The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë

*contains spoilers*


The Brontë sisters are famous for their collective intelligence and creativity; their time spent together at home, fearing both the threat of tuberculosis (caught by the two eldest Brontë sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, at school, resulting in their deaths) and the inefficiency of the local sewage system in Haworth, known to pose a considerable threat to the locals’ health – the average life expectancy because of these irrigation issues was a paltry 26 – meant that their bond was unusually academic and literary. Compounding this was the overarching patriarchal social system of the time, and so, in order to be taken seriously, the sisters took pseudonyms on publishing their more than worthy material – though all texts faced backlash for their progressive and plain-speaking natures. Anne Brontë therefore published this considerable work under the name of Acton Bell in 1848, less than a year before her death at the age of 29, and it was, in typical fashion, roundly chastised for its content.


Anne, the youngest and quietest of the Brontë sisters, was also often excluded, particularly by her elder and more outspoken sister, Charlotte, to the point where Charlotte even proclaimed that the extremely negative critical response to The Tenant of Wildfell Hall was justified – how could “gentle” Anne even suppose herself equipped enough to handle such weighty subjects without reprimand…Succeed, however, is what Anne does with this novel, and proves herself, I might add, to be a more elegant linguist and gifted storyteller than any of her sibling contemporaries – especially Charlotte. Just look at this, for starters;


“Though my affections might now be said to be fairly weaned from Eliza Millward, I did not yet entirely relinquish my visits to the vicarage, because I wanted, as it were, to let her down easy; without raising much sorrow, or incurring much resentment, - or making myself the talk of the parish; and besides, if I had wholly kept away, the vicar, who looked upon my visits as paid chiefly, if not entirely to himself, would have felt himself decidedly affronted by the neglect.”


One may come to the safe assumption that Charlotte’s mockery lay deeper in her resentment of Anne’s lyrical profundity and lofty levels of empathy than in anything else she may have put down to objective criticism.


The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is presented in the first-person narrative in epistolary form, which, whilst endowing the reader with a deeper sense of understanding for the speaking character, also encumbers Brontë with the conceit that the protagonist must be as educated and speak as well as she. This is not so much of a problem when you consider that it’s quite a delight to swim in such beauty for so long. It doesn’t stop there, however, as Brontë cleverly transfers protagonists’ viewpoints by presenting Helen Huntingdon’s own tongue in the form of her diary entries, given as a gift to the original protagonist, Gilbert Markham, so as to enlighten both his character and the reader on her history and precarious circumstance. This additional, if subtle, new texture creates a sense of tension that imbues the reader with a desperation to read on, to know more, to frolic in the exquisite minds and lives of these characters.


Inspired by Brontë’s tenure as a governess to the Robinson family’s children in York, during which her brother, Branwell, joined her and the family Robinson in order to teach their children (only for him to fall in love and conduct an illicit and secret affair with Lady Robinson, and, consequently, sink into alcoholism as a result), this novel is really, really, REALLY something. Brontë’s own brand of Christianity, that of universal salvation, lies at the centre of everything and everyone in the text – as Gilbert’s love is tested, as Helen Huntingdon tries desperately to make her drink-sodden, demon-plagued husband happy, even as Lord Lowborough fights his gambling addiction only to be shunned, cuckolded and, in a bittersweet reversal of fortune to take charge of his own happiness. Read it, love it.

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