Brontë, Charlotte. Villette (1853). New York: Penguin Classic, 2004.

These things are always spoiled by waiting until after class discussion to post. I had little to say about this novel, and now there's lots to say, but all of it jumbled and still budding in my head. Shortly: one of the earliest novels written in the first-person that I can think of, and the narrator/character, Lucy Snowe, is, as her name implies, this cold, observing person, for whom love and romance are never really meant to be. Her narration is extremely unreliable. Compared to, say, Austen et al.'s 19thC implied-author narrator, she's a terrible storyteller, so uncertain of what her audience needs to know. This leads to some fascinating effects, to be sure, but like all big 400+-page 19thC novels, the act itself of reading through page after page—particularly for a class, and thus stressed and under a time crunch—isn't one I'd wish on most people.

My adviser said it best: "I love those novels.... They're perfect for long winters or summers."

So I'd imagine, if there weren't four or five other books I could read in the same amount of time.