The Professor
William Crimsworth is without a doubt the most sanctimonious and dull protagonist in the Brontë canon, thankfully, though we have to live in his head throughout the novel, and see him succeed in his efforts with such smug self-righteousness, there is relief at hand.
No, I'm not talking about Frances Evans Henri, who could give Esther Sumerson a run for her money in the homely self-effacing modest maiden awards, or the antagonists, such as they are: venal and snobbish relations and loathsome foreigners, and Catholics to boot!
I mean Hunsden Yorke Hunsden. He is the only character whose opinion or happiness mattered. His appearances were refreshing and provided the only humor, sometimes even inspiring more than dull platitudes of bland admonishments from William or Frances.
He, along with Charlotte Brontë's occasional flashes of prose brilliance, are what saves 'The Professor' from complete disaster. This book is a shadow compared to 'Jane Eyre' or 'Villette', but its threadbare nature allow one to see Brontë learning how to iron out quirks in description and narrative.
There is no doubt about her talents here, and I especially liked how she crafted the ending, it's abrupt and maybe a little sloppy, but its a risk that showed her potential for shaking up the English novel equaled those of her sisters whose first efforts did find a publisher.
This is a book solely for completists if there ever was one.
