WUTHERING HEIGHTS

It took me a while to crack Wuthering Heights: some classics are easier to read than others. I fell hard for Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë when I was 15, and though I appreciate both books are written by entirely different authors, I was still anticipating similarities.

No. This book will rip your heart out and stamp on it. I love an anti-hero: a dark, rugged character that you shouldn't like, with a troubled past and a soft side you can't help but desire. There were moments where Heathcliff could've been that guy, but he never pauses once on his tyrannical path of destroying near enough everyone. Not one moment of contemplation or peace. It's a story of how love can break rather than create a person; it's unyielding power over mind, body and soul.

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same" Cathy pathetically utters somewhere towards the beginning. She's easily the worst out of the lot, she had everyone in her hands and infuriated all of them at some point. Although we must consider how much more class mattered in the 19th century, I find her childish, insufferable and stubborn.

Initially overwhelmed by the length (around 450 pages in this shorter kind of square copy), I continued to question why it needed to be this long as I got deeper in. It's heavy going, and if you're going to read this book, which I suggest you do, make sure you're outside in the sun like I was. Otherwise it might make you sad.

My qualms with the characters are personal however, and I entirely appreciate the beauty of this book. Brontë so seamlessly develops such a range of complex characters, encouraging you to love and hate them all. More than that, the author's descriptions of nature are pure magic, and welcome respite from the troubles of the characters. It's obvious why this novel has stood the test of time.

4/5 - Undeniably beautifully written and composed, just a bit too sad for me.