I told my friend Mark recently that reading is like watching TV except the scenes are in your head.
I don't think he bought it.
This weekend I saw the most recent movie adaptation of Jane Eyre at the Regal Cinemas Downtown West theater.
(Here's a great synopsis of the book and a review of the recent movie.)
To understand how truly enjoyable this was for me, you have to know that Jane Eyre is my favorite piece of English literature. I've read it half a dozen times.
After watching the movie, I pulled the book off my shelf. It's up next after I'm done with Voyage of the Dawn Treader. (I might sneak in The Silver Chair before it, though.)
Jane Eyre, written in 1847 by Charlotte Bronte, has suspense, cruelty, agony, a mysterious love interest, a (literally) crazy lady who likes to set things on fire, and blood. (dun, dun, duuuuun!)
It's the story of an orphan girl who, despite the hand dealt her, triumphs over hardship after hardship. She has a quick and sharp wit, which is especially delightful to see (and read) when she puts Mr. Rochester in his place.
I fell in love with the book in 10th grade in Mr. Milkman's English class.
I liked it because even though constant disappointments come Jane's way (and there seems to be waaaaay too many for a petite girl), she struggles to find joy in the midst of it.
I also connected with its theme of forgiveness particularly when the person who wronged you has not sought it -- a huge lesson I was learning at the time.
(By the way, forgiveness doesn't necessarily mean you forget the wrong done to you. But it does take away some, if not all, the sting.)
A quick Internet search shows there are at least 20 film and television adaptations of Jane Eyre.
Thank goodness for Netflix.