Book Review For Jane Eyre Novels & Stories

“This is ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s a love story that many women adore.” Jack took the book and examined the cover. “It looks interesting. What else would you recommend?” The sales assistant continued selecting books, giving a brief description for each one. “Oh, and we also have some romantic adventure books, like ‘Treasure Island’ by Robert Louis Stevenson, which focuses more on adventure and pirates.” Jack listened carefully and selected several books with the assistant’s guidance. “I think she’ll like these,” he said, smiling. The sales assistant smiled back, growing a bit curious about the lucky woman who had managed to tie down a confirmed bachelor like Jack Colt.

It smelled like vanilla I put it back quickly. No. I wasn't going to get comfortable here. This wasn't my home no matter how nice it looked. I walked back into the bedroom and that's when I saw the bookshelf. A whole wall of books. How did I miss that ? Oh right I was too busy having a mental breakdown. I walked over and looked at the titles. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. Beauty and the Beast. Phantom of the Opera. Rebecca. These all looked familiar. I pulled out Jane Eyre and a piece of paper fell out. Fancy handwriting on expensive paper.

"'Jane Eyre'? Really? Isn't this, like, some sappy romance?" "It's a gothic romance, which means there's mystery woven in. Read it." She grinned at me, stepping closer. "So does this mean I can give you homework, too?" "I guess," my pulse shot up as she got closer, "if you're nice to me." "I can be nice." "Yeah?" "Yeah." She lifted my chin for a kiss, and as our lips made contact I totally forgot I was still holding the book, which tumbled out of my hand onto the floor.

It looked almost ordinary, which somehow made it more unsettling. Jane leaned closer immediately, curiosity winning over caution like it always did with her. She released my hand and carefully lifted the book off my chest, settling it between her palms like it might bite if mishandled. “It is English,” she said after a quick scan. Then her brows pulled together. “But… this is strange.” Sammy shifted beside the bed, impatience tightening his shoulders. “Does it even matter who wrote it. Just read the bloody content.” Jane shot him a look but did not argue. She cleared her throat and started reading from the beginning, her voice steady, analytical, stripping emotion away as if that would make

I glanced at him, then back at Christopher, and let the silence linger for another moment before I added, “I could read to you, just to help.” He didn’t respond, but Felix wagged his tail. I took that as a yes. I crossed the room quietly, stepping towards the bookshelf. My fingers traced over the spines until they landed on a small, paperback volume with gold-stamped lettering. I read quietly, “Jane Eyre” Perfect, I hoped. I returned to the chair diagonal from his, sank into the cushion, and opened to the first page. And as I began to read, the room softened, not entirely, but enough.

Inside: sepia-toned photographs, a handful of ink-faded letters, and at the bottom, a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre with a broken spine from years of opening it to the same passages. I picked up the book. The cover was worn at the corners, the spine creased in three places where it had been opened most often. I turned it over in my hands and felt the familiar weight of it, this book I had first read at fifteen and had returned to every year until I was twenty-two and had not opened since because there had been no room in Josiah's house for the kind of woman who read Jane Eyre and meant it. My phone lit up on the nightstand.

~Richard~ I swallowed and nodded hastily, dismissing the thoughts of how things ended. “Yeah, of course. I felt the emotions from your characters right from the beginning of the book.” I looked at her and saw a knowing smile on her face, like she could see right past the façade I put up. “Okay.” She shrugged, still refusing to look away. I reached into the bag I had brought with me and pulled out a book, a favorite from when I was much younger: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.

She asked Pearl. Pearl started to say Bukowski but Rhys had ruined that for her. She thought about it and she remembered as a young girl the novel that truly changed her life. "Jane Eyre." She said. "The Brontës. It was Mr. Rochester that truly ruined me. A man and his ghosts. And a woman strong enough to love him despite them." She said. Erik looked at her. It took everything he had to stop himself from telling her right there and then she owned his heart.

The one thing that she turns to when she needs an escape from her reality at the moment. “You must have something.” Gabe prombts her. “An old, worn out copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë that I keep in between my mattresses so that no one will find it and take it from me. Reading that book always brings me comfort.” And gives her hope. It makes her feel so much better to read it.

I ran to the romance shelf first and started checking from side to side and I still did not see anything. I sighed in confusion because I had thought that I was going to see the clue in the romance section. I went to the section for fantasy books and I kept checking each side of a book, my eyes caught on a very attractive cover and I smiled before pulling it out. The cover was so beautiful and I read the title, 'Curse Of The Wolves'. It was written by my favorite author in the world, Jane Doe. I had read all of her books and all are a masterpiece and I had no doubt that the one I held in my hands was going to be a great read as well.