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the_bookwormhole_'s reviews
71 reviews
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
4.0
Rolling hills and rugged moors, storms and snow and rain all seem to be staples in the palette of a Brontë book.
Wuthering Heights is no exception to this rule.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that this is actually a tale within a tale. A housekeeper’s recount of past years, right up to the present time, is, effectually, what the story is.
She recalls her early years spent as a servant in a household where she grows up alongside the main characters her story involves. Her story is of these children and their rocky adolescence and steep ascent into adulthood. She tells us of the revenge and jealousy, love and hatred, struggle and pity that encompasses their lives. This all, inevitably, brings about the fierce rivalry of their two dwellings on the moor.
This rivalry becomes bitter; death pursues it, love distracts it, and hatred encapsulates it.
Strife and pain follow the tale of young love that she remembers, and Emily Brontë vividly reminds us of the mingled joy and sorrow that love can bring.
I’d like to remind us all of the stunning piece of writing that is as follows:
“...so he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, (insert name), but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and (insert name)’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”
Wuthering Heights is no exception to this rule.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that this is actually a tale within a tale. A housekeeper’s recount of past years, right up to the present time, is, effectually, what the story is.
She recalls her early years spent as a servant in a household where she grows up alongside the main characters her story involves. Her story is of these children and their rocky adolescence and steep ascent into adulthood. She tells us of the revenge and jealousy, love and hatred, struggle and pity that encompasses their lives. This all, inevitably, brings about the fierce rivalry of their two dwellings on the moor.
This rivalry becomes bitter; death pursues it, love distracts it, and hatred encapsulates it.
Strife and pain follow the tale of young love that she remembers, and Emily Brontë vividly reminds us of the mingled joy and sorrow that love can bring.
I’d like to remind us all of the stunning piece of writing that is as follows:
“...so he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, (insert name), but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and (insert name)’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”