read the cliff notes version of the book first
here's some flash fiction I wrote. My own contribution to the whole lit genre mash-up trend. No zombies or vampires, just a serial killer named Jane Eyre.
Dearest Eliza,
I am greatly grieved to hear of the death of Georgiana. May God-speed your beloved sister on the winged arms of angels. May she…
Ah, forgive me, cousin. I am at best, a merely adequate liar, and I know you, as a good Christian, disapprove of any falsehoods, no matter how sweetened they are by genteel words of charity. Neither of us bore any great love for Georgiana; while she lived I could not even muster pity for her dissipated state. But I must confess: upon her death, I feel a most unusual affection for her memory, a kind of curious elation. I live, Eliza-I breathe and move and walk, while poor Georgiana lies a-moldering in her grave.
Do these words shock you, dearest cousin?
I feel the need to unburden my soul, therefore I must ask you to indulge me as I put forth the long-buried truths of my years. You are the perfect recipient of these secrets as your sacred vows compel you to listen, to remain silent, and to judge my soul only if absolutely necessary.
My husband’s first wife, the madwoman known only as ‘Bertha’, did not kill herself. Oh to be certain, she did fall from the roof of Thornfield Hall, and it was most assuredly her own brains dashed so pitifully on the cobblestones. But her death was precipitated by a forceful push, provided by none other than my beloved Edward, my dearest Mr. Rochester. It was not an act of callousness, nor of hatred, but one of mercy. He knew, as I did, that she suffered needlessly at the hands of her caretaker, Grace, and that a swift death would release her from the demons that plagued her endlessly. While Edward’s soul is blameless, mine is less so. While his hands were instrument of Bertha’s death, my own initiated the destruction of Thornfield Hall itself. It was I who tipped over an oil lamp near a fireplace, who allowed the flames to race unchecked up the tapestries. I consigned Thornfield to the flames, long may it smolder and rot!
One of many secrets revealed, cousin! I left the home of St. John Rivers several weeks earlier than I had previously stated in my memoirs ( I know you have read them, everyone has). I met with my love in secret, and convinced him that neither of us would know freedom with the albatross of Thornfield Hall yoked around our necks. The loss of Thornfield’s riches amounted to less than a pittance when compared to my inheritance from my beloved uncle. A plan was conceived, elaborated upon, and carried out. Now you have the truth of it.
Edward’s sight has been mostly restored, and he claims the loss of his hand is a small price to pay for his precious liberty. Freedom is not won without sacrifice, and five seconds of ruthlessness can bring about many years of happiness and prosperity.
If it is not objectionable, my family and I will make our way to your adopted homeland soon on holiday. My son, having grown up in London, has not seen much of the world outside and I believe it would be beneficial to his health and vitality. May God bless you and keep you cousin. If God wills it, I shall see you very soon.
Your dearest cousin,
Jane Rochester
London, England
Dearest Eliza,
I am greatly grieved to hear of the death of Georgiana. May God-speed your beloved sister on the winged arms of angels. May she…
Ah, forgive me, cousin. I am at best, a merely adequate liar, and I know you, as a good Christian, disapprove of any falsehoods, no matter how sweetened they are by genteel words of charity. Neither of us bore any great love for Georgiana; while she lived I could not even muster pity for her dissipated state. But I must confess: upon her death, I feel a most unusual affection for her memory, a kind of curious elation. I live, Eliza-I breathe and move and walk, while poor Georgiana lies a-moldering in her grave.
Do these words shock you, dearest cousin?
I feel the need to unburden my soul, therefore I must ask you to indulge me as I put forth the long-buried truths of my years. You are the perfect recipient of these secrets as your sacred vows compel you to listen, to remain silent, and to judge my soul only if absolutely necessary.
My husband’s first wife, the madwoman known only as ‘Bertha’, did not kill herself. Oh to be certain, she did fall from the roof of Thornfield Hall, and it was most assuredly her own brains dashed so pitifully on the cobblestones. But her death was precipitated by a forceful push, provided by none other than my beloved Edward, my dearest Mr. Rochester. It was not an act of callousness, nor of hatred, but one of mercy. He knew, as I did, that she suffered needlessly at the hands of her caretaker, Grace, and that a swift death would release her from the demons that plagued her endlessly. While Edward’s soul is blameless, mine is less so. While his hands were instrument of Bertha’s death, my own initiated the destruction of Thornfield Hall itself. It was I who tipped over an oil lamp near a fireplace, who allowed the flames to race unchecked up the tapestries. I consigned Thornfield to the flames, long may it smolder and rot!
One of many secrets revealed, cousin! I left the home of St. John Rivers several weeks earlier than I had previously stated in my memoirs ( I know you have read them, everyone has). I met with my love in secret, and convinced him that neither of us would know freedom with the albatross of Thornfield Hall yoked around our necks. The loss of Thornfield’s riches amounted to less than a pittance when compared to my inheritance from my beloved uncle. A plan was conceived, elaborated upon, and carried out. Now you have the truth of it.
Edward’s sight has been mostly restored, and he claims the loss of his hand is a small price to pay for his precious liberty. Freedom is not won without sacrifice, and five seconds of ruthlessness can bring about many years of happiness and prosperity.
If it is not objectionable, my family and I will make our way to your adopted homeland soon on holiday. My son, having grown up in London, has not seen much of the world outside and I believe it would be beneficial to his health and vitality. May God bless you and keep you cousin. If God wills it, I shall see you very soon.
Your dearest cousin,
Jane Rochester
London, England