I’ve never been a writer. I mean, I’ve written more scholarly articles than I can count. But cool, artsy, creative written work? Nay. Have I always wanted to be a writer? YES. I used to start pretend novels when I was in elementary school, the dream soon after crushed when the silly pages were found by a friend who laughed at it for its amateurish quality. So I’ve always shied away from it.
Why am I writing now then? And when am I going to talk about the “book review” portion of the post title?
About a year and a half ago, I was browsing in
my favorite used book store on my birthday when annoyingly, a book fell on my head. It kind of felt like something out of a movie, so I decided to buy the book, playfully taking it as a “sign from the universe.”
The book was called The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë by Syrie James, and it sat on my book shelf, all but forgotten about until recently.
Flash forward to the internship I had at the time the summer after. I jumped at any opportunity to write blog posts. I just… wanted to write. Once my final semester of university started, I had the pleasure of taking a few classes that allowed me to do “fun” writing. And I loved it.
Several pieces of my work, school, and personal life were suddenly filled with more writing, but I didn’t think too much of it. A month ago after finishing my degree, and I decided to pull out the old book that fell on my head, as a reward for never having to read boring textbooks again (YAS).
What I found in that book, weirdly enough, was exactly what I needed, at the exact right time. It was the story of the Brontë sisters (all accomplished female writers from the 1800’s), and how they fought and dealt with being women in a time when they were expected to accomplish nothing in life but being someone’s wife. Well… after just finishing my second women’s history class, and with the current, er… political climate, I was FIRED UP and cheering for these brilliant sisters.
So that had me excited, but as I read further, the book went into how these sisters secretly published their work without the knowledge of their male family members, and under male pen names so they wouldn’t be judged by their sex. They wanted to prove that their work was worthy without prejudice. And they excelled despite all of their doubts along the way.
So should you read this book? Yes.
Will you get as much out of it as I did? Hard to say.
Like I said, I read this book at the right time for me, because it finally inspired me to start writing despite any doubts I might have. Also I’m a sucker for anything British. Bonus points won by this book for that.
So I suppose we can call this post an intro to my blog. Not so much a book review, but a catalyst.
Happy writing, friends.