The Handbook Page 5

  “How can Jane be so strong and capable and yet have desolate prospects after her one chance at marriage is taken away from her?” she responded.

  “All fair and well thought-out points,” I intervened with a clipped nod. “But do you think perhaps you’re looking at Jane through a contemporary lens when you should be considering her feminism according to the time the book was written, in the Victorian period?”

  Nikki shook her head. “You asked if we thought the book could be considered a feminist one or not. You didn’t say anything about what time period we should consider when formulating our answer.”

  The little tart had fire, that much was obvious. “Well played,” I answered before clearing my throat and deciding to take her bet and raise it. “And thank you for speaking up.” Nikki nodded briefly. I glanced at the class for a moment before I settled my gaze on Nikki again, eager to watch her reaction because I was about to take her argument and flip it on its ass. “In 1966, R.B. Martin wrote that Jane Eyre was the first major feminist novel, further stating that ‘there is not a hint in the book of any desire for political, legal, educational, or even intellectual equality between the sexes.’ Instead, Martin proposed the idea that Jane sought equality between the sexes in heart and in spirit.”

  “Emotional equality?” someone in the middle row piped up.

  “Yes,” I answered, briefly nodding in her direction. “Nowhere in the novel is this sentiment more obvious than in the passage when Jane responds to Rochester’s proposal.” I glanced down at Sonama’s notes and read: “‘Do you think I am an automaton? A machine without feelings? ... Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart …I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,—as we are.”

  I dropped the notes again and glanced back up at the class, noticing that a few of them had actually started taking notes. Then I settled my eyes on Nikki again as she shifted in her chair uncomfortably. Yes, you little vixen, I thought to myself. You’re about to watch your argument get washed down the kitchen sink. “Keep in mind that during this time period, women as a rule were not portrayed such as Jane is. If we look at the Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens, for example, we would find that he, like most authors of his time, relied on common opinion pertaining to the notion that the proper role of the female was one of passivity, and domesticity, as opposed to the masculine which he described as active and worldly. The women in the Pickwick Papers who are most favorably portrayed are done so in a very two-dimensional way. Their descriptions encompass their beauty and their meekness, and, perhaps not coincidentally, they all end up married. In contrast, the women who are talkative, active, and plain physically are described as manipulative, domineering, even lustful.”

  I took a deep breath. “So, in that vein, Jane, who admits to her lack of physical beauty and her small physical size, still remains true to her belief that she is in every way Rochester’s equal when it comes to her feelings.” I glanced at Nikki. “And wouldn’t that be a good example of feminism?”

  Nikki didn’t respond but her jaw was tight and she appeared to be more irritated than she had when she first walked in. Not wanting to put her on the spot too much, I glanced at the rest of the class. “What do the rest of you think?” Then I focused on one of the jocks who was sitting at the back of the class with his huge arms folded across his chest and his head down.

  “You, sir, with the Hamilton jacket,” I called out as he quickly opened his eyes and glanced around to make sure I was addressing him. “Yes, you, what’s your name?”

  “Beau,” he answered with a broad grin as the five or so girls surrounding him all giggled.

  “All right, Beau Bright, what do you think about Jane Eyre and feminism?” I asked and waited rather impatiently for him to reply.

  “I think it’s, uh, a good example of feminism,” he answered and sounded as idiotic as he appeared.

  “Said like a true, learned scholar,” I answered with a quick smile. Sometimes I tried to reign in my inner asshole, and other times I allowed him to roam freely. This happened to be one of those other times.

  A hand went up in the middle of the room and I nodded in the girl’s direction. “I believe Jane is a good example of a feminist, and I think the points you just made were good ones,” she started.

  “Okay, why?” I prodded.

  “Well, she refuses to go to France to become Rochester’s mistress,” the girl continued, outlining one of the points I was going to make myself. “That shows that Jane believes enough in herself that she refuses to be anything other than Rochester’s wife.”

  “Is that believing in herself though or is it believing in the institute of marriage?” Nikki piped up as a smirk overtook my mouth. She was a quick one. And, damn me for noticing, but she was as sexy as she was standoffish.

  “Explain, Nikki,” I ordered.

  She swallowed. “Jane basically gives up a chance to have a happy life because she’s afraid of what people will think of her. She’s afraid they’ll consider her to be Rochester’s mistress even though she loves him and she knows she could be happy with him. So it’s not necessarily inward strength that drives her decision not to move to France with him, but more a fear of what society will think of her.”

  “Later on in the book, she also declines St. John’s invitation to marriage because she knows she doesn’t love him,” I pointed out. “Couldn’t that be considered a sign of strength?”

  “Yes,” Nikki answered. “Point for Jane there.”

  “Just because Jane is concerned about what society will think of her doesn’t mean she isn’t strong,” one of the girls sitting next to Beau suddenly piped up as she faced Nikki with a scowl. I could immediately see anger brewing in Nikki’s eyes as her gaze shifted from the girl to Beau. Interesting. Could this be a case of a woman scorned?

  “Last I checked, when you’re so concerned about what other people think that you can’t think for yourself, that isn’t considered strong,” Nikki rebutted.

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in a sorority, right?”

  “What does that have to do—” Nikki started but the girl interrupted her.

  “So, clearly you care about what people think of you because it matters enough to you to buy a bunch of friends.” Everyone in the class began to snicker as Nikki’s face contorted in an angry expression and went from pink to bright red.

  “First of all, that’s not true that I bought my friends, and secondly, we aren’t talking about me, are we?” Nikki demanded. “Last I checked, we were discussing whether or not Jane can be considered a feminist, and that has zero to do with me. So why don’t you take your random and stupid comments and shove them up your …”

  “Okay,” I interrupted with a heavy chuckle as I raised a brow in Nikki’s direction. “That’s enough. Let’s keep on topic, please. Stick to the text, not to each other’s personal lives.” I couldn’t help my surprise that Nikki was a sorority girl considering her slovenly appearance and her fiery temper. In my experience, sorority girls weren’t shaped that way. Not that I was that interested …

  For the next thirty minutes, we continued to discuss ways Jane could be considered a feminist and other ways she didn’t fit the mold.

  “In closing,” I started as I eyed the clock and noticed I had a few more minutes left. “At the time of its publication, Jane Eyre was considered radical enough that Bronte had to publish it under a male pseudonym. It might be difficult to consider Jane a good example of a feminist in today’s day and age, but if we consider women’s lives in the 1840s and the rights accorded to them, the choices that Jane makes could make the feminist case for her.” I took a breath. “And that’s all for today. I will see all of you again next week.”

  Immedi
ately the sounds of binders closing and backpacks unzipping filled the classroom as the students packed up and headed down the stairs towards the double doors.

  I walked around the desk and, grabbing my briefcase, started to pack my own things because I had a lecture to teach in five minutes. This one on Macbeth. After piling my notebooks into the case, I zipped it and glanced up as I watched Nikki making her way down the stairs. Even though her clothes were so loose she might as well have been wearing a sack, I could tell she was ample in the chest and hip department which only fueled my sexual fire all the more. I wasn’t sure why but I suddenly called her name.

  “Great job today,” I offered as she glanced up at me.

  “Oh, thanks,” she answered as her gaze fell to the floor and she suddenly appeared sad. There was no trace of the fire that had been consuming her eyes earlier.

  “So, did you actually like the book?” I prodded as I fell in line beside her and escorted her through the doors. We were the last to leave.

  “Yes, I’ve always liked it,” she answered as she looked up at me again, and I realized how much prettier she was up close. The thought immediately irritated me and I had to remind myself that she was not only a student, but an undergraduate one. As such, I should have zero attraction to her. As such, I did have zero attraction to her.

  “I mean, I did read it three times,” she finished with a little laugh.

  “See you next week,” I said in a rather clipped tone as she nodded and started to turn left down the hallway. I immediately took a right even though I was now walking in the opposite direction of my next lecture.

  EIGHT

  NIKKI

  Determined to do my best with the cards I was dealt, I found myself faced with a major research project that legitimized my frequent trips to the library in earnest, rather than only going there as a means of avoiding social interactions with my fellow students.

  And my slovenly appearance went from bad to worse.

  Once upon a time, my personal appearance was one of my biggest priorities, so much so that my sorority sisters used to not only tease me about it but I was also the first person whose closet would be raided before whatever event happened to be going on. Well, that was the old me. The new, much more dumpy and frumpy me turned out to be the most successful means for avoiding all male attention. And that was just fine by me.

  In such an unkempt state, I stayed hidden within myself where I was safe. Just as safe as being lodged deep inside the stacks of the dark library, where I spent my time researching the term paper Derek Anderson had tasked me with.

  Everyone else in the class was given the opportunity to select their own subject on which to write, but Derek, maybe thinking it was some kind of sick joke, decided to task me with a project of his choosing. That project included finding at least five novels from a time period before women’s suffrage for which I could make a feminist case. And that wasn’t proving to be easy. But, I was an English major, so I figured this was the sort of stuff I’d signed up for.

  As far as Professor Anderson was concerned, I didn’t know what to make of him. He’d only taught our class for a couple of weeks now, but he was one of those people who seemed to change his personality every time we saw him. Sometimes he would be in a jocular, good mood, and other times, he’d scowl at you for no apparent reason.

  Of course, I knew who he was before he’d ever ventured into our class. He had a reputation that preceded him. That one being that he was as much a rogue as any of the literary characters with which he surrounded himself. There were rumors that he’d dated students and that he was forever in trouble with the dean. I’d even heard whispered conversations from the girls in my sorority that he was the ultimate “rebel and bad boy” and insanely hot to boot. And there was the subject of the size of his penis. Apparently it was a big one.

  Not that I cared, because I didn’t. Even with his brooding good looks, he was invisible to me. Regardless, with his dark hair and eyes, his moodiness and his quick temper, he was like Heathcliff come to life.

  But I wasn’t attracted to him. Well, truth be told, I wasn’t attracted to any men because I refused to turn that side of me back on. Instead, I enjoyed finding sanctuary within my new self and kept busy with the inordinately difficult project Derek had given me. It was just another excuse to bury myself in the library, especially because Derek told me I couldn’t use the Internet in my research. Yes, he was most definitely a jerk.

  I wasn’t sure why he’d singled me out with this project, but I didn’t think that much about it. I just figured he derived some sort of perverse pleasure in expecting way too much from his students. But what he didn’t know was that I welcomed this enormous project because it was just another way for me to avoid interacting with anyone.

  And that was exactly how I’d spent every evening for the last week—at the library, stuck between stalls of books and always returning to the same study table in the darkest corner of the room. If someone happened to occupy said table, which was extremely rare, I would temporarily set up at the closest empty one that allowed me to keep an eye on “my table” until the interloper left and I could rush in and re-stake my claim. Yes, this is what I had been reduced to—laying claim to a library table.

  It was on one such occasion, when I was forced to another table, that I suddenly ran into a much bigger snag, one that forced me from the safety of my solitude and found me seeking help from a student at the circulation desk. He was male, a fact which I tried not to hold against him. I approached the desk with reluctance, hoping he’d be able to locate my book quickly and send me on my way without any small talk. The new Nikki Sloan didn’t do small talk.

  “Excuse me,” I said softly, approaching the clerk. He was eagerly engrossed in a thick volume of what appeared to have something to do with Quantum Physics, sucked into it almost as if it were a romance novel.

  He sighed heavily, setting the book aside as he looked down at me impatiently. As soon as he laid eyes on me, though, his expression changed and he immediately smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly sort of smile—it was one of those seedy, “how you doin’” smiles that made me want to gag.

  “And just what can I help you with, little lady?” he asked as he leaned over his desk, closer to me. “Hmm?”

  Oh, God, here we go. I braced myself.

  With his perfectly straight, though too large, teeth, I could easily envision him wearing a retainer, along with the full headset, to complete the already off-putting mental image. That thought was only further highlighted by his glasses with their Coke-bottle-thick lenses.

  “I’m trying to find a book,” I answered.

  “And it would be my absolute pleasure to help such an attractive lady find said book,” he answered as he bowed debonairly and his glasses nearly slid off his Ichabod Crane nose. The beaming smile he flashed my way spoke volumes. He was obviously quite proud of his “lady skills.”

  My reaction? I threw up a little bit in my mouth. Regardless, though, I still needed the book and I couldn’t locate it on my own, which meant I still required his help. I passed him the scrap of paper, on which I’d written the catalogue number, swiftly pushing it across the desk toward him. He sat up straight as he lifted the piece of paper up.

  “I can’t seem to find this anywhere in the stacks,” I said.

  “Well, now, let me see,” he replied as he peered down at the paper now clutched in his fat fingers. With his narrowed expression, he almost appeared cross-eyed.

  “The DECA system says that it is available,” I replied with some frustration because I really didn’t want to waste time standing here when I had much better things I could be doing—like spending time by myself.

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, honey,” he started as he smiled down at me again.

  “Break it to me,” I grumbled.

  “The patrons of this library don’t have access to all of the information concerning the books in our catalogue. The information in the DECA system is outdated
.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “It means,” he started as he plopped his flaky elbows back down onto the desk and leaned into me as far as he could without actually coming over the tabletop. “Your book might not be in … circulation at this time.” The way he said “circulation” made it sound like he was saying a dirty word. The bile in my throat tripled.

  I fought back my initially venomous response because I was very aware that I needed this guy on my side rather than against me. If there was any possibility of finding this book, he would be the one to do it. And this was one book that needed to be found. Being aptly titled Women in Literature, A Study of the Female Character, it was a book that I direly needed.

  “Oh no,” I said as I gnawed at my lower lip and decided to play the part of damsel in distress. No doubt, that would appeal to his overdeveloped sense of faux chivalry. I had to watch it, though, because if I overplayed my part, I might find myself invited to his next medieval reenactment event.

  “Not to fear,” he said as he awarded me with that horse grin again. “Because I do possess a system that is more up to date than the one you are currently using.” He took a breath. “And before you ask me why some of the computers are outfitted with an out-of-date system, I will tell you that the school is in the process of updating all the computers with the newest technology.”

  “Oh, good,” I answered, not sure what else to say.

  He faced his computer and chewed on the end of his already misshapen pencil which was littered with teeth marks and, no doubt, covered in saliva. Gross. After clicking through a few pages and scrolling his mouse nine or ten times, he smiled. I hoped that was a good sign.

  “You, my dear lady, are in luck,” he said as he faced me with a victorious smile. “It turns out that your book is still in circulation, which, of course, means that it is available for you to check out.”

  “Great! So now I just have to find out where it is,” I said as I wondered when he’d get to that most important point.