Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

Call me nutty, but to me, Victorian Novels are real page-turners; unputdownable, gripping stories. I don't know if it's the rich interior lives of the characters or the ornate, baroque settings and description that makes material all our gravest hopes and fears, or maybe it's the clarity of the writing, devoid of all impressionism, infusing characters and scenes with portent. Whatever they do, these novels grab and hold me, and so it is no surprise that I burned through Jane Eyre in a weekend. Once I'm in VicLit land, it's hard to pop back home for mundane concerns, not when every moment, glance, buttonhole is fraught. Look away and you leave a hole in the tapestry. Jane Eyre, as you probably know, is a dark tale of redemption through common decency and self-respect. As her name suggests, the main character is as light as air, but as forceful too, but embedded also in that name is all the goods and ills that Jane is heir to. First her inheritance is all hardship and cold comfort, but she learns from it to be humble and decent, and that, in the end, guides her to all that she needs to be happy. It is the heroquest of a nobody, and as such, depicts life as art: that you are your greatest creation when you find good where you stand, and choose hope instead of suffering, however noble.
I bought this at Balfour's on College St. in a routine perusal of the 'B' section which, at one time, contained all the writers I wanted to read: William Boyd, Anita Brookner, and any Bronte. You can spend a lot of time in the 'B' section. This is one of those old school bookshops with scrabble squares spelling out the sections and lots of wood and a dog. The owners choose great books and organize and display them with skill and sense and they have served me well over the years. This blog has made me much more aware of the intimate connection I have, not only with my books, but with my local booksellers, and of the gratitude I feel for their irreplaceable service: to give me what I don't know I want, to vet the vast literary landscape and gather the gems for me to peruse. Thanks to them.
I read this at home on the green mission couch back at our last house with its chilly floors and blurry boundaries, and a wallow in the world of decency and clarity was like a hot bath or a beam of sunlight that makes you remember what warm is.
This copy is a true old style Penguin Classic, king of all book formats- can be held in one hand, read on its side in bed without collapsing on itself in the last chapters, capable of being carried in one's normal possessions, ie. bage, purse or pocket, AND it uses less paper than other books! 
I do love this format, and this is a story that bears repeated readings, so I'll hold on to Jane.