Hmm, my cheerfulness just ebbed a tad when I read the grave marker again. 28. Which is my age. Which is kind of crazy and sad and definitely much too young. Sigh.
Anne is actually my favorite of the 3 Brontës. Emily (Wuthering Heights) is a bit overdone for me—and I have a whole separate rant on the rubbishy notion that WH is a love story of great passion and necessary emulation by all tweens. Apparently, Steph Meyer (Twilight) claimed the book was Bella & Edward’s favorite of all time, and I think the moment I heard that a little part of my soul froze over. I realize that’s not Emily’s fault, but no. It really is Too Much.
Charlotte (Jane Eyre) is fabulous and interesting, but I keep trying to read her other books and getting hopelessly mired. Shirley? Hmm. Villette? Maybe tomorrow. The Professor? Not so much.
Tenant of Wildfell Hall, on the other hand, still feels fresh as a daisy. For my money, it manages to escape some of the crazier aspects of more typical Brontë romanticism, making it more realistic, more progressive, and ultimately more interesting. I think we’ve established that I’m a fan.
So, happy 191st, Anne!
And in return for contemplating the brevity of life and the comparative lack of accomplishment in mine, I think the least we can do is end on a happy note.
One of my favorite clips of all time. Fear the Brontësaurus!!