Review of The Wife in the Attic—A Sapphic Jane Eyre

What if the governess fell in love with … the wife in the attic? This is essentially the premise of Rose Lerner’s new novel The Wife in the Attic, which was just released as an Audible Original last month. I’ve been devouring audiobooks like candy since the start of the pandemic, so what could be better than a queer reimagining of one of my favorite Gothic novels released exclusively in audio? And as someone who has always been way more sympathetic toward Bertha Mason than Mr. Rochester, The Wife in the Attic was everything I could ask for.

The Wife in the Attic is not a straightforward re-telling of Jane Eyre, but rather a loose reimagining that takes Charlotte Brontë’s basic premise and builds upon it to create a completely new story. Not only is this new story Sapphic, focusing on the relationship between the governess and the titular wife, it also shifts some of the socio-political context of the story. Miss Deborah Oliver is eeking out a living as music tutor when she is offered the position of governess at the Goldengrove estate. Though she is immediately smitten by her mischievous little charge, Tabby, certain elements of life at Goldengrove unsettle her. The residents and staff are all locked in their rooms at night—which, given Miss Oliver’s pathological fear of fires, is almost reason enough on its own for her to leave. Her employer, Sir Kit Palethorp, is jovial and friendly—but a bit too friendly for the proper relationship between master and governess. And the lady of the house is kept confined in her room, allegedly bedridden with illness. But is her illness physical or mental? Perhaps it is merely indolence that keeps her from raising her own child and thus requiring a governess. Or … could something much more sinister be going on? When Miss Oliver learns that she and Lady Palethorp share a certain aspect of their heritage, the kinship she feels leads her to question everything she’s been told about life at Goldengrove.

This novel uses the trappings of a Brontë-esque Gothic Romance to tackle a topic that more commonly appeared in the eighteenth-century Gothic: the Inquisition. In early Gothic novels such as Matthew Lewis’s The Monk (1796), Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian (1797), and W. H. Ireland’s The Abbess (1799), scenes of torture and imprisonment in the cells of the Inquisition are used as Gothic spectacle—one of the chief horrors of the tale, which might befall innocent victims and villains alike. Such scenes are often sensationalized, even sexualized, and are meant to shock and titillate readers. Rose Learner takes a different approach, contextualizing the Inquisition in history and acknowledging the real harm and trauma that it caused for generations of people—particularly for the Jewish communities in Portugal and Spain. We tend to think of the Inquisition as ancient history, the product of a society that was barely out of the Middle Ages. But in reality, the Inquisition was not abolished until 1824 in Portugal and 1834 in Spain. In The Wife in the Attic, the Inquisition is a very recent part of Deborah Oliver’s family history. Unlike in the early Gothic novels mentioned above, the scenes of torture and death happen off-screen and decades before the main events of the story. Yet, the experience inevitably informs the protagonist’s worldview: her grandmother’s sense of betrayal instills Miss Oliver with a deep mistrust of others; the question of whether she would sell out her own family under torture as her grandmother had done gives Miss Oliver an even deeper mistrust of herself; and the fiery executions of the autos-da-fé leave her with a fear of fire that creates an interesting tension with the burning houses trope in Jane Eyre. While Lady Palethorp’s experience with the Portuguese Inquisition seems to be less direct, she faces an Inquisition of sorts in her own home—imprisoned in her room like a cell and tormented by others because of her Jewishness. I appreciated seeing this aspect of history treated thoughtfully and with nuance, and most importantly seeing a depiction that centered the primary victims of the Inquisition: Jews and Jewish conversos.

That is one of the most obvious differences between this story and the original Jane Eyre—Lady Palethorp’s “otherness” comes from her Portuguese and Jewish background, while Bertha Mason is othered and dehumanized because of her Creole heritage. But the divergence I found most striking is the portrayal of the protagonist in each novel. In Jane Eyre, the titular governess’s defining feature is her integrity—she establishes her morals early and holds tight to them, even in moments of extreme temptation. Jane is completely virtuous, and confident in her own virtue. Deborah Oliver, on the other hand, struggles with ethical decisions and ends up becoming a rather morally gray character. One of her main characteristics early in the novel is indecisiveness—she relates strongly to the Inquisition victims who repeatedly confessed then recanted, who wavered between enduring the torture in silence and providing the names of their fellow Jews for a chance to escape. At Goldengrove, Miss Oliver wavers between keeping her head down and investigating the possible injustices being committed within the estate. Ultimately, she settles on a mantra: “It is better to act than to atrophy.” Though she can never be sure that her decision is the morally correct one, she takes comfort in knowing that she made a decision and followed it through. This moral ambiguity is matched in her love interest Lady Palethorp. The mistress of Goldengrove has a quick temper and a definite cruel streak—no doubt fueled by the cruelties done to her. But her ultimate motivation in all decisions is her love for her daughter—a trait that makes her worst aspects understandable, and maybe even redeemable.

The Wife in the Attic is available now, exclusively from Audible. If you’re interested in Gothic retellings, queer romances, or depictions of Jewishness, you don’t want to miss this one. If you’ve read it, let me know what you think in the comments!