The Professor
1 journaler for this copy...
I requested this from paperbackswap.com.
It's been a long time since I've felt so relieved to be finished with a book! This was the most boring and irritating read I've encountered in a really long time. I would have abandoned it except it meets two of my reading challenges and I want to be able to say I've read all the Brontes.
Before I started reading the book, I wrote this: "I've always had a negative impression of CB… I think it’s Elizabeth Gaskell’s fault. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt but can’t seem to shake it. Somebody make me like her!!! 😂😂. (I know I shouldn’t judge based on other people's opinions.)"
Unfortunately, Charlotte's weirdnesses are on full display with this little novel. It's creepy how often Crimsworth comments on the attractiveness or lack thereof of his underage female students. It's even more creepy when he starts acting super dominating, "in a nice way", as an act of “love” toward Frances.
The problem is that Charlotte was super sheltered and had little guidance about worldly things. Her only known male influences were her distracted, eccentric preacher father and her worthless drunken brother who probably exposed her to all kinds of gross behavior. She had a weird unrequited crush on her own Belgian teacher who, like Crimsworth, required her to speak in a language not her own. The difference is that her Belgian teacher did so because he saw a potential of scholarship in her, while the novel's hero seems to use it as a disturbing tool to test the submission of his favorite pupil, Frances. Frances, in turn, couldn't help but be attracted by this freaky weirdo, and seemed to be more attracted to him the grosser he acted. All these things probably seemed like a "love story" to naive Charlotte, but I found the whole thing pretty cringy.
Crimsworth spends far too much attention on the hair and dress and carriage of every female he encounters. This is not usual Victorian heterosexual male conversation and it's not consistent with his character. He can't be a cold sexist jerk about most things but then pay such attention to the detail of a teenage girl's dress and deportment. But she doesn't know this because she doesn't know people. She once commented negatively on Jane Austen---but Austen knew people. She understood adults and the nuances of adult relationships. Charlotte's novel reads like a little girl trying to write about men without understanding men---because that's what it is. It's also annoyingly tiresome and sludgy.
Obviously my opinion of Charlotte has yet to improve…
Besides my personal issues with the character of the author, the writing itself was also tiresome and sludgy. Bronte treats us to plenty of Victorian convolutedness. For instance, here's the second half of a very needlessly long sentence: "...but I knew all that he knew, and, what was worse, he suspected that I kept the padlock of silence on mental wealth in which he was no sharer." Basically, he's saying guy #2 knew guy #1 was smarter than him. Just say that, for crying out loud...
My final irritation was the ridiculous amount of times I had to use Google translate to figure out what the heck was going on in all the French conversations. Granted, Bronte may have figured the only people interested in reading her work were those who were privileged enough to read in multiple languages---but it hasn't aged well for us hillbilly American Southerners who can barely string three words together to order a sweet tea.
Before I started reading the book, I wrote this: "I've always had a negative impression of CB… I think it’s Elizabeth Gaskell’s fault. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt but can’t seem to shake it. Somebody make me like her!!! 😂😂. (I know I shouldn’t judge based on other people's opinions.)"
Unfortunately, Charlotte's weirdnesses are on full display with this little novel. It's creepy how often Crimsworth comments on the attractiveness or lack thereof of his underage female students. It's even more creepy when he starts acting super dominating, "in a nice way", as an act of “love” toward Frances.
The problem is that Charlotte was super sheltered and had little guidance about worldly things. Her only known male influences were her distracted, eccentric preacher father and her worthless drunken brother who probably exposed her to all kinds of gross behavior. She had a weird unrequited crush on her own Belgian teacher who, like Crimsworth, required her to speak in a language not her own. The difference is that her Belgian teacher did so because he saw a potential of scholarship in her, while the novel's hero seems to use it as a disturbing tool to test the submission of his favorite pupil, Frances. Frances, in turn, couldn't help but be attracted by this freaky weirdo, and seemed to be more attracted to him the grosser he acted. All these things probably seemed like a "love story" to naive Charlotte, but I found the whole thing pretty cringy.
Crimsworth spends far too much attention on the hair and dress and carriage of every female he encounters. This is not usual Victorian heterosexual male conversation and it's not consistent with his character. He can't be a cold sexist jerk about most things but then pay such attention to the detail of a teenage girl's dress and deportment. But she doesn't know this because she doesn't know people. She once commented negatively on Jane Austen---but Austen knew people. She understood adults and the nuances of adult relationships. Charlotte's novel reads like a little girl trying to write about men without understanding men---because that's what it is. It's also annoyingly tiresome and sludgy.
Obviously my opinion of Charlotte has yet to improve…
Besides my personal issues with the character of the author, the writing itself was also tiresome and sludgy. Bronte treats us to plenty of Victorian convolutedness. For instance, here's the second half of a very needlessly long sentence: "...but I knew all that he knew, and, what was worse, he suspected that I kept the padlock of silence on mental wealth in which he was no sharer." Basically, he's saying guy #2 knew guy #1 was smarter than him. Just say that, for crying out loud...
My final irritation was the ridiculous amount of times I had to use Google translate to figure out what the heck was going on in all the French conversations. Granted, Bronte may have figured the only people interested in reading her work were those who were privileged enough to read in multiple languages---but it hasn't aged well for us hillbilly American Southerners who can barely string three words together to order a sweet tea.
