BELONGINGSW
ith its cover a mottled
mix of browns, and
an intriguing splash
of sca rlet , a lmost t wo
centuries have left
a strange, leopard-style effect. From the
front, there are no clues to the story within,
but shift its weight in your hand and look to
the spine and you’ll see it: Bell’s Jane Eyre.
I’ve always loved old books. The smell,
the foxed pages, the intriguing rings and
smudges that hint at a careless cup of coffee
in bed. This book is a favourite because of
the two stories it tells. One is of the heroine,
Jane Eyre, and her fraught relationship
with Mr Rochester. The other is of its
then-unknown creator, Charlotte Brontë,
who was forced to hide her own identity.
What makes this copy so special is that
it wa s act ua lly published in Pa r is, in 1850,
under the name Currer Bell. Rightly
divining that literary success fell mostly to
men, Charlotte and her sisters, Emily and
Anne, wrote using the pseudonyms Currer,
Ellis and Acton Bell. It was only years later
that the talented women were able to have
their own names printed on their works.
It fascinates me that when this book was
f irst read – by LG Colling s of Colling wood
House, as its inscription tells me – the world
was such a different place. I wonder aboutWhat means a lot to you? Tell us in 500 words;
[email protected].the subsequent readers whose hands it
has passed through, and the different
shelves that it has rested upon.
I first read Jane Eyre as a teenager, when
my love for Wuthering Heights prompted a
broader Brontë interest. For many years, the
latter was my favourite, but as I grew older,
I switched allegiance from the wild passion
of Cathy to the indomitable strength of Jane.
I do have another copy; what I like to
t h in k of a s my ‘ever yday ’ Jane Eyre. A well-
thumbed Penguin Classics edition, it’s the
one I’ll choose for sticky, sun-cream fingers
in t he g a rden or st uf f ing into my work
satchel. But when I want to settle on a
winter afternoon with a steaming pot of
tea and a warm blanket, I’ll ever so gently
pluck “Bell’s” version from the bookcase.
Owning an antique is scary. History
weighs heavily when you’re the latest in a
long line of g ua rdia ns. It ’s tempt ing to sea l
Jane up in protective plastic and shut her
away from sight and sunlight, but I know
that’s not what any book is for. The story was
written for us to read, and so I’ll wait until
t he nex t g rey a f ter noon, when I’ll ca ref ully
open the mottled covers, and breathe in
that most beloved of old-book smells.My copy of Bell’s Jane Eyre
By Megan Westley
WHAT I TREASURE
BELONGINGS
W
ith its cover a mottled
mix of browns, and
an intriguing splash
of sca rlet , a lmost t wo
centuries have left
a strange, leopard-style effect. From the
front, there are no clues to the story within,
but shift its weight in your hand and look to
the spine and you’ll see it: Bell’s Jane Eyre.
I’ve always loved old books. The smell,
the foxed pages, the intriguing rings and
smudges that hint at a careless cup of coffee
in bed. This book is a favourite because of
the two stories it tells. One is of the heroine,
Jane Eyre, and her fraught relationship
with Mr Rochester. The other is of its
then-unknown creator, Charlotte Brontë,
who was forced to hide her own identity.
What makes this copy so special is that
it wa s act ua lly published in Pa r is, in 1850,
under the name Currer Bell. Rightly
divining that literary success fell mostly to
men, Charlotte and her sisters, Emily and
Anne, wrote using the pseudonyms Currer,
Ellis and Acton Bell. It was only years later
that the talented women were able to have
their own names printed on their works.
It fascinates me that when this book was
f irst read – by LG Colling s of Colling wood
House, as its inscription tells me – the world
was such a different place. I wonder aboutWhat means a lot to you? Tell us in 500 words;
[email protected].the subsequent readers whose hands it
has passed through, and the different
shelves that it has rested upon.
I first read Jane Eyre as a teenager, when
my love for Wuthering Heights prompted a
broader Brontë interest. For many years, the
latter was my favourite, but as I grew older,
I switched allegiance from the wild passion
of Cathy to the indomitable strength of Jane.
I do have another copy; what I like to
t h in k of a s my ‘ever yday ’ Jane Eyre. A well-
thumbed Penguin Classics edition, it’s the
one I’ll choose for sticky, sun-cream fingers
in t he g a rden or st uf f ing into my work
satchel. But when I want to settle on a
winter afternoon with a steaming pot of
tea and a warm blanket, I’ll ever so gently
pluck “Bell’s” version from the bookcase.
Owning an antique is scary. History
weighs heavily when you’re the latest in a
long line of g ua rdia ns. It ’s tempt ing to sea l
Jane up in protective plastic and shut her
away from sight and sunlight, but I know
that’s not what any book is for. The story was
written for us to read, and so I’ll wait until
t he nex t g rey a f ter noon, when I’ll ca ref ully
open the mottled covers, and breathe in
that most beloved of old-book smells.My copy of Bell’s Jane Eyre
By Megan Westley
WHAT I TREASURE