Poor, Obscure, Plain, and Little The ramblings of an obscure academian.

After a short visit to the campus I will be haunting for the next two years of my life (at least, hopefully—so far I’ve received no information about the upcoming semester), I briefly met two second year M.A. students in English, both of whom were very polite and highly recommended the faculty in the department (although they didn’t seem too complimentary of the bureaucracy of the school). One was a Victorianist, which was fantastic, as we are the “happy few, we band of brothers” (We’re both women, but I like that line, and “band of siblings” just doesn’t have the same ring). The other student also preferred English/Irish writing, which was another rarity, but focuses on the modern/post-structuralist side of the line. It was a nice meeting of the minds, although the rest of the visit was not so pleasant.

The school I’m attending apparently has a bias towards students who attended the school for their undergraduate as well as their graduate degree. This is not simply sour grapes, because it seems quite obvious from my experience on campus. I arrived for an interview, but was subsequently told that it would be difficult to hire me immediately, since they did not know my references. That seemed slightly off-center to me; if you have to know the references of every person that applies for an office job, you would be left with a very small pool of applicants—i.e., the graduates that came from the school. Having very little experience with the graduate world, I’m not sure if this is the norm, is particular to this school, or is simply the product of my own skewed vision of the school. Who can say? Regardless of whether I’m hired for the position or if I have to seek work in the non-academic sector, I’m excited to start graduate school. It’s just going to be a bigger adjustment from a private to a public university than I expected.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Graduation is seventeen days, twenty-three hours, four minutes, and twenty seconds from now. Now it is even closer since I typed that time limit. Of course, I should feel better in knowing that no university in the world has ever began an event precisely on time. That should put an extra ten minutes between myself and the inevitable (graduation), at least.

To some of my friends and aquaintances (people I talk to, but find too intimidating to call “friends”), my dread of graduation is inexplicable. I was accepted into graduate school—albeit not a top-notch one and little financial aid—but I was accepted, nevertheless. I have a road planned out in front of me—the next two years are solid ahead of me. But yet—

I apologize for the unoriginality of my fears. Every graduate in the world—from eighth grade to Ph.D programs—dreads receiving their diploma, from moving from a familiar environment to an unfamiliar one. I should, as one kind well-wisher put it, “Suck it up, shut up, and move on.” (She’s a darling girl—really.) And I will. As soon as I mourn leaving my comfort zone, and the familiarity of my university.

In the mean time, in order to make myself feel better, I’ve decided that everybody else’s anticipation for graduation (as inexplicable to me as my dread is to them) is really just a poorly designed cover for fear of the real world. They may act like they’re gleeful about never having a final exam again, but come December, when the student loan payments come in, they’ll be as homesick for college as I am now.

What? Consoling myself on my fear of graduation by making everyone as miserable as I am is bitter, satirical, and bad-natured?

I think I can live with that.

After waiting over a month for my uncultured area of the south to show the latest adaptation of Jane Eyre, I finally had the opportunity to watch the film last night. I had no expectations for this film. Although Focus Features has done wonderful films (such as The Young Victoria and The King’s Speech), they were also responsible for the 2005 Pride and Prejudice—which failed to impress me.

Due to my outspoken views on the said Pride and Prejudice adaptation, my friends expected me to filet this new Jane Eyre to shreds. Charlotte Bronte’s masterpiece has been my favorite novel since I discovered it at the age of twelve in my local library. Ten years later, I’ve lost count of how many time I’ve read it. Naturally, then, I have a deep committment to this novel, and I would have had no qualms throwing this newest film to the dogs.

I was deeply surprised. The screenwriter knew the novel extraordinarily well, and Mia Wasikowska portrayed Jane Eyre exquisitely. The film incorporated the most important elements of the novel, although it was confined to a narrow two-hour window. More surprisingly still, Michael Fassbender fulfilled the role of the Byronic Mr. Rochester to perfection. His temper, sarcasm, and bitterness were portrayed through hateful quips to the gentle Mrs. Fairfax (played by the estimable Judi Dench) and the adorable Adele (played by an age appropriate Eglantine Rembauville-Nicolle).

As I mentioned before, the film had to fit within two hours, and several important plot points were omitted. Mr. Rochester’s explanation of Adele’s mother, his disguise as a gypsy, and Bertha’s destruction of Jane’s veil were all deleted; nevertheless, the film managed to maintain the bitterness of Rochester and the Gothic element very well. Additionally, the film ended abruptly at Jane and Rochester’s reconciliation, with no mention of “Reader, I married him,” or Rochester’s thankful prayer to God for tempering judgment with mercy. Of course, these are rather small points, that I’m trying not to obsess over.

As for Bertha, ever since reading The Madwoman in the Attic and Wide Sargasso Sea, I’ve been interested in others’ interpretations of her. Fukunaga’s interpretation made her more pitiable, by having her lovingly embracing Rochester upon his entrance into her cell. The film also attempts to redeem Rochester’s actions by having him say, “Have you ever been in a madhouse? They bait and torment them like animals. I spared her that, at least.” They also deleted Bertha’s rage against Jane’s veil, making her actions less willful, but more erratic. It was an interesting interpretation—but I’m still unsure as to my opinion on this element of the film.

The film’s best quality, however—that set it even above the 2006 BBC adaptation—is the inclusion of Rochester’s and Jane’s conversation after their thrwarted wedding. It is this scene that captures the essence of Jane’s self-respect, her adherence to morality, that continues to resonate with me—and Fukunaga captured it perfectly. As Rochester grips Jane, asking her who would care for her living with him, she stands to her feet, (notably above him), and states, “I care for myself.” Although I thoroughly enjoyed the entire film, this scene carried the entire movie for me.

Overall, I was very pleased with this adaptation. I really enjoyed experiencing my favorite novel on the big screen. So well done, Focus Features—well done.

I came across this article (http://www.newsweek.com/2009/08/30/you-are-your-own-glass-ceiling.html) a few days ago, that I think brings interesting ideas to the forefront of everyday feminism. As a woman exiting college and entering the broader field of postgraduate work and, ultimately, a career field, I found this article interesting, and sadly, too true.

But this hesitancy to be a bitch, or what I shall hereafter call a “shrew” (because I like Shakespeare, and the word seems to be falling into disuse as an insult), is heightened at a Christian university—at least in my experience. We girls (I am one of them, I admit) don’t want to be “that girl”—the aggressive one, the intimidating one, the one so snarky that no one will ever give her a ring by spring. Christian feminists (I know it sounds contradictory, but they exist—I’m one, so I should know) are trapped within the crosshairs of traditional gender socials and traditional Christian female roles. If one is expected to be quiet and self-deprecating in society, can you imagine what expectations we face in the church, which prizes submission, quietness, and modesty above all?

My question, then, remains—if one must be a shrew to succeed at work, do Christian women not succeed at all? How does one choose between a political stance and a religious stance? I don’t know. If you came looking for answers, you’ve come to the wrong door. Journey of self-discovery, if you remember—I seek answers to my questions. I have very little wisdom, sadly.

So I put it to you. Should a Christian feminist be an aggressive shrew who gets what she wants in the workplace, or a timid socially acceptable mouse who maintains her
femininity?

Well.

Here I am once again, dipping my toe into the narcissistic world that is blogging. I quit posting on my last blog (www.literarydreamer.wordpress.com) because of this narcissism; and the fact that I was getting approximately one hit per month. It’s hard to write when no one reads. Of course, when one’s entire blog is a constant spin of “I take these classes, write these papers, let’s call that a semester, add a break, and then do it all over again,” it’s not entirely surprising that no one reads your little corner of the world.

So. New blog, new content, new perspective on life. For the academians out there (and I know there a few, since I posted this on Facebook), consider this a proposal for my new blog. I propose to write no more swill, no ineffable trash, and no sickeningly sweet descriptions of my significant other. It’s a blog of self-exploration, I suppose. I know, I know—a bildungsroman in blog format? Please! But cut me a break—I’m only twenty-two. What else should I write on—my scintillating love life? My childhood in the country, surrounded by farm animals and the loving affection that was my perfect nuclear family?

Having frightened you enough into bearing with my search for self-hood, I would like to thank you for visiting “Poor, Obscure , Plain, and Little.” It’s going to be an interesting—and I mean that in the loosest meaning of the word—ride.

P.S. If you can identify the literary work that my title comes from (without resorting to a search engine), we’re going to get along wonderfully. If you don’t know—I look forward to thrusting my literary tastes upon you.