Anne Brontë

But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.
-Anne Brontë

I am a great admirer of the youngest Brontë sibling, Anne. I must confess that I was not drawn to her writings before I took my Oxford class, but through reading her books Agnes Grey, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and reading her poetry, I have grown to admire her and her writing so much.

Her sisters, Charlotte and Emily are the popular ones. Their books Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights receive the most attention from readers and movie makers because there is dramatic, Gothic elements that provoke discussions among readers. There are characters with multi-dimensions and shadowy pasts like Heathcliff and Rochester, who are each a "hero" in a strange way. And the stories are haunting and engrossing.

Anne, though, writes with a more poetic prose. She writes about hardships and suffering from a first-person narrative, and how the characters draw from their faith in God to get through it and make the right decisions. They are not religious novels, but you cannot help but notice Anne's deep faith rooted in her belief in doing the right thing, no matter what.

I honestly did not expect her writing to be so engaging, so full of powerful stories that drew me in. Anne's writing was not greatly admired by her sister, Charlotte, because it is reminiscent of how Jane Austen writes, so perhaps Charlotte did not think Anne's writing to be original in that sense. But I do not agree with Charlotte's views on Anne's writing.

Anne has a beautiful sense of hope in her writing and poems. It is clear that God was her center and focus, because even in the darkness she writes about and went through herself, there is that sense of faith and hope in God. She had a short life, like her sisters (all but Charlotte) who all died very young, but Anne had such a deep peace in her life that is portrayed in her words:

Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by,
Because the next is bleak and drear;
Or not enjoy a smiling sky,
Because a tempest may be near?

No! While we journey on our way,
We'll smile on every lovely thing;
And ever, as they pass away,
To memory and hope we'll cling.

And though that awful river flows
Before us, when the journey's past,
Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes
Most dreadful- shrink not- 'tis the last!

Though icy cold, and dark, and deep;
Beyond it smiles that blessed shore,
Where none shall suffer, none shall weep,
And bliss shall reign for evermore!