Books read

Leticia's books

To Kill a Mockingbird
The Catcher in the Rye
The Great Gatsby
Of Mice and Men
Animal Farm
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Lord of the Flies
Romeo and Juliet
Little Women
A Tale of Two Cities
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
The Secret Life of Bees
The Memory Keeper's Daughter
The Joy Luck Club
The Da Vinci Code
The Kite Runner
The Shining
The Silence of the Lambs
The Bourne Identity


Leticia's favorite books »

sexta-feira, 25 de setembro de 2015

Jane Eyre - clássico do momento - timely classic

Olha só que coisa. Mais um desses livros que provavelmente eu li em algum momento, mas tinha ZERO lembrança. E ele começa difícil, né? menina chata, dramática, muito malquista pela família, órfã, parece que você já leu a história.
E então... puxa, sabe que eu gostei?
Jane Eyre tinha sido deixada com um tio, que fez o favor de morrer e a deixou com Mrs. Reeds, a tia mais insuportável, e os primos horríveis, John e Georgiana, que se tornam delinquente/suicida e dama fútil da corte mais tarde. Em algum momento, essa tia envia Jane a uma escola longe, querendo se livrar dela de algum modo, não sem antes 'queimar o filme' da pobre loucamente.
Jane vai à escola, blá blá blá, e olha só, se dá bem, é espertinha, e decide se aventurar pelo mundo como tutora. Vai parar em uma casa chamada Thornfield, como tutora de uma menina chamada Adele.
Num dia, passeando pelo campo, quase socorre um cavaleiro, que olha só!, é Edward Rochester, o herdeiro da casa e guardião de Adele. Ele conversa com ela e a ignora, alternadamente, pergunta se ele é bonito - e ela diz que não, numa das melhores cenas do livro - 

I seriously laugh so hard at this part whether I am reading the book or watching one of the movies.:
em algum momento ele traz uns amigos pra casa, se engraça com uma moça bem mal educada chamada Blanche, finge que vai casar com ela só pra depois dizer "pegadinha do Malandro" e pedir Jane em casamento...
as empregadas da casa desconfiam loucamente da história, porque como assim Mr. Rochester vai se casar com a tutora feiosinha e sem graça e sem herança ou propriedades?. E aparentemente rogam praga, porque no dia do casamento... (Silvia, para de ler aqui e vá ler o livro, é fofo!). Vou fazer um parágrafo aleatório pra distrair aqui:

Jane é muito honesta, muito sofridinha e escrupulosa, e, algo que é bem legal: não é bonita. Muitas vezes isso é dito no livro. Muitas, judiação. Chega uma hora que você quase quer dizer, tá, já entendi, não precisa esfregar na cara da pobre.

revelação continuando: um amigo que havia aparecido na casa do Mr. Rochester anteriormente e sido 'atacado' misteriosamente revela que a 'coisa' que o atacou era, na verdade, sua irmã, que é, tchan tchan tchan tchan, esposa do Mr. Rochester! e louca de pedra (não no sentido figurado: no literal mesmo. Ataca as pessoas, precisa de uma enfermeira, etc etc). Essa pessoa, chamada Bertha, está trancada no sótão há anos, e mesmo depois de um discurso emocionado e lindo de Mr. Rochester, Jane foge, vivendo dias de quase mendicância, porque não será 'a outra'.
Passa-se quase um ano... e, bem no estilo novela do SBT, a família que acolheu Jane na verdade tem laços com sua própria família, descobre que ela ganhou uma herança e agora é rica (estou pulando uns detalhes, pra vc querer ler), e ela volta a Thornfield após escutar uma voz misteriosa uma noite a chamando. Descobre que a casa foi arruinada por um incêndio causado pela louca de pedra, no qual ela morreu, e o viúvo, Mr. Rochester, ficou cego e aleijado. 
Você acha que acabou? Não. Ela vai visitá-lo, ele, claro, ainda a ama, a pede em casamento de novo, a outra frase fofa do livro "Reader, I married him" (Leitor, eu me casei com ele) aparece, e bom,  é mais ou menos isso.






Minhas citações favoritas do livro:


I am unhappy,—very unhappy, for other things.” “What other things?  Can you tell me some of them?” How much I wished to reply fully to this question!  How difficult it was to frame any answer!  Children can feel, but they cannot analyse their feelings; and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know not how to express the result of the process in words.  Fearful, however, of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief by imparting it, I, after a disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, though, as far as it went, true response.

Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand.”  Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.

Presentiments are strange things! and so are sympathies; and so are signs; and the three combined make one mystery to which humanity has not yet found the key.  I never laughed at presentiments in my life, because I have had strange ones of my own.  Sympathies, I believe, exist (for instance, between far-distant, long-absent, wholly estranged relatives asserting, notwithstanding their alienation, the unity of the source to which each traces his origin) whose workings baffle mortal comprehension.  And signs, for aught we know, may be but the sympathies of Nature with man.

is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt enough at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in framing an excuse; and always the lapse occurs at some crisis, when a facile word or plausible pretext is specially wanted to get me out of painful embarrassment. 

Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?” I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still. “Because,” he said, “I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame.  And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.  As for you,—you’d forget me.” “That I never should, sir: you know—”  Impossible to proceed.” 

“Jane, be still; don’t struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is rending its own plumage in its desperation.” “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.” Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him. “And your will shall decide your destiny,” he said: “I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.” “You play a farce, which I merely laugh at.”
“that will be your married look, I, as a Christian, will soon give up the notion of consorting with a mere sprite or salamander.  But what had you to ask, thing,—out with it?” “There, you are less than civil now; and I like rudeness a great deal better than flattery.  I had rather be a thing than an angel.  This is what I have to ask,—Why did you take such pains to make me believe you wished to marry Miss Ingram?” “Is that all?  Thank God it is no worse!”  And now he unknit his black brows; looked down, smiling at me, and stroked my hair, as if well pleased at seeing a danger averted.  “I think I may confess,” he continued, “even although I should make you a little indignant, Jane—and I have seen what a fire-spirit you can be when you are indignant.  You glowed in the cool moonlight last night, when you mutinied against fate, and claimed your rank as my equal.  Janet, by-the-bye, it was you who made me the offer.” 
“It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely.  Human beings never enjoy complete happiness in this world.  I was not born for a different destiny to the rest of my species: to imagine such a lot befalling me is a fairy tale—a day-dream.

“He means to marry you?” “He tells me so.” She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma.” 

“you were mad, do you think I should hate you?” “I do indeed, sir.” “Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable.  Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.  Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat—your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive.  I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for” 
“You see now how the case stands—do you not?” he continued.  “After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you.  You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel.  I am bound to you with a strong attachment.  I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.” 

“What can you mean?  It may be of no moment to you; you have sisters and don’t care for a cousin; but I had nobody; and now three relations,—or two, if you don’t choose to be counted,—are born into my world full-grown.  I say again, I am glad!

“And where is the speaker?  Is it only a voice?  Oh!  I cannot see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst.  Whatever—whoever you are—be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!” 
“My living darling!  These are certainly her limbs, and these her features; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery.  It is a dream; such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus—and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me.”
“Oh, you are indeed there, my skylark!  Come to me.  You are not gone: not vanished?  I heard one of your kind an hour ago, singing high over the wood: but its song had no music for me, any more than the rising sun had rays.  All the melody on earth is concentrated in my Jane’s tongue to my ear (I am glad it is not naturally a silent one): all the sunshine I can feel is in her presence.” 

“recurred in this narrative, and I have done. I have now been married ten years.  I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth.  I hold myself supremely blest—blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. ” 

friends jane eyre gif - Google Search:

Um comentário:

  1. Comecei a reler ontem (se é que posso chamar de reler, li uma versão abridged quando tinha 12 anos), mas não sei se vai rolar, não tenho muita paciência pra clássicos. Por enquanto tô horrorizada com o tratamento que a menina recebe na casa da tia. Se fosse hoje em dia, a tia já estaria presa, rs... mas vamos ver. Depois te conto. Nem li o seu texto inteiro, porque deve ter algum detalhe que eu esqueci, né não?

    ResponderExcluir