Wuthering Heights: Another Nineteenth Century Romance?

Wuthering Heights
By Emily Bronte
1847
pp: 336

Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights has been making a comeback with the recent popularity of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. References to the classic novel within Meyer's series has influenced fans to expand their literary horizons; however, not all Twilight fans have a taste for classic literature. One even said Wuthering Heights was "very heavy to read and digest, [and it was] written in the language of my great grandmother….The more the pages go on, the less you feel that the story is advancing.” You can find that article here. Well, I don’t know what kind of language this person was expecting from a nineteenth century novel, but I did not find the language the least bit difficult (except when a minor character, Joseph, was speaking in his nearly incomprehensible dialect); however, that could be credited to my familiarity with classic novels.

This is not intended to be a Twilight review, and the series is really uncomparible to Wuthering Heights, although some say Isabella Swan is a modern representation of Catherine Earnshaw. For those of you who have read both Meyer's and Bronte's work, you will know how rediculous this idea is. If Bella represented anyone from Wuthering Heights, it would have to be Isabella Linton. Not only do they share a name, but they also share a love of demonic men. I will say no more concerning the Twilight saga than this: It baffles me when a person asserts the creative genius of Stephenie Meyer over that of Emily Bronte.

It is not difficult to see why a person would consider Wuthering Heights “heavy” because, yes, it involves complex characters and a substantial plot that leaves readers something to consider. It is the complexity of the novel that makes it so fascinating. As children, the mischievous qualities of Catherine and Heathcliff, seem fun and relatively harmless, but as the adventure-seeking duo grows older, Catherine becomes more spoiled and vain, while Heathcliff becomes angrier and more spiteful. There is no clearly defined protagonist or antagonist in Wuthering Heights; in fact, I found the majority of the characters repulsive with their fiery tempers and violent fits that were so appalling to the public when the book was first published under the pseudonym of “Ellis Bell” in 1847. There is a certain shock factor that remains for contemporary readers, as well. One cannot help but be disgusted with the scenes of domestic violence and unspeakable cruelty towards others: knives are thrown, puppies are hanged, and children are dropped over the banister. At the same time, there are moments when it is difficult not to sympathize in at least a small degree with characters such as Heathcliff, who was hated by his adopted brother and, as a gypsy child, was treated with prejudice by those outside his family. Even Catherine abandoned him for the less degrading company of the Lintons while still professing, “If all else perished, and [Heathcliff] remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”

Wuthering Heights is not your typical love story by any means; in many ways, it is the antithesis of a love story. Heathcliff’s unhealthy obsession towards Catherine is the root of all conflict in the novel. If it were not for my endless mound of homework for other classes, I would have finished this book in one sitting. The insanity of Heathcliff and the anarchy he creates drove me forward. I saw no way for the story to end on a happy note, which only increased my compelling need to know what was written on the last page. Many times, unhappy endings are more interesting to me than happy ones because there is generally more to think about. Whether or not this ending is happy is debateable, and I am not going to tell you what I thought, but I will tell you that this book is amazing. And so is this: