Wuthering Heights...? More like Wuthering Sucks.

I was reminded of my animosity the other night, when it was brought up briefly in discussion.    The mentioning was indeed brief, but it brought back a flood of embittered emotion. Seriously.  This is one of the most overrated, detestable, disturbing pieces of literature I have ever read. 

And I hate it. Yes, I know ‘hate’ is a strong, steroid induced word, but it is the only appropriate, accurate descriptive of my feelings. 

I do not want to suggest anything negative, or imply anything of its author, Miss Emily Bronte – she is a sweet lovely woman, God bless her.   I do not hold her responsible in part due to sound, flawless theology.  James 1:17 states: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”  Therefore, the opposite must be true that everything that is terrible and imperfect (i.e. Wuthering Heights) must come from the gates of Hell, the bowels of Satan.  (But seriously, let's be honest - there's a reason why this is her only novel.)

Here is my brief, torturous history with the book:

I took AP Literature my senior year in high school, and because the class was so extensive we had to read two books during the summer preceding the school year for preparation.  Those two books were Catcher in the Rye and Wuthering Heights.

If you want to garner any affection for a novel, just let a high school male read Catcher in the Rye – it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.  They’ll come to class with their homemade, ironical t-shirts saying: “Save Holden Caulfield.”

At the time, and even years after, I believed my first mistake was to have read Sallinger’s novel before Bronte’s.   And then I also believed that my youth and inexperience with “classic” literature, dictated my initial disdain for the latter.   I was not alone for even my classmates – even the girls – did not like it.   But I thought, hey high schoolers are stupid, there has to be something we’re missing.

You know how when you’re young, like five years old and you see your parents always drinking coffee and you think that has to be one amazing drink for them to have so much of it – plus it smells pretty amazing.  So one day you decide to drink it and you realize how disgusting it tastes.  Your parents just sort of laugh at you, cause they have the foresight to know that once you’re older you’re going to be addicted to coffee.   Well Wuthering Heights is NOT like coffee.  It’s like drinking gasoline.  It sounds disgusting when you’re younger, and it sounds even more terrible when you’re older since then you actually know why it’s such a terrible idea to drink gasoline.  (Cause you’ll die.)

So fast forward four years, now a college student, studying literature, really studying it – I’m in a Brit-lit class and Wuthering Heights is on the docket.  I think, great, now with all the tools I have acquired to analyze literature, I will be able to finally fully appreciate this acclaimed piece of the Western canon.   Wrong.  So terribly, terribly wrong.  I read the first two chapters, and I threw the book across the room, to prevent myself from stabbing out my eyes.   If I had a fire place I would have thrown it into the flames and then peed on all its ashes.  

The only thing that I could give the novel credit for is that in some weird, twisted, ironic way, the story is really a commentary about how one should respond to the book itself.   The themes of unrequited love, bitterness, revenge, hatred, jealousy, nature or nurture are the same literal and physical emotions and thoughts you, the reader, will have – not in some philosophical, metaphysical way – but actually towards the book itself.  Brilliant really.  But like evil genius brilliant.  Which in other words just means morally debase and irresponsible.  

There is one flaw in the design of this post, and that is the potential for breeding curiosity.  Do not let this be a temptation to read the book, but let it serve as a fair warning.  I have intentionally refrained from mentioning any plot elements, characters or anything that may tempt one to really read it – my neck is not made for millstones.  If you have to do anything, just read the synopsis on Wikipedia, and have faith that it sucks and know that it will be a waste of your time.  Life is too short and God is too good and loving for our hearts to be filled with bitterness and anger.  Do not read Wuthering Heights.