Genre: Classic
Series: Standalone
Page Count: 408
Publication Year: 1847
Publisher: Originally published by Thomas Cautley Newby
Summary: Heathcliff should have stayed away.
Having seen an adaptation, I thought I would dislike this book. But it’s actually pretty good.
The story starts with a man renting a house from Heathcliff. After visiting his landlord one frosty evening, he returns to his home, gets a cold and promptly has to stay in bed for an extended time. Seeking diversion, he asks his housekeeper to relay what she can of Heathcliff’s history and, by extension, the two families of Thrushcross Grange—his temporary home—and Wuthering Heights.
What I did not expect is that the story is not told by the famous characters, but the housekeeper, Ellen. I quickly realized what a smart choice Brontë made. If it stayed inside Heathcliff’s or Catherine’s heads, the emotions would overpower everything. It’d be one long journey through bitter tears, intense depression, and cries of pain and passion. Instead, it’s the saner, more objective, yet still vivid, picture of events. I wasn’t sure how the last half would keep the momentum, but I continued to be invested until the end, even though some plot points reoccur.
This story is not a happy one. It’s full of false love, deep hatred, restrained and unrestrained violence, debilitating fear, and crushed hope. Despite the bad things that happen—and I do mean BAD THINGS—the tone isn’t completely bleak. The events all took place years ago, so the terror and despondency has dimmed and it’s easier, for me, to “enjoy” it. Had Heathcliff or Catherine narrated it I don’t think it would’ve been bearable. I don’t like the story in and of itself, but it resembles a train wreck that you can’t look away from: you have to know if it could get any worse. And it does. Repeatedly. But I wanted to finish it because it wasn’t just continual gloom and that impressed me. How could a story so bad turn out to be good?
I think the main factor is Ellen. She is the confidant of almost all the characters and she’s the best person to have for this tale (especially since she can remember conversations verbatim from decades ago). She dislikes Heathcliff, doesn’t really care for Catherine and is rightfully convinced that the Grange had but one sensible soul in its walls, and that lodged in my body. Her insights are correct most of the time and even when she makes mistakes in judgment, it’s totally understandable. I like her.
Heathcliff’s“presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous.” He is the villain and beyond saving. He is abusive in every sense of the word and incapable of kindness, mercy, thoughtfulness or even base consideration. The guy hangs dogs! For the pleasure of it! His hatred of others and the desire to inflict pain is what keeps him going. At one point I wondered why he doesn’t just kill himself if he’s that miserable. But misery loves company and he is a lonely man, so of course he would choose endless pain and antipathy. This is what he says about his wife:
“If she desired to go, she might: the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification to be derived from tormenting her!”
And a line to Catherine:
“I want you to be aware that I know you have treated me infernally—infernally! Do you hear? And if you flatter yourself that I don’t perceive it, you are a fool; and if you think I can be consoled by sweet words, you are an idiot; and if you fancy I’ll suffer unrevenged, I’ll convince you of the contrary, in a very little while!”
So tell me, what of that is romantic, endearing or likable? Forget Umbridge; Heathcliff is the worst villain ever.
I don’t see how Catherine could love him, except she’s not much better. She treats people like dirt, toys with their feelings, cries when she doesn’t get her way and is governed by her emotions in terrible ways.
Her “romance” with Heathcliff isn’t the main focus but its impact is felt to the end. It seems to me they would destroy the world just to prove their love and I don’t think that’s desirable. She says“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” and that’s a fine thing to say, but hardly romantic considering how dreadful they both are.
Edgar and Isabella are caught in the “romantic” riptide. They are siblings and share a weakness of spirit and a susceptibility to the manipulations of the chaotic duo. I feel sorry for their lot but at the same time, how could they not see the dangers they were headed toward?
Later, the children of these characters come to the forefront and they mimic their predecessors. My least favorite of them is Linton because he is so fragile (emotionally and physically) and he lets that rule him to the point where he will pretend to have a fit just to get attention. Ellen says he is “The worst-tempered bit of a sickly slip that ever struggled into its teens.” I cannot abide whiny, worthless, lazy, demanding children; but of course Catherine jr. is enamored with him and wants to “make such a pet of him.”
Hareton might be okay except for the fact that he is also abusive. As Ellen observes of him: I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed. Good things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far overtopped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable circumstances. I know they had little to no experience with the outside world, but it still hurts to watch them repeat the same mistakes of their forebears.
The book is mostly dialogue and since I like conversations, I have no issues with that. There is this one character who speaks with a Yorkshire dialect and I barely understood a word he said and had to rely on people’s reactions to infer his meanings. Luckily he doesn’t have much to say.
“We’s hae a crowner’s ‘quest enow, at ahr folks. One on ‘em’s a’most getten his fingers cut off wi’ hauding t’other’s fro’ stickin hisseln loike a cawlf.”
The rest of the talking is fine but I had to reread a few lines to better get their meaning. Because everyone has their emotions on overdrive it can sound exaggerated and ridiculous and it’s not uncommon for someone to cry for hours or flail in abject agony. That’s another thing that makes this tale not quite so dark: I can’t take any of these people seriously because none of the reactions seem real.
Unlike Jane Eyre, the description isn’t prominent. I expected long paragraphs of internal monologue and desolate sludge, but instead it’s brief, and yet impactful. I don’t think anyone could say they don’t know what the moors look like after reading it.
I do not think it’s better than Jane Eyre or even as good. Jane really capitalizes on its use of first person narration and it also has a far more bearable cast. I also prefer the overall writing of Jane but they both feel similar and I would guess the authors helped edit/critique each other’s works. I kinda want to try The Tenant of Wildfell Hall to get the full Brontë experience.
I’m surprised by how much this didn’t suck and I might even, at some point, read it again.
Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us.
My presence in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark…
My review for Jane Eyre.
Check out my rating here.
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