"Wuthering Heights", by Emily Bronte
Norton Critical Edition, 1963
No wonder that “Wuthering Heights” has long been revered as one of
the masterpieces of gothic novels, though it’s the only novel of its author.
Emily Bronte, one of the well-known Bronte sisters, really showed her
stunning brilliancy in this novel—who would have thought that a rector’s
daughter could write such a passionate yet perverted novel!
“Wuthering Heights” is just the kind of fiction that one wouldn’t
suffer to put it down once he picks it up and starts reading it.
It’s density of language, highly tensed passion that’s contained in
each and every passage, would grasp one’s whole attention and heart at once,
and the vivid delineation of the scenes and tragic fate of the protagonists
would have so strong a hold on one’s emotion and imagination that one almost
forgets about all about the formal aspect of the novel. However,
after finishing the whole volume, one can’t help thinking back of
the credibility of the narrative, of whether one, as a reader,
should believe all that’s been said by the main narrator—Mrs. Dean.
For me, the third-person-viewpoint narrative makes up part of the greatness
of this novel.
When reading “Wuthering Heights,” I for several times couldn’t decide
whether I would keep on reading or just put it aside for the repulsiveness of
the characters and the perverted and disgusting mentality of Heathcliff and
those affected by him. But of course I read on, half disgusted and
half sorry for the doomed fate waiting for Heathcliff, Edgar, Isabel,
Hindley, Catherine, and Linton. All of them died early, and all lived miserably,
and what’s more, all but Edgar and Isabel tried to spread the misery to
the people around them and take revenge on each other,
and the vengeance sought constitutes the major part of this book.
Hindley, jealous of Heathcliff’s getting hold of old Mr. Earnshaw’s
attention and care, abused Heathcliff vehemently both mentally and physically
after Mr. Earnshaw’s death. And Heathcliff, being torn apart from Catherine’s
society and tormented by Hindley, grew up into a cruel and perverted ruffian,
seeking revenge on Hindley and his offspring, Hareton. Catherine,
brought up to be a egoistic person, thought about no one but herself and
married Edgar while the only person she loved was Heathcliff,
and that fact hurt Edgar deeply. The three characters' malignancy brings forth
the menacing fate of them and got everyone else entangled.
Through the old housekeeper, Mrs. Dean’s narration, the narrator (Mr. Lockwood)
and the readers get to know the long history behind the daunting household of Heathcliff.
However, are we to trust all of Nelly Dean’s subjective narration?
How are we going to extract the mere truth from the 34-chapter-long story?
And can we look at Heathcliff, Hindley, and Catherine, in a judicial light?
The story sure is fascinating, but what we need to focus on, I may say,
is not just the superficial plot, but the humanity deep under.
Norton Critical Edition, 1963
No wonder that “Wuthering Heights” has long been revered as one of
the masterpieces of gothic novels, though it’s the only novel of its author.
Emily Bronte, one of the well-known Bronte sisters, really showed her
stunning brilliancy in this novel—who would have thought that a rector’s
daughter could write such a passionate yet perverted novel!
“Wuthering Heights” is just the kind of fiction that one wouldn’t
suffer to put it down once he picks it up and starts reading it.
It’s density of language, highly tensed passion that’s contained in
each and every passage, would grasp one’s whole attention and heart at once,
and the vivid delineation of the scenes and tragic fate of the protagonists
would have so strong a hold on one’s emotion and imagination that one almost
forgets about all about the formal aspect of the novel. However,
after finishing the whole volume, one can’t help thinking back of
the credibility of the narrative, of whether one, as a reader,
should believe all that’s been said by the main narrator—Mrs. Dean.
For me, the third-person-viewpoint narrative makes up part of the greatness
of this novel.
When reading “Wuthering Heights,” I for several times couldn’t decide
whether I would keep on reading or just put it aside for the repulsiveness of
the characters and the perverted and disgusting mentality of Heathcliff and
those affected by him. But of course I read on, half disgusted and
half sorry for the doomed fate waiting for Heathcliff, Edgar, Isabel,
Hindley, Catherine, and Linton. All of them died early, and all lived miserably,
and what’s more, all but Edgar and Isabel tried to spread the misery to
the people around them and take revenge on each other,
and the vengeance sought constitutes the major part of this book.
Hindley, jealous of Heathcliff’s getting hold of old Mr. Earnshaw’s
attention and care, abused Heathcliff vehemently both mentally and physically
after Mr. Earnshaw’s death. And Heathcliff, being torn apart from Catherine’s
society and tormented by Hindley, grew up into a cruel and perverted ruffian,
seeking revenge on Hindley and his offspring, Hareton. Catherine,
brought up to be a egoistic person, thought about no one but herself and
married Edgar while the only person she loved was Heathcliff,
and that fact hurt Edgar deeply. The three characters' malignancy brings forth
the menacing fate of them and got everyone else entangled.
Through the old housekeeper, Mrs. Dean’s narration, the narrator (Mr. Lockwood)
and the readers get to know the long history behind the daunting household of Heathcliff.
However, are we to trust all of Nelly Dean’s subjective narration?
How are we going to extract the mere truth from the 34-chapter-long story?
And can we look at Heathcliff, Hindley, and Catherine, in a judicial light?
The story sure is fascinating, but what we need to focus on, I may say,
is not just the superficial plot, but the humanity deep under.
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