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janeyre@window
by Carmel Bird
PART ONE
janeyre@window is in three parts for easier downloading:
janeyre@window first appeared in Regarding Jane Eyre, edited by Susan Geason, published by Random House Australia, 1997.
janeyre@window Copyright © Carmel Bird 1996.
All rights reserved
Reader, I e-mailed her. In her reply she said that she has been
very disappointed with all the movies she has seen about her life,
and that she has decided to take matters into her own hands and
develop a CD-Rom. Setting aside for the time being the need for
$500,000 development funds, we began a lengthy correspondence
on the subject.
She sees her life as a pilgrimage, as a search for a home (indeed,
for a house -- she has been an intrepid house-hunter), and has,
she believes, found her true place at the lighted window of the
computer, using the new program Governess.
Confined as I am to these words on the pages of a book, I nevertheless
wish to discuss with you some of the ideas we have come up with
in our correspondence.
For many years Jane believed herself to be an orphan with no family
and few prospects, until she learned, after many difficult and
heartbreaking experiences, that she was in fact a woman of means.
She also (after the most dramatic set-backs) married the man of
her dreams, although not until after he had been severely injured
and was crippled and blind.
She has always been an observer, a person who likes nothing better
than sitting in a window-seat and watching the weather and the
countryside, as well as a painter, writer and teacher, and woman
of action. Added to that she knows so much about architecture
and furnishing that she would do well to go into real estate and
interior design.
'A spare parlour and bedroom I refurnished entirely, with old
mahogany and crimson upholstery; I laid canvas on the passage,
and carpets on the stairs.' Ch. 34
Take for example this piece from chapter one of her story: I mounted
into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged,
like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain close, I
was shrined in double retirement. Folds of scarlet drapery shut
out my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes
of glass, protecting but not separating me from the drear November
day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I
studied the aspect of that winter afternoon.
Unable to go for a walk, she studies the world in and from the
window-seat, and then she sets out on the voyage of her life,
the walk that will take her from this house, Gateshead on to Lowood
school, thence to Thornfield Hall, and then to Moor House and
ultimately to the manor house of Ferndean, with, as I suggested
before, many a sorry detour.
I found it necessary to explain to Jane that the early scene in
the window-seat comes over to any post-Freudian reader as a back-to-the-womb
type deal with red moreen cervix and labia and so forth. She then
pointed out to me that the womb had a nice plate-glass panel through
which she could check the weather, but she conceded that it was
a womb of sorts. A gesture towards the test-tube baby, perhaps.
But certainly a signal to a reader, even a pre-Freudian reader,
that the tale to be told, while possibly depicting the true events
of the life, will have much of the quality of a dream, of a visit
to an unconscious mind. I referred her to the first page of Simone
de Beauvoir's Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter where there is the statement: 'Our apartment was red', and then
the description of the red upholstery, silk hangings, stained
glass, velvet curtains. Jane was enraptured, and when it got to
the knee-hole under Simone's father's desk, she said it was, in
a curious way, as if she was reading about herself.
Taking our cue from Jane's window-seat, we decided to highlight
every window in the text, and lo and behold the thing was -- what
shall I say -- riddled, bejewelled -- with fenestration.
Imagine then, the CD-Rom. Click on window in the opening paragraph and you will discover a lengthy menu
of other windows you might care to know about in the story. I
should say here that references such as Simone de Beauvoir and
Freud and such will be marked in the text and will give access
to a wealth of information when the user clicks on them. A window is a wind-eye, the word coming from Old Norse 'vindauga' meaning
a small hole in a wall through which air and light and images
can pass. The sheet of glass you place between yourself and the
outside world is a membrane which separates you from the action
while giving you a framed version of the way things are. When
you are outside looking in by the window, the glass is a barrier
to the world within. To break a window is to violate a taboo,
to rend the veil that hangs across a threshold marking the boundary
between inside and out.
Left alone, I walked to the window; but nothing was to be seen thence: twilight and snowflakes together
thickened the air, and hid the very shrubs on the lawn. I let
down the curtain and went back to the fireside. (Ch. 13)
I went to the window-seat and fell to breathing on the frost-flowers with which the
window was fretted, and thus clearing a space in the glass through
which I might look out on the grounds, where all was still and
petrified under the influence of a hard frost. (Ch. 4)
You see the kind of thing. And you will also have noticed that
the world away from the fireside is prone to frost and ice and
snow. Of course the CD-Rom can bring you coloured pictures of
what Jane could see when she looked out her various windows. Hungry
robins and leafless cherry trees. Photographs of the English countryside
in winter. You could have clips from the movies which Jane herself
holds in such low esteem.
Think how it would be, while watching a close-up, perhaps an animation,
of hands being washed and taking out splendid shreds of silk and
satin and making a bonnet for a doll, to hear Bessie singing the
ballad in chapter three: My feet they are sore, and my limbs they
are weary;
Long is the way, and the mountains are wild;
Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary
Over the path of the poor orphan child. Once again the dramatic
contrast between the sweet softness, artifice and luxury of the
indoor activity, and the chilly realities of the world outside,
the world into which Jane must go if she is to make her way, make
herself, realise her dreams and possibilities. The sentiments
of Bessy's song are echoed in Jane's life story at the time when
she has left Thornfield Hall and is in danger of wandering the
roads until she dies.
It is drama that propels Jane, the poor orphan child, into the
moonless twilight to begin her pilgrimage. There's the battle
with John Reed and the imprisonment in the red-room, and the fit
she has in that room, and her subsequent banishment to Lowood
school. From the red curtained window-seat to the red curtained
prison of her late uncle's death-chamber. The indoors may be womb-red,
but it is also hell-red. The fires of Jane's own anger burn brightly
within her so that the red of her cell mirrors her own state of
mind. It is really quite unusual for a prison cell to be red,
the colour adding a dreadful dimension to the cloistered room.
And just as the word window is a tag for the CD-Rom, so is the word red. The text is drenched in redness -- crimson, scarlet, ruby, cherry,
mahogany, pink, rose. Red.
Take her away to the red-room and lock her in there.
This, surely one of the most awful sentences ever spoken, from
Mrs Reed in Chapter one.
What you really need here is some virtual reality so that a reader
can be locked in the red-room. Take the reader away to the red-room
and lock her in there.
Red is the colour which appears at the lower or least refracted end
of the visible spectrum, and is familiar as the colour of blood,
fire, the sun, the poppy, the rose and ripe fruits. Red is for
danger; it is the colour of calamity, murder, sacrifice. It represents
the king, the masculine, active principle, but also the red goddess,
governor of the red events of birth and death. Sexual excitement,
anger, love, health, vibrant life and dynamic emotion. As with
window, there is a long menu for red.
Mr Reed died in the red-room, nine years before Jane was put there
to punish her, and the room contains his bed, like a tabernacle,
its massive pillars of mahogany hung with deep red damask curtains.
The bed is still furnished with white mattresses and pillows,
covered with a white quilt. A white chair and footstool resemble
a pale throne. The bed and chair loom and glare in the gloom of
the chamber where the walls are pinkish fawn. The carpet is red,
and the curtains at the two large windows are festoons and shrouds
of the same deep red damask as the the bed. Wardrobe, chairs and
toilet table are of mahogany, solid, glowing red. This is nightmare
land. The wardrobe contains a secret drawer where Mrs Reed keeps
documents, jewls and a miniature of Mr Reed. I wondered how Jane
knew about this, but she said she couldn't remember. Wardrobes,
an obvious spot for hiding important or shameful secrets, feature
prominently in the story, but not as prominently as windows.
The bed rose before her. On her right she had the wardrobe with
its subdued and broken reflections, with on her left the windows
with the blinds down and the terrible red curtains. Between the
curtains was a great looking-glass in which she could see the
'vacant mystery of the bed and room'. Everything looked colder
and darker in the mirror, and she could see her white face and
arms, and her own glittering eyes of fear, the sole objects moving
in the room. She resembled a ghost, a tiny phantom, half fairy,
half imp, like one of the creatures in Bessie's evening stories
coming from lone, ferny dells in the moors and appearing before
the eyes of belated travellers.
You will notice how very particular Jane is about giving you her
position in the room. She is forever doing this, and telling you
about going through doorways, entering this room or that room
-- a bit like giving stage directions. She hears clocks and bells
and thereby knows what hour it is and what this means, and what
she has to do. The church bells and ticking, chiming clocks are
very useful and atmospheric on the CD-Rom.
She shook her hair out of her eyes and looked away from the mirror
into the room where she thought she saw a ghost, heard the rushing
of wings, felt a presence, began to choke, rushed to the door
and shook the lock, screamed and fell down in a fit. Then all
hell really did break loose, and after her delivery from the red-room,
she was, in due course, sent off to school.
There is much to explore in the red-room, but before we do that,
let's look at a couple of other items from the red menu. The red is often associated with fire and light. We were,
as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had been
lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light;
the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung
rich and ample before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything
was still, save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak
out loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain
against the panes. (Ch. 14)
I crushed his hand, which was ever hunting mine, vigorously, and
thrust it back to him red with the passionate pressure. (Ch. 24)
(Jane and I discussed the sad irony of this, in the light of what
happened to Edward's hand later on.)
Jane saw her image in the red-room mirror, and fancied herself
to be half imp and half fairy. And, as if he sees her mirror-image
too, Rochester first and often characterises her in this way.
Jane is out at sunset (the sun sinks crimson behind the trees),
watching the rising moon and the blue smoke of the chimneys when
she hears in the distance the metallic clatter of a horse with
its rider. She thinks this is ominous and spooky, and then she
is startled by a black and white Newfoundland dog, followed by
the horse. They pass her, but then the horse slips on the ice,
bringing the rider down. She goes to help him and discovers by
the light of the moon that he is dark, stern with angry eyes.
He goes his way and she returns to Thornfield.
I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful among the
trees round Thornfield, a mile distant; and when I glanced down
in the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing the hall-front,
caught a light kindling in a window: it reminded me that I was
late, and I hurried on. (Ch. 12)
When she later meets Rochester (for the traveller was he) he accuses
her of being a fairy or a goblin who has bewitched his horse,
and the characterisation of Jane as a sprite of some kind runs
always through his thoughts and language. The ideas in her paintings,
he says, are elfish. She saves him from being burnt to death in
his bed, pouring water on him, and he says,
'In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?
What have you done with me, witch, sorceress?' 'Is this my pale
little elf?' he says.
We plan to have a terrific lot of fun with fairies and elves and
goblins on the CD-Rom. I would wish to have a huge catalogue of
images from such as J.A. Fitzgerald and Richard Doyle and Ida
Rentil Outhwaite. They are so perfectly expressive of the repressed
and crippled eroticism of Jane's text, which, by the way, she
admits, on reflection, after a fair bit of e-mail on the subject.
You will have noticed the windows popping up, and also, probably,
the moon. The moon is another word with a big menu, as you can
imagine.
Moon, satellite of earth, secondary planet, light derived from sun,
reflected to earth, dispels darkness of night etc. And the moon
is symbolic of cyclic time, controlling the tides, the rains,
the seasons -- Jane is as I said very keen on the seasons and
the weather -- and many events in her story take place by the
light of the moon. It represents, after all, the feminine principle,
and (very important) moon goddesses are weavers of destiny. Jane
took off on her life journey, determined to weave her own destiny
-- the fact that she was actually an heiress and not really such
an orphan was just a sort of bonus, I suppose. She sees it that
way.
Little things recall us to earth: the clock struck in the hall:
that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a side door,
and went in. (Ch. 7)
Jane's eyes glittered in the red-room mirror, and from beginning
to end the text is alert with eyes, sights, visions, perspectives.
The final optic comment is Rochester's loss of one eye, loss of
sight in the other, and then his regaining, under the influence
of Jane's love and concern, some sight. Their child inherits his
father's eyes -- large, brilliant and black. I am longing to put
anatomical drawings and photographs of eyes on the CD-Rom. I wonder
about a clip of the eye from Le Chien Andalou, but Jane is doubtful about that. I have pointed out to her that
one of the beauties of interactivity is that a reader can choose
not to look at things she doesn't care for. Mrs Reed has 'Cairngorm'
eyes, a description I find blissfully horrible.
janeyre@window is in theee parts for easier downloading:
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