Comparisons.

I’m currently reading Charlotte Brontë’s second published novel, Shirley. It’s a tough read in some ways, lacking as it does the surface charm of Jane Eyre and Villette, and replacing the more accustomed whipped cream prose with something harder but no less compelling – let’s offer a mature blue Stilton cheese by way of attempting comparison. The plot is not lacking in romantic interest, but there is no urbane delicacy or bucolic charm in the background. This story is set at a time of civil war during the Industrial Revolution between the men of business and their impoverished workers, when the mill owners' machines were being smashed and their bodies sometimes beaten, and when the starving peasants were having degradation, deportation, and even death added to an already desperate existence.

But that’s not why I’m writing this rare blog post. I’m writing it because the chapter I read tonight concerned two elderly spinsters – the Misses Mann and Ainley – who are both somewhat physically impoverished and therefore mocked by the bright young things of the time, but in both of whom shines the light of charity and selfless dedication to the cause of humanity and its needs.

And yet what mainly interested me was not the two ladies’ inner qualities, but the fact that Charlotte referred to them unequivocally as ‘old maids.’ Would a modern writer use that term? I doubt it. And my questioning went further to consider whether there is a male equivalent of the ‘old maid’, and if there is, whether it should be allotted to me. My domestic circumstances bear close comparison with theirs, even though the times are so different.

But let’s return to the inner qualities for a moment. I compared mine with theirs, and was reminded of how I sometimes long for some comely young wench to bestow on me the kindness of approbation – only approbation, you understand, nothing more – and wondered whether this encapsulates the difference between the selfless old maid and the selfish ageing gentleman. I concluded that it probably does.

(And might I add that the walls of the dark tunnel are still largely blocking the signal which used to flow from my blog, and simply said 'write.')