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Journalism of Courage
On the night she leaves her brooding, mysterious, and wealthy fiancé, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë’s iconic protagonist, walks out with nothing but her principles. She does not say goodbye. She does not rage, throw things, or curse the man who had most grievously wronged her. She also does not look back.
Edward Rochester, her employer and almost-husband, has just been revealed to be a married man. Jane — plain, orphaned, and a governess in the Victorian age — decides to walk out rather than compromise her values. She takes this decision not out of propriety, but out of self-respect. “I care for myself,” she tells him. “The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”
On the eve of Brontë’s 209th birthday, it is worth asking what does it mean, then and now, for a woman to walk away?
It’s tempting to classify Jane Eyre as a love story. It ends with reunion and marriage, after all. But its real subject is not romance, it is sovereignty. Jane’s refusal to stay with Rochester is a clear refusal to be complicit in her diminishment. She loves him. But she also leaves him. And, in doing so, she stages one of literature’s most enduring assertions of a woman’s rights.
Eyre’s story has modern-day parallels, says Ujjwal Kaur, a doctoral student. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a well-read woman must eventually fall for a brooding man with a tragic past. But what if she hears the screams from the attic, sees the red flags waving, and decides she’s not going to stick around for the house fire, the redemption arc, or the second-chance romance? Maybe she just leaves with no ring, no riches, and no regrets. Maybe love can wait. Dignity cannot.”
Rochester is what Gen Z may classify as a veritable red flag. He breadcrumbs Jane — stoking her interest and then gaslights her, tests her boundaries, and plays the victim even after betraying her trust. “You shall see what sort of a being I was cheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to break the compact, and seek sympathy with something at least human,” he tells Jane. And yet, both Jane and the readers are drawn to him.
When asked why women tend to be attracted to such Byronic characters, psychologist Dr Itisha Nagar said, “The attraction is in the ability to transform a ‘bad boy’ into a ‘good boy.’ This may not be entirely conscious as girls become caregivers very early in their lives, and are often given the responsibility to be the moral compass for men, even in their family, as ‘boys will be boys.’”
“Some take upon themselves the responsibility of healing their father, who may be abusive or troubled. We often shame women for their ‘daddy issues’ but do not call out men. In fact, men can be fragile and moody, as society does not emphasise upon their mental health, dumping that emotional labour on the women of the family,” she adds.
Dr Yajnaseni Mukherjee, Academic Accreditation and Compliance Officer at Woolf in San Francisco, distills this tension in wry terms: “Jane Eyre teaches us that the best relationships start with red flags, spooky mansions, and a brooding man hiding his secret wife in the attic. If he’s emotionally unavailable, twice your age, and possibly lying to you, he’s the one! Bonus points if he randomly disappears, loses a hand and an eye, and then you’re the one who has to circle back and fix everything. Love is clearly about patience, mystery, and a little light arson.”
Rochester resembles the kind of romantic partner modern women still encounter: flawed, magnetic, emotionally complex. A man who offers intensity without accountability. What Brontë makes clear, though, is that admiration is not absolution. Love must meet a higher bar than desire.
Shivani Chandel, a trained graduate teacher (English) at Sarvodaya Kanya Vidyalaya, Peeragarhi Village, Delhi, says, “Jane’s refusal to abandon her principles for the sake of love is inspiring. Her decision not to marry Rochester upon learning of his wife resonates with most readers and most women. It subtly reminds readers that love should never demand the sacrifice of self-respect. Passion fades, but integrity endures. In relationships, staying true to one’s values is the highest form of self-love.”
“The novel suggests that real love does not ask us to abandon who we are, but rather meets us where we stand, with respect and understanding,” Dr Mukherjee adds.
Jane’s departure is not impulsive, it’s principled. “Jane Eyre imparts a profound lesson on the primacy of self-respect within romantic relationships. Despite her deep emotional attachment to Rochester, Jane resolutely prioritises her moral convictions and personal autonomy over the allure of passion or companionship… Authentic love must never come at the expense of one’s ethical compass or sense of self,” says Dr Mukherjee.
In a world where women were conditioned to serve, secure, and stay, Jane’s exit reads like a quiet revolution. “At a time when women were raised to be submissive, Jane Eyre chose her dignity and rejected Rochester’s proposal… she refused to be the ‘homewrecker’ and the ‘other woman’ in Rochester’s life,” says Kirti Malik, Assistant Professor of English at Dev Bhoomi Uttarakhand University, Dehradun. “Jane is the epitome of an independent woman. She only chose her love when it was not opposing her principles.”
When Jane finally returns to Rochester, it is not as a dependent governess but as a financially independent woman, with a sense of self forged through solitude and trial. Rochester, now blind and physically diminished, must meet her on a different ground. It is not a reunion of equals, it is the creation of equality.
Prerna Sharma, a UPSC aspirant and bride-to-be, finds meaning not just in Jane’s independence, but in her ultimate choice to stay: “Love is like a selfless duty. Jane Eyre received no love since her childhood, but still chooses to marry and take care of Rochester, a man who loses his eyes and his house. Though becoming independent herself, she chose to serve in love rather than live a life of comfort.”
So, is Jane Eyre a feminist icon for leaving, or a cautionary figure for returning? The answer is: both. And neither.
Brontë, whose own romantic life was marked by longing, constraint, and creative suppression, understood this. She gave Jane the ending she never got — not a fantasy, but a negotiation.
In a world still riddled with Rochesters, what would Jane Eyre do in the age of Tinder? Probably swipe left on the tragic backstory, mute the breadcrumbing, and ghost the gaslighting. Eyre still has the last word: “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.”
