Your Jane Eyre was my first gulf of passion.
You wrote of a peculiar sort of mental emotionality, a bit rigid, that is devoid of sexuality. Something ethereal and unexplainable links your Jane with your Rochester. You wrote them as if they were really angels, a fallen one fighting to cleanse himself, the other, the young twin soul, fighting to keep its purity. And both unattainable they are.
I feel that Mr Fukunaga in the 2011 Hollywood version was not as interested about the romance, the gothic atmosphere or more feminine issues than he was with the theme of confronting one's loneliness. The scenario speeds up the main events - pity- until it reaches this land of dryness and silence. And the movie at last falls into place when it starts to dwell in the limbo.
Indeed, how slow seems the time before one decides to come home. And know where home is.
That is a real happy ending, the moment in which one passes the threshold and ones' eyes, hands and tongue manage to recognize the world around and infuse it with a loving light.
Your long-time, grateful friend
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