your knowing any” (164).

This conversation shows us many things:

1. Being a gentlewoman is boring (frankly, the men seem pretty bored, too, especially Mr. Bingley, who resembles nothing so much as a golden retriever longing for a ball to chase). It is so very boring that during this same sleepover Lizzy and Miss Bingley entertain each other by walking slowly around the room. Whee. A woman’s accomplishments do not include many practical pursuits, nor do they fit one for a life of adventure. Their job is to look pretty, act pretty and make pretty things.

2. Darcy expects perfection (or near perfection) from himself and from others. And he respects an intelligent and intellectual woman, although he expresses this in the most annoying way possible.

3. Lizzy is quick with a comeback and not only does she not expect perfection but she is exasperated by people who do.

It’s also during this sleepover that Darcy and Lizzy sum up each other’s flaws with almost startling precision. Lizzy accuses Darcy of thinking of himself as perfect, and Darcy replies that he has faults, the worst of which is his unforgiving temper, “My good opinion, once lost is lost forever” (204). Elizabeth tells him, “Your defect is a propensity to hate every body” and Darcy replies, “And yours is to willfully misunderstand them” (205). Touché, Darcy.

Chapters XIII–XVI: In which the Militia Arrive, Armed with Charm but Not With Money, and Mr. Collins Arrives, Armed With Money but Not With Charm

Jane and Lizzy go home just in time to hear that Mr. Collins, the relative to whom the estate will pass upon Mr. Bennet’s death, is coming over for dinner. Mr. Collins is pompous, boring and frequently offensive, and idolizes his patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr. Collins has decided that he can make up for being next in line for the entail by marrying one of the Bennet daughters, and since Jane is practically engaged, Lizzy will have to do.

Oh, Mr. Collins. How I wish my synopsis could do you justice. Mr. Collins is a perfect mixture of, as Mr. Bennet says, “servility and self-importance” (218). Here are a few Mr. Collins highlights: He reads the Bennet sisters sermons after teatime. He memorizes compliments ahead of time so that he can deliver them spontaneously and then points out that he memorized them ahead of time, thus spoiling the effect. He picks out sisters to marry as though selecting a meal from a menu. When he discovers that Jane is “off the menu” due to her possible pending engagement to Mr. Bingley, he just moves down to the next option on the list, which of course is lucky, lucky Lizzy.

I have a confession to make—as a lifelong total dork, I have some sympathies with Mr. Collins. I’m apparently not alone, because some adaptations show him as actively slimy, while other show him as a sincere person who is just horribly, horribly socially inept (that would be me). And going from the text, you can draw either conclusion. The most damning thing about his character is that he selects a wife exactly the same way he selects furniture for his house—he wants someone who will look good and help the house “be better,” and he relies heavily on the advice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in making his selection. The feelings of the actual woman aren’t of much consequence to Mr. Collins—he doesn’t seem to be aware that a woman is, you know, a person.

Mr. Collins is not the only new man in town. The charming men of the militia have come to Meryton, and they have charming manners and little money, in stark contrast to Mr. Collins who represents the reverse state of affairs. Kitty and Lydia are, naturally, completely obsessed with the officers. One of these officers is Mr. Wickham, who strikes up a friendship with Lizzy. When Darcy and Mr. Wickham meet by accident, Lizzy observes that Darcy walks away from Wickham without so much as touching his hat in greeting. Clearly the two men have a history! You can tell because of the manly smoldering and brooding and snubbing! But what could this history possibly involve? Whatever it is, since Wickham is friendly and complimentary, and Darcy is standoffish and rude, Lizzy is sure it must be Darcy’s fault.

The Bennets and Mr. Wickham are invited to dinner with family friends, and Wickham tells Lizzy all about his history with Darcy. Guess what? There is a history! And it is totally Darcy’s fault! You see, Wickham, who is the son of the steward of Darcy’s father, grew up alongside Darcy as though they were brothers. Before he died, Darcy’s father left Wickham a living that would have allowed him to serve in the church, but when the father died, Darcy gave the living to someone else, and Wickham was forced to join the military instead. Bad, bad, Darcy! Lizzy is enraged on Wickham’s behalf and feels completely vindicated in her original judgment of Darcy as a snobbish, conceited, selfish jerk who she now thinks of as not just a jerk but as an outright villain.

Chapters XVII–XXIII: In which there is a ball at Netherfield, a proposal, a refusal, a jilting and an acceptance.

Mr. Bingley throws a ball at Netherfield. Lizzy is distressed that the oh-so-charming Wickham is not there, and she is so surprised when Darcy asks her to dance that she accepts almost by reflex. They end up having a rather hostile conversation in which Lizzy needles him about his falling-out with Wickham. While the last ball was all about pride, this one is all about prejudice, as both Darcy and Lizzy question each other’s abilities to form accurate impressions of other people.

Speaking of impressions, the Bennet family is busy making the worst impression possible at the ball. Mrs. Bennet mortifies Lizzy by speaking loudly and openly about how surely Mr. Bingley will propose to Jane any day now, and it will be so nice to have Jane married to a rich man, and how Jane’s marriage will doubtless lead to rich husbands for the other girls. Mr. Collins mortifies Lizzy by introducing himself to Darcy in violation of etiquette. Mary mortifies Lizzy by singing and playing very badly. Mr. Bennet mortifies Lizzy by chastising Mary for singing and playing too much.

At last the mortifying ball is over, but Lizzy’s mortifications have not ended, for Mr. Collins proposes to her. Lizzy refuses him politely, and he responds by complimenting her on playing hard to get. She has a very difficult time persuading him that she is truly not interested. Mrs. Bennet is hysterical about the rejected proposal but Mr. Bennet is supportive in a typically sardonic manner, “An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do” (321).

Shortly after the ball, Mr. Bingley and his whole party leave Netherfield with no notice and with no plan to return. Mr. Bingley does not tell Jane goodbye, although his sister sends a note, which is the Regency equivalent of breaking up with someone by text message (in fact, he doesn’t even send his own message). It seems that the promising romance between Jane and Bingley has come to an unexpected and completely unexplained end. On the other hand, Mr. Collins has news: he is to marry Lizzy’s friend Charlotte Lucas. Lizzy is horrified while Charlotte—who has little money, is not pretty, and is twenty-seven and fed up with living with her parents—is pragmatic. Mrs. Bennet is absolutely outraged and is henceforth convinced that Charlotte spends her days mentally contemplating all of the Bennet’s possessions, which will someday be hers. Doom!

Chapters XXIV–XXXIV: In which hearts are broken in several different ways, Lizzy visits Charlotte, and she receives another proposal.

The Bingley/Jane romance is definitely shattered, and Jane is heartbroken. Lizzy’s aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, arrive for a visit, and Mrs. Gardiner warns Lizzy not to encourage Wickham in flirtation, because his income is too low for him to marry Lizzy. Jane goes to London to stay with the Gardiners, and she has hopes of seeing her friend, Caroline Bingley (the Mean Girl, remember?). Lizzy had warned Jane that Caroline was insincere in her friendship, but Jane truly believed that she and Caroline were BFFs. So when poor Jane is horribly snubbed by Caroline, she realizes that not only has she lost a potential fiancé (Caroline’s brother is Mr. Bingley, as you no doubt recall) but also a supposed friend.

Meanwhile, Wickham suddenly stops courting Lizzy and turns his attentions instead to a young woman of considerable fortune. Lizzy realizes that she was not in love with Wickham, but she is still a bit downcast by the end of their flirtation, and she has a bit of “perhaps I am incapable of real love” ennui to boot. Lizzy is also very worried about Jane, who did love Bingley and who is truly devastated.

Lizzy goes to visit Charlotte, who is living a more or less contented life with Mr. Collins, largely by encouraging him to stay out of the house (he likes gardening, thank goodness). While Charlotte’s marriage is not an especially affectionate one, she does seem to like having her own home, which is pretty much the sum total of what she had expected and hoped for from the marriage. Lizzy finally meets the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, at the Bourgh estate (Rosings). And who should be staying at Rosings but…Darcy! My God, that man is everywhere!

Lizzy pays several visits to Rosings, and Darcy pays several visits to the parsonage (where Mr. Collins lives). Charlotte suggests to Lizzy that perhaps all these visits are happening because Darcy likes her, but Lizzy refuses to entertain the notion. Thus Lizzy is absolutely astonished when Darcy, who has yet to manage a prolonged conversation with her that did not involve either an exchange of barbs or an exchange of awkward pleasantries, proposes to her. She is especially astonished because this proposal ends up being even more unpleasant than the one she got from Mr. Collins. It starts off well, “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you” (483). Um, okay—tell on, handsome, rich, single man! But alas it immediately nosedives as Darcy proceeds to list all of the unsuitable and unpleasant things about Lizzy and her family, and adds that darn it all, he cannot fight his feelings for her, as unsuitable and degrading as they are.

The timing of Darcy’s proposal could not be worse, for Lizzy just learned from Darcy’s friend, Colonel Fitzwilliam, that Darcy is the one who broke up Jane and Bingley! That scumbucket! Lizzy proceeds to bawl him out for the following:

1. Insulting her family and herself during a marriage proposal, of all things.

2. Breaking up Bingley and Jane.

3. Reducing Wickham to poverty.

4. Being a selfish, conceited snob.

So, that would be a no to the proposal.

Chapters XXXV–XXXVIII: Lizzy gets a letter and questions all of her assumptions.

Darcy gives Lizzy a letter in which he explains his previous actions.

1. Lizzy’s family is awful. It’s the truth, and Darcy cannot tell a lie. Not only are they below his social station, but with the exception of Jane and Lizzy, their behavior is atrocious. Sadly, we (the readers and poor, mortified Lizzy) know this to be true, especially after the many disastrous faux pas of the Meryton Ball.

2. When Darcy watched Jane with Bingley, he could not detect any particular signs of love on Jane’s part (point to Charlotte, who saw that coming due to Jane’s reserved nature). This, combined with the comments of Mrs. Bennet about how Jane was going to marry Mr. Bingley and get loads of money, led Darcy to believe that Jane was only interested in Bingley for his money, and so he warned Bingley against pursuing the relationship. Because he thought Jane did not truly care for Bingley, he did not think he was causing her pain. He was attempting to be a good friend to Bingley.

3. Mr. Wickham had actually told Darcy that he did not want the church living allotted to him and asked for money instead. Darcy gave him the money, but when Wickham ran out of money due to living “a life of idleness and dissipation,” he asked for the living, and Darcy refused. Wickham then attempted to persuade Darcy’s younger sister to elope with him so that he could get her fortune. This sister, Georgiana, was only fifteen at the time. Luckily, at the last minute, Georgiana confessed to her brother that she was planning to run off with Wickham and the elopement was prevented.

4. Darcy doesn’t specifically attempt to counter the overall assertion that he is a snobbish jerk, but his letter reveals great consideration for his family and his friends, and a lack of malice toward Lizzy and Jane.

Lizzy returns home with her perception of herself much changed:

How despicably I have acted! I who prided myself on my abilities…How humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly…Till this moment I never knew myself” (521).

At this point Lizzy does not think herself to be in love with Darcy, but she is terribly embarrassed to have so severely misjudged him. Lizzy’s sense of herself is of someone who can judge others accurately, and sadly this seems not to be the case, as she has in some way misjudged everyone around her. She misjudged Darcy and Wickham, and even Jane and Bingley, who she thought could read each other’s feelings while in fact they couldn’t. Meanwhile, though Lizzy initially assumed that Darcy was a selfish, malicious jerk, he actually seems to be a responsible, caring person whose biggest flaws are that he’s genuinely stuck-up (I’m sorry, but Darcy is not getting out of that one—he really is kind of a snob), somewhat insensitive and finds it hard to communicate unless he uses paper.

Chapters XXXIX–XLV: In which Lydia Goes to Brighton, and Lizzy goes to Pemberley.

The Bennet family is reunited when Jane comes home from London. Lizzy tells Jane about Wickham, but not about Bingley. The sisters decide that they need not share the information they have about Wickham’s character with their family because it is confidential and because the regiment is about to leave Meryton for Brighton so Wickham will probably never enter the family’s story again anyway. Yeah, ladies, that’s a foolproof plan. Good luck with that.

Lydia is invited to go to Brighton with her ditzy teenaged friends. Lizzy begs her father to forbid it since the town is full of cute boys with bad intentions, Lydia’s friend is an irresponsible idiot, and they know virtually nothing about the “supervising adults,” but Mr. Bennet lets Lydia go so as to have some peace in the house. Mr. Bennet doesn’t parent. It cuts into his alone time.

Meanwhile Lizzy is to go on a sightseeing trip with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Much to Lizzy’s embarrassment, her aunt and uncle are determined to see Pemberley, Darcy’s estate (it was customary for many of the great estates to be open to the public for tours during certain times). Lizzy is assured that Darcy will not be there, but, of course, he shows up. By the time he appears, Lizzy has had a good look at the splendor of Pemberley and has reflected pensively on the fact that she could have been the mistress of such a place. She has also heard all kinds of wonderful things from the housekeeper about how kind and generous Darcy is. By now Lizzy has gone from thinking that maybe Darcy is okay to thinking that Darcy is a gem of a guy and she was an idiot for ruining her chance of marrying him. When Darcy shows up, all traces of his former stiff, standoffish manner are gone. He is very welcoming to the Gardiners, and asks Lizzy if he can introduce her to his sister. Lizzy feels a glimmer of hope that maybe he still likes her! Everything is going well when…

Chapters XLVI–LV: Disaster…and rescue!

Lizzy receives a frantic letter from Jane relating that Lydia has run off with Wickham. At first they were assumed to have eloped, which was bad enough, but now there is no sign that they married at all. Scandal! Ruin! Drama! Lizzy has to tell this story to Darcy, which causes her intense shame. She is overcome with emotion, and he seems to become withdrawn again. Lizzy has to rush home, with the surety that not only is Lydia ruined, but the other Bennet sisters are also ruined by association. Lizzy is convinced that Darcy will certainly have no regard for her after this. Now that she can’t have him, she realizes that she wants him, but too bad for her.

The men of the family run around England looking for Lydia, while the women are trapped at home, nursing Mrs. Bennet, who is busy making everything about her: “I am frightened out of my wits—and have such trembling, such flutterings, all over me—such spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night or by day” (684).

At last Mr. Gardiner writes to say that he has found Lydia and Wickham, and they are not married yet but they are willing to become married if allotted a relatively small yearly sum from Mr. Bennet. Mr. Bennet is convinced that Mr. Gardiner surely paid Wickham a great deal more than is being admitted to. Mrs. Bennet is elated to have a daughter married off—she seems to have completely forgotten the scandalous circumstances surrounding the marriage. Lizzy and Jane are both thrilled at the family’s salvation, but sad that Lydia is entering what will surely be an unhappy marriage.

Lydia and Wickham come home for a visit before heading out to Wickham’s new post. Lydia is completely unconcerned about the drama she caused and lords it over her unmarried sisters. More importantly, she lets slip to Lizzy that Darcy was at the wedding. Lizzy writes to the Gardiners to find out what happened. It turns out that Darcy has saved the Bennet family from disgrace. He located Wickham and Lydia, paid off Wickham’s debts, purchased a new military commission for Wickham and settled a generous sum on Lydia, with the condition that Wickham marry her. Wickham had no plans to marry Lydia. If not for Darcy’s intervention, Lydia would have been abandoned and the entire family would have been shunned by all of society—especially by suitors for the other sisters.

As if that were not enough to redeem Darcy in Lizzy’s eyes, Darcy and the Bingleys return to Netherfield, and as soon as Bingley and Jane see each other again, it is clear that the romance is back on. Sure enough, Bingley proposes to Jane, and she, of course, accepts. The only sad note is that Darcy and Lizzy have returned to their former state of awkwardness, and Lizzy pensively realizes that just as she has learned to appreciate Darcy, the bad behavior of her family, combined with her previous treatment of him, means that he is lost to her forever.

Chapters LVI: In which all ends well due to the marvels of reverse psychology.

About one week after Jane’s engagement, Lady Catherine de Bourgh appears at the Bennet home and demands to speak to Lizzy. Lady Catherine has heard that Lizzy is in the brink of becoming engaged to Darcy, and she is sure that this cannot be true, and insists on hearing from Lizzy that there is no engagement. Lizzy basically tells Lady Catherine to mind her own business. Lady Catherine announces that Darcy is supposed to marry her daughter, due to informal plans that she (Lady Catherine) has always had. Lizzy points out that this does not constitute a binding arrangement, and therefore she would most certainly accept a proposal from Darcy if she were to receive one. Lady Catherine says that all of Darcy’s family and friends will shun them. Lizzy says somewhat acerbically that she can live with that just fine, thank you very much. She states that there is, at present, no engagement between them, but she refuses to promise that she would reject Darcy should he propose to her. They part on what might most tactfully be called “ill terms.”

Then Lizzy is called into her father’s study. He informs her that Mr. Collins has written to him to say that Lizzy should not marry Darcy, because Lady Catherine does not approve. Mr. Bennet has no idea that Darcy saved the Bennets from disgrace. And, last he heard, Lizzy loathed Darcy. So he thinks this letter is hilarious, and can’t imagine where Mr. Collins could possibly have gotten the idea that Darcy and Lizzy would have anything to do with one another. Lizzy is hard-pressed to pretend to laugh.

Finally, Darcy himself appears. Lizzy thanks him for saving her sister from ruin. Darcy says the following (be prepared to swoon a little here):

You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever (851).

Lizzy rushes to assure him that her feelings have changed, and they say many loving and enthusiastic things that Jane Austen does not quote (drat!). It turns out that Lady Catherine is responsible for Darcy’s show of affection because she told Darcy about her meeting with Lizzy. Darcy figured that if Lizzy had no interest in him, she would have told Lady Catherine. This gave him enough hope to ask Lizzy if her feelings toward him had changed.

From this point on, everybody’s actions and motivations are explained and everyone is happy. Darcy and Lizzy marry, and Kitty spends a lot of time with them and stops being so silly. Mary grows slightly less pompous, while Lydia stays silly forever. Jane and Bingley, and, of course, Lizzy and Darcy, live happily every after. The end.

The Big Picture

Almost all of the many, many adaptations of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights have stayed firmly rooted in the Victorian Era. On the other hand, Pride and Prejudice appears to be endlessly adaptable. Despite changes in class and gender roles, parents still seem to anxious to see their kids happily married, preferably to a well-off spouse. People still make false first impressions and have misunderstandings based on pride. And people still struggle to find a place in society, and to determine how much to rebel and how much to conform to society’s expectations and images of them. So even though the specific challenges Lizzy and her sisters face are obsolete, the big picture remains much the same, whether you are an English girl in Regency England, a young woman in India or an American graduate student with a vlog.

Here are the points that are most important for a film adaptation to touch on:

1. Pride and prejudices are bad—some of the time. Austen points out that pride can be earned and constructive. Lizzy’s sense of pride, in the sense of self-respect, keeps her from what would surely have been a miserable marriage to Mr. Collins and from bowing to the wishes of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. But snobbery, or “overweening pride,” is destructive, and so is making snap judgments about others and being unwilling to reconsider them. Flexibility is key.

2. The members of Lizzy’s family love and exasperate each other and feel a strong sense of responsibility toward each other. Lydia’s great sin is not so much that she runs away with Wickham, but that she fails to grasp, or care about, the effect her actions will have on her family. Although different adaptations can interpret the text quite differently with regard to, say, how Mr. and Mrs. Bennet feel about each other, it is clear that the family has a tight, if dysfunctional, bond and that Austen feels that you owe your family members some responsibilities.

3. As in Jane Eyre, responsibility and service are important, but so is one’s own happiness. Lizzy is expected to care about her sisters and try to take care of them when they need help. She is not expected (by the reader, her father or her sisters) to marry someone she loathes to keep the family out of debt (her mother is all for it, but we are clearly supposed to side with Lizzy on this issue).

4. A revisionist version will necessarily take all kinds of liberties with the characters’ dress and behavior, but the core values of Austen should remain. Lizzy is admired (by the reader) for walking through mud to help her sister, and for being a fairly forthright and outspoken person and a loyal, if often misguided, friend. But although a certain amount of what we might call “liberated” behavior is appreciated, the outright rebellion that involves ignoring the consequences that fall on others is most certainly not tolerated. Intelligence, restraint, tact and politeness tempered with authenticity are good things. How these values are expressed will depend on the setting of the adaptation, but they must be expressed in some form.

5. Why is Darcy the ultimate romantic hero? There are many elements of Darcy that make him interesting and magnetic. His standoffish, brooding behavior gives him an air of mystery, which is augmented by the fact that his demeanor suggests that he is one kind of person: a snob. But the words of his friends and servants suggest that he is kind, generous and friendly. Meanwhile, Wickham’s tales suggest that Darcy is a villain. Who is this man of mystery? Darcy also has the glow that comes with being unattainable. His very lack of interest in Lizzy is interesting. And, of course, Darcy has many qualities one might look for in a mate—he is healthy, good-looking, has high social status and loads and loads of money.

These are all qualities that make Darcy interesting—qualities that pose the question: might this person, who seems to be a jerk, actually be the ultimate hero? And what ultimately answers this question is Darcy’s actions during the Lydia disaster. Darcy undergoes physical discomfort, monetary loss and incredible amounts of awkwardness to save Lydia, and thereby the Bennet family, from ruin, and he does it without seeking credit. He tells Lizzy that he did it for her, but only after she tells him that she knows what he did. At this point it becomes clear that, while Darcy is a man of many flaws, he is what today would be called a stand-up guy. He is always there for his friends and his family.

Lizzy is impressed by Pemberley not just because it speaks of large amounts of money and status, but because it demonstrates that Darcy is aware of his privilege and, like Spider-Man, he knows that “with great power comes great responsibility.” He looks after his tenants. He is kind to his servants. He virtually raises his young sister. If anything, he is protective to a fault, as when he takes charge of Bingley’s love life.

Lizzy can trust Darcy to support her, period. He respects her as a person, he is willing to examine his behavior and grow, and he helps Lizzy grow. Although Darcy may say tactless things, when the chips are down, he will never, ever fail to support Lizzy if he can help it. And that, my friends, is romantic.

The Adaptations

The Classic Movie Adaptation

Pride and Prejudice, 1940—The One With Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier (★★★)

Oooh, it’s major popcorn time—by which I mean this movie is fun, romantic, funny and frankly has barely anything in common with the book. If Pride and Prejudice were a latte, this movie would be the foam on top. Note that the star rating in this review is three stars because it’s so much fun—rated purely as an adaptation, I’d have to give it no more than two.

Truly, as an adaptation, this is dreadful. Greer Garson is wonderful, but she’s the wrong age for Lizzy (she’s gorgeous at any age, but while Lizzy in the book is cynical because she is young and unsure of herself, Greer Garson is cynical because she has been around a while). Darcy is far too nice, and what are they wearing? Many characters and scenes are cut (bye, bye, Georgiana). Meanwhile, the whole concept between Darcy and Elizabeth’s relationship is altered. In the book, Darcy and Lizzy hate each other on sight. In this version, Darcy and Lizzy flirt from the very start, with some mild hiccups on the way to love, as Lizzy’s family is stubbornly and consistently embarrassing; Caroline Bingley is the very meanest of Mean Girls; and Wickham spreads his various lies, and misunderstandings abound.

That aside, I dare you to resist the charms of this black-and-white romantic comedy. Greer is exasperated, vulnerable, funny and classy. She gets to deliver one of my favorite movie lines, “Oh, to be truly refined, you have to be dead.” Sadly, Laurence Olivier is a bland Darcy, partly because he is almost always pleasant. The people around him may be mean, but Darcy himself is quite kind, which is not actually all that exciting to watch. The conflicts come because of external forces pulling Darcy and Lizzy apart, not because of personality issues.

To compensate for the flat Darcy, this is one fancy movie! The parties! The clothes! My God, people—the hats! At one point, Caroline wears something that looks as though she borrowed Scarlett O’Hara’s famous curtain dress and then fell into a tinsel-covered Christmas tree. The costumes are based (loosely, I assume, given the insanity of the Christmas-tree dress) on the dresses of the 1820s and 1830s, because the costume designer wanted to make the costumes elaborate. It didn’t hurt that Gone With the Wind had come out the year before. If you like this kind of glamorous, witty, classic romantic comedy, you’ll love this movie. Let’s just call it something else, shall we?

The Modern Movies

Bridget Jones’s Diary, 2001—The One with Renée Zellweger and Colin Firth (★★½)

This movie is an adaptation of the novel Bridget Jones’s Diary, which is an adaptation of a newspaper column, which was a very loose adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, setting it in modern day England. In this version, Bridget Jones—a modern-day Elizabeth Bennet, sort of—is a single woman living in modern London, with a slimy-but-attractive boss, a supportive group of friends and an overbearing mother. I was quite sad that most of my favorite parts of the Bridget Jones’s Diary were cut, especially most of the scenes with Bridget’s ever-supportive friends. But as a romantic comedy, it is perfectly entertaining, with Renée Zellweger being absolutely adorable, Hugh Grant acting hilarious (the scene with the panties is a classic) and Colin Firth saving the day while wearing a black turtleneck in the sexiest way imaginable.

As far as adapting Pride and Prejudice goes, Bridget is a great character, but in no way does she resemble Elizabeth Bennet. As evidence I will point out that Elizabeth would never get drunk and belt out “All By Myself.” On the other hand, Wickham, aka Daniel Cleaver, aka Hugh Grant, has never been more funny and charming and devilish and completely slimy, and when Colin Firth as Mark Darcy showed up to save Bridget’s dinner party, I seriously thought I was going to pass out. Wow.

This is a serviceable, cute romantic comedy, but I don’t think this movie does justice to either Bridget Jones’s Diary or to Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps the pivotal difference between Bridget and Lizzy is that Bridget is always acting in an embarrassing way (hello, drunk karaoke) and Lizzy is generally behaving in a presentable way but is mortified by those around her. Lizzy makes a lot of mistakes and has a lot of growing up to do, but she’s not dependent on a man to make her happy, even though her financial circumstances are such that if anyone ever had an excuse to be desperate to marry, it would be Lizzy. Lizzy is her own person, and for most of her movie Bridget is not—but watching Bridget grow stronger over the course of the movie is quite satisfying.

Bride & Prejudice, 2004—The One With Aishwarya Rai and Martin Henderson (★★★½)

Brilliant and fun, this adaptation sets Pride and Prejudice in modern-day India, with Bollywood numbers. You’d think it would be terrible, but it’s a perfect fit. I’m no expert on India, but my understanding is that it is a country that has huge class divisions, a rapidly changing economy, strict codes of behavior and new expectations for women to be well-educated and outspoken, combined with more traditional expectations for women to become wives and mothers. This means that it makes perfect sense for Lalita (Lizzy) to be pressured by her mother to find a rich husband, and for her to loathe the rich American tourist, Darcy, who fails to see India’s many charms and assumes that India is a backwater populated by ignorant, submissive women.

Aishwarya Rai is a suitably feisty and funny Lalita. It’s easy to see why she’s a huge star in India—her screen presence is dazzling. Daniel Gillies, as Wickham, is gorgeous and charming. His backpacker type who wants to see the “true” India is a great contrast to the rich, polished Darcy, who wants to build a hotel resort. The sister who is analogous to Mary (Maya) does a snake dance that is…interesting, and Naveen Andrews (best known as the perpetually depressed Sayid on Lost, aka my fictional boyfriend) is irresistibly cheerful as Mr. Bingley (Balraj). Honestly, all the supporting cast seems to have walked right out of the novel—they just walked out of the novel by way of India. They are note perfect, and the Austen themes and characters fit seamlessly into the class between Indian and American culture.

Of course, the big draw of the movie is that it is done Bollywood style, which means song and dance. This movie is a gorgeous riot of color and movement. I have to confess, though, that after some time passed, the only dancing I specifically recall is that of my beloved Naveen Andrews, and that is because he is mine. Ahem. Anyway, Jane Austen’s style is very restrained, and Bollywood is totally lavish with singing and dancing. In one number, there’s an elephant. Yet the two styles mesh just fine, because there is so much dancing in the novel, and so much is expressed through the movement and rituals of the dances there. The dances in the movie are far more riotous than the dances in the novel, but they provide an equivalent opportunity for people to express feelings and have interactions that they otherwise would not.

The weak spot in the cast is Martin Henderson, who is suitably awkward as Darcy but has no charisma to make up for it. Also, when sparks are supposed to fly, there’s this whole falling-in-love montage, and during this there’s a lot of hugging and hair-kissing that is more soppy than sexy. Modernized interpretations never seem to know what to do with the Lydia arc, and this one is no exception, leaving a lot of drama about Lydia but no actual peril. Toward the end of the movie, the pace drags, since the Lydia arc is not actually that compelling and the love montages are, frankly, dull. Overall, although the movie loses some of its grip toward the end, it is still an absolutely frothy-yet-insightful delight and not to be missed.

Pride & Prejudice, 2005—The One With Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen (★★★½)

Starring Keira Knightley’s huge eyes, and costarring lovely English scenery, both human and geographical, this adaptation is one long swoon. From the dance scene in which all the dancers disappear except Elizabeth and Darcy to the smooching at the end, this is a dizzyingly romantic production, set in the Regency period. When I want a purely gorgeous, escapist, super-romantic movie to watch, I watch this one. I get my blankie and my popcorn and my cocoa and am just as happy as can be (I have simple pleasures). But as an adaptation of Jane Austen, the movie has problems with tone, for where Austen is all reserved and beneath the surface, this production is rife with sexuality and openly expressed emotion and unfastened cravats. It is yummy, cheesy goodness, just not Austen goodness.

There are some things that the movie does get right about Austen. Most notably, Keira Knightley is the right age, which is a rare and wonderful thing in a film/TV adaptation. Lizzy’s growth makes so much more sense when you can see that she really is a very young woman. The supporting characters are marvelous, particularly Brenda Blethyn as Mrs. Bennet, Donald Sutherland as Mr. Bennet, and Judi Dench as Judi Dench (aka Lady Catherine be Bourgh). I also liked the depiction of the chaos of the Bennet household. I’m not a historian, but it felt to me like just the right level of financially precarious gentility. And the humor comes through beautifully. My favorite line is not taken from the book, but it does reflect the book well:

Elizabeth Bennet: Did I just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy?

Charlotte Lucas: I daresay you will find him to be very amiable.

Elizabeth Bennet: That would be most inconvenient, since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity.

Me: Tee, hee, hee (eats more popcorn).

Although this movie is to me like a big piece of chocolate cake, I must confess that it is not Austen–like in the slightest with the above-mentioned exceptions. Matthew Macfadyen plays Darcy as being almost crippled with shyness. Does he remind me of the book’s Darcy? Nope. Darcy should be able to project authority, decisiveness and competence, in addition to shyness, and Macfadyen does not. He’s not confident about some things and shy about others—he’s just shy. But I must admit that he is absolutely adorable in both behavior and appearance.

Jane Austen most certainly never wrote about Jane standing on cliffs overlooking the ocean with the wind, whipping her hair as she contemplates her love life. That whole “I am one with tempestuous nature” thing is really more of a Brontë ideal than an Austen ideal. The Brontë family loves those wild, unswept moors and cliffs; but when Austen talks about nature, she tends to talk about it in terms of carefully cultivated nature, as her feelings about nature seem to mirror her attitudes toward behavior. It’s good to be a little untamed—but just a little. Too much wildness and you have Lydia. Too little, and you have Mary.

And in the interest of sex appeal, Darcy behaves in a wildly inappropriate manner, albeit one that sets my heart to fluttering wildly. When he comes to make his second proposal to Lizzy, he does so by striding across the misty moors at dawn, in a billowy coat with his shirt partly unbuttoned and no cravat. Do I sigh a happy sigh every time I contemplate this? I hate to be so shallow, but, duh, of course I do. Would Austen’s Darcy ever in a million years do such a thing? That is, intentionally call upon a lady in what he no doubt considers to be practically his underwear? Of course not. Our Darcy would be ashamed to propose in such a disheveled state. And I can’t imagine the reaction of Austen’s Mr. Bennet should Darcy then appear in his study to ask for Lizzy’s hand, in the cravat-less outfit, while Lizzy waits in the hallway in a coat and a nighty. That’s the kind of situation that brings out the shotguns, generally speaking. Even Wickham had more decorum (outwardly). It’s very romantic but not very Austen at all. I just eat it right up (nom, nom, nom).

The Miniseries

Pride and Prejudice, 1980—The One With David Rintoul and Elizabeth Garvie (BBC) (★★★)

When I was a very little girl, I was babysat by an aunt who watched a lot of television, and one day I tried to understand why she seemed to really like this show where everyone was talking funnily. I remember with amazing vividness Elizabeth Bennet (played by Elizabeth Garvie) saying, “We have a saying—save your breath to cool your porridge. I shall save mine to swell my song.” I have no idea why that line stuck in my head for all these years—maybe because it was the only line that I understood, and I thought it was a strange and funny thing to say. You can imagine my satisfaction at finally rediscovering this largely forgotten gem as an adult—and I still think that line is strange and funny, especially the way Elizabeth Garvie says it, with her bright eyes and her rapid delivery. She reminds me of a little bird.

This adaptation is very faithful and very charming, and oh, my, Darcy (played by David Rintoul) is quite the cutie. His cheekbones are works of art and he has never been so deliciously snobby. The only problem with the cast is that both Elizabeth Garvie and David Rintoul are too limited in their range. They don’t seem to change much over the course of the story. Occasionally Garvie speaks some lines in voice-over that are clearly intended to spell something out for the audience. Not only is this somewhat insulting to our intelligence, but it usually says something rather at odds with the actual story. For once, Mary gets a lot to do, but at the expense of Jane’s screen time, so the Bingley/Jane arc is not compelling. Kitty coughs so much as a sort of running joke that I really think the family should have shown some concern for her health.

I found this version to be lovely and diverting for a while, but it didn’t take me on the full journey I needed it to. For all the charm of this adaptation, it lacks emotional punch. The emotional impact of Pride and Prejudice comes from watching Lizzy and Darcy grow, and seeing how they make each other better people. But in this version, Lizzy and Darcy change their minds about each other, but there’s no major emotional journey. They didn’t like each other, and now they do. That’s nice, but not compelling.

This is a very nicely filmed production. The scenery is lovely and so are the clothes. I think this may be the very prettiest of all the miniseries, but it’s also the most uninvolving. I never cried while watching this production, but I did feel a terrible need to go shopping.

Pride and Prejudice, 1995—The One With Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle (BBC) (★★★★★)

It’s the moment we’ve all be waiting for! This is the adaptation in which Colin Firth takes his famous swim in a lake. This is the iconic BBC adaptation, and it is greatly beloved for the high production values, the acting and the faithfulness to the book. The lake business doesn’t hurt it, either. Most of the script is verbatim from the book. If you love the novel, this is a huge plus, as it brings the book vividly and faithfully to life.

Jennifer Ehle delivers a nuanced performance as Lizzy—she really brings out Lizzy’s frustration with her family and her circumstances. Ehle’s version of Lizzy is both deeply cynical (she’s a cranky, seen-it-all Lizzy) and yet full of mirth. She’s not a very happy person, but she does have a deep and constant sense of humor. Colin Firth as Darcy, is, of course, Colin Firth—no one scowls or smolders quite like him. He strikes just the right note of arrogance, command and decisiveness while also being shy and vulnerable. He makes Darcy’s unease with social situations palpable.

I love the way this movie was directed (by Simon Langton). Possibly the finest moment of direction comes during the Netherfield Ball— it is brilliantly directed, from the first moments when Lizzy wanders through the rooms looking for Wickham, to her discussion with Charlotte about Darcy in which she becomes increasingly angry, until that awkward moment when Darcy suddenly appears and asks Lizzy to dance just as she has worked herself into such a rage that she is almost in tears. When they do dance, their dance is a combination of words and movement that visually accentuates how estranged they are and yet how inexorably attracted they are, as well.

I also like the way the director includes some scenes of Darcy doing guy things. Admittedly, one reason I’m fond of this is that Colin Firth looks pretty damn hot when he’s fencing and horseback riding and taking a bath. However, the scenes aren’t purely for my prurient enjoyment. Everything Colin Firth does is in character. It’s all stuff Darcy would be doing; it’s just that in the book we don’t see him doing it. These actions help show the viewer Darcy’s increasing attraction to Lizzy and his increasing frustration about it. And they allow Darcy some much-needed vulnerability. There’s something about Colin Firth’s Darcy when his hair is messy that just kills me.

All the supporting actors are good. Bingley is so happy, so full of energy, so obviously enamored of Jane, that it’s simply adorable. I wish we could see him in five years, as I’m certain once he grows a backbone he’ll be just perfect (I consider Darcy to be a great romantic hero, but not someone I’d like to hang out with due to his taciturnity). Mr. Bennet is quite avuncular, and Mrs. Bennet is appropriately unbalanced. I’m also very fond of the actress who plays Mary and brings out her own awkwardness and vulnerability (Lucy Briers), and the actress who plays one of the sweetest Janes ever (Susannah Harker).

This production is a masterful recreation of the book with lovely scenery, great clothes and fantastic acting from all. It is moving and romantic, it’s visually gorgeous, it’s supremely well acted, and although it’s very faithful to the book, it’s not so faithful that it’s stilted.

Lost in Austen, 2008—The One With Jemima Rooper and Elliot Cowan (ITV) (★★★★)

I love, love, love this insanely funny revisionist BBC miniseries! This is a story about Amanda, a modern-day woman in her mid-twenties who lives in Hammersmith. Amanda loves Pride and Prejudice and is deeply dissatisfied with her life in general and her slovenly boyfriend in particular. When she discovers Elizabeth Bennet in her bathroom, and Elizabeth shows her a connecting door that leads to Elizabeth’s house, the two trade places and high jinks ensue. It’s not exactly time travel because it doesn’t simply take Amanda to the Regency Era. It takes her to Elizabeth’s house, specifically.

Amanda is able to pass herself as a friend of Elizabeth’s who is here to stay for a visit, but her presence in the story keeps causing changes. Since Amanda is a fan of Pride and Prejudice, she is terribly alarmed by these modifications. She is desperate to make events fit the book, but the more she tries to make events fit the book, the more things go horribly wrong. This is a hilarious adaptation, with clever twists and turns and line after line that had me laughing so hard that I think I literally fell of the couch from time to time.

This is a funny adaptation, but it’s also the first adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that really moved me, and the first hint I had that I was staring to fall in love with the novel. In this version, everything goes wrong with the story, and that was funny, but also terribly upsetting. At one point my husband wandered into the room and asked how things were going, and I said, “Jane and Bingley are fighting,” and realized that tears were welling up in my eyes. I had no idea how badly I needed things to work until they didn’t.

That’s not to suggest the series is depressing. It’s hilarious (intentionally so). And everyone is wonderful. I wasn’t that crazy about this version’s Darcy. I found him wooden (to which some may point out, justifiably, that Darcy is wooden, so it’s a fair portrayal). But I loved Mr. Wickham. Never has he been so charming, so offensive (sometimes at the same time, which is quite a trick) and so surprising. Jane and Bingley are at their very sweetest, and I adored Mrs. Bennet (played by Alex Kingston, who is clearly having the time of her life). We don’t see much of Lizzy, who is played by Gemma Arterton, but she makes every moment of her limited screen time count as she fits into modern London with such ease that she has no wish to come back to the book, much to Amanda’s consternation. Hearing Elizabeth Bennet say, primly, “I’m macrobiotic” has been a high point of my literary life. Above all I loved Jemima Rooper as Amanda, who messes things up so dreadfully and tries so hard to set them right. The actors all combine great comedic timing with true commitment to their parts. So when they fall in love with the wrong people, it’s heartbreaking even as they say things that are so, so funny.

The ending, alas, is full of huge holes but, for the most part, this series is a delight. Some Austen purists can’t stand this adaptation because of the many liberties it takes with the book (it’s pretty much one long liberty, if I may mangle the phrase). So don’t watch this unless you’re willing to bring a sense of humor and suspend your disbelief. It’s well worth the effort, and I found that it enhanced my enjoyment of the original novel not in spite of altering it so much, but because of the alterations. It made me look at and appreciate the novel in a new light while it also made me laugh and cry in it’s own right. Loved it!

The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, 2012–2013—The One With Ashley Clements and Daniel Vincent Gordh (web series) (★★★★★)

Beware—once you start watching Lizzie’s vlog, you’ll find that you can neither eat, nor sleep, nor go to work, nor attend to basic hygiene until you are done. This is a problem, because there are one hundred short episodes and that’s a lot of time to spend with Lizzie in what is essentially a small, enclosed space (she usually films from her bedroom).

Lizzie and her two sisters, Jane and Lydia, live at home, and their mother is most anxious to marry them off. Lizzie is a graduate student, Lydia is an undergrad, and Jane has a job in the fashion industry. Lizzie and her best friend, Charlotte, produce video blogs about Lizzie’s life. When Mr. Bing Lee moves next door, Lizzie’s mother becomes convinced that he will be a catch for one her daughters, who are much more interested in their careers (and, in Lydia’s case, in having fun) than they are in marriage.

Obviously this story isn’t faithful to the book at all. But it is hilarious, and deeply touching and romantic, and it preserves the core message of the novel (pride and prejudice are shown to be bad things, while loyalty and responsibility are good). This story is less about romance than it is about the relationship between the sisters, and although that’s obviously a significant change from the book, I liked it. I liked the twists and turns and winks (watch how Kitty and Mary sneak their way into the story). And both Bing Lee and Darcy totally swept me off my feet. I’m not much of a Darcy type of person, but when he talks to Lizzie about why he admires her vlog, and it’s obvious that he really listens to her, and understands her, and sees the best in her—that’s a beautiful moment.

I caution you that the series doesn’t shy away from showing Lizzie at her most obnoxious. During the time they go to Netherfield (Bing’s house) she becomes such a whiner that I wanted to reach right through my screen and smack her. But I think this works, because it means that her growth is noticeable and important. In a lot of adaptations, Lizzie starts off as almost perfect, so there’s not much character development for her to achieve. This Lizzie significantly grows up, and so do her sisters, and that makes the story emotionally powerful to an extent that I never would have guessed from its premise.

Final Scorecard

Best Movie: I recognize its many flaws, but I’m still a sucker for the 2005 version of Pride & Prejudice.

Best Miniseries: You can’t go wrong with the classics. As much as I love Lost in Austen and Lizzie Bennet Diaries, I think I’m gonna have to vote for the faithful and fabulous 1995 version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle

Best Lizzy: Tie between Ashley Clements and Jennifer Ehle. Purists will admire Ehle’s subtle, nuanced Regency performance, but Clements isn’t afraid to let us see all Lizzy’s flaws and then let her character truly grow. It’s a brave and beautiful performance.

Best Darcy: First place: Colin Firth, for the miniseries. Second place: Colin Firth, for Bridget Jones’s Diary. Enthusiastic honorable mentions go to our two young and dorky Darcys, Matthew Macfadyen in the 2005 version and Daniel Vincent Gordh in Lizzie Bennet Diaries.

Best Wickham: Tom Riley in Lost in Austen, followed by the sleazy-but-charming Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’s Diary.

Best Jane and Lizzy relationship: Lizzie Bennet Diaries ties with the 1995 miniseries.

Best Attire: The 1980 Rintoul/Garvie miniseries. Specifically, I covet everything Elizabeth wears that is blue, and Caroline Bingley’s lavender dress. I cannot overstate my deep longing for that lavender dress. There’s also surprisingly hot fan service when Elizabeth brushes her hair in her room while wearing a partially unlaced corset. Goodness!

Moments That Made Me Suddenly Burst into Tears to My Utter Surprise: I cried all over my keyboard when Jane and Bingley broke up in Lizzie Bennet Diaries. In that same show, when Lydia cried, I was sobbing. How did Lydia become the most compelling character? Also I cried when Jane and Bingley broke up in Lost in Austen. It was the first time I realized how much the Pride and Prejudice story had come to mean to me.

Moment That Made Me Laugh Out Loud: Oh, so many, but the master award goes to Lost in Austen. “Hear that sound George? That’s Jane Austen spinning in her grave like a cat in a tumble dryer.”

Most Gratuitously, Gloriously Sexy Moment: Okay, I know Colin Firth’s wet shirt is wildly popular, but that lake he jumps into looks pretty unpleasant to me. My personal favorite scene is the one in which Colin Firth takes a bath and towel dries his hair. There’s something about Colin Firth as Darcy with his hair messed up that just sends me all a-flutter. Also, I want both his bathtub and his bathrobe.

I’m also quite fond of the moment in the 2005 film version when Matthew Macfadyen strides across the misty moors in his billowing coat, with no vest and no cravat. It’s a ridiculous moment, since by Jane Austen’s standards he’s gone for a walk in his underwear, but my goodness I could watch that scene all day long.

Part III: Wuthering Heights: Oh, There’s a Romance—but It’s not the One You’re Thinking Of

Wuthering Heights: The Book

Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice are very different books, but they share some common traits and themes: a feisty, independent heroine who respects herself, an emphasis on ethics and honor, and above all, a happy ending. Wuthering Heights is a whole different ballgame that immerses the reader in a world of violence and selfish obsession.

Many romance books feature a feisty, independent heroine and a brooding mysterious hero, and Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice deal with these archetypes masterfully. In a romance story, the independent woman is able to achieve a happy life on her own terms, without self-destructing, and the broody mysterious guy who seems to be a jerk turns out to be (or eventually becomes) a caring, loving individual. Eventually, the heroine and the hero are able to live together in romantic bliss in an atmosphere of mutual respect.

In Wuthering Heights, everything goes horribly wrong. In this book, the feisty heroine lacks all sense of ethics and self-control, and she faces choices that will either ruin her or cage her. Where Lizzy and Jane temper their strong wills with empathy for others and a sense of responsibility, Catherine Earnshaw literally temper-tantrums herself to death. And the broody, mysterious guy is actually what he seems to be—someone who is genuinely violent, destructive, and unredeemable by love. This is romance on meth.

Chapters I–IV: Ghosts and bedtime stories

It’s a dark and stormy night. Mr. Lockwood is renting Thrushcross Grange, and he has come to introduce himself to his new landlord, Mr. Heathcliff, who lives in a house called Wuthering Heights. Mr. Lockwood is welcomed by surly inhabitants and growling dogs, and he is forced by bad weather to spend the night. He falls asleep reading a book he found that seems to be a journal by Cathy Earnshaw. He wakes because branches are being blown by the wind against the window. He opens the window to move the branches and finds himself gripped by ghostly hands, while a voice sobs, “Let me in!” (Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights [New York: Random House, 1943], 15). So, yeah, this is a gothic book, right from the start.

Lockwood’s screaming summons Heathcliff, who casts Lockwood out of the room and leans out of the window, sobbing, “Come in, come in!” (18). Lockwood retreats to the kitchen, until the next day he is seen home.

Lockwood is feverish from his ordeal at the Heights, and while recovering, he asks the servant, Nelly Dean, to tell him about the people at the Heights. The story that Nelly Dean tells begins the narrative proper of the book. Nelly is, in fact, the narrator of most of the book. Nelly spent her life at Wuthering Heights (and eventually at the Grange) as a servant. She helps raise Cathy and Heathcliff (more or less, mostly less), and then helps to raise the next generation of little dysfunctional tots, so she sees the big picture, generationally speaking. However, she also only sees things through her own lens, which is one of staunch, no nonsense, stiff-upper-lip common sense. The antics of Heathcliff and Cathy make no sense to her at all—so much so that critics often consider Nelly to be an unreliable narrator and the cause of much that goes wrong in the story through her poorly timed actions and inactions. Nelly can always be counted upon to keep secrets when they should be revealed, and to reveal secrets when they should be kept. She’s so inept that some critics think she’s actually the villain of the book, while others think she’s a much-needed level head in a world of crazy people.

Chapters IV–V: In which Heathcliff appears, and the first generation grows up.

So here’s the story Nelly tells: it is another dark and stormy night, many years ago, when Mr. Earnshaw comes home from a business trip to the big city. His children, Hindley and Cathy, asked him for presents, but he brought a present they did not expect—a new adoptive brother. Mr. Earnshaw found a child starving and speechless on the streets of Liverpool and brought the child home. Mr. Earnshaw names the kid Heathcliff after a son who previously died. Hindley has a temper tantrum because the child broke the violin that his father had brought to Hindley for a present. Cathy spits on the poor kid and is beaten by her father for it. Mrs. Earnshaw is absolutely enraged about the “gipsy brat,” and Nelly puts “it” on the stair landing, hoping “it” might wander away in the night. Welcome home, Heathcliff, things are only going to go downhill from here.

Heathcliff and Cathy become friends fairly quickly despite their rocky introduction. Heathcliff seems to be about the same age as Cathy, who is six. Hindley is fourteen, and Nelly never states her own age, but she seems to be around Hindley’s age and, as a servant’s daughter, she is half nanny and half playmate to the other children. Hindley and Nelly torment Heathcliff, with the encouragement of Mrs. Earnshaw. Two years later, Mrs. Earnshaw dies of Mysterious Victorian Disease and the sibling rivalry grows even worse. You’ll notice that there is a high body count in this book with very few diagnoses—people just sort of waste away and die, mysteriously.

To sum up the wretched childhood of the Earnshaw clan, the Earnshaw children hit each other and adults hit them, and the person who has the most responsibility for them (Nelly) is about their same age and just as mean as any of the other children are. Mr. Earnshaw shows such profound favoritism toward Heathcliff that Hindley grows worse and worse out of jealousy. The seeds of later trouble are sown in the fact that Hindley has a point—Heathcliff has taken his place in his father’s affections. And Heathcliff has a point—Hindley beats the crap out of him as often as possible, and this, more than anything else, deepens the rift not only between Hindley and Heathcliff but also between Hindley and his father.

Eventually Hindley is sent away to college. With Hindley out of the line of fire, Cathy gets the most scoldings. She is described by Nelly as “A wild wickedest slip, she was—but she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile, and the lightest foot in the parish” (26). She takes a perverse delight in being scolded and in provoking her father into rages. Eventually, Cathy’s father dies of Mysterious Victorian Disease, and everything goes to hell (even more than it has already).

Chapters VI–IX: In which grown-up troubles beset our sad, sad excuses for heroes.

Hindley, who has inherited Wuthering Heights, comes home with a pregnant wife. He tells Heathcliff that from now on Heathcliff must work out-of-doors as a laborer. Hindley has no interested in supervising his younger sister, so she and Heathcliff run around on the moors whenever Heathcliff can escape his work. On one ramble, Heathcliff and Cathy decide to run over to the Grange (remember the Grange? Eventually Mr. Lockwood will live there) to spy on its inhabitants. They are caught, and Cathy is bitten by a guard dog.

The Linton family, who own the Grange at that point, throw Heathcliff out with various insulting comments and take Cathy in to recover from her dog bite, which seems to have led to some sort of Mysterious Victorian Disease. At one point I became so disgusted with Cathy that I did some internet research to see if she might have caught rabies, but it seems to just be some swooning kind of illness, the kind that allows you to lie gracefully about on couches while seducing your caretaker (in this case, Edgar Linton). Cathy stays at the Grange for five weeks, which drives Heathcliff crazy but delights Edgar Linton, the Linton’s eligible son. Heathcliff passes the time by killing off baby birds as a way of getting back at Cathy for being absent, thus giving us the first indication that something is seriously, pathologically wrong with him.

When Cathy comes back to Wuthering Heights, she is dressed up, and has ladylike manners. Her first meeting with Heathcliff is awkward for her and humiliating for him. Two important things happen:

1. Hindley’s wife gives birth to a boy, Hareton. She then dies, because in this book, pregnancy equals death. Hindley begins to slowly but spectacularly drink himself into ruin. Thanks to his alcoholic state we are privy to some jaw-dropping scenes of child abuse between Hindley and Hareton. This marks the beginning of “The Legacy of Child Abuse: Generation 2” theme. It also helps explain why Hareton bonds so closely to Heathcliff later on. Compared to Hindley, the abusive Heathcliff is Father of the Year. It’s that awful. Incidentally, none of the adaptations touch this topic—the closest they come is in showing Hareton as dirty and poorly dressed. Apparently no one wants to watch a small, screaming child being threatened with a knife or thrown off a balcony (Heathcliff catches him instinctively and is furious with himself for doing so).

2. Edgar Linton courts Cathy while Heathcliff seethes about it. Run, Edgar, you fool! Run!

At last we get the famous scene in which Cathy tells Nelly that she has accepted a marriage proposal from Edgar and that to marry Heathcliff would degrade her now that he has the status of a servant. Nelly omits to point out that Heathcliff is listening and Heathcliff sneaks away after the “degrade” thing before Cathy, who is either really selfish, really stupid, or both, explains that she is going to marry Edgar so that she can be wealthy, and she will use her new money and position to get Heathcliff away from Hindley but still keep him near her. She expects that nothing about her relationship with Heathcliff will change. This is where she famously says, “Nelly, I am Heathcliff” (51).

Needless to say, Heathcliff doesn’t appreciate the “degrading” comment, so he leaves. There’s a lot of drama and wailing and racing out into the rain, and Cathy tantrums herself into a case of Mysterious Victorian Disease that kills both of her prospective in-laws; but the upshot is that Cathy marries the newly orphaned Edgar. Oh, Edgar. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Chapters X–XVII: In which Heathcliff returns and Cathy finally tantrums herself to death.

Heathcliff is gone for three years, and if Nelly is to be believed, Edgar and Cathy are pretty happy during this time. But, of course, Heathcliff shows up again. He is now very rich, and gives no explanation for how he got that way. Heathcliff and Cathy have several touchy exchanges, and Heathcliff begins to seduce Isabella, Edgar’s sister, as a way of getting vengeance against both Edgar and Cathy. Finally a pregnant Cathy, a fed-up Edgar and Heathcliff have a huge argument in which, surprise, Cathy tantrums herself into…wait for it…Brain Fever, my very favorite Victorian disease and the only named one in this book.

Heathcliff elopes with Isabella, who imagines that surely he is a bad boy with a heart of gold. It is here that his actions fully reveal that he is not a romantic hero but instead a sadistic asshole. If we weren’t sure already, we figure it out around the time that he hangs Isabella’s dog, beats her, humiliates her and presumably (and in some adaptations, explicitly) rapes her. He is not sexy or romantic. He is not fixable. He’s just a shit, and we hate him, and, eventually, so does Isabella.

Heathcliff finds out how sick Cathy is and although Nelly begs him not to visit Cathy because excitement will kill her, he is determined, so he gets in and they have a truly touching scene in which they apologize to each other for all the selfish and bitter things they’ve done, and vow to be better people to each other from here on.

Ha, just kidding! Cathy’s response to seeing her heartbroken lover is to curse him for killing her by aggravating her to death, and Heathcliff’s response to seeing his dying lover is to curse her for breaking his heart and dying. Basically they have a big fight, with lots of “embracing.” Finally Heathcliff has to leave, and Cathy gives birth to a baby who is also named Cathy (we’ll call her “Cathy 2.0”). Cathy the First dies while Heathcliff hides outside the house. Heathcliff begs/curses Cathy to haunt him, and not to rest until he, too, is dead. This is where he says his famous line, “I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” (106).

Let me digress for a moment to mention an important Cathy fact. I did not shed a single tear for Cathy when she died. In fact, even though I sympathized with her because of her horrible life, I was thrilled that she wouldn’t be having tantrums and pinching people anymore. But upon the twelfth or so rereading of the book, I realized that Cathy acts like a spoiled kid partly because she is, in fact, a kid, or a very young woman, all the way through the book. Edgar proposes to her when she is about fifteen years old, and she dies three years later. No wonder she never matures as a person—she never has time. And that, combined with the fact that Cathy has so few options in her life, is worth a few tears.

Isabella proves to be a secret badass by escaping from Heathcliff and living for many years in hiding with help from Edgar. Yay! Hindley finally dies. Sorry Hindley, but…yay. Heathcliff is now the owner of Wuthering Heights and guardian of Hareton, who he vows to mold into a depraved brute, because nothing says “romantic hero” like child abuse. Specifically, he says, “Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another with the same wind to twist it!” (118).

Chapters XVIII–XXIX: In which Heathcliff attempts to wreak vengeance by attacking people who weren’t even born when he was being insulted and abused.

Heathcliff put the first part of his revenge plan in place when he seduced Isabella and got Wuthering Heights away from Hindley. But his vengeance is not complete, oh, no.

Back in London where she’s been hiding out, my hero Isabella dies of another mysterious Victorian Wasting Disease. Up until this point Heathcliff did not pursue her, but he was keeping track of where she was so that he could grab her son (who is also his son) when he is good and ready. Once she dies, he swoops poor Linton (that’s the kid’s name) off to Wuthering Heights. At this point in the narrative, we jump ahead again about three years.

So here’s how things stand sixteen years after Cathy’s death. Cathy 2.0 (Cathy’s daughter) is, like her mother, high-spirited, naive and spoiled, but she has a strong core of sweetness, having known only love all her life. Linton is already suffering from Victorian Disease (his looks like that Victorian favorite, consumption, but it’s never named), and his time at Wuthering Heights has made him into an utterly selfish, whiny, vicious brat. Hareton is completely illiterate, has been taught a wide variety of curse words but no manners at all and does the farm work on the estate that is rightfully his.

When Cathy 2.0 is sixteen, she escapes the insufficiently watchful eye of Nelly and goes out to the moors, where she meets Heathcliff. Since she knows nothing of Heathcliff, she is perfectly cheerful about trotting off to the Heights with him, where—surprise!—her cousin Linton is living. Heathcliff is clearly matchmaking, and there is much covert exchanging of notes and such for a while until finally two things happen:

1. Edgar (remember Edgar? The one who was actually married to Cathy?) is stricken with Mysterious Victorian Disease. Cathy 2.0 needs to be by his side, all the time.

2. Linton, who suffers from a different Mysterious Victorian Disease (consumption, I assume, based on the coughing), becomes gravely ill, and sends Cathy 2.0 a note begging to see her.

Cathy 2.0 sneaks off to see Linton and is horrified to discover that although Linton really is near death, the message begging her to visit it was part of an Evil Plan. Heathcliff had been trying to get those two wacky kids together so that Linton would then have Cathy 2.0’s money, and then he would leave a will giving everything to Heathcliff, and then he would die. Thus would Heathcliff have wreaked vengeance on the Linton family. But the courtship was going slowly, and Linton was clearly at death’s door, so Heathcliff lured Cathy 2.0 over to speed things up—which he does by locking her into the house and telling her that she can’t leave until she marries Linton and spends a night there. He ends up keeping Cathy 2.0 captive for about a week. When he finally lets her go home, her father is still alive (yay!) but not for long (d’oh!). The orphaned Cathy 2.0, who did marry Linton, is taken back to Wuthering Heights to serve as Linton’s nurse.

Chapters XXX–XXXII: In which Heathcliff’s plans are foiled, and we reach the end.

Linton dies, bringing the death total to ten so far (Mr. Earnshaw, Mrs. Earnshaw, Mr. and Mrs. Linton, Hindley’s wife, Hindley, Isabella, Catherine Earnshaw, Edgar and Linton—litters of puppies and nests of baby birds not included). Heathcliff informs Cathy 2.0 that because she married Linton, and Linton left everything to Heathcliff, Heathcliff now owns everything that Cathy 2.0 has, from the Grange to her clothes. Mr. Lockwood (remember him?) shows up and finds Wuthering Heights to be an appalling place. The book thus far was a flashback—we are now up to speed on things with Mr. Lockwood wandering around.

But Heathcliff, who should be cackling with glee at the fact that everyone around him is either miserable or dead (in most cases, miserable and then dead), is having motivational problems. Cathy 2.0 is moving with startlingly modern precision through the stages of grief as described by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. There was Denial (“Mr. Heathcliff, you’re a cruel man, but you’re not a fiend; and you won’t, from mere malice, destroy irrevocably all my happiness” [173].), Anger (much of it directed at Hareton for his role as an accomplice in Heathcliff’s plot), Bargaining, Depression (enter the unimpressed Mr. Lockwood), and finally, Acceptance. Cathy 2.0 begins to make friends with Hareton and teach him to read. Soon Cathy 2.0 and Hareton are running around the moors just like Heathcliff and Cathy did—but they are able to show kindness and selflessness toward each other. They have fights and make mistakes, but they are able to put each other’s needs ahead of their own in a way that Cathy and Heathcliff never did.

Heathcliff would love to break them up, but he is continually haunted by Cathy the First and is strangely lethargic. Every time he tries to hit Cathy 2.0, or even scold her, he is distracted. “It is a poor conclusion, is it not…an absurd termination to my violent exertions? I get levers and mattocks to demolish the two houses…and when everything is ready and in my power, I find the will to lift a slate off either roof has vanished!” (203). He sees visions of Catherine everywhere, and eventually, he locks himself in her old room, where he starves himself to death (bringing the death total to eleven).

Hareton, who should have been the master of Wuthering Heights since his father’s death, becomes master of it at last. He and Cathy 2.0 order that Wuthering Heights be shut up. They will be married and live at the Grange. Local people say that they see the ghosts of Cathy and Heathcliff wandering the moors. The end.

The Big Picture

Ladies and gentlemen, the best way to give you the Big Picture of Wuthering Heights is with the following description from Isabella explaining how she escaped from Heathcliff (Joseph is a servant who spends the whole book preaching hellfire, and “His host” refers to Hindley):

The back of the settle and Earnshaw’s person interposed between me and him; so instead of endeavoring to reach me, he snatched a dinner knife from the table and flung it at my head. It struck beneath my ear, and stopped the sentence I was uttering, but, pulling it out, I sprang to the door and delivered another; which I hope went a little deeper than his missile. The last glimpse I caught of him was a furious rush on his part, checked by the embrace of his host; and both fell locked together on the hearth. In my flight through the kitchen, I bid Joseph speed to his master; I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a chair-back in the doorway, and, blessed as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road…and far rather would I be condemned to a perpetual dwelling in the infernal regions than, even for one night abide beneath the roof of Wuthering Heights again (115).

Why am I inserting this lengthy quote in the middle of the Big Picture? Because the entire book is here in miniature, and yet no adaptation wants to touch this passage. Every kind of cruelty is explored in this book—child abuse, abuse of women, verbal abuse, physical abuse and cruelty toward animals (both sadistic, as when Heathcliff starves a nest of birds to death because he is angry with Cathy, and pragmatic, as when Hareton kills the puppies in order to keep the farm’s dog population down). There are racist epithets and insults based on class, and aspersions on the virtue of women and masculinity of men. Heathcliff and Cathy live in a cruel world, and they respond by being cruel to themselves, to each other and to everyone around them.

Just as with Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice, there are some themes that an adaptation of Wuthering Heights needs to address in order to be a good adaptation. Unfortunately, the book is so dense that it seems to be almost impossible for a filmmaker to deal with them all. Some filmmakers get part of the book right, but I don’t think any of them did justice to the whole book. Remember that I’m judging these works based specifically on their success as adaptations. Here are some of the major themes of the book that I want a film to address:

1. Although we should feel deep sympathy for Cathy and Heathcliff, who endure abuse as children and societal limitations as adults, we are not supposed to admire Cathy and Heathcliff. We’re not supposed to root for those two crazy kids to get together. It’s not a romance. Their relationship is one of obsession and selfishness. It’s also about two people who have no sense of boundaries. But instead of thinking, “I must sacrifice myself to the other, for I can’t live without them,” they think, “I am he (as she is me, as you are he and we are all together) and so he must want what I want and I must have what I want all the time.” It never occurs to Cathy that Heathcliff will be dissatisfied with seeing her married to another man. It’s what Cathy wants, so she assumes that it must also be what Heathcliff wants. Since they are the only people of importance in the world, it certainly doesn’t matter what Edgar Linton wants. It never occurs to Heathcliff to stay away from Cathy when any excitement is bound to kill her—in his mind, if he wants to see her, it necessarily follows that she must want to see him.

2. People are shaped by how they are treated. Heathcliff and Cathy are not admirable characters, but it is possible to view them with sympathy because we see how horribly they are treated as adults and as children, and how completely they are trapped by social constraints. Even Isabella and Cathy 2.0 become almost completely transformed after a short period of being trapped and abused by Heathcliff. Critics love Wuthering Heights because it deals so eloquently with the effects of prejudice, isolation, class discrimination, patriarchy and child abuse on the individual. I don’t think an adaptation has to take on all these issues, but it does have to communicate the idea that there are societal and familial forces at work here.

3. Although people are shaped by how they are treated, people are not without some ability to choose their responses. Hindley drinks himself to death. Heathcliff and Cathy become obsessive and selfish, and, in Heathcliff’s case, viciously cruel. But Isabella, who is even more thoroughly trapped than Cathy, finds a way to free herself, and Cathy 2.0 and Hareton are able to discover deep reserves of selfless love. Cathy 2.0 and Hareton choose to be happy long before their external circumstances change by learning to respect themselves and each other.

4. Wuthering Heights is a grandiose, melodramatic story. It is the gothic story. That excerpt I quoted above, with the knife throwing and the insults and running out into the moors past the dead puppies? It’s not an unusual one. If you want to do Wuthering Heights, you’ve got to be pretty over the top. And you have to have terrible weather and a sense of profound isolation.

5. Wuthering Heights is not a story about love, but it is a story about passion. I’m often baffled at how people can see the Heathcliff/Cathy relationship as a romantic one, when they are so unremittingly selfish and cruel toward one another. But I think what draws people to that relationship is the dark allure of being someone’s whole world. Cathy and Heathcliff need one another to exist and yet they feed one another’s worst impulses. There is something mesmerizingly attractive about the idea of being so important to another person that they have to possess you—your will, your body, your very identity. Any adaptation worth its salt should not romanticize the Heathcliff/Cathy relationship, but it should show them as having tremendous chemistry. Heathcliff, in particular, should regard Cathy with an obsessive intensity that is both sexual and frightening.

Up until a year ago, I would have told you that I loathed Wuthering Heights. But now I see it very differently. I can see why people have written thousands of pages analyzing the book—I’m finding it rather difficult not to do so myself. It’s not a romance. It’s a horror story about the generational legacies of child abuse, class oppression, patriarchy, alcoholism and bigotry. But it’s not unrelentingly dark. The romance between Cathy 2.0 and Hareton shows that it’s possible to choose to break cycles of oppression. In a book where love is a toxic, selfish, destructive force, Cathy 2.0 and Hareton show us love as a selfless source of joy—something that can make us better.

The Adaptations

According to my best friend, Wikipedia, there are thirty-five adaptations of Wuthering Heights for TV and film. If it says so in Wikipedia, it must be true, and there is no way that I can watch thirty-five versions of Wuthering Heights. Neither my schedule nor my sanity will permit it. Instead, I’m presenting you with a broad range of adaptations that are easily accessible. I found most of mine at the library or on Netflix, so they aren’t terribly esoteric, and they span a range from Laurence Olivier to the MTV version. And no, this picky reviewer was not satisfied with any of them! Wuthering Heights has a reputation of being an unfilmable novel, and all the evidence I’ve seen has shown this to be true. Just read the book, y’all, and every time someone dies, take a shot (or eat some cake, which I prefer).

I have the same criticism of most of these, so I’ll just say it once here to avoid repetition. Most of these versions try to humanize Cathy and Heathcliff by leaving out some of the pair’s bad behavior (Cathy’s tantrums seem to get cut a lot, making the adult Cathy seem like a reasonable person who is a victim of circumstance and of her stalker, Heathcliff). This makes the movie much more watchable, but it’s a cheat and it reinforces the idea that this is a couple to root for. Most of the movies leave out everything that happens after Cathy dies, which reinforces the tragic-love-story angle but pretty much eliminates almost all the things that the book has to say.

Another almost universal problem is that of age. Some adaptations cast the same actress as Cathy and as Cathy’s daughter, which is quite a stretch. All of the Cathys, with the exception of Kaya Scodelario, are much older than Cathy is in most of the book. This is a problem because some of Cathy’s behavior in the book can be explained by sheer immaturity.

The strange narrative structure and the lack of sympathetic characters make Wuthering Heights famously difficult to film, and although some of these were good movies, almost none of them were Wuthering Heights. These adaptations have their strengths and weaknesses, but if you want to know what Wuthering Heights is about, you’re going to have to read the book. Since most of these adaptations make huge changes from the text, assume this includes many, many movie and miniseries spoilers.

The Classic Movie Adaptations

Wuthering Heights, 1939—The One With Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon (★★½)

This was the last adaptation I watched, and it was helpful in reminding me what most people likely think of when they think of Wuthering Heights—a romantic gothic story in which deeply flawed people keep messing each other up, but they are clearly meant to be together and are a happy couple after death. As you know by now, this is not how I interpret Wuthering Heights, but it was still nice to watch Laurence Olivier as Heathcliff stalk around drawing rooms with his black eyeliner and swirling his cape around at the butler just like Dracula. The Linton household has a lot of gauzy curtains, and I was disappointed that Heathcliff never flew in through a window. Meanwhile Merle Oberon delivers a fantastic, though totally untrue to the book, performance as Cathy. Unlike her book counterpart, who expresses emotions by screaming and pinching people, this Cathy represses her emotions as much as possible and literally vibrates with tension. And her clothes! There’s this fancy white dress she wears that is covered with gold netting. I crave it desperately. Later she shows up at Wuthering Heights in a cloak lined with so much fur that she looks like a tribble with facial features. Then there are the gauzy nightgowns, which are more see-through than you might expect, and the jewelry, and all I can say is that you’d do well to put the mute on and just watch this movie for the cinematography and the clothes.

It will come as no surprise that this movie changes tons of things about the book to make Cathy and Heathcliff as relatable as possible, right down to showing that Heathcliff is fond of dogs (in the book, both Cathy and Heathcliff enjoy tormenting dogs, Hareton kills off unwanted puppies as sort of a farming chore, and Linton likes killing cats). Geraldine Fitzgerald delivers a fantastic, if somewhat over-the-top, performance as Isabella. Remember that this was the last version I saw, so by this time I was not inclined to get all worked up about the fates of these people, but Fitzgerald’s Isabella made me a little teary, even in my jaded state, as she begs for Heathcliff’s love. I must also applaud Hugh Williams, as Hindley, who delivers the best line of any adaptation I’ve seen. When Nelly tells him that Heathcliff has run away, and that Cathy ran out onto the moors after Heathcliff, Hindley drunkenly declaims, “Well! Don’t stand there with your mouth open like a fish! Go open a bottle, and let’s celebrate!” I may have developed an appreciation for the book, but I still think Heathcliff and Cathy are deeply irritating characters, so I had to watch that line several times whilst shrieking with laughter.

Wuthering Heights, 1970—The One With Timothy Dalton and Anna Calder-Marshall (★★)

This movie was incredibly creepy, with a disturbing performance from the ever-reliable Timothy Dalton as Heathcliff. In the text, a great deal is said about how evil and disreputable Heathcliff looks, like a “devil.” And truly, Timothy Dalton looks like some sort of dark and evil elf. He would be sexy were he not so unpredictably and viciously violent. Almost all his interactions with Cathy involve him hitting her, slamming her against walls and onto the dirt, and just generally being a psychotic, violent asshole. He especially likes to either hit her and then move to kiss her, or move in to kiss her tenderly and then hit her.

Like a lot of movie versions, this one ignores the latter half of the book. Instead Catherine dies on cue and Hindley shoots Heathcliff to death (hurrah!). There are loads of smaller changes to the story. For instance, Nelly has a crush on Hindley, which apparently Cathy is hoping Hindley will return. This causes the whole class issue to seem rather less important—if both Cathy and Nelly think it’s plausible that Hindley would marry a servant, why can’t Cathy marry Heathcliff? I mean, other than the fact that he keeps hitting her in the face, which I’d regard as a crucial point of objection?

The movie is pretty blunt about Heathcliff being Cathy’s illegitimate half brother—at least, Cathy’s mother believes that it can’t possibly be a coincidence that Mr. Earnshaw makes all these business trips alone to the city and just happened to bring this one kid home. I must say that she builds a compelling case. Many critics have argued that Heathcliff is probably Cathy’s half brother but none so convincingly as the doomed Mrs. Earnshaw in this production.

I liked Anna Calder-Marshall as Cathy—she had a great strong-willed presence about her. She did a good job of showing a woman who has a great spirit and longs to escape the confines of her life. But I cannot help but feel that this is Timothy Dalton’s movie, and its moral is “do not become involved with a psychopath.” The supporting actors are all horrible—Edgar is even more foppish than usual, and Nelly is quite young and almost alarmingly stupid. This series is beautifully shot and disturbingly acted by Dalton (which I intend as a compliment) but in leaving out half of the book, it leaves out most of the points the book is trying to make.

The Modern Movie Adaptations

Wuthering Heights, 1992—The One With Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche (★★)

This is a pretty movie, starring pretty people, and five minutes after I saw it, I forgot the whole thing. I’m a fan of Ralph Fiennes, but he gives a flat, one-note performance as Heathcliff in this movie. Juliette Binoche is wonderful, but much of her bad behavior in the book is omitted (as seems to almost always be the case). She’s in a double role as Cathy and Cathy 2.0. As Cathy 2.0, she’s very good and quite kick-ass as she shows Cathy 2.0’s emotional journey of first coping with this psycho who has trapped her, then regarding her trapped situation with a sullen rage, then befriending Hareton, using him for protection, and finally backing away from trying to use Hareton against Heathcliff when she sees how much it hurts Hareton to do so. This adaptation does a nice job of showing that Hareton and Cathy 2.0 think of each other, and how their actions affect each other, a theme that is dear to my heart.

The movie tries to pack the full story into about two hours, and consequently there are all sorts of strange narrative leaps. For instance, Heathcliff marries Isabella, and then Isabella disappears and is never spoken of again. Did she run away, as she did in the book? Did she die? Is she locked in a closet? We don’t know and we’re not given any particular reason to care.

This was the second adaption that I saw, and while it was reasonably sound, it was not particularly illuminating and it was startlingly bland for such a violent, turbulent story. Ralph Fiennes has played many parts well in the course of his lengthy career, but this is not his finest hour. He seems to be hampered by his terrible wig of shaggy long tangled hair that looks like it might still be attached to a living creature (not Ralph himself, alas). Poor Juliette can’t carry the entire production all by herself. Never has so much carnage been so boring.

Wuthering Heights, 1998—The One With Robert Cavanah and Orla Brady (★★★★)

The most important thing you need to know about this adaptation is that Lockwood is played by Peter Davison—that’s right, The Doctor himself. Back in the Davison Doctor Who days, a friend of mine used to say that Peter Davison always looked like he was about to throw up. Never is that more true than in his portrayal of Lockwood, who is such a bumbling schmuck.

Of course, The Doctor has only a small amount of screen time. Most of the story involves Heathcliff and Cathy, played by Robert Cavanah and Orla Brady. What they bring is a powerful sense of humanity and suffering. Orla Brady has this incredible, earthy beauty—she seems like someone who actually lives, and has experienced life, not like a Hollywood star. Her Cathy is trapped between her desires for a better life and the emotional manipulations and sexual predations of Heathcliff. Enter my eternal whine about Wuthering Heights: I would far rather watch Orla Brady’s Cathy than the book’s Cathy, but I can’t help but feel that leaving out Cathy’s own manipulations of those around her is cheating. That being said, it’s a powerful performance, especially in the scene in which she confronts both Edgar and Heathcliff for their “ingratitude” to her.

Meanwhile Robert Cavanaugh is not as powerfully charismatic as Heathcliff should be, but he is very good at conveying barely repressed tortured suffering. And he’s convincingly psychotic—we know things are going to go very, very wrong when he subjects a nest of birds to starvation when Cathy stays at the Grange. This was a version that stayed in my mind for a long time, not because it had any one specifically strong component, but because it conveyed a powerful overall sense of frustration and longing.

There is one piece of this adaption that is truly amazing, and that is the tale of Cathy 2.0 and Hareton. Sarah Smart plays Cathy 2.0, and, without overacting, she invests the part with so much energy and will that I expected her to fly out of the screen and into my living room. She takes us through the whole arc of Cathy 2.0’s emotional journey from denial to bitter anger to despair to hope. Matthew Macfadyen plays Hareton. He went on to play Darcy in the 2005 film version of Pride and Prejudice. His performance as Hareton is quiet but has depth. Also he is adorable. The often-ignored Cathy 2.0/Hareton story is my favorite part of Wuthering Heights, and I believe it to be the most important part. Never is it addressed with more loving care than here.

Wuthering Heights, 2003—The One with Mike Vogel and Erika Christensen (★½)

God knows, I never expected this movie to be good—but I was hoping for some campy fun. Alas, it’s not so bad it’s good—it’s just horribly, horribly bad. The best thing I can say about it is that, as an increasingly harried reviewer, it’s nice that this entire adaptation is only one hour long if you fast-forward through the musical montages. And yes, you can safely fast-forward through them—all you’ll miss is terrible music and young people frolicking on the beach and/or moping.

This is a modernized version of Wuthering Heights made for MTV. Cate and her brother Hendrix live in a lighthouse with their father, who finds a kid by the side of the road and brings him home. Does he call social services? No, he does not—he just takes the kid home and names him Heath. By the way, I know Heathcliff and Hindley are weird names, but why did the scriptwriters feel they had to rename “Cathy?” Is “Cathy” an un-hip name now? Am I old?

Cate turns into a restless young woman who wants to leave the lighthouse. Hendrix turns into a punk singer and a drunk. You can tell that the scriptwriters felt strongly that “punk” and “drunk” are synonymous, and that all folk/grunge singers are sensitive. Heath turns into a moody (and sensitive!) folk-rock singer with Kurt Cobain hair. Cate and Heath share many musical montages during which they experience the joys of young love (piggyback rides, riding the motorcycle, frolicking on the beach—you know the type). But they have two ongoing conflicts that cause them to fight, make up, and then fight again. These conflicts are actually pretty realistic—Heath doesn’t remember much about his past, but he remembers that it was bad, and he never wants to leave this safe place, while Cate is desperate to see the world. Also, Cate loves Heath but wants to have her own identity and sense of self, and Heath insists on owning her, body and soul.

So, when rich Edgar moves in next door, things fall apart for Heath and Cate. The next thing you know, Cate is married to Edgar, Heath is a rock star, Hendrix is drunk off his ass, and everything gets weirder and weirder until (spoiler) Cate gives birth on the beach (in a cave, as one does), and Heath carries her back to the lighthouse, but does not call 9-1-1, because he is too busy looking sensitive, and she dies. Heath raises their daughter, which apparently is determined at some point to be his and not Edgar’s, and the ghost of Cathy watches Heath and the kid putter around on the motorcycle. The end.

It’s painful to watch poor Erika Christensen in this movie, because she’s quite a good actress, and she is really giving it her all. I felt so sorry for her, and I admired her obvious determination to wring some kind of genuine emotion from this wretched mess. Mike Vogel pouts and looks vaguely sexy if you are into pouting guys. Only Katherine Heigl seems to understand what kind of movie she’s in, and she chews the scenery with glee as Isabel (who fills both the Nelly and the Isabella role). Regardless of how you feel about Katherine Heigl, it’s awfully fun to watch her preen and manipulate and scrub Erika’s back in the bathtub while they talk about boys. Her ultimate nervous breakdown is a sight to see. There’s running mascara and weeping in bed and the whole thing—she out-crazies both Heath and Cate. I’m not saying it’s a good performance—I’m just saying that it’s the crazed, hammy performance that this movie clearly deserves.

If you watch this movie, you will not have fun (with the possible exception of watching Katherine Heigl’s mascara run), you not learn anything about Wuthering Heights, and you will be neither moved nor entertained. You will see lovely scenery and young actors in revealing clothing, but there are better films in which to see such edifying sights. The music is uniformly, hideously terrible. This is the version of Wuthering Heights that they make you watch in hell.

Wuthering Heights, 2011—The One With James Howson and Kaya Scodelario (★★★½)

This wasn’t Wuthering Heights by a long shot because it left out the second half of the book. But it was a very good movie. This is a violent, sensual production that strives for historical accuracy. It’s visually arresting, and because it is shot on location you get a good feel for the bleakness of the moors and for why the moors appeal to Cathy and Heathcliff, who regard them as their own personal playground.

This movie attracted some controversy by casting Heathcliff as black. I thought it was a brilliant move, although James Howson, who plays Heathcliff as an adult, is too flat and uncharismatic for the part (later the actor revealed that his voice was dubbed by an unknown actor). In the book, Heathcliff is described as “dark” and as being a “gipsy” and a “lascar.” Heathcliff might be a Romani child, or he could be Irish, a child from India, or from African descent, but the majority of insults thrown his way suggest he might be Romani.

For modern American audiences, this element of ethnic bigotry doesn’t resonate because we have much less cultural history with the Romani. By making Heathcliff very dark-skinned, the element of bigotry is much more visceral for American viewers, especially when he is subjected to vicious physical abuse, including whippings, at the hands of white men. It also accentuates the class issues in a roundabout way. In the text, Heathcliff cannot escape his class. No matter how rich he becomes or how well he dresses, no one will let him forget that he was a servant and a foundling. With a black actor, he is trapped not only by his class but also by his color, and just by looking at him we are reminded that Heathcliff cannot achieve respect—only revenge. I think this is especially helpful to modern audiences, who are apt to forget about how very little class mobility used to exist and who may underestimate Heathcliff’s constrained social position.

This version of Wuthering Heights is very little about dialogue or acting and very much about the physical world. There is explicit, brutal sex and violence and scenes of great beauty. The cups and plates on the set were borrowed from a museum—everything is as historically accurate as possible. Heathcliff, who lives a life of physical pain and deprivation, is seen again and again finding some pleasure and consolation in things that are soft and beautiful—the feel of a horse, the color of Cathy’s dress, the feel and smell of her hair when they ride a horse together. Although all the press about this movie involved the adult actors, the movie very much belongs to Solomon Glave and Shannon Beer, as young Heathcliff and Cathy. They not only have the most screen time, but also have the most work to do, showing a complex and confused childhood and adolescent relationship in a world without guidance or boundaries.

Like most of the Wuthering Heights movies, this movie kills off Cathy and, in short order, Heathcliff, so they can get on with haunting the moors and not have to deal with little details like most of the themes of the book. What this movie does do well is give a detailed and visceral description of Heathcliff and Cathy’s younger years.

The Miniseries

Wuthering Heights, 1967—The One With Ian McShane and Angela Scoular (BBC) (★★)

This adaptation is very close to the book, not just in terms of the book’s events, but also in terms of the unrelentingly hysterical, melodramatic gothic tone, and good Lord, is it an ordeal to watch. I kept thinking that surely the people in the book weren’t this vile—but I reread it, and yes, they are. I give this adaptation points for being so unflinching and being the only one to actually tackle all the themes of the book without sugarcoating anything. I can also see why every other production dials down at least some of the main characters’ more odious behavior. This was the first adaptation I watched, and I was filled with dread at the thought of having to watch hour after hour of more versions of terrible, insane people doing terrible, insane things. But, I also had a deeper appreciation of the many layers of issues and injustices in Wuthering Heights, and I have a new appreciation of it as a horror story about what happens to people who are abused and trapped.

In keeping with the overall melodrama of the production, all the actors are as hammy as possible. Ian McShane is rivetingly insane as Heathcliff. His eyes roll around, and he looks like at any moment he might go into some sort of full on demonic-possession dance. It would not have surprised me at all if his head had just spun around like that kid in The Exorcist. At first I thought maybe Angela Scoular, who plays Cathy and Cathy 2.0, wasn’t overacting but was just playing a really crazy person. Alas, once she had to play Cathy 2.0, a person who is supposed to be somewhat sane at least some of the time, it became obvious that the actress was actually completely dreadful. She does get one great moment as Cathy 2.0, where she tells Heathcliff that she hopes she learns to love Linton because that will make Heathcliff miserable. Atta girl. Hareton is a complete caricature of a bumpkin.

I found it odd that, in a mostly faithful production, they cut everything that established Heathcliff and Cathy as having a close relationship together as kids and as teens. Without that, their relationship had no weight. It was a strange and disappointing omission, but I guess they had to make room for Cathy to throw herself on the floor screaming whenever she didn’t get her way.

This is the most gothic adaptation of the lot. It’s filmed in black and white and the “wuthering” wind is wuthering away at full pitch during the entire production, which just about drove me insane and gave me a certain sympathy for the Heights’s inhabitants. The only thing this drafty house needed to be more gothic was some bats fluttering around the kitchen table. The production is dark and melodramatic and miserable—so, just like the book, then! Okeydokey!

Wuthering Heights, 2009—The One With Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley (ITV, Masterpiece Classic) (★★★½)

Who would have guessed that Heathcliff could be funny? Tom Hardy invests Heathcliff with menace and sensuality and a very dry, sarcastic wit. There are a lot of flaws in this adaptation, but Tom Hardy is a joy to watch.

I usually don’t get emotionally invested in adaptations of Wuthering Heights, but this one sure got my attention. Tom Hardy is one of those villains who, when they are very angry, grow quiet. There’s a scene where Cathy is sitting in a chair, and Heathcliff is standing up. He doesn’t move his body or raise his voice, or even say anything threatening, and yet suddenly I was terrified for Cathy. It was amazing acting on both their parts, as she refuses to break eye contact with him even as he exudes barely repressed violence simply by standing still. I actually cared about the characters—fiery Cathy, exasperated Edgar, and poor, heartbroken Isabella, and for the first and only time I understood why people are so fascinated by Heathcliff. All the actors (with the exception of the rather bland Hareton and Cathy 2.0) bring a ferocious level of commitment to their parts and invest the parts with layers of meaning and emotion.

Charlotte Riley (who is rumored on and off to be romantically involved with Tom Hardy) is a wonderful Cathy. She exhibits terrible behavior but also shows intense frustration at her life. She would be a great pirate queen and instead she has to do needlework. She’s smart and fiery and cranky and she can stand up to Tom Hardy even though he seems to be about eight feet tall. Their scenes together are mesmerizing.

The casting involved some unintentional hilarity as Bane from The Dark Knight Rises faces off against Rick from The Walking Dead. The characters Bane and Heathcliff don’t seem to have much in common other than having both been played by Tom Hardy, but both characters are betrayed by a headstrong, mentally unstable woman, and poor Andrew Lincoln, who plays Edgar here and went on to play Rick Grimes in The Walking Dead, is stuck once again in a marriage to neurotic person with no common sense. He brings a lot of humanity to the part of Edgar. The poor man is so beleaguered that he looks as though The Walking Dead zombie apocalypse would come as a relief.

This is an adaptation with a lot of sex. The novel draws a Victorian veil over the question of whether or not Heathcliff and Cathy ever sexually consummated their relationship. In this version, we see sex scenes between Heathcliff and Cathy, Cathy and Edgar (so awkward!), and Heathcliff and Isabella. One of the more bizarre changes to the story is that in this version, Heathcliff comes back from his mysterious hiding place on Cathy’s wedding day, and she meets him in secret, runs off to Edgar to consummate her marriage, meets Heathcliff again, and he’s all “you totally had sex!” (I’m paraphrasing, of course). And she’s all, “Duh, I’m totally married!” And he’s all, “Do you think I care about your stupid marriage to that guy from The Walking Dead? I hate that show!” And then they have a fight.

In general, this production is kind of a mess. The director shuffled a lot of things around in an attempt to make the narrative more compelling (for instance, the first scene is of Linton being deposited against his will at Wuthering Heights), but it isn’t. And in a production that includes some amazing actors (Hardy, Lincoln and Riley), Hareton and Cathy 2.0 are utterly forgettable. Watch this version for Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley, and fast-forward through any moment that doesn’t include one or both of them.

Final Scorecard

Best Overall Version: I’m not thrilled with any of these versions, but if you could combine the first half of the 2009 version with the second half of the 1998 version, you’d have a damn fine adaptation.

Best Heathcliff: Tom Hardy, with honorable mentions for Timothy Dalton, as a completely demonic Heathcliff, and for Robert Cavanaugh for bringing many levels of emotion to the character.

Best Cathy: Orla Brady, with Charlotte Riley coming in a close second.

Best Cathy 2.0 and Hareton: This one’s easy! Matthew Macfadyen and Sarah Smart, from the 1998 version.

Most Epically Insane Nervous Breakdown: In classic terms, Angela Scoular gesturing madly out the window and rolling her eyes around while she babbles about the churchyard. In modern terms, Katherine Heigl, rocking the mascara of madness and shrieking, “He wrote that for me! For me!” This scene may represent the high point of Heigl’s non-Grey’s Anatomy career.

Worst Change: The efforts of films (specifically, the 1939, 1970, 2003 and 2011 versions) to make Wuthering Heights a tragic love story that plays out in one generation.

Best Change: Casting a black actor as Heathcliff made the racial aspect of the book more vivid for American viewers. Although James Howson got most of the credit for the role, the majority of screen time goes to Solomon Glave as Young Heathcliff, and Solomon gives the part a great deal of quiet endurance, sensitivity and confusion.

Most Unexpectedly Heartbreaking Moment: Isabella begs Heathcliff to love her in the 1939 version. I had no idea that after watching that many adaptations, I could still be touched.

Most Unintentionally Hilarious Moment: In the 1970 version, Nelly has to drag an ailing Cathy away from the window with the help of Edgar and the Doctor. She tells Edgar that this has to do with Heathcliff, and Cathy wails, “No, no, no, don’t speak his name ever!” at which Nelly leans over to Edgar and whispers, in a loud stage whisper, “Heathcliff.” Maybe you had to be there, but I was on the floor with laughter despite the fact that this is clearly intended as a dramatic moment. Oh, Nelly, you incredibly unhelpful person—never change!

Best Clothes: Once again, Hollywood completely fails to grasp the concept of the book it’s supposed to be adapting, but we don’t care because the clothes are so insane and so delightful. The best clothes award goes to the 1939 version. The tribble outfit! The nighties! That weird capelet thing! I love it all!

Part IV: They All Lived Happily Ever After (Unless They Were in Wuthering Heights, in Which Case They All Died): Final Comparisons and Conclusions

When I’ve told people about this project, they’ve had interesting and polarized reactions. Some people love Jane, some love Wuthering Heights, and some love Pride and Prejudice, but no one has told me that they love all three. Some people class all three authors together as “Those romantic English books.” A lot of people lump the Brontë books together as “those gothic novels.” Here are some things that set the novels apart from one another, and some things that draw them together.

Tone: From Romantic Excess to Regency Sarcasm

The obvious thing that links Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre together, particularly in contrast to Pride and Prejudice, is that of tone. Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights are marvelous examples of gothic literature. There are windy moors, and cloudy nights, and apparitions, and people frothing at the mouth. There are ruins and mysteries and everyone experiences and openly expresses deep emotions and passions, right down to gnashing their teeth and/or swooning. In contrast, the only person in Pride and Prejudice who openly expresses deep emotion in the melodramatic, hand-wringing style is Mrs. Bennet, and those around her do not admire this. There is just as much emotion in Pride and Prejudice as in Jane and Wuthering, but it is all happening under the surface. Think of it this way—the bats in the belfry at Thornhill and Wuthering Heights are both literal and metaphorical, while those in Pride and Prejudice are strictly metaphorical. It’s okay, Mrs. Bennet, you can lie down now.

Everybody Needs Somebody Sometime: The Role of Family and Community

Although the gothic tone of Jane and Wuthering is similar, the content could not be more different. Jane is a story about responsibility, ethics and self-respect. Jane is, in many ways, the queen of healthy boundaries (although it takes her a lot of practice). She does not destroy herself by wallowing in helpless rage against her constraints or her oppressors, and she does not lose her dreams or her sense of who she is in passive capitulation. She is willing to work hard and to serve others, whether as a governess to a rich-but-unloved child or as a teacher to impoverished children. But she is not willing to sacrifice herself utterly on the altar of other people’s desires and demands. Jane is empathetic and understanding of the moral failings of others, but she is rock solid in what she considers to be the moral choice for herself.

Jane longs to have a place in society where she can be loved and respected by others, and she longs for some adventure and travel. After the adventure that is her romance with Rochester, she and Rochester settle into a quiet life. But it is hinted that they travel (we know for a fact that they go to London, which for Jane is doubtless a major expedition in and of itself), and we know that she develops a family, friends, and financial security and independence in addition to a romantic relationship with an equal.

Jane has a deprived and cruel childhood, but she has a couple of things going for her that Heathcliff and Cathy do not. Jane is an orphan, but many characters step in to act as a mother to her. They are flawed, but the mere fact that they do, in fact, try gives Jane some stability and guidance. Her nurse, Bessie, is the only person at Aunt Reed’s to show her affection, and tries to steer Jane out of trouble. Miss Temple protects and vindicates Jane at Lowood, providing her with moral guidance and bolstering Jane’s sense of self-respect. Helen is a friend, but as an older friend she also takes something of a mothering role, helping Jane learn to moderate her rage lest Jane become consumed by bitterness. Mrs. Fairfield cautions Jane about the ways of rich men. Even Jane’s birth mother makes an appearance, counseling Jane from the face of the moon during Jane’s most desperate hour. One thinks of Jane as alone in the world, but she encounters many people who extend friendship, care and guidance over the course of her largely solitary life.

Heathcliff and Cathy have none of this. The closest Cathy comes to having a mentor is when she stays at the Linton’s and is influenced by their family to become more genteel. Cathy and Heathcliff’s father is unfair to the three siblings, encourages sibling rivalry, and fails utterly to discipline the children, although he beats them up a lot. Cathy’s mother dies when she is very young. Nelly is such an ineffectual guardian that some critics think Nelly may be the secret villain of the book. Cathy and Heathcliff are raised with virtually no guidance or support, at least, none that they are willing to listen to. They are as feral as a couple of street cats.

Life Is What You Make of It: The Importance of Choice

Other than tone, the biggest similarity between Jane and Wuthering is that both books deal with how much choice you have in the face of horrible circumstances. Jane is constantly faced with making choices. Because of her social and economic status, she tends to act reactively, not proactively. She is almost always under the power of someone else, but she is also always aware that she can choose how to respond to her circumstances. Should she rage, as she does when a child? Should she sacrifice herself and die, as Helen does? She chooses to be a decent, kind, honest person even when those around her are cruel, and she chooses to respect herself when those around her do not. This comes to a head when Rochester declares that it’s not his fault that he has lived a life of dissipation. It’s life’s fault, because he was saddled with an insane wife. And if Jane leaves him (following the discovery of Bertha, the mad wife), it will be her fault when he returns to his destructive and self-destructive ways, because he believes that the only way to respond to despair is to act in a hedonistic and self-destructive manner.

Jane is terribly torn by this, but she is also blessed with enough common sense to know bullshit when she smells it. Here is her reply to Rochester, “Do as I do: trust in God, and yourself. Believe in Heaven. Hope to meet again there…I advise you to live sinless: and I wish you to die tranquil…I no more assign this fate to you [a life of vice] than I seize at it for myself” (238). Jane is just as heartbroken as Rochester when she leaves him, but she finds work and makes friends and is able to create a fairly happy life, even though her love for Rochester never ebbs and she longs for him constantly. She chooses to be as useful and as happy as possible given her circumstances.

It’s easy to cast Heathcliff and Cathy as people who are twisted by life in ways they can’t possibly help. They long for their childhood (at least Cathy does) because it represents a time of freedom when they could be together, but their childhood was also a time of isolation and abuse, and they can’t escape into happy adult lives because of the constraints imposed upon them due to ethnicity, class and gender. But by showing us how other people respond to abuse, poverty and patriarchy, Emily Brontë demonstrates that even though those conditions are terrible and will leave their mark, one can still behave with empathy and self-respect. Heathcliff and Cathy aren’t selfish and obsessive because of their upbringing (at least, not only because of that), they are selfish and obsessive because they choose to be (or, perhaps, because they are mentally ill—it’s impossible to read the book without trying to diagnose them). When adaptations leave out Cathy 2.0 and Hareton’s story, they lose this crucial point, because it is Hareton and Cathy 2.0 who demonstrate the power of choice.

Hareton is abused, if anything, even more viciously than Heathcliff. Cathy 2.0 is a prisoner, at first locked up by a barred window and a locked door, and then imprisoned by the total loss of all her financial resources and even her personal possessions. And the pair is marked by this abuse. Hareton goes along with Heathcliff’s cruelties. Cathy 2.0 becomes bitter and sullen and horribly depressed. But at some point, these two people choose to salvage whatever happiness they can from their shattered lives, and they do that through learning to be kind and empathetic and respectful to each other. Cathy 2.0 has a head start because even though she has no mother (like Jane Eyre and Catherine Earnshaw), she does have a loving father and a more mature Nelly looking out for her. But Hareton is learning empathy from scratch. You can’t even say that he has good genetics on his side, given how horrid his father, Hindley, was. Yet he still manages to be a decent human being.

Jane, Cathy and Lizzy Walk Into a Pub: Comparing the Gothic Books to Pride and Prejudice

So, how does Pride and Prejudice fit into all this? First of all, I’m including Pride and Prejudice because I feel like it, not because there is anything intrinsically linking Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. Austen and the Brontë sisters weren’t contemporaries. They weren’t directly influenced by each other. Their books are not related in any inherent way except that they are all classics of British literature and they all happen to be written by women. I could just as easily compare the critical themes between Edgar Allen Poe and Jonathan Franzen (which, now that I’ve typed that sentence, I kind of want to do) as compare Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice.

Pride and Prejudice, in fact, seems like a completely different species of novel from Wuthering and Jane. There are some similarities, however. Jane and Lizzy are both levelheaded people with fiery natures and big ideas. They share a sense of self-respect tempered with a sense of responsibility, although Jane longs for family and, at times, Lizzy could do with a little less. Neither Lizzy nor Jane would have any patience with Cathy’s tantrums and drama. I gain endless satisfaction from picturing the three women hanging out at the pub. There they are, with Jane and Lizzy each on one side of Cathy, whacking her upside the head as she wails, “Heeaaathcliff!” “Seriously, girl,” they say, “Pull yourself together!” Then Lizzy would offer to loan Jane a couple of sisters and a histrionic mom, and Jane would be tempted but doubtless decline. Why is this not a viral YouTube thing? I could watch Jane and Lizzy talk sense into Cathy all day long, people. Make this happen.

One thing that Lizzy, Cathy and Jane all share is that their choices are constrained by gender and finances. If Heathcliff wants to leave Wuthering Heights, he can join the army, or go to sea, or go to America. We know this, because Edgar rattles them off as possible ways Heathcliff might have earned his wealth. Jane and Lizzy and Cathy can’t do these things because of their gender. Jane is pretty much resigned to a life in domestic service, but she’s not happy about it. Lizzy’s entire family’s future depends on her and her sisters marrying money. Cathy has three choices: marry a rich man whom she likes but doesn’t feel passionate about, marry the man she does feel passionate about and live in abject, homeless poverty, or stay single and live with her drunken brother forever.

Another thing they have in common is that they all struggle to be respected. Jane is “poor, obscure, plain and little” and is subject to a whole host of humiliations from people grander than herself. Cathy loves the freedom of Wuthering Heights but hates its isolation and squalor. She is embarrassed by Heathcliff even as she craves him. She longs for a place in society—to be “[t]he grandest woman in the neighborhood” (48). And Lizzy is never allowed to forget that her family is only respectable by the merest margin—not only are they rather poorly behaved, but she has relatives in trade, if you can believe it!

Will the True Hero Please Stand Up?

Lizzy is blessed by being the only woman of the three to have a true romantic partner who supports her and respects her. Rochester betrays Jane’s trust and is redeemed, oddly enough, by becoming dependent on her (although this is temporary since he does eventually regain his sight, by which time he and Jane are presumed to have a more balanced relationship). The timing of the story is such that we don’t get to see much of their relationship as equals. And even the manipulative, secretive Rochester is far more generous in his support of Jane than Heathcliff is of Cathy. Rochester will support Jane when she wants to do something like visit her aunt, but he can’t be trusted to spare her feelings, and Heathcliff can’t be trusted with anything, ever.

In contrast, Darcy has Lizzy’s back when she really needs it. When he does act against her interests (by turning Bingley against Jane), he does so because he truly believes that this is the most loyal thing he can do for his best friend. He doesn’t think he is hurting Jane at that time, and when he realizes the depth of Jane’s feelings for Bingley, he makes amends for his hurtful mistake. When the Bennets are on the brink of disaster, he sacrifices quite a bit of money and time, and, most significantly, quite a bit of his beloved pride, to save the Bennets from ruin at the hands of Wickham. And although he causes hurt feelings through his snobbery, he never hurts anyone on purpose, unlike Rochester, who deliberately exposes Jane to jealousy and embarrassment, or Heathcliff, whose actions are motivated by revenge. Even when he has no reason to support Lizzy, he defends her against the snide comments of others, and in Lizzy’s most desperate hour he drops everything to help her, without condescension and without seeking credit or reward for his actions.

Rochester and Heathcliff are object lessons on how not to behave. Rochester earns romantic love only through changing (a lot—much more than Darcy who doesn’t start the story with a secret wife). Heathcliff never earns romantic love and therefore does not get it, unless you believe that his ghost and Cathy’s are blissful after death. Darcy, like Lizzy, has a lot of growing up to do, but Darcy owns his mistakes, fixes them when he can, never acts out of malice and rises to the occasion when needed. That’s the reason that Darcy is such a beloved archetype—where Rochester and Heathcliff teach us how not to treat your true love, Darcy teaches us how to do it right.

Surviving and Thriving in a Difficult World

Jane, Lizzy and Cathy, with their constrained choices, are like people stranded on a desert island with a small set of tools. They can’t use the tools to turn the island into a metropolis or to build a submarine, but they still have choices about what to do with the few tools they have: Build a raft? Build a shelter? Make a fishing net? They learn to use their tools through much toil and trial and error. They make mistakes, and Cathy does not survive. But their efforts remind us of the importance of self-respect, responsibility and freedom. And their relationships remind us of the importance of passion, selflessness and equality in love as in life.

Part V: Special Features

Behind the Scenes With Charlotte Brontë

Charlotte Brontë came from a remarkable family that was blessed with great talent and cursed with terrible health. When I say “terrible health,” I mean that Charlotte outlived her mother, and the aunt who raised her, and all of her five siblings, none of whom left children behind. This is especially depressing since Charlotte was only thirty-eight at the time of her death. Frankly, every sentence of a Brontë biography could easily end with these words, “…and then she/he died.”

Charlotte’s mother, Maria, died of cancer when Charlotte was six years old. Charlotte was the middle child of six. In order, they were: Maria, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Patrick Branwell, Emily and Anne. A few years after her mother’s death, Maria, Elizabeth, Emily and Charlotte went to boarding school, one that featured bad food and bad living conditions overall (resemblances to Lowood Institution, in Jane Eyre, are not coincidental). Maria and Elizabeth battled both typhus and consumption and died six weeks apart. Maria was said to be very imaginative and intelligent, and she is often said to have been the inspiration for Jane Eyre’s Helen.

The remaining Brontë siblings were educated at home, with the exception of some time together at Roe Head School, where Charlotte became a teacher. While at home, the siblings immersed themselves in stories of the magical worlds that they created, Angria and Gondal.

One of the most interesting periods in Charlotte’s life is the time she spent in Brussels as a pupil teacher. Charlotte and Emily went to Brussels in hopes of improving their foreign-language skills. Their goal was to open a school near their father’s home in Haworth (they were not successful, because no one wanted to live in Haworth, which was a large but impoverished village with well water that was contaminated by runoff from the cemetery, hence everyone dying all the time). They went home when the aunt who had raised them died, but Charlotte went back to Brussels later to finish her studies. Charlotte was fascinated by her teacher, Constantin Héger, and she seemed to have fallen deeply in love with him. Unfortunately for Charlotte, Héger did not have a mad wife in an attic who would conveniently perish—he had a sane and healthy wife who was very much alive and very much annoyed. Charlotte left Brussels without a romantic partner, but with material for her books The Professor, Villette and, of course, Jane Eyre.

When Charlotte returned home she discovered that she, Emily and Anne had all been secretly writing poetry. They self-published a book of poems (it only sold two copies), and then attempted to publish novels. A publisher accepted Emily’s Wuthering Heights and Anne’s Agnes Grey right away, but Charlotte’s The Professor was turned down. She quickly gave the publisher Jane Eyre instead, and it was huge success. It got good reviews, although once the truth came out that the author was a woman, it was criticized for being “coarse.” It was not only critically acclaimed, but it was also a bestseller and has never gone out of print.

And that, dear friends, was pretty much the last happy year in the lives of the Brontë family. Branwell, Emily and Anne died less than a year apart. Branwell, who was an alcoholic, died first (of alcoholism and tuberculosis), then Emily and Anne died, also of tuberculosis. The Brontë family was down to Charlotte and her father.

Charlotte had a few relatively calm and happy years after that. She published more books, travelled to London and enjoyed her fame. In 1854, she married and became pregnant. In 1855, she died, possibly from tuberculosis, or typhus, or possibly from complications from the pregnancy (she was pregnant when she died, with uncontrollable, constant, vicious morning sickness that left her unable to hold down any food) or perhaps from some horrible combination of all three. The only Brontë to make it to old age was Charlotte’s father, who spent the rest of his days being cared for by Charlotte’s widower.

A quick glance at the bibliography will tell you that my research on the lives of the Brontës is not scholarly in nature. However, if you are interested in a reliable, thorough biography of the Brontës, I can recommend The Brontës: Wild Genius on the Moors by Juliet Barker. Be aware that the biography of Charlotte Brontë that was written shortly after her death, entitled The Life of Charlotte Brontë, by Elisabeth Gaskell, has been widely discredited.

Behind the Scenes with Jane Austen

The image many people have of Jane Austen is that of a provincial spinster who lived a sharply constrained life in a small hamlet. Actually, Jane was a vivacious woman with many suitors (although she never married), who loved travel, theater, shopping and dancing. She traveled extensively throughout England and especially enjoyed going to London for shopping and the theater. Although she initially published her books under a pseudonym, she was eventually recognized for her work under her own name and achieved quite a bit of fame and prestige for her writing.

Jane was born in 1775. She was raised in a large family, consisting mostly of boys, and who took in boarding students (more boys). It is perhaps not surprising, given the preponderance of boys, that Jane was exceptionally close to her only sister, Cassandra. Jane and her sister both survived typhus at their boarding school (this seems to be a theme—a typhus and tuberculosis epidemic at the Brontës’ school killed two of the Brontë sisters). For the most part, Jane was educated at home.

Jane’s travels were limited to England and Wales due to the Napoleonic Wars, but she had many overseas relatives who kept her informed of global affairs, including several who travelled to India in search of husbands and a cousin who married a French aristocrat and had to flee during the French Revolution (the cousin’s husband, I’m sorry to say, did not flee and was beheaded). Jane also had brothers in the navy who told her about their travels.

Jane’s first writing was for the benefit of her family. She wrote plays that the family performed during holidays and get-togethers, and rather ribald parodies of popular books of the time. When she published her novels, she did so either under a pseudonym or under the name “A Lady.” However, it soon became common knowledge, at least amongst Jane’s peers and amongst the aristocracy, that Jane was the author. The Prince Regent was a fan, which proved awkward for Jane who disapproved of him. This did not prevent her from dedicating a book (Emma) to the Prince Regent, under political and financial pressure.

Jane’s books were quite popular during her life (with the exceptions of Persuasion and Northanger Abbey, both of which were published after her death). Even at the time, the most popular book was Pride and Prejudice, and people loved her books because the characters were familiar and relatable, without the melodrama of the romantic novels that had been in fashion.

My primary source for information about Jane Austen’s life is the biography The Real Jane Austen: A Life in Small Things, by Paula Byrne. This quote from the biography has great relevance to those of us who feel a deep attachment to Jane Austen’s characters:

It has become fashionable in our own time to be dismissive of “Janeites” who speak of Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy and the rest as if they were real people, so it may come as a surprise to find that the supremely self-aware ironist Jane Austen considered, if playfully, her fictional creations as flesh and blood figures. In conversation with her family…she gave afterlives to characters in her novels. She suggested that Jane Fairfax dies young in childbed, that Kitty Bennet marries a young clergyman and that the large sum of money Mr. Norris gives to William Price is One Pound. According to the family memoir, she thought of fictional characters as people she knew: “Every circumstance narrated in Sir Charles Grandison, all that was ever said and done in the cedar parlor, was familiar to her; and the wedding days of Lady L./ and Lady G. were as remembered as if they had been living friend” (88)

The cause of Jane’s death is not definitively known, although it is most commonly thought to have been Addison’s disease (Hodgkin’s lymphoma is another possibility). She died in 1817, at the age of forty-one, after many years of poor health, and is buried in Winchester Cathedral in Hampshire, England.

Behind the Scenes with Emily Brontë

Emily Brontë is famous for writing Wuthering Heights and dying young. And honestly, that’s almost everything we know about her other than the details of her life that emerge from the Brontë family story (see: “Behind the Scenes with Charlotte Brontë”).

Like her sisters, Emily left home several times, but never for long. When she went away to school, Charlotte sent her home after three months due to concerns about her health. She tried teaching, but found it exhausting, and she lived for a while in Brussels with Charlotte, but was homesick. She seems to have enjoyed staying home, wandering the moors, and being with animals—with humans she was terribly shy.

Emily was very close to her brother, Branwell. He died at the age of thirty-one of alcoholism and the family favorite, tuberculosis. Emily caught a bad cold at his funeral and died four months later at the age of thirty. She refused medical care until the very end. A true procrastinator, her last words were, “If you will send for the doctor, I will see him now.” Emily is thought to have died from tuberculosis, but there is speculation that her tuberculosis could have been worsened by anorexia nervosa, since she often went for long periods of time without eating.

Although she only published one book, Wuthering Heights, it became one of the most influential and controversial books in literature. Reviewers praised the visceral power of the writing but were appalled by the content. The book was not as popular among readers as Jane Eyre when it was first released, but it was a reasonable success in terms of sales. The Brontë sisters published their first books under the names Currer (Charlotte), Ellis (Emily) and Acton (Anne) Bell. They chose these pseudonyms because they were neither specifically male nor female. Ultimately, a rumor started that the three authors were really the same person, at which point the sisters made their identity public. Since then, readers have been mystified that a woman, especially one as isolated as Emily, could invent a story as violent and sensual as Wuthering Heights.

Learning about Emily’s life is complicated because everything we know about her was filtered through her big sister Charlotte. Charlotte was very concerned about Emily’s image because Wuthering Heights was so controversial. Charlotte presented an image of Emily as a mystical conduit through which visions flowed beyond her control. Charlotte guarded Emily’s image so closely that she is suspected of destroying Emily’s writings about Gondal, some of her diaries and letters, and portions of a second novel. All we have left is Wuthering Heights, but it’s an astounding legacy all on its own.

Trivia

Jane Eyre

• I combed the internet for juicy tidbits for you all, but oddly, no one seems to fall in real-life love on a Jane Eyre set. This may be because, as Michael Jayston said, “It’s not that romantic performing love scenes at 8 a.m. with a props guy holding a hot fan right next to you to keep your lips from freezing” (“About the Actors to have played Edward Rochester,” The Enthusiast’s Guide to Jane Eyre Adaptations, http://eyreguide.awardspace.co.uk/rochesters.html).

• Charlotte Brontë dedicated the second printing of Jane Eyre to William Thackeray. Since he had a mentally-ill wife and had just published a book about a governess who has a relationship with her employer (Vanity Fair), this caused quite a scandal (Lizzy Enfield, “Book dedications: so few words, but such big stories,” The Telegraph, January 25, 2010, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/books-life/7073767/Book-dedications-so-few-words-but-such-big-stories.html).

• Charlotte was the only one of the Brontë progeny to marry.

• Sorcha Cusack, who played Jane in the 1973 miniseries, had no major television experience and thought that, as a result, her performance was rather “flat” (“Vanished Into Thin Eyre,” Jane Eyre – The 1973 BBC Miniseries, http://janeeyre73.awardspace.co.uk/publicity.html).

• Susannah York, who played a glamorous Jane in the 1970 film with George C. Scott, could not understand why people thought she was too pretty to play Jane (“Vanished Into Thin Eyre,” Jane Eyre – The 1973 BBC Miniseries, http://janeeyre73.awardspace.co.uk/publicity.html).

• Zelah Clarke, who played opposite Timothy Dalton in the 1983 version, believes that playing Jane ended her acting career. Despite the post-Jane success of many actresses, Clarke maintains, “Everyone remembers the Rochesters but no one recalls the Janes.” (“Zelah Clarke – the forgotten star of Jane Eyre,” BritMovie, http://www.britmovie.co.uk/forums/actors-actresses/95914-zelah-clarke-%96-forgotten-star-jane-eyre.html).

• Michael Fassbender, who plays Rochester in the 2011 movie, wanted to do the film because his sister and mother love the book (Vicki Reid, “Jane Eyre: Michael Fassbender Interview,” The Telegraph, August 29, 2011, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/starsandstories/8706510/Jane-Eyre-Michael-Fassbender-interview.html).

• Here’s some personal trivia for you: Charlotte Brontë and I are about the same height (I’m four feet, ten inches tall and she was four feet, nine inches tall) and Charlotte died on my birthday. Coincidence? Well, yes—but neat. (Juliet Barker, The Brontës, Wild Genius on the Moors [New York: Pegasus Books, 2012)

Pride and Prejudice

• Pride and Prejudice (the novel) was published in 1813, anonymously. It was bought by the publisher Thomas Edgerton for £110 and copies sold for eighteen shillings (Jen Doll, “200 Years of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ Book Design, The Atlantic Wire, January 25, 2013, http://www.theatlanticwire.com/entertainment/2013/01/pride-and-prejudice-200th-anniversary-covers/60978).

• If you’re having trouble selling a manuscript, take heart: the first publisher to which Austen submitted the manuscript rejected it without even reading it! (Jen Doll, “200 Years of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ Book Design, The Atlantic Wire, January 25, 2013, http://www.theatlanticwire.com/entertainment/2013/01/pride-and-prejudice-200th-anniversary-covers/60978).

• Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice when she was roughly the same age as the character Elizabeth Bennet (Lizzy) (Jen Doll, “200 Years of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ Book Design,” The Atlantic Wire, January 25, 2013, http://www.theatlanticwire.com/entertainment/2013/01/pride-and-prejudice-200th-anniversary-covers/60978).

• Keira Knightley was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress for her portrayal of Lizzy Bennet in the 2005 film. She was the third-youngest person to be nominated for the award. (“Keira Knightley,” Wikipedia, http://www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keira_Knightley).

• Rupert Friend and Keira Knightley dated for several years following the 2005 film. He played Mr. Wickham. (Shari Weiss, “Keira Knightly and Rupert Friend Split after Five Years Together”, New York Daily News, January 13, 2011, http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/gossip/keira-knightley-rupert-friend-split-years-article-1.153982)

• Bride & Prejudice was directed by Gurinder Chadha. She was born in Kenya, to parents who were born in India. She grew up in Britain and is married to a Japanese-American man. Many of her films involve cross-cultural themes, including Bend It Like Beckham, which starred Keira Knightley in her pre-Elizabeth Bennet acting days (“Chadha, Gurinder (1960-),” BFI Screenonline, http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/502103).

• Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth dated briefly while making the 1995 miniseries (“Colin Firth,” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colin_Firth).

• Susannah Harker, who plays Jane in the 1995 miniseries, was pregnant during the time the miniseries was filmed, but the cut of the Regency dresses, combined with some creative use of shawls, concealed the pregnancy (“Pride and Prejudice Trivia,” Internet Movie Database, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112130/trivia?ref_=tt_trv_trv).

•The 1940 film version was shot in black and white because all the Technicolor film available had been used for Gone With the Wind (Jessica Andrews, “Voice: 200 years of Pride and Prejudice,” British Council USA, January 25, 2013, http://usa.britishcouncil.org/pride-and-prejudice).

Wuthering Heights

• Emily Brontë kept some reviews of Wuthering Heights in her desk. While many reviewers praised the passion in the book, others were not impressed. My personal favorite, from Graham’s Lady’s and Gentleman’s Magazine, states, “How a human being could have attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before he had finished a dozen chapters is a mystery” (“Contemporary Reviews of ‘Wuthering Heights,’” The Reader’s Guide to Wuthering Heights, http://wuthering-heights.co.uk/reviews.php).

• Emily loved animals—many people said she related to animals better than people. Her most famous pet was a mastiff named Keeper (“Emily and her dog, Keeper,” The Brontë Sisters, http://kleurrijkbrontesisters.blogspot.com/2011/06/emily-and-her-dog-keeper.html).

• In 1997, a first-edition of Wuthering Heights sold for £114,000 (Toby Waine, “How to make a killing from first editions,” The Telegraph, November 20, 2007, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/personalfinance/investing/2819787/How-to-make-a-killing-from-first-editions.html).

• Kate Bush, who wrote a song called “Wuthering Heights,” has the same birthday as Emily Brontë. (“Kate Bush,” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kate_Bush)

• Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley, who played Heathcliff and Cathy, respectively, in the 2009 version, have frequently been rumored to be engaged. (Hanna Flint, “Suited and booted Tom Hardy brings fiancée Charlotte Riley to BFI London Film Festival premiere of Locke”, October 19, 2013 http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2467101/Suited-booted-Tom-Hardy-brings-fianc-e-Charlotte-Riley-BFI-London-Film-Festival-premiere-Locke.html#ixzz2ke66oJSC)

• On the other end of the relationship spectrum, Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon, from the 1939 movie version, hated each other (she complained that he kept spitting on her when reciting dialogue). (“Wuthering Heights (1939 film),” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wuthering_Heights_(1939_film)).

• In the 1939 version, producer Samuel Goldwyn insisted on the last shot of the ghosts of Cathy and Heathcliff walking together, even though the director, William Wyler, said that scene would completely contradict the message of the book. (“Wuthering Heights (1939 film),” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wuthering_Heights_(1939_film)).

• Sinéad O’Connor has an uncredited cameo in the 1992 version (with Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche). She plays Emily Brontë (“Wuthering Heights Full Cast & Crew,” Internet Movie Database, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104181/fullcredits).

• James Howson had never acted before being cast as Heathcliff in the 2011 film version. Prior to being cast, he had a painful childhood that included being expelled from school and serving time in jail for drug offenses and robbery. Sadly, as of this writing, Howson continues to face legal problems and has not found further acting opportunities (Ben Leach, “Heathcliffe’s journey from prison cell to film role,” The Telegraph, November 13, 2011, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/film-news/8885992/Heathcliffs-journey-from-prison-cell-to-film-role.html).

• Kaya Scodelario, who plays Cathy in the 2005 film, has still not read Wuthering Heights! (Lucy Cavendish, “Kaya Scodelario on life after ‘Skins,’” The Telegraph, July 5, 2013, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/10139731/Kaya-Scodelario-on-life-after-Skins.html).

Playlist: Unofficial Music Connections

Jane Eyre

“Realize”..........Colbie Caillat

“I’ve Been the One”..........The Golden Palominos

“Silent All These Years”..........Tori Amos

“What Makes You Beautiful”..........One Direction

“Falling”..........Julee Cruise

“Brave”..........Sara Bareilles

“It’s My Life”..........Bon Jovi

“Nothing Compares 2 U”..........Sinéad O’Connor

“Don’t Forget Me”..........Macy Gray

“Yesterday”..........The Beatles

“At Last”..........Etta James

“Hey Leonardo (She Likes Me For Me)”..........Blessed Union of Souls

“Our House”..........Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

Pride and Prejudice

“We Are Family”..........Sister Sledge

“Sisters”..........Rosemary Clooney, with Trudy Stevens

“Money, Money, Money”..........Abba

“A Well Respected Man”..........The Kinks

“Sharp Dressed Man”..........ZZ Top

“Something to Talk About”..........Bonnie Raitt

“The Way I Feel Inside”..........The Zombies

“Glory Box”..........Portishead

“Unexpected Song”..........Sarah Brightman

“Let’s Get Married”..........Proclaimers

“When You Say Nothing At All”..........Alison Krauss

Wuthering Heights

“Wuthering Heights”..........Kate Bush

“Daydreaming”..........Dark Dark Dark

“With or Without You”..........U2

“Push”..........Matchbox Twenty

“Trigger Happy Jack”..........Poe

“Counting”..........Jherek Bischoff

“Mama’s Broken Heart”..........Miranda Lambert

“Until I’m One With You”..........Ryan Bingham

“I Hate Myself For Loving You”..........Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

“Wicked Game”..........Chris Issak

“Bad Romance”..........Lady Gaga

“I Shatter”..........The Magnetic Fields

Part VI: Roll Credits

Acknowledgements

This is my first book with Harlequin, and they have been absolutely delightful in helping me with this project. Thanks to Malle Vallik, Julie Forrest and my wonderful editor, Stacey Reid!

This book would not have been possible without the assistance of the Sacramento Public Library, which kept me well supplied with DVDs. More importantly, I have been blessed with librarians who took an interest in my work and who have encouraged me to pursue writing professionally.

Thanks to Sarah Wendell of smartbitchestrashybooks.com for publishing early, short versions of this work and for making sure that the editors of HarlequinPop! were able to find me!

My Facebook friends helped with title and playlist suggestions (special thanks go to Heather Thayer, for the playlist suggestions). And many, many thanks to my mother, who got so excited about this book that she sewed not one but two Regency-style gowns for me to wear when I talk to people about it. I may never wear normal clothes again! Of course thank you to my amazing daughter for letting her Mom type in peace, and to my husband for making every day a true romance.

Bibliography

Andrews, Jessica. “Voice: 200 years of Pride and Prejudice.” British Council USA, January 25, 2013. http://usa.britishcouncil.org/pride-and-prejudice.

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 2003. Nook edition.

Barker, Juliet. The Brontës, Wild Genius on the Moors. New York: Pegasus Books, 2012. Kindle edition.

BFI Screenonline. “Chadha, Gurinder (1960-).” Last modified 2013. http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/502103.

BritMovie. “Zelah Clarke – the forgotten star of Jane Eyre.” Last modified February 14, 2005. http://www.britmovie.co.uk/forums/actors-actresses/95914-zelah-clarke-%96-forgotten-star-jane-eyre.html.

Brontë, Charlotte. Jane Eyre. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 2003. Nook edition.

———. Jane Eyre. New York: Random House, 1943.

Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. New York: Random House, 1943.

———. Wuthering Heights. USA: New World Publishers, LLC, 2013. Nook edition.

The Brontë Sisters. “Emily and her dog, Keeper.” Last modified June 3, 2011. http://kleurrijkbrontesisters.blogspot.com/2011/06/emily-and-her-dog-keeper.html.

The Brontë Society and Brontë Parsonage Museum. “Family and Friends: Maria Brontë.” Accessed August 22, 2013. http://www.Brontë.org.uk/haworth-and-the-Brontës/family-and-friends/maria-Brontë.

Bridget Jones’s Diary. DVD. Directed by Sharon Maguire. 2001. USA: Miramax, 2001.

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Doll, Jen. “200 Years of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ Book Design.” The Atlantic Wire, January 25, 2013. http://www.theatlanticwire.com/entertainment/2013/01/pride-and-prejudice-200th-anniversary-covers/60978.

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Author Note

So here we are, meeting at last in the movie-theater lobby, waiting to go inside and see what how the latest filmmakers have chosen to interpret our favorite books. Hi, my name is Carrie, what’s yours?

This project started as a shorter list of Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre adaptations that was written for the website smartbitchestrashybooks.com, along with an entry about why people either love Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights, but never both. When Harlequin approached me with a request for an expanded piece about Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and the oh so problematic Wuthering Heights, I jumped at the chance to rant and rave about these novels and the different visions filmmakers have had of them!

I love to talk about these three books in particular because I connect to them personally and passionately, and I feel they are often misunderstood. If you’ve read this far, you know how Jane has taught me how to respect and value myself, and Lizzy has taught me that it’s okay to make mistakes. Darcy has taught me what makes a true romantic hero. Cathy and Heathcliff have taught me about how we are shaped by our families and our societies, while Cathy 2.0 and Hareton taught me that we can choose to be happy no matter how difficult our circumstances might be. Although I have many abstract, academic thoughts about these books, as befits my English degree, my relationship with these books is far more personal and emotional than it is intellectual. I feel so honored to get to share my thoughts with you!

In addition to writing book reviews and movie reviews for “Smart Bitches, Trashy Books,” you can find me at my own blog, geekgirlinlove.com, where I post daily about books, science and the geek world. When I’m not writing, I’m usually singing, volunteering for the Sacramento Public Library (thanks for loaning me all those DVDs, you guys!), and running after my amazing daughter, my mad-scientist husband, my two cats and my very neurotic dog.

About the Author

Carrie Sessarego is the resident “geek reviewer” for smartbitchestrashybooks.com, and the creator and writer of geekgirlinlove.com. When not reading and writing, you can find Carrie volunteering for the Sacramento Public Library, and getting into trouble with her mad scientist husband, amazing daughter, suitably mysterious cats and highly neurotic dog. Carrie’s zombie apocalypse kit contains copies of Jane Eyre and The Lord of the Rings, and many, many Oreo cookies.

Coming later in 2014 is the tentatively titled Love in the Buffyverse.

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ISBN-13: 9781460330647

PRIDE, PREJUDICE AND POPCORN

Copyright © 2014 by Carrie Sessarego

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