The Ultimate Anti-Valentine's Day Novel?

Wandering into Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights

There’s a contextual through line which exists within the titles selected for the Gothic Book Club. It might take a while to fully present itself, but it’s there.

Rebecca is a hard act to follow and, whilst Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre is closer in influence and narrative, it almost felt a little too close to dive right into just yet (but we will be reading it at a later date, don’t worry).

This month’s selection had to be a contextually suitable follow up, whilst maintaining a sense of individualistic resonance. It also had to be dark as all hell. This isn’t the Fluffy Bunny Book Club, after all. We’re exploring books which expose and examine the darker side of human nature and action. The thoughts and deeds of which most of us are afraid to address or act upon (current global and political situations notwithstanding).

Last February, we explored Jo Walton’s Lent, which I urge you to check out if you haven’t already. This is particularly applicable to those of you who aren’t a fan of Wuthering Heights, which we are reading this month. It’s understandable that some people might vehemently dislike this book, as Emily Brontë’s 1847 novel is divisive to say the least. It’s arguably the perfect Valentine’s or Anti-Valentine’s selection (of which you can choose accordingly).

I feel that such divisiveness is part of what makes it fascinating. Wuthering Heights is a deeply complex book; not in approach or language (save for some regional dialect), but in emotion. It’s hard to align yourself with the main characters. The reading experience vastly changes depending on age and perspective. The overwhelming nihilism and sadistic behaviour of Heathcliffe can be too much for some, and I respect that.

Still, for those willing to step into the storm, Wuthering Heights is a tumultuous experience of obsession, vengeance, manipulation and passion. If this is one of your first forays into nineteenth century literature, you are in for a wild time, because the pace, tone and impact of this book is so intense that it’s easy to see why it remains a classic to this day. It’s strangely accessible, and feels strangely modern in terms of pacing and intrigue.

The book takes place in rural Yorkshire in the depths of the moors, and tells the story of several families whose lives are intertwined and influenced by the arrival of Heathcliffe, an orphan child who is taken in by a kindly patriarch. He becomes a close friend to Catherine, the daughter of the household and the story of their connection, along with the fallout and damage it causes, are central to the book’s narrative.

It’s also a tale of class, status, legacy and societal perceptions. It’s not for the faint of heart, containing some truly sensational (and potentially upsetting) moments, but there’s something so compelling about the inherent darkness this book possesses. I feel that’s what makes it so human, so connectable.

There are multiple narrators and the timeframes have a tendency to jump about a little. A strong recommendation for the book is to seek out a visual character guide (as spoiler-free as possible, but that may be tricky), for many people have reported confusion in keeping up with the fact that several characters have similar names (regular readers of Russian literature of the same era will know this problem well). I’ll post one in a couple of days, but I shall let you get settled in first.

Let us take to the moors but, be careful, it’s easy to get lost. Especially on these long, dark nights.

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As always, please feel free to spread the word if you’re enjoying the experience. I love the way that the newsletter and Fable are becoming the primary grounds for Gothic Book Club conversations, and am eager to keep them going. I appreciate each comment, thought, share and kind word you’ve all been so generous with along the way. Thank you. Let’s continue to build this welcoming, supportive and empathetic book community.