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Confession Time

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Author Topic: Confession Time  (Read 257 times)
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« Reply #15 on: December 27, 2008, 02:24:52 pm »
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Without pawing through some old mags of mine buried under some dust, I read where a guy investigated the deaths of the Brontes.

He wrote a story about it but publishers told him to write it in novel form that would make if more saleable.

I won’t mix up the fact with fiction by regurgitating what I read 10 yrs ago in the magazine regarding his unearthed “facts” because I simply cannot remember the details….but this was the book he wrote …

The Crime of Charlotte Bronte
By James Tully


The Bronte Society have discredited his book I believe....and he didn't get great reviews by this person at least....but I think it would be a worthwhile read if ever I come across a copy...

Review of one reader...

Bad evidence, bad writing, June 1, 2001
By  Minsma (Los Angeles, CA United States) - See all my reviews

This review is from: The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (Paperback)
James Tully dedicates his book, "Para mi querida J...--who I met when she was but seventeen and have loved deeply for some fifty years." Despite the sentimentality of this dedication, the book itself is deeply misogynistic. All the women are silly, devious, or both; gossipy, snoopy, ridiculously docile, and melting in the snares of a handsome man to commit atrocities--or else shrewish enough to drive him to murder. And worse--they are plagiarists! Tully would have us believe the Bronte sisters stole the work of poor, doomed, haunted brother Branwell, passed it off as their own, and then blackened Branwell's sainted name. Tully's evidence for this? The testimony of a couple of Branwell's pub cronies many years after the fact and when all the Brontes were safely dead. It is typical of the kind of "evidence" Tully provides to support his wild conjectures throughout the book. Smarmy remarks like, "Now, I am a mere male, but..." also do not help Tully make his case.
All this would probably be acceptable--controversy is the meat of literature, after all--if the "novel" was at least well written. It is, in fact, woefully bad--the narrative is flat, repetitive, indirect, while the characterizations are paper thin or stereotyped. Worst of all, each chapter consists of a supposed deposition from Bronte maid Martha Brown followed by commentary from a present-day investigator. This structure seriously bogs down the flow of the story and repeats the material just reviewed by Martha to tedious effect. I suspect the information provided by the present-day investigator, an ill-defined solicitor character, is simply a dumping ground for the nonfiction book Tully wanted to write (by his own admission) and couldn't sell because the case he presented for the Bronte "crimes" was so meager, thereby making his wild conclusions laughable. Unfortunately, there is nothing laughable about this novel--it is so bad it doesn't even inspire true irony.
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