![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Just finished reading Wuthering Heights. It's strange that I've had the book forever and just now took two days to read it. Anyway, onto random ramble on all things Austen and Brontë! Spoilers ahead!
You know, sometimes I wish I could just buy translations of the Marquis de Sade's works at Books-a-Million.
Okay, first off, never since Mansfield Park have I honestly depised every. single. character yet been compelled to keep reading until the end. I won't get into Mansfield because it will only end up with me ranting for hours about the many reasons why I want to throttle Fanny Price (mostly 'cause she's a milktoast doormat but I digress).
Now that I have satisfied my need to read the main novels of the Brontë sisters (Jane Eyre by Charlotte, Agnes Gray by Anne, and finally Wuthering Heights by Emily), I realize that all it takes to hold my interest are barbaric children, ghosts, Byronic heroes who may or may not have their full faculties about them, and moors. Damnedable British moors.
On Wuthering Heights: Well, I felt no love for any of the characters, yet they were far from being not intriguing. (A little advice to Miss Brontë, however: do not use the same name for several characters. I get the significance, but it gets a little confusing. Too many Catherines and Lintons!)
I have heard for so many years about how Catherine/Heathcliff was supposed to be this great romance which so many woman seem to wish for. All I can say about that is wtf?!! Saying you want a Catherine/Heathcliff romance is like wishing for a Esmeralda/Quasimodo romance or, God forbid, a Juliet/Romeo romance. It is a complete mystery to me why someone would wish that kind of torment on themselves. What do all these so-called "great romances" have in common? DEATH! Big heapin' pain and DEATH! I apologize to who it might offend, but Romeo/Juliet is childish a best, tragic at most. These kids know each other for the span of a day, and they wind up dead because of it. Back to WH, to sum up, Catherine is a bitch, Edgar Linton is an idiot, and Heathcliff is a bastard. I mean, half of Heathcliff's behavior might be excusable, due to his upbringing, but holding both Nelly and Miss Cathy hostage in his house, knocking Cathy around, turning Linton into a little bastard who is willing to let Cathy be beaten up as long as he is not bearing the brunt of his father's anger? These things are unforgivable. All the characters that died, I was more than thrilled that they went. Not that Cathy was an angel or that I particularly liked Nelly (Quit playin' favourites and make up your mind!), but still I felt that no one should have to live in that kind of fear. Mr. Lockwood is probably the most likable of the characters, and he's a floppish little boy most of the time. Okay, I'm stopping because I'm not really saying anything coherently.
Next on my reading list: The Comte de Monte Cristo.
You know, sometimes I wish I could just buy translations of the Marquis de Sade's works at Books-a-Million.
Okay, first off, never since Mansfield Park have I honestly depised every. single. character yet been compelled to keep reading until the end. I won't get into Mansfield because it will only end up with me ranting for hours about the many reasons why I want to throttle Fanny Price (mostly 'cause she's a milktoast doormat but I digress).
Now that I have satisfied my need to read the main novels of the Brontë sisters (Jane Eyre by Charlotte, Agnes Gray by Anne, and finally Wuthering Heights by Emily), I realize that all it takes to hold my interest are barbaric children, ghosts, Byronic heroes who may or may not have their full faculties about them, and moors. Damnedable British moors.
On Wuthering Heights: Well, I felt no love for any of the characters, yet they were far from being not intriguing. (A little advice to Miss Brontë, however: do not use the same name for several characters. I get the significance, but it gets a little confusing. Too many Catherines and Lintons!)
I have heard for so many years about how Catherine/Heathcliff was supposed to be this great romance which so many woman seem to wish for. All I can say about that is wtf?!! Saying you want a Catherine/Heathcliff romance is like wishing for a Esmeralda/Quasimodo romance or, God forbid, a Juliet/Romeo romance. It is a complete mystery to me why someone would wish that kind of torment on themselves. What do all these so-called "great romances" have in common? DEATH! Big heapin' pain and DEATH! I apologize to who it might offend, but Romeo/Juliet is childish a best, tragic at most. These kids know each other for the span of a day, and they wind up dead because of it. Back to WH, to sum up, Catherine is a bitch, Edgar Linton is an idiot, and Heathcliff is a bastard. I mean, half of Heathcliff's behavior might be excusable, due to his upbringing, but holding both Nelly and Miss Cathy hostage in his house, knocking Cathy around, turning Linton into a little bastard who is willing to let Cathy be beaten up as long as he is not bearing the brunt of his father's anger? These things are unforgivable. All the characters that died, I was more than thrilled that they went. Not that Cathy was an angel or that I particularly liked Nelly (Quit playin' favourites and make up your mind!), but still I felt that no one should have to live in that kind of fear. Mr. Lockwood is probably the most likable of the characters, and he's a floppish little boy most of the time. Okay, I'm stopping because I'm not really saying anything coherently.
Next on my reading list: The Comte de Monte Cristo.
Tags: