Wuthering Heights is the most melancholic novel I have ever read from the genre of historic romance novels. Indeed, there is hardly anything romantic about the novel, although it is focused on a forbidden and doomed romantic relationship. Wuthering Heightsstrips away everything good and decent about humanity and leaves the reader with the horrific actions of unlikeable creatures—yet a tale that cannot be unfinished or unforgotten.
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte follows the fate of Heathcliff, an orphaned boy who is adopted by the father of Catherine, with whom he falls in love, and Hindley, whom he rivals for paternal affection. Although Heathcliff and Catherine are in love, Catherine decides to marry Edgar Linton, a gentleman with social standing, which forces Heathcliff to leave for many years after vowing revenge on Catherine, Edgar, and Hindley. Upon returning, Heathcliff seduces Edgar’s sister, Isabella, steals the estate of a drunken Hindley through gambling, and reduces Hareton, Hindley’s son, into a servant. Although stricken into a mad grief by Catherine’s death, he does not hesitate to arrange the forced marriage of her naïve daughter, Cathy, and his sickly son, Linton. What remains to be seen is if any humanity can be salvaged from the horror.
I loved Wuthering Heights so much that I wept for the early death of Emily Bronte after discovering that it was her only novel. Although the tale is so complex that I needed to draw a relationship, it is an important aspect in order to understand the motivations of the characters as it illustrates how isolated the people of the moors are. Wuthering Heights shows the brutality of human nature in a way that doesn’t exclude anyone. Reading it is like watching a car crash—although sadness and heartache will follow, the violence cannot be avoided.
Are you keeping up with the best 300 word book reviews on the Internet? Never miss a novel by following on Google Plus or through an e-mail subscription or your favorite RSS Reader!