I had so much fun finding yesterday’s literary connection that I found one, or two, or maybe three more.
Today’s is brought to you by Charlotte Brontë. I know, not your first guess of authors to be buddying up to Richard Wright, but here it is:
Then their eyes were riveted; a slate-colored pigeon swooped down to the middle of the steel car tracks and began strutting to and fro with ruffled feathers, its fat neck bobbing with regal pride. A street car rumbled forward and the pigeon rose swiftly through the air on wings stretched so taut and sheer that Bigger could see the gold of the sun through their translucent tips. He tilted his head and watched the slate-colored bird flap and wheel out of sight over the edge of a high roof.
“Now, if I could only do that,” Bigger said . . .
Doesn’t that sound like our good friend Jane Eyre? Okay, fine, Jane was adamant that she was not a bird.
I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.
But I’m pretty sure both of them were going for that whole “free flying” thing, so I’m still counting it on my list of connections. Oh, and here’s an interesting essay about the bird imagery in Jane Eyre if your own wings want to carry you back to the good old days of pleasant reads.