Have you ever had one of those days when you just cannot stop thinking about a certain novel? It seems to follow you wherever you go, and it is in your mind no matter what it is you are doing at the time.
That is what is happening to me today with Anne Bronte's novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. When I first read it, I could not get it out of my head either. But now, I don't see why it should be occupying my thoughts so much. I recently mentioned the BBC series in my post on period pieces, and yesterday I decided to watch it again.
Perhaps that is why the novel found its way into the essay I had to write for the Touro English placement exam today. One of the choices for the essay was "Knowledge is power" vs. "Ignorance is bliss." What a wonderful topic, I thought, and I decided to do it. I claimed that knowledge is, indeed, power, while ignorance often leads to misery. As one of the proofs, I mentioned The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and how Helen's ignorance led to misery and pain. Had she known her husband's true nature and the hopelessness of changing or reforming him, she would not have married him. At the time that she accepted his proposal, she was unaware of the extent of his debauchery. Ignorance is bliss? I don't think so. That ignorance caused her to get stuck with an abusive and unfaithful husband.
I remembered bookmarking some pages in my copy of the book to which I wanted to go back, so I just took it off the shelf again and thought I might as well post my thoughts and some quotes I liked.
Helen, the main character of the book, once said, "I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or received." I too prefer real, thorough conversations to small talk, but when everybody around you is so attached to small talk, it is difficult to avoid it. Whenever there is a silence, people feel the need to fill it instead of simply enjoying the moment. Why must something always be said, though? If there is nothing worth saying, would it not be better to remain silent?
Another thing I appreciated was the following exchange between Helen and Mr. Markham as they observed the beauty of nature:
Helen: "I almost wish I were not a painter."
Mr. Markham: "Why so? One would think at such a time you would most exult in your privilege of being able to imitate the various brilliant and delightful touches of nature."
Helen: "No; for instead of delivering myself up to the full enjoyment of them as others do, I am always troubling my head about how I could produce the same effect upon canvas; and as that can never be done, it is mere vanity and vexation of spirit."
I often feel this way in regard to my writing. Although I love to write and it is something I do on a constant basis, there are moments when I feel as if I cannot fully experience something because I am busy thinking of how I can get it into writing. Even though I appreciate having what to write about, it is sometimes a bit overwhelming because I feel I cannot go onto the next experience until I have done justice to the previous one.
Here is another quote from Helen that adequately describes what my feelings are toward writing: "This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart." I tend to do that a lot; I avoid confiding many of my thoughts, and my idea of sharing them is to write them down in a notebook. Although I am sitting here now and typing up my present thoughts for my blog, it is nothing compared to what I keep between me and my notebooks.
It is wonderful how often books mirror your own thoughts and how accurately they do so. I found it to be especially true with this book, which is, I suppose, why I wanted to dedicate a post to it.
Intercision
5 years ago