It’s February 14! Valentines Day! Still Single! Yey?!
But that’s okay, I’ve been single now for almost 6 years and for me, Valentine’s day is just a day. I am going to spend it just like any other day, painting and reading and writing another review. I was contemplating between reviewing The Martian by Andy Weir vs Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. The former, I really really loved, the latter I kind of hated at first, but in the long run was quite memorable for me. So I thought of reviewing the one that made the most impression on me and so Bronte’s Wuthering Heights it is.
I say brace yourself for a little bit of bashing and gushing. 50/50. I think. (Man, I am getting depressed now. brrrrrr… @_@)
Synopsis: The Wuthering Heights is written by Emile Bronte and was published in 1847. It tells the story of the tumultous love between Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff and the consequences of their acts affecting their next generation. Most of it is told from the point of view of Mrs. Nelly Dean, Catherine’s nursemaid and long time friend. For the most, part we learn throughout the story what love is like in its most base form if human being wields it, of which it is depicted as vengeful, selfish and jealous.
What I think about it: I took me about a week to finish it despite the fact the it’s just a short read, only 300++ pages long. I decided: “Well shit, you made a resolution to read classics and this is the first book you chose, might as well finish the God forsaken thing.” I sincerely thought I could never finish this one because I just hated all of it. I HATED ALL OF IT. There was not one character to root for, not one character to say to: “Hey, you are doing such a good job of being a Human, keep it up!” They’re was no pay-off in terms of character development. You would think they’d mature to become functional human beings after the time lapse, but NO. They became worse. I mean HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE????. However, I powered through it just because of the thought of finishing it makes me proud of myself.
After finishing it, I put it down and calmly told myself that it was the most depressing thing that I ever read and would never allow myself to think of it ever again. But then, I found myself thinking about it more and more for the next few days. I thought what were the motivations of the characters? Why did they have to pricks to each other? Why did they have to go around killing each other slowly? Do they do it just for kicks? or do they love each other SO MUCH, that it suffocates them and snatches the very air they breath? I think, that what’s make the story so brilliant. It keeps you from forgetting it, no matter how much it hurt you. I think it was the writer’s prerogative to show us how much these characters are so flawed because it is, at some point, a reflection of the most basic human nature which is selfishness. Self preservation. And I grudgingly admit that love is indeed selfish to some degree. We’ve all done some despicable thing in the name of love, because nobody is perfect. No LOVE is perfect.
I would say that this book is a brilliant literary work, and now I appreciate that. But shit, this one left me with a monumental black hole in my chest. I think writing this review helped me eased up my dislike for it.
Have you read the Wuthering Heights? If so, did you curl up in a fetal position and rocked yourself to sleep? or just threw the book out of the window and never thought of it EVER again.
Okay I’m gonna eat some ice cream now.