A Letter to Bertha Mason

by Devika Aji

Dear Bertha Mason,

I see you, I acknowledge you, and I hope to understand you. You were not given a voice, but I long to hear from you. What was going through your head as you spiraled away alone in madness, uprooted from your family, deceived by your brother? You wanted belonging, and that belongingness was in your hometown, Jamaica.

I was mesmerized by the mystery surrounding your character, only existing in shadows and darkness—a glimpse of you reflecting much of the apprehensive anxiety of the male population, shrouded in tragedy. Of course, when everything is stripped away from you, the only surviving identity that you have so solemnly strived to protect begins to slip from your fingers, one cannot help but laugh because the tears and anguish have gone past your bedside and helplessness has housed your heart.

Bertha, you are a dazzling combination of beauty and angst, a victim of circumstances beyond your control. Your Creole heritage and the colonial era aided in adding the layers of complexity that defined you. Your marriage to Mr. Rochester, a man who brought you to Thornfield Hall only to confine you in its attic, is a testament to the oppressive and unjust societal norms of that time.

It sure must have felt like a thousand knives twisting in and out of your heart when you saw your lawful husband sharing gleeful exchanges with that young governess, who for you represented everything you wanted to be. Bertha, your fate is undeniably tragic. To be stripped of your identity, autonomy, and even your voice is a cruel destiny that no one should endure. The flames that engulfed Thornfield Hall marked not only the end of your life but also the symbolic destruction of the class and race oppression layered in patriarchy that had bound you. You could not take it anymore, and in the 10th year of your confinement, the outlet of your emotions found escape, inevitably, imaginably so.

You represent the struggles of several downtrodden women whose voices were stifled by the standards of a patriarchal society. Your seclusion and treatment highlight the stark reality of women's restricted agency at that time period as well as a staunch critique of the way mental illness was dealt with, or rather, the ignorance of its existence. Your character still has a strong resonance in the modern world. Your challenges are still brought up in conversations about mental health, the marginalization of women, and the study of cultural representation. You continue to serve as a somber reminder that, despite our society's progress, there is still a long way to go until the obstacles you encountered are completely removed.

Bertha, your spirit continues to exist despite being bound to book pages. Your presence forces us to face the complexity of human existence and to reconsider the standards that limit and categorize us. As I consider your tale, I am reminded of the ability of literature to illuminate society's most hidden issues, sparking debate and bringing about positive change.

With deepest respect for the lasting impact you've had on literature and readers alike, and with a mad heart—an admirer of your rage and courage.

-Devika Aji

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