I read Jane Eyre in the ninth grade.  Not for an assignment, but for fun.  That’s the kind of teenager I was.  I remember there was a day where I didn’t come out of my room for probably eight hours because I was reading it all day.  I probably killed almost 200 pages, if not more in one sitting.  I loved that book.  If my life today were as flexible as it was in ninth grade, I may have done the same with Villette.  I wouldn’t put Villette above Jane Eyre, but I was pleasantly surprised with how much I enjoyed reading it.

Villette was written shortly after Brontë lost all three of her siblings.  This fact is quite clear in the tone of Villette.  The heroine has clearly suffered losses before the story even begins, although it is unsaid, and there is a clear struggle with loneliness through much of the story that most certainly stemmed from Charlotte’s own life.  

What I love about Charlotte Brontë is that her writing doesn’t sound like it was written in the 19th century.  It’s very bold and painfully honest.  Although she was clearly heartbroken when she wrote Villette, in the end, she lets her readers draw their own conclusions and spares the optimistic ones from a most dreary ending.