the biggest disappointment you know

“Jane Eyre is far and away my favorite creep in literature. She’s a tiny monster who roams the countryside, flinging herself on people’s doorsteps, demanding that they love her or she’ll drown herself in some dark elfin sea. She threatens suicide at the drop of a hat. If I can’t get a new job, I will kill myself, you bastard, she tells God. I wish you would just hit me. If you won’t be my friend I hope a horse kicks me in the face and I explode. I wish we were both dead so you would respect my ghost […] I love this nut. She almost starves to death because she’s too embarrassed to talk to strangers, and that resonates with me deeply, as they say. She falls in love with everyone who shows her a bit of kindness like it’s her job, starting with Miss Temple and ending with her hot cousins Mary and Diana. And Mr. Rochester! I’m not going to take away Mr. Rochester from you. This is a slightly unusual Femslash Friday inasmuch as there’s no One True Pairing I’m trying to argue you ’round into supporting; I don’t disagree that Jane and Rochester make for a pleasantly unhinged couple. I like the way they terrify one another with slightly different methods — he threatens to mail her to Ireland but doesn’t follow through; she pretends to run back to her room to grab her handkerchief and abandons him. He’s all bark and she’s all bite; together they make a horrifying, adorable dog […] But then. But then. Jane escapes the Thornfield mindfuck and wanders into an all-lady bluestocking’s paradise […] This is actual porn to a certain type of person. A clean, quiet house with good china. Two lovely, severe-looking chicks learning German, surrounded by cats and dogs. No men. A fire crackling on the hearth. Someone’s knitting. Goddamn. Goddamn.”