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| My Brontë collection |
In a fit of contrariness, I believe I shall read Wuthering Heights in February. Anyone who wants to chime in on the novel as I read and blog about it, certainly may. I have read this novel multiple times and its relational train wreck fascinates, but what with the release of the new film adaptation the day before Valentine's Day (YUCK!), I am revolting and declaring that this novel is not romantic but is instead a cautionary tale of obsession and addiction. Heathcliff is one of the nastiest men in all the classic literature I have ever read, not so much for his obsession with Cathy while she is alive, but because of what comes after. This book gives me serious misgivings, as it should everyone, and I already know that the new film is going to present them as some insane star-crossed lovers kept apart by prejudice, sexual awakening type of story. And I can almost guarantee you that, true to form, the last half of the story will not be present in this movie. The half that really shows Heathcliff as the psychopath that he truly is. I hate the movie already. So, instead of hate watching it, I will focus on the book and its moral lessons as I perceive them instead.
