Like the misty, whispering moors of northern England, Emily Bronte’s one and only novel, gets under your skin….tapping oh so quietly on the lattice window like Cathy asking that you only let it in to come home. Every Thanksgiving break I read Wuthering Heights, don’t ask me why but somehow it became part of a holiday tradition but this year I was able to enjoy it knowing I was also reading it as part of both the Victorian Literature Reading Challenge and the Gothic Literature Reading challenges.
I had hoped to read loads more Victorian novels this year but sadly I don’t think I will satisfy my original challenge goal of 15 books, but I was able to read a fair few on my list….I guess there is always next year though. But when I started the challenge, I knew I would read this book…there is no denying that which one loves.
Some people talk of the moors like they are a mystical and enchanting place perhaps they are….a place that even if you move far away, the moorland winds keep calling you back to the only place where you can ever truly be free….home. I include myself in this analogy, though I am not a Yorkshire native by any long stretch of the measure but at times, the moors seem like a place that I could call home. Perhaps that’s why I love novels set on the moors…my mother would say that is my ‘Irish spirit’ longing for it’s homeland….not sure about that (sorry mom) but I do love the misty moors.
The moorlands are among some of the most solitary lands on earth….there is little society and much isolation. The moorland isolation provides one freedom though….a wild, untamed spirit. Perhaps that’s why even when people leave the moors they always find them calling them home no matter how far away they are. In Yorkshire there is one saucy, wild, moorland child who is nothing but a force of nature: Catherine Earnshaw. Continue reading “Review: Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte”
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