Having just completed a short bit on The Crow for this same Blogathon, I’m quite happy I signed up for two book/movie combos as I need something a little lighter to push out the dark, dreary disposition I’m finding myself in. Here goes:
Jane Eyre converted me. The movie, that is. Sorry to all the purists out there but that’s the truth. I read lots, I mean really lots but had never ventured into the world of the Brontës, Austen and such. In my mind I judged (cringe). I judged that they were extremely difficult reading and for some bizarre reason, that they were this heavy, old English. Oh my! Shake me hard! And again for being such an absolute moron.
The 2011 movie was released with Michael Fassbender in it (oh, and Judy Dench but sorry to say, she’s not really what drew me despite being wonderful) so, becoming totally shallow (I mean, who at my age watches movies because of the actors???) off I went to watch it. I’m not usually like this but my excuse, which I’ll stick to, is that it was meant to be. Whatever. Well…what can I say? That I thoroughly enjoyed it? Not for Michael Fassbender at all, but for the story. In fact, I’m not quite sure he was Rochester for me. Actually, having read the book, the movie’s actors don’t reflect how I saw them while reading but they seem to work in the movie. That aside, the critical thing here is that it got me straight online to order a real, paper copy of the book. The moment it was delivered I devoured it. Ah, what a great read. No, more than great. Fantastic. Brilliant. You get my drift. That’s the beauty of books – when they’re good, there is so much more material to savour and enjoy word for word as slow or fast as you want, to “see” in your mind as your own personal movie. Often I struggle with books once I’ve seen the movie in that the actor/s sneak their way into my mind while I’m reading. This wasn’t the case here and I easily had my own characters visualised.
My verdict? The film is great. I honestly enjoyed it as its own medium as books made to movies, in my opinion, can’t be compared. But that book….oh, don’t get me started. It shares privileged status, together with Lonesome Dove (Larry McMurtry), as my favourite book(s?) of all time. And nothing so far has managed to get even within the vicinity of these two books. I doubt anything ever will.