If the generous ideas of youth are too often overclouded by the sordid views of after-life, that scarcely proves them to be false.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've always been curious about Anne Brontë.


[Credit: Hark, a Vagrant!]

I was uncontainably exasperated with Wuthering Heights when I read it for a high school English class. A few years later, I was pleasantly surprised by Jane Eyre, although it's one of those rare cases where an adaptation stayed with me in a way that the book never quite could. I might be unintentionally reading these books in the order in which they appeal to me, or maybe my ability to appreciate the Brontës is growing with time. Either way, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is something special.

The eponymous tenant is Helen Graham - reclusive, opinionated, independent - whose arrival at Wildfell Hall ignites the curiosity of her country neighbors. Her reluctance to socialize and her silence about her past open the door to rumors that everyone seems happy to spread, except for one young farmer: Gilbert Markham, the narrator of the first part of the novel. Gilbert befriends Helen and his feelings soon grow beyond friendship, but Helen rebuffs him. She finally offers an explanation for why, in the form of a diary that describes the events of the previous several years: her marriage to the seemingly charming Arthur Huntingdon, her torments as he reveals himself to be an alcoholic and a philanderer, and the decisions that finally brought her to Wildfell Hall.

In many ways, this book is about absence. The relationships among characters are defined by what they do in each other's absence as much as by what they do when they're together. Huntingdon abandons Helen for long periods of time to pursue his lifestyle unhindered. Early in their married life, these absences pain Helen, but they eventually became a desperately needed relief for her. Helen's separations from Gilbert take on a different meaning again: tests of faith.

I found Gilbert's 100-page introductory narration to be boring - brooding walks and gossipy tea parties got old quickly, and he never quite manages to become a distinctive or memorable character. But once Helen's voice takes over, the story gains a sense of urgency; we know (or think we know) where the story in the diary is going to end, but the young woman we see at the start of the diary lives a life vastly different from the slightly older one we've met at Wildfell Hall. We watch as the glowing veneer of young love begins to crack and crumble, leaving Helen in a net of entrapment and abuse that creates a similar sick feeling as the dystopian horrors of The Handmaid's Tale. Her ability to see Huntingdon for what he is, her determination to not be a victim of circumstances and past mistakes, and her perseverance in rebuilding a life for herself form a powerful statement. It's as relevant and important today as it's ever been.

‘This rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood through hardships none of them could bear: the cold rain of winter has sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak winds have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost has not blighted it... It is still fresh and blooming as a flower can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals.— Will you have it?’

View all my reviews