As a teenager, I was fascinated by the melancholic mystique of these three sisters who would walk circles around their kitchen table together, discussing their wonderful imaginary worlds as a defense against the harsh reality that pressed in on them. This included the icy cold Yorkshire moors, the ever-looming threat of contracting tuberculosis, the erratic behaviour of their alcoholic brother Branwell, and the necessity of doing draining work to eke out a pittance.
My sister, who explores genealogy websites, sent me a message saying that Charlotte Bronte was our 7th cousin 5 times removed. By extension, that means Emily, Anne and Branwell too. Hey, I'll take any family ties to such a creative bunch, although my husband and kids laugh and say such a tenuous link equates to not being related at all.
The Brontes have been a source of intrigue and conjecture to many. Even though they were raised beneath the same roof, their worldviews may have been poles apart, as Charlotte arguably wrote from a staunch Puritan tradition while Emily was swept away with the Romantic movement. And in the meantime, their younger sister Anne was quietly writing one of the hardest hitting early feminist texts. They all died tragically young, leaving their poor old father alone in the Haworth parsonage, grieving that his brilliant brood was like a passing breeze. But the impact of their short lives has lasted for a few centuries so far.
One of my own great memories is my pilgrimage to Haworth, aged 20. All the commercialism surrounding the place hasn't been able to extinguish that lingering sense of their presence in the parsonage.
Here is the page where I'll be placing all my Bronte related reviews and reflections.
Bonus Content
Famous Classics with Ambiguous Endings
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