Kyle Baer

Herzog
AP Lit P4
6 November 2014
Cover Letter: Jane Eyre POV Revision
I had a surprising amount of fun with this piece, especially on the first go-around.
However, in doing so, I got a bit stylistically sloppy, in turn losing sight of some of the
overarching effects that I desired to create. Here, I have tried to address these shortcomings,
and their corrections are as follows:
Many of the revisions concerned the further development of Johns characterization
through his many comparisons to a king, a lion, and even somewhat of a god. These parallels
involve many contradictions and discontinuities; he creates the wind itself with his breath in one
sentence, yet curses the behavior of Nature shortly thereafter. I feel that this helps express the
combination of narcissistic grandeur and intellectual dullness that make up my interpretation of
John Reed.
I also developed his relationship with his mother a bit more, giving it a stronger religious
element. Her brushing glance is vaguely evocative of the Creation of Adam, while the glow she
imparts has a decidedly angelic quality to it. The passage describing the harmonizing of their
voices as John talks to Jane, which I kept the same from the first version, further emphasizes
the fact that the only divine figure in Johns life is his mother (indeed, he curses Nature, not
God, for the inclement weather).
The rest of the revisions, aside from the addition of some paragraph breaks and the like,
concerned the description of Janes plainness. However, I intentionally avoided delving too deep
into this. John sees her as plain; his insightfulness, aside from taking offense to her posture,
ends there. She is nearly as one-dimensional in his eyes as he is in hers.
Kyle Baer
Herzog

AP Lit P4
6 November 2014
In the Court of King Reed
Oh, the bother! It rained and rained. Why must it be so? What purpose could this
disaster serve? None but to keep me inside, I was sure; none but to trap me like an animal in
my own home. Oh, the bother! A king, a lion, caged in his own majestic den - hardly much of a
king at all.
I huffed, my high-held breast pushing proudly outwards as the air was expelled from my
body like the mighty West Wind itself. So be it; mine kingdom was shrunken for the time being. I
would make my own fun, I resolved, in this pen fashioned by ever-wretched Nature - the nerve!
So be it.
Fun fit for a king? Why, from where better could this come than the jester, the lords
plaything, the charity case? To amuse, to dance as a puppet before her stately master; yes! But
into which shadow had the girl now slipped? She shrank from my light but moments after
crossing the houses threshold, spent, I assumed, from the exertion of keeping up on our walk. I
allowed it; our wanderings had grown me tired of her; I had seen little reasons to demand her
presence longer. Yet now it was desired. Desired - her? I reflected upon this shortly; yes,
indeed, her presence was wished. I chuckled privately. To want for such a girl, even in such a
trivial capacity; what a thought!
I emerged at last from my grand musings and stood to leave the drawing room,
attracting the attention of Mama and the sisters. They stirred little at my motion, sitting on in
silence: the bores! Mamas eyes, though, flickered over to me, brushing mine lightly for but an
instant: the grazing touch of an outstretched finger. They were gentle, as warm as any carefully
tended fire; I felt as if I glowed ever so softly as I departed.
Into the breakfast room I marched, seeing but shadows and spectres. Where hid the
girl?

Boh! I called out. Madam Mope!

I allowed myself a small chuckle from deep within my belly. Mama was right: with age
came cleverness and wit; as I had grown, so had my mind, both in raw strength and wingedfooted speed. Standing in the doorway, I surveyed; the room shrank before me, its furnishings
cowering in the face of my almost supernaturally impressive presence. My domain indeed!
But where be the charity case?
Where the dickens is she, I spoke, half to myself. Lizzy! Georgy! Jane is not here; tell
mama she is run out into the rain - bad animal! A leash, it seemed, would be well in order for
such a stray. How long must her house training take? The investment had been years pending
now.
She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack, a sister spoke from behind; I thought it Liz.
Even the greatest of kings needs his advisors, I reflected; they may have some use yet. And lo
and behold, Elizas was the call - not mine! - to which the girl answered.
The red curtains fell aside with hardly a rustle, emerging from them a slender, plain
figure. Her features blurred together by shadow, she appeared - as was her way - unremarkable
in the entirety save for the manner in which she held herself: straight-backed and upright,
shoulders squared, defiant almost by existence alone. I had seen that posture shift not once:
never after a blow, and never before. It was unbecoming in the strongest sense.
Her head appeared ducked in mock submission - submission indeed! No cowering dog
ever held its shoulders so proud before its master. She demanded of me, oblivious as ever to
her own insubordinance: What do you want?
I spoke. It was with not my voice alone, but with Mamas too, the spectre of her speech
harmonizing angelically over mine: Say what do you want, Master Reed, I instructed,
chastising her willful ignorance as I had long been taught to. It was only proper, after all, that a
ward pay her respect to her benefactors. And so she would.
To an armchair I went, sitting myself and beckoning for her to approach.

I want you to come here.

And so she did - good! She was neither deaf nor dumb, despite her many indications to
the contrary. Before me she now stood, awaiting what was to come: we both knew how the
game was to be played. Time for some healthy amusement from my jester, I thought; your king
awaits.