To all of the people who read and follow my blogs, I’m sorry that my posts have been on the grisly side recently. It’s pretty obvious my little life on a polka dot has been stripped of some of its colour.
Words keep leaking out of me like an oozing sore.
One of my favourite books growing up was Wuthering Heights. I was infatuated with Catherine and Heathcliff, and their demented love. When Catherine dies, Heathcliff literally tries to dig her up from the grave. He never reaches her, which is the sum of their relationship really.
It was the only book that Emily Bronte wrote and was hailed by Dante Gabriel Rossetti as “an incredible monster”. Phwoar, if that isn’t a recommendation! I went on to Goodreads to see what today’s book worms had to say about Wuthering Heights, and had to laugh at some of the blunt criticisms.
“I’ve tried it three times. I know people are obsessed with it. I hate everyone in the book – and I just can’t care about a book where I actually hate the characters.” – Chelsea
Ha ha. Well Chelsea, the third time clearly wasn’t the charm!
“I have no particular knowledge of–or great love for–romantic, Anglo-Gothic fiction, came to Wuthering Heights with the assumption that I was picking up a melancholy ghost story of thwarted, passionate love and eternal obsession. Obsession turned out to be only accurate part of this presumption.” – Larissa
Obsession. There it is. It’s my flawed definition of a perfect love story… and it’s so gloriously Gothic – revenge, seduction, moors, death, murdered kittens, swooning, vindictive child rearing (I borrowed a bit of this from Karen’s review – I think her and I could definitely be friends).
Apparently I’m not the only person attracted to the “emotionally disturbed”. Hence why I wrote 4 reasons I adore the Joker & Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad. The level of passion and the sheer enormity of the romantic gestures; Heathcliff devoted his life to destroying the people who kept him from his true love. That takes fucking commitment.
Wuthering Heights, with all its warts and thorns, resonates with me and always floats back into my mind when I feel raw.
I admire Emily Bronte and “her stubborn tenacity of will which rendered her obtuse to all reasoning where her own wishes, or her own sense of right, was concerned.” She was described as someone who loved all wild, free creatures and things. We’re kindred spirits in that sense.