I have a lot of...mixed feelings about this musical. On one hand, Jane Eyre is one of my favorite novels ever. It is the standard against which I judge all other gothic romance. I own two different print versions, the graphic novelization, and at least three different TV and film adaptations (for the record, my favorite was the 2006 TV mini-series). And I have a lot of love for the musical itself, which got me interested in musicals as an art form (rather than just common pieces of popular culture--like Phantom or Le Miz or Rent--which I was expected to be aware of). Plus, it has a number of songs on my “never going to NOT listen to and sing along with” playlist. On the other hand, while Jane Eyre might have been progressive for its time, it’s time was two centuries ago. It has serious issues with regards to benevolent sexism, gender essentialism, classism, ableism (particularly with regards to mental illness), and cultural supremacy. And, unlike other musical adaptations (props to the Secret Garden!), this musical doesn’t really do much to address or ameliorate those issues.
So while I do love Jane Eyre, I still spend about half of the musical giving it the side eye.
Overview: Jane Eyre is sort of the prototypical gothic romance. A worthy but mistreated orphan who grows up to inherit a great fortune, a house haunted by madness and memories, the forbidden love between a governess and the master of the house, Jane Eyre has it all.
As with the Secret Garden, Jane Eyre is based on a novel, and I’ll be making notes of significant changes as we go, rather than waiting for the adaptation corner. I’ll also be splitting this up a little more than usual. The musical tried to cram most of the novel into two acts, and Jane Eyre is more of a three act book--Jane’s childhood, her time at Thornfield, and the conclusion. So I’ll be splitting this one up in much the same way.
Besides, there’s a lot to unpack in the first few songs.
Highlights:
The Graveyard/Sweet Liberty: The musical does a lot of paired songs that transition directly into each other, and this is my favorite. The first half (the Graveyard) is the transition from Young Jane to adult Jane and I love how smoothly they worked in the transition between actresses midsong. I also like how Jane basically tells life to do its worst as a challenge as it moves directly into Sweet Liberty, which is everything I could want from a feminist theme song (if only the rest of the musical lived up to its potential, but that’s a later argument). It takes the gender essentialist tropes of the 19th century and tells them to go to hell. It points out that women have the same interests, desires, and capacity as men while declaringthat Jane will reach out to claim all life has to offer for herself.
I’m never going to not sing this one in my car (which is probably why it’s better that I don’t carpool).
Plot Specifics: The musical opens with a third person retrospective sung by Jane (the Orphan), the eponymous heroine. She is an orphan in the care of her aunt, Mrs. Reed--who is herself a widow with three children (the musical reduces this number to one). The Orphan makes Jane out to be a passive recipient of abuse, with only a doll for friendship. In the book, however, Jane is pert and feisty. Though faced with abuse and cruelty, she rebels instead of passively wishing for freedom. This is the first of many side eyes I am giving the musical. Mrs. Reed, who considers Jane’s demands for justice to be evidence of lying, sends her to a boarding school: Lowood School, run by Mr. Brocklehurst. It’s not clear from the musical what precipitates this change, but it could simply be cruelty (Mrs. Reed is that sort of person).
Side Eye Count: 1
In Children of God, we learn that Mr. Brocklehurst is the worst sort of religious authoritarian, blaming children for their own circumstances. The sort of person who says, “God wouldn’t have made you orphans if you didn’t deserve it” and uses social stigma to punish perceived infractions. Lowood itself is no model of education. The children are threatened with corporal punishment for audible breathing and given food that, not only is undesirable, but not actually identifiable as food. The book itself goes into more detail about the abuses at Lowood, as Jane is both stigmatized by the staff for being a liar (according to Mrs. Reed, which is sufficient evidence for Mr. Brocklehurst) and targeted by the other students (who find it convenient to blame her for their infractions knowing that she will not be believed, having been labeled a liar).
In this swamp of abuse and despair, Jane finds a friend, Helen Burns. Helen is older, sickly, and more philosophical about her fate. An example of the “too good for this world” trope, Helen sings about how revenge is useless and there’s no point in fighting against oppression (Forgiveness). In fact, she suggests that doing so is actively harmful.
Naturally, Helen dies of consumption, but the subsequent investigation into her death prompts significant reforms of Lowood.
I always (always) give the musical a side-eye when Forgiveness comes up. First off, can we talk about how the “too good for this world” trope is almost universally applied to women? Remember Meg from Little Women? Helen Burns falls into the same category. Yeah. Way to reinforce unrealistic gender roles on women and girls. Certainly there’s the argument that Charlotte Bronte wrote Helen as a tribute to her sister who died of consumption. And there’s no argument that consumption (now better known as TB) was a serious problem for that time period. But there’s no reason for that trope to persist in fiction today. We’ll talk about gender essentialism and that madonna/whore binary later, now I want to talk about fridging. The fridging trope is when a character (almost always female) dies for the express purpose of movingthe main character’s (almost always male) story forward without agency or regard to their own story. Helen is fridged to bring Jane to a religious epiphany (certainly Jane never once questions her faith after the Graveyard), which, I would argue, is largely due to Helen’s influence. At least that is how it is presented in the book and the musical doesn’t really make any case for Jane’s strong faith (which will definitely come up again).
Side Eye Count: 2
Time passes and the reforms at Lowood are sufficient that Jane agrees to become a teacher there--not that she really has anywhere else to go (the Graveyard). As much as I love this song, it doesn’t actually contribute much to the plot, serving mostly as a transition from child Jane to adult Jane. Well, this is really the only song where Jane questions her faith and why her deity has punctuated his judgement with sorrow (in the form of Helen’s death) rather than mercy. But it’s brief, and it leads directly to Sweet Liberty.
So teaching at Lowood is insufficiently interesting to keep Jane’s interest, so she applies to become a governess elsewhere. I wrote about why I like Sweet Liberty in the highlights, but it bears elaboration and contextualizing. Up until this point, Jane has been constrained by her family and her school--and not always to her liking. This is really the first time she chooses her fate for herself, breaking custom and convention to take her life in a different direction than the one expected of her. Jane has a point that women are not nearly as free as men to choose their own fates. They were restricted by the social structures of the time to be teachers, nurses, housekeepers, or wives--and poverty limited those choices even further. Even today, women have fewer options than men (though more than i Jane’s time) and are constrained by social expectation rather than allowing their interests or talents to define their roles.
Practically, Jane does not expect to simply change careers or be welcomed into society with open arms. Instead she plays to her strengths and applies to become a governess. Her application is accepted by a Mrs. Fairfax at Thornfield Hall, which begins the plot proper. And that’s where we’ll leave off.
Next Up: Jane Eyre Act 1 (part 2), or “oh misogyny, there you are”
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