Aged 12 or so, I read this book - along with another bunch of gothic novels and mickey mouse comics - and all that stuck with me was the memory of a needlessly tormented, addicting-to-read romance. Nearly 20 years later, the romance is there, it is needlessly tormented, and addicting too. Victorian morality is tiresome to read about - I cannot imagine to live by. Of course, it is also racist, colonialist, ableistic, and classist in ways that are (even) more extreme than our own. The obsession with marriage makes one want to escape into a hippie commune asap.

And yet, there is something so ineffably modern about Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester. Jane is independent, strong-minded and sarcastic. I am tempted to believe that even her religious talk is more of a language to express human feelings, thoughts and impulses that it is piousness. And Edward is such an imperfect hero: not handsome, throwing tantra over small things, not too noble to try a trick. And their banter and sexual tension are so believable and enthralling, they put many of the latest Netflix series to shame.