Crying Over

Spilt Milk, By Lana Citron is an all together confusing thing of a novel. Citron writes in a style that is at once intriguing and infuriating. Stream of consciousness like, and rambling, there is a uniqueness and authenticity there that I want to like, but the fact of the matter is, the styling is just poorly done.
The first fault that I had with the novel, aside from the style, was that of character. It's lacking. The novel is written both in the perspective of Murrey, the character who is first introduced, and switches often to that of Manfredi, the second main. This in itself is not a problem AS a style, but failed again, in the execution. For quite a while I as the reader was unsure whether Murrey Pouge was a male or female character, which meant that I had no description of Murrey's character - whether physical or otherwise which might clue me in. Manfredi, however, was obviously male, and had red hair. Eventually I realized that Murrey was indeed female, but the switching of perspectives coupled with the vague style of writing and lack of character definition left me feeling lost and confused. Which "she" was Manfredi referring to? Was Murrey describing her romantic relation with a girl this time, and a male next time? I couldn't keep track.

By the time I finally got a grip on who was who, and a vague feeling of what was going on, I was nearly half way through the novel and had already considered giving up on it more than once. But, being persistent I ploughed ahead.

I did, eventually, begin to invest somewhat in Murrey's semi-tragic (though not all together explained) existence and her relationship with Manfredi - it was not until the two come together that the narrative styling becomes much more coherent - but the feelings were short lived. Just when I felt some - albeit shallow - connection to the two, they were wrenched apart with no explanation, the narrative returning to its cryptic "shes" & "hes" and the reader was thrust roughly back to where they began.

The ending of the novel, just as ambiguous as the start, was not disappointing in its plot so much as the delivery. Queue typical scene of estranged daughter coming home, mother dropping whatever glass object is in hand (in this case, the all the more cheesy bottle of milk) and a return to a previous childhood state of living. Then bring on the exaggerated perfection of a taxi down the lane, a turning of the head just in time - so cinematic it's sickening - but no, the author is acknowledging the cheese factor with a tossed aside "but no, that isn't how it happened at all". Finally, some self humour and clarity, come too late, and too jarringly different from the style of the rest of the novel.

The one thing I would give this novel is its drive to stay connected to realistic rather than romantic paintings of love - the theme which it claims on its very cover - but even then, the intertwining stories (which we, in the end, come to see as merely half truths) still strive for a romantic nature that harkens back to age old loves. And realistic interpretations - while imperfect - do not have to be anti-love stories, and made up lies, but rather simple ins and outs of life.

A confused, jarring, disconnected novel, I have to say i was mad enough to yell at it on several occasions, and ultimately slam it across the table upon its completion. Spilt Milk does not come highly recommended.

Jane & Charlotte

Despite having graduated with an honours BA in English, being an avid reader, having read "the Eyre Affair" and taking Women's Lit, I still had never fully read Charlotte Bronte's iconic Jane Eyre. I know.. I know..
I was assigned it in my Women's Literature class several years ago (in which we read only books by female authors, so the Bronte's were bound to come up) but I never finished the novel. After a few disappointments over other such novels as Austen's "Mansfield Park" which I could not finish do to mounting school work and sheer boredom, I was not exactly pumped for Jane Eyre. To be honest, I was weary. And when I turned that first page and began reading about a pretentious rich family in the way-back years with a little unloved precocious child of five dotting the pages with mild interest, I must say my worries increased. Then hit me up with a sentimentalist style fainting & phantom scene in the red room and my doubts seemed all but confirmed.

So it is no surprise, then, that Jane Eyre was set aside and the vacuum of school work that somehow makes most assigned readings that much more difficult to complete swallowed Jane whole. But I knew I had to give her a second chance. It was JANE EYRE for goodness sake. If only to be able to properly call myself a book lover, English graduate and/or writer, I had to finish it. And of course, having read the Eyre Affair without properly completing the original, was pretty bogus.

So this September, I gave it another try. Spurred by the need for new reading, something to fill the giant whole that was school, and my imminent trip to England, Jane Eyre seemed the perfect fit. Again I went through the sentimental styling of the first 40 pages without much heart, but a bit more faith, and, coming out the other side into the fifties and onward, the story picked up, added character, and began to grow within Jane.

Jane Eyre, of course, is a classic. And yes, it is and 'old classic' meaning the style of writing the diction, the wordiness, is still all present, but in the simplest of terms: Jane Eyre is actually one of the classics you would LIKE reading. It is not just 'good' because it is solid writing etc, it is enjoyable.

Despite the setting and the (sometimes rambling) diction that can occasionally get cumbersome, Jane is a timeless character. Regardless of setting or story, I believe it is Jane herself that transcends the ages. Readers can identify with her, or at least some aspect of her. She is straight forward and unafraid to speak her mind, in most cases, making her both a modern and interesting character. She is pure and sweet, but intelligent and determined, so that despite her meek lifestyle or simple tales, there is a passion and fire within her that does not allow her to be trodden upon or downcast long. It is the balance of sturdy levelheadedness and passion where passion is due that makes Jane such a full and rich character.

Being written in a first person narrative, that is, Jane's, the reader gets a full picture of our main character, and in this novel's case, that is extremely key. It is a story which centres around character not only in plot but in emotion, relevancy, and style. Without a character as strong as Jane the novel would indeed be flat, a pattern which I find often in books of a similar period. The novel centres around character development and flushes out each aspect of her nature in detail, something which I personally found novels like "Mansfield Park" lacked. Because the settings are so far removed from our present day scenarios, a strong sense of character is imperative to give the reader something to hold on to, to attach their hearts to so that they might think and feel for Jane. Without this connection, we as readers no longer care what happens to the characters and therefore lose interest in the story itself.

Jane Eyre, though it can be long and occasionally tedious, holds that connection throughout the novel so that despite the rather simple plot, we care for Jane, and thus must strive to keep reading. Though the story may include death, betrayal, lies, love, fires, proposals, estranged family members and large inheritance, it is not a plot-driven novel. Entirely wrapped up in the character of Jane, and to an extent the secondary character of Rochester, the novel finds a relate-ability which transcends time and circumstance in order to connect with the reader and pull them in.

at last a classic with feeling - true feeling - not the sentimentalist Pamela-esque sense of feeling. Jane Eyre is a classic I would actually recommend for enjoyment, not just study.