THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL by Anne Brontë {reviewed by STELLA}

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë

After watching a mediocre documentary about the always-interesting Brontë sisters, I stepped into our library to see what the shelves could offer up. And there was Anne, waiting to be read. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall was not only insistent that it be read but that it should be read aloud. So I began and this has been the nightly ritual over the last fortnight. (BTW, excellent with dinner preparation and even more excellent for doing the dishes, too — that may sound a bit domestic, but it was a fair division of labour. I read while the other one gets more pleasure out of the dishes than was previously imagined. Maybe classics and dishes could be a new trend). The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is a delight, unexpectedly funny — excellent satire and social commentary here, the right amount of drama (all those horrendous aristocratic men) and romance (love, loyalty, duty, honour — which is best?), and an excellent (and rather modern) framework from which it all hangs. This is the story-within-the-story, richly rewarding in the best meta-fiction sense. And so it opens with Gilbert Markham, country gent, writing a letter to his friend in anticipation of conveying a good tale. The letter proceeds for a number of chapters in which Markham describes the arrival of a particular Mrs. Graham to the neighbourhood, mysteriously living with her young son at the rundown Wildfell Hall. A widow, who is trying to sketch out her living by selling her paintings, Mrs. Graham is the talk of the community. And she hasn’t turned up at church yet. Strikingly attractive and by manner a woman of some standing, her presence alone (without a man) is causing a stir. A mix of emotions from attraction to curiosity to jealousy and, for a few, indifference swirl in the conversation in the parlours and lanes of the shire. Anne Brontë keeps her a mystery to the reader too! We are on tenterhooks, wanting to know more, but we, like Markham’s friend, must await his revelations. As Markham strikes up a friendship with Mrs. Graham (instigated initially by her young son’s attraction to a playmate — the gentleman’s dog), it doesn’t take long to develop into something more serious, and with this intensification comes a difficult situation for the mysterious woman. Mrs. Graham, as we are well aware, has a past that she is trying to keep under wraps, and, as time passes, the gossip flourishes, so not only are Markham's attentions problematic, but so is containing her secret. As you can imagine, things come to a head. But all is not revealed immediately. No, Markham (Anne) takes us aside and says read this (a diary in the lady’s hand) and back we go to the story and a tale well-told, until the eventable end, where our teller takes us in hand again to complete his letter to his friend. So what’s so wonderful about a convoluted tale? Anne Brontë’s telling. Sharp and fearless, Brontë critiques her society, social class, hypocrisy, and honour, and lays it bare. Cue — the ruthless and pathetic drunkards. Cue — the cruel deeds and arrogance of men. Cue — the problem with duty!  Brontë also is wonderfully witty, taking no prisoners in her merciless ridicule of several of her players. Cue — the sanctimonious ponderings of the minister. Cue — the shallow pursuit for title, power, and favour. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is as compelling in its main drama about a woman making a stand against expectations seeking freedom and independence (recognised by many critics as an early feminist novel), as it is for its minors who whirl around the tale, shocking as well as amusing us.