This book was given to me as a parting gift when I left Yorkshire. I had been to Haworth to see the Brontë parsonage and I’d walked the moors behind the house and I had lived in and understood the sweet melodic dialect of West Yorkshire.
All this lent the book a certain sweetness that the two horrible main characters did everything in their power to disrupt. I mean, I knew this wasn’t going to be a love story, but like ooohhhh booyy is it not a love story.
“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
Heathcliff is stolen off the streets of Liverpool* and brought to live with the Earnshaw family. The father dotes on Heathcliff who becomes fast friends with the daughter of the family, Catherine, and mortal enemies with the brother.
Then stuff happens, Heathcliff leaves, Catherine marries Linton, Heathcliff comes back and is abusive and horrible and Catherine still loves him in a cool, incestous way. There’s a weak love triangle in the way that a love triangle is only weak when the two main characters love each other back.
“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”
Then Catherine dies, but she also has a baby and that baby then grows up in this festering turd of an environment. Heathcliff is despondent that Catherine is dead.
“Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”
Her husband is also upset, but pulls himself together enough to be a decent human being and raise his daughter. There are loads more characters in this book and all of them are examined by the same question: “What does love do to a human?”
Catherine’s brother’s wife dies and leaves behind a son. Catherine’s brother (no I’m not gonna go look up his name, deal with it) responds by turning to drinking and gambling. When Catherine dies Linton in turn stays a good, loving man trying to raise his daughter as best he can. Heathcliff is spoiled by the love of the man who “adopted” him. Linton’s sister ruins her life to love Heathcliff despite everyone being like “He’s a fucking psycho, stay away”. Then there’s what love does to Catherine and Heathcliff. These people are horrible, love makes them even worse. It takes all the cruelty in their hearts and makes it righteous in their minds. And when Heathcliff loses his loves he lives out some pretty extreme things, like digging up the corpse of his love TWICE. I mean. Come for the gravedigging and stay for the gravedigging.
Brontë is extra AF and clearly very fascinated by anger, death and bleakness. She does, towards the end include a nice little vignette of love’s saving grace, but I’m like too late, Emily. Love makes people horrible and the only way out is the sweet release of death. But also, visit Yorkshire. It’s really nice, got some great moors.
*I mean rescued, because it was a white man who did the stealing
Aye some crackin’ moors int wee Yorkshire
Awww…you came all the way over here to comment?? Baby sausage <3
Yup. I LOVE Wuthering Heights, I think it’s a brilliantly constructed novel full of fantastically complex characters, but it’s depressing as hell.
It’s not meant as a love story.
It’s not meant as a love story.
I really truly do not understand why this one and Romeo & Juliet are held up as examples of good romances: two people who hate and are vindictive to each other, and two teenagers who wouldn’t know good decisionmaking and communication if the priest were to slap them both upside the head after they were married and explain them some things.
Ugh.
When I discuss R&J with my students I always start with “look, this is about a sixteen year old and a thirteen year old who kill themselves because their parents wouldn’t let them get married after knowing each other for only a day or so. THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC.”
And Heathcliff is an abusive and miserable bastard. Ruining the life of everyone around you out of sheer pettiness DOES NOT MAKE YOU A LITERARY HERO IT MAKES YOU A BAD PERSON.
GAWD.
Remember that one time that Heathcliff tried to hang the dog? Good times, right? I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with the animal abuser – it’s not like we’ve clinically determined that that’s likely to mean that he’s a sociopath.
Of course, this is also how I feel about Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. Who ever the eff thought that this was a classic of romantic suspense was wrong. Manderley was a house of horrors, and Max de Winter straight up murdered Rebecca because he was mad that she was unfaithful and he couldn’t control her.
Re: your title
THIS IS WHAT I’M SAYING. Toxic masculinity all over the place.
and we were brought up to think this was a relationship to aspire to. Yikes!
Great review. I hate this book and every single character in it. They’re all awful and should be set on fire. Heathcliff and Catherine are the worst of the bunch, but I’m not sure there’s a single redeemable person in it, even the put upon youngsters that Heathcliff torture for fun. I especially hate that it gets misunderstood as some great romantic epic.
The only good thing to come out of this book is the Kate Bush song. :D
This exactly. I HATED the book, the characters, the premise, everything. All of them are maladjusted selfish people.
I need to read this already. I just already heard enough to know I am going to be mad though LOL
It’s not a romance, but it is an astonishing book to have been written by the sickly, sheltered daughter of an impoverished Victorian clergyman in 1845.
Jane Eyre is better.
I loved Jane Eyre. I heard that you want to slap the main characters and after reading Far from the Madding Crowd that one time, I think I may be good.
I’m trying to read Jane Eyre, but it’s tedious. I can’t express it clearly but I kind of hate Jane herself, such an emo kid. And what I remember of Rochester, he has very very few redeeming qualities.
Yep, I too am a hater of this book. I read it in graduate school and wanted to punch Heathcliff in the face. It’s related to the hatred I feel for Midsummer Night’s Dream (sorry, Will!).