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Wuthering Heights (Bantam Classics) Mass Market Paperback – October 1, 1983
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"It is as if Emily Brontë could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognizable transparencies with such a gust of life that they
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"My greatest thought in living is Heathcliff. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be... Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure... but as my own being." Wuthering Heights is the only novel of Emily Bronte, who died a year after its publication, at the age of thirty. A brooding Yorkshire tale of a love that is stronger than death, it is also a fierce vision of metaphysical passion, in which heaven and hell, nature and society, are powerfully juxtaposed. Unique, mystical, with a timeless appeal, it has become a classic of English literature.
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I would not recommend you buy it, even if you want an abridged copy.
I must say, although I struggled at the beginning of this novel, I soon found that I was able to comprehend it, even though the use of language was quite foreign to me.
In this piece of literature we meet the Earnshaw’s who own Wuthering Heights. Mr Earnshaw has a wonderful wife, and two children, Catherine and Hindley.
But on an outing, Mr Earnshaw comes home with an orphan, a young child who doesn’t belong to anybody.
It’s instant love for Catherine. The child with no mane (who is named Heathcliff) become close friends.
On the other hand, Hindley hates him as his father’s affection is taken from Hindley and focused on Heathcliff.
So begins the tale of the Earnshaws and Heathcliff.
Also let’s not forget the Linton’s who live at Thrushcross Grange. Both of these families are incorporated in this novel that I have perceived to be about a love forbidden and a man scorned wanting to seek revenge on those who hurt him. It’s a novel about loss, pain and the sheer agony of not being able to have the love of your life.
For me Wuthering Heights was a beautiful story that captured my heart.
I am glad that I took the plunge to read this icon of literature.
A thoroughly enjoyable read.
However, if I were Mr. Lockwood, I’m sure I wouldn’t find anything to laugh at. Lockwood is a tenant of Mr. Heathcliff, the master of Wuthering Heights and technical owner of the smaller house next door, Thrushcross Grange. Heathcliff is a formidable man that doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything – except for the ghost that haunts Lockwood’s dreams the first night he stays at the house. Upon questioning the housekeeper, Ellen Dean, Lockwood becomes engrossed by the family saga that reinvented the notion of family sagas: the fierce entanglement of the Earnshaws and the Lintons, with Heathcliff and his beloved Cathy at the center of it all.
I won’t mention much else because saying anything at all about this book is as good as saying too much (and also because I had the plot spoiled for me prior to reading and don’t wish it on anyone else), but I will put in one thought of my own: “Wuthering Heights” is not supposed to be romantic. It’s almost a “Romeo and Juliet” scenario; people get so wrapped up in the strength of the leads’ relationship that they don’t realize that it’s meant as ridicule, not endorsement. Romeo and Juliet were nutty teenagers with raging hormones, and Heathcliff and Cathy are narcissists who use each other to feed their egos. (But only up to a certain point . . .) There are likeable characters, sure, but they’re nowhere near as memorable or fascinating as the twisted lovers at the heart of the story. Which isn’t a bad thing – it gives you someone to root for while letting you focus on what a romance SHOULDN’T consist of.
My only real problem was the frame story – or, rather, the presence of a frame story at all. Lockwood really isn’t good for anything except plying Ellen Dean with constant questions, and he gets so little page time and is so uninvolved in the doings of the other characters that I wonder why Emily Bronte made him the narrator at all. If you ask me, he should have been just a minor character tucked away in some other part of the story, if that. But that doesn’t take away the fact that this book is that rare combination: both good and a classic. It’s not exactly a feel-good book, yes, and I still prefer “Jane Eyre” ever so slightly, but I have a lot of respect for a book that can both keep you up at night and make you think. And “Wuthering Heights” definitely is that book.