Review: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë

I’m not coping with October’s mild weather. I need an autumnal breeze, bare branches, shades of orange under my feet. If I wanted warmth October, I would have asked for it.

I picked up The Tenant of Wildfell Hall hoping I could channel the wintry Brontë atmosphere I have come to know and love, and relied on Anne to take me from this endless summer.

‘Gilbert Markham is deeply intrigued by Helen Graham, a beautiful and secretive young widow who has moved into nearby Wildfell Hall with her young son. He is quick to offer Helen his friendship, but when her reclusive behavior becomes the subject of local gossip and speculation, Gilbert begins to wonder whether his trust in her has been misplaced. It is only when she allows Gilbert to read her diary that the truth is revealed and the shocking details of her past.’ GoodReads.

It took me a chapter or two to adjust to a male protagonist. I was pushed off balance by Gilbert, I expected another Cathrine, another Jane. We read Helen’s narrative through diary entries and letters, void of the feeling that she is speaking to the reader. Gilbert controls the narrative, and what the reader knows. It was different, it was unexpected.

Both Emily and Charlotte’s novels envelope the supernatural, when reading both Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre I focused on the characters over anything outside of their isolated existence. Anne puts the reader within a community, she addresses social issues and highlights the plight of married women and the dangers of drink.

Helen is adamant she will not marry for love alone, but overlooks Arthur’s faults regardless. Arthur has affairs, abandons her for seasons and flaunts a wicked existence in her presence. At her lowest she is removed from her son, whom Arthur is set to corrupt. Her flight to Wildfell Hall is scandalous, though her motives pure.

“You need not fear me, for I not only should think it wrong to marry a man that was deficient in sense or in principle, but I should never be tempted to do it; for I could not like him, if he were ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in other respects; I should hate him—despise him—pity him—anything but love him. My affections not only ought to be founded on approbation, but they will and must be so: for, without approving, I cannot love. It is needless to say, I ought to be able to respect and honour the man I marry, as well as love him, for I cannot love him without.” – Helen.

Anne nursed her alcoholic brother Branwell, as well as being witness to his affair with a married woman. In The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne tells a very personal story about the dangers of alcoholism and presents her plight of a woman in marriage in the guise of Mrs Graham. Where Charlotte and Emily write about love, Anne writes about cultural issues.

Reading Wildfell Hall was not the illuminating experience Wuthering Heights was, nor did it equal the struggle of the latter half of Jane Eyre. I found it difficult to sympathise with the forceful and emotive Gilbert or the pious Helen, but I appreciated the cultural criticism Anne gave me.

Of all the Brontë novels I have read, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall has been the most important.


Books Are My Bag & City Books, Hove

Books Are My Bag – nationwide campaign to celebrate bookshops – ran from the 9th to the 12th last week. To partake in the festivities I popped to my new favourite book shop – City Books – to spend money I don’t have on books I probably don’t definitely need.


City Books is situated in Hove, down Western Road away from Churchill Square. It may seem a little off the beaten track, but from the centre of town it is only a 10 minute walk away.

The Staff are lovely, I had a very knowledgeable lady help me chose between Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë. Had she not come to my rescue I may have fallen into the classics section – which is so wonderfully vast – never to return.

I also bought Save Me The Waltz by Zelda Fitzgerald and Chéri by Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette. I’m happily falling back into classics and vintage novels, they seem to relax me more than modern writing.

I’m currently reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall:


It certainly is a book of many chapters, but what marvellous ones they have been. I don’t think Anne will usurp Emily as my favourite Brontë, nevertheless, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is as interesting as her sister’s novels – though lacking the supernatural.

I think it is an important time to celebrate bookshops. I realised after I had been to City Books that, while shopping on Amazon is easy, nothing brings me the same excitement as staring at a long wall of classics and wondering what to buy. You can’t get that feeling shopping online. There is so much more discovery in a book shop, more opportunities to discover new books. Not to mention sharing a love of books with the staff, and having a good natter.

What did you do for Books Are My Bag?

Poetry: An Autumn Evening by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.

The chilly purple air is threaded through
With silver from the rising moon afar,
And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star
Above the darkening druid glens of fir
Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.

And so I wander through the shadows still,
And look and listen with a rapt delight,
Pausing again and yet again at will
To drink the elusive beauty of the night,
Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup,
That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.