From early on in Lindner’s hypertext, Jane makes a clear distinction between herself and other young women—chiefly through appearances. “I didn’t expend a lot of effort on my looks,” Jane muses. “I liked to think I had better things to do with my time than shop for lip gloss and clothes. In fact, I didn’t think about my appearance much, usually” (Lindner 18). Despite this claim, Jane is constantly weighing her appearance against those of the women around her. Although Brontë’s original Jane has her own despairing moments of insecurity, her self-criticisms, as well as those of the people around her, are mainly comprised of the following sentiment: “small and plain.” Even in the brutal comparison between herself and Blanche Ingram, Jane only refers to herself as “disconnected, poor, and plain” (Brontë 146). What is so interesting about the language shift in Lindner’s adaptation is the new mode of breaking down each individual body part during comparisons and examinations; for example, when Jane gazes in envy at a photo of Bianca, she notes singular qualities like “her white teeth ... her long hair ... her full breasts and narrow waist ... a long, bare leg,” and even repeats this manner of dissection with her own appearance: “dull brown hair, over-large forehead, ordinary green eyes with sparse lashes, stubborn chin, flat chest, and narrow hips” (Lindner 116;117). Perhaps the deconstruction of the female body into individual parts represents the age of advertisement Jane lives in, and the pressure women feel to embody visual perfection; certainly there is an emphasized stress on appearance in this modernized retelling, no doubt contributed to social media and ’round-the-clock affirmations of “ideal beauty.” If executed well, this trait in Jane could have made her more relatable. Instead, Jane’s perceived inferiority to other women only emphasizes the misogyny already pervasive within the novel. She entertains Nico Rathburn when he tears down beautiful women, as with Celine: “‘All image, no talent. You’ve seen her picture, right? Six feet tall—all legs, flowing blond hair, red lipstick, designer dresses, and stiletto heels. You won’t be surprised to hear that her head is a pretty soap bubble—shiny and clean, with nothing but air inside. Sometimes I worry Maddy takes after her’” (Lindner 81). In a perhaps even more problematic turn, Jane decides to visit Nico alone in his room after theorizing that she’s not in any danger due to the following logic: “I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and realized how silly I was being. I looked completely unlike the women he had dated.” Of course, Nico does target Jane during this encounter through sexual innuendos that seem to go over her head. Even after Jane and Nico become engaged, she refuses to reprimand his attitude towards any woman that is not herself. Take the following passage from page 217:

“[Nico] harrumphed. ‘What planet are you from, anyway? How did I find the one woman in the world who isn’t thrilled by the chance to spend my money?’
‘Remember when you told me about Maddy’s mother? How she was using you? You called her a gold digger.’
‘Because she was,’ he said. ‘This is totally different. You’re totally different.’
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘I’m different.’”

Jane is given the perfect opportunity to comment on Nico’s blinding hypocrisy here, especially within the context of the scene; not only is she secure in Nico’s feelings towards her at this point, she is also aware of the situational irony in Nico forcing her to use his money and dress “sexy” on his own terms, while condemning other women for doing the same on theirs. Unfortunately, she uses this moment to instead assert her “difference” from the other women of Nico’s romantic past. As far as relatability goes, Lindner’s Jane continuously misses the mark by demonstrating time and time again a lack of empathy towards other women.

Brontë, Charlotte. Jane Eyre, edited by Deborah Lutz, New York, NY, 2016.

Lindner, April. Jane. Kindle ed., Poppy, 2010.