Drawing heavily from personal experience, Anne Brontë wrote Agnes Grey in an effort to represent the many 19th Century women who worked as governesses and suffered daily abuse as a result of their position.
Having lost the family savings on risky investments, Richard Grey removes himself from family life and suffers a bout of depression. Feeling helpless and frustrated, his youngest daughter, Agnes, applies for a job as a governess to the children of a wealthy, upper-class, English family.
A tale of female bravery in the face of isolation and subjugation, Agnes Grey is a masterpiece claimed by Irish writer, George Moore, to be possessed of all the qualities and style of a Jane Austen title. Its simple prosaic style propels the narrative forward in a gentle yet rhythmic manner which continuously leaves the listener wanting to know more.
MY THOUGHTS:
Here is the final Bronte novel to make my re-reads complete. Essentially, Anne has fictionalised her own experiences working as a governess, with the exception of the romance thread, which is widely regarded as a wishful projection on her part, since she remained single throughout her young life. Perhaps the wonderful Mr Weston is based on Anne's father's curate, William Weightman, traditionally believed to be Anne's crush. If so, he must have been one heck of a guy. But of course poor Anne left no records for clues.
The two sections of the book, characterised by Agnes' employment with separate families, strike me as belonging in two different books. I found the first part face-palmy and the second part quite enjoyable, so I'll discuss them separately.
1) Her employment with the Bloomfield family.
Agnes launches out from a sheltered household with no idea that some kids can be malicious brats who thrive on making others miserable. It turns out 7-year-old Tom is bossy and smug while 6-year-old Mary Ann is stubborn and obtuse. And their father is an autocratic jerk, while their mother refuses to listen. So Agnes' hands are tied.
The Bloomfield kids run rings around Agnes because they know they wield power to do so. It's the same old story we're all familiar with. The Bloomfield parents forbid Agnes from punishing their darlings, yet still expect her to maintain some semblance of control in the schoolroom. Similar struggles remain to this day. It's probably one of the ultimate deadlocks throughout the history of education. Parents are convinced that they know the nuances of their own kids better than any teacher, yet teachers feel they may get along better without the undermining of parental interference from people who don't realise their own blind spots. And when this situation happens beneath the same roof, it sounds like a tinder box for trouble.
At this stage of the book, Agnes isn't always easy to sympathise with. She comes to the job as a total novice, yet maintains a superior tone, as if any setback is always her employers' fault. Never once does an, 'Oops, my bad,' type of confession ever slip past her lips. It's human nature to wish to justify ourselves, but her self-righteous stream of complaining gets old quickly. Agnes' own methodology (threats of hell and reactive hair pulling) is dodgy to say the least.
I honestly feel it was a sound move for the Bloomfields to fire her, since she was wasting her own time and theirs, plodding away under some sort of romanticized martyr complex. Hooray, at last somebody had enough common sense to pull the plug. Agnes comments that her purpose in recording all this is 'not to amuse but to benefit.' Yet I don't really get how she thinks she's doing that, unless she's warning other girls considering the career of governess to steer well clear.
2) Her employment with the Murray family.
Yay, with that out of the way, the story starts to gain momentum. Agnes' main pupils are now two teenage girls, Rosalie and Matilda, with whom she develops some rapport. Agnes still never speaks up for herself yet maintains a spiel about how horrible and insensitive all the Murrays are, making her sit on the way to church facing backwards so she gets carriage-sick etc, etc. This girl seems to expect people to be mind-readers and I can't help wondering if the Murrays were simply thoughtless rather than antagonistic in many instances.
I tend to feel more sympathy for the sturdy and sporty Miss Matilda, born into an era which stifled her natural inclination for the great outdoors because she was the 'wrong' gender. I don't blame Matilda one bit for taking out her frustration on the piano keys she was forced to learn to play. Even Anne/Agnes deplores her and calls her a 'hoyden' with its much harsher connotations than the more affectionate 'tomboy' we use today.
The introduction of two clergymen thickens the plot. Mr Hatfield is the supercilious rector and his curate is the plain-looking but warm-hearted Edward Weston. When beautiful Rosalie Murray starts flirting with Mr Weston, who Agnes is secretly head-over-heels in love with, sparks would fly if she dared let them. As it is, the fiery passion is confined within Agnes' own head and heart.
I love how Edward Weston's reputation for kindness and justice precede the man himself. Testimonies filter in from people Agnes trusts; the poverty-stricken cottagers. He's surely the loveliest hero in any Bronte novel, (with the possible exception of Shirley Keeldar's love interest.) He runs rings around any Rochester, Heathcliff or Huntingdon. I don't think this guy gets enough credit for that. He's probably my main reason for boosting my ranking to three stars.
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