I woke up at 3am unable to sleep so I curled up under a comforter on El Coucho and watched the rest of Jane Eyre, having started the movie while in a rose oil and epsom salt bath before going to bed.
The heroines of Brontë and Austen have been compelling creatures for me since I was a child. Why am I so moved by their stories? These women with their guarded, unrecognized, passionate and imaginative interior worlds are set free by a romantic love that persistently and patiently works to break down all obstacles, including those of their own making.
Seeing these tales told well nourishes me on a deep level-- the ultimate comfort food. Although Evan and Mike continue to be utterly mystified by my taste for them, I keep returning to my favorites to bulwark the easily shaken faith I have that love does in fact conquer all.
(The perfect version if you recast Jane and Mr. Bingley, but not equal to the Greer Garson and Lawrence Olivier telling I grew up with or the epically long loveliness that is the BBC miniseries. Just saying.)
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