'Written in my life-blood' by Philippa Linton

The BBC's 2006 adaptation of 'Jane Eyre'

Some years ago I saw Charlotte Brontë’s original manuscript of Jane Eyre at the British Library.

Cliché alert: a thrill went up my spine when I saw Charlotte’s exquisite copperplate handwriting.  Her writing  was disciplined and neat but also quietly explosive and energetic – all those curly d’s and curling  y’s – as if Jane’s story was flowing steadily out of Charlotte’s mind and she had to get it down on paper as fast as she could. The page was open at the point where Jane first encounters Rochester, when she is walking to town and inadvertently startles him as he is riding on horseback. 

He passed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned: a sliding sound and an exclamation of "What the deuce is to do now?" and a clattering tumble, arrested my attention. (Jane Eyre, Chapter 12)

One of literature’s great iconic moments: the heroine meets the man who will change her life forever. 

Seriously, a shiver did go up my spine: the thrill of seeing Charlotte’s handwriting, of seeing Jane and Rochester's first meeting on the page, was like an electric shock.  There lay an imprint of Charlotte’s authentic self, the visible proof of her genius – the colour of the ink had faded but the sparks of Charlotte’s vivid creative energy hovered there.  Here was a magnificent novel being birthed and brought to life.  I could see the tracery of the author’s creative process, like a tree and its branches, as her story flowed out from her imagination and her heart.

The One Ring (Pixabay)

J.R.R. Tolkien said of his own great opus, The Lord of the Rings, that it was ‘written in my life-blood … and I can no other.’

I guess that is true for all great authors and artists – that their truest, deepest work, the greatest expressions of their genius and their gifts arises deep in their heart and soul and therefore their work is written and produced ‘in their life-blood’.   I certainly felt like that on seeing Charlotte’s writing.  I could almost feel her excitement, her passion, her utter commitment to her characters and her story.  

A great work of art takes on a life independently of its creator, which is one of the things that fascinates me about the artistic process.  It’s a mystery and a miracle, how that happens.  Echoing Tolkien again, he took the view that we are sub-creators, reflecting the imagination and capacity of our good Creator when we create secondary worlds.  The same is true when we produce ground-breaking works of art that help in some way to shape culture and the world itself.

I am no Brontë or Tolkien ... I have a writing gift, but I would never compare it to the great authors and artists who inspire me.  Nonetheless, the flame of imagination and creativity is there, and I believe God put it there.  And just as a great book can inspire us to think more deeply, live more attentively, perhaps even to love more deeply and try to change the world around us for the better, so I can commit my small gift of writing, this small flame, to God and ask Him to help me change the world around for me – for the better.