I would possibly never have read Wide Sargasso Sea if it wasn’t for Diana Athill. In her memoirs, she speaks about Jean Rhys with such clarity and emotion that I could not help but be intrigued. The idea of a person so inept at life – addicted to alcohol, horribly poor, mentally unstable, and not very nice, really – being so good at writing was fascinating. For me. I suspect it was mostly awful for Rhys.

Still, I did not read the book until I travelled to Martinique. That too was partly Athill’s doing, as she has written eloquently and insightfully about several Caribbean islands including Dominica – the home of Jean Rhys. Martinique itself is mentioned in Wide Sargasso Sea as the birth place of Antoinette Cosway’s/Bertha Rochester’s mother. As I’m sure you’re aware, Rhys’ most famous work is often called the prequel to Jane Eyre. It’s the story of Mr Rochester and his first wife, the madwoman in the attic.

After reading it, I wonder whether this description does the book more harm than good. If people come looking for romance, this is the wrong place. If they think it’s some sort of early example of fan fiction… well, hate-fiction might be a more accurate term. It’s probably fair to say that Rhys hated England and hated if not the whole of Brontë’s book, then certainly what it did to the inconvenient wife from the West Indies.

I’m probably in the minority, but for me, this isn’t about the ‘love’ story at all. I found the relationship between Antoinette and Rochester the least interesting and least convincing part of the book, although nominally it takes up most space (of which there is little, the book has 150 small pages). The most powerful themes are what colonialism does to societies and what abandonment does to people. None of this is pretty or easy to read, but it’s masterfully executed. I spent the first 50 pages dedicated to Antoinette’s childhood full of dread, but unable to stop reading.

Rochester seems insignificant in comparison to these grand narratives and in a way he is – it could have been almost anyone else in his place, the outcome is determined by the system, not by him as an individual. It was also interesting to learn later that the middle part, the marriage was where Rhys struggled when writing. She had lived the beginning and the end and I think it shows.

I’m not attempting a proper review of the book, there are many out there by more qualified people than me. But I have been thinking recently abut the timing of reading the classics and what makes a book resonate with people. There are some classics that, I believe, benefit from early reading (To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher in the Rye). Then there are some that are amazing when you’re young but reveal other layers when rereading (Master & Margarita, The Handmaid’s Tale). But Wide Sargasso Sea, I think, is best read later. It’s one of those books that is made better by having some context and experience.

I came to this conclusion not only through my own response to the book, but thanks (?) to some vicious Goodreads reviews. Mostly, I think some knowledge of colonislism and the history of the Caribbean is important – I have some, but it isn’t extensive, and I’m sure I missed many nuances. Having no historical framework at all probably makes it difficult to follow. It’s not essential to have read Jane Eyre, but I believe knowing the general thrust of it will add another layer to the meaning of Wide Sargasso Sea. I usually don’t think one should know anything about the author, but in this case, I do think it makes many things clearer – not only about the novel, but also about Rhys. And if you know the Caribbean, that adds another piece. Finally, if one has never read anything postmodern before, this might be a confusing book. Although I must say that while I’m not too fond of the stream of consciousness device in most cases, I find the use here justified and mostly very clear and precise.

From what I’ve read about Rhys, she was no feminist and not too progressive when it came to race either. It’s astonishing that despite that, she has written a book that examines the intertwined tragedies of colonialism and patriarchy with such understanding. It’s no use for writers to only have style, writers also need to have truth and she has both. So if someone tells you that this is just a book about a woman who loses her mind because of a man, don’t believe her.

PS Apparently, the Sargasso sea is the only sea in the world that has no coastline, it’s surrounded by streams. I don’t know if Rhys intended this, but it seems entirely fitting.