Gentle ladies and, to a lesser extent, gentlemen of the jury, if you will indulge me, I would like to present my case.
There have been many love stories written over the eight millenia or so since human beings invented written language. From those first chicken scratch cuneiform syllables to the garish modern implementation of Comic Sans and even upon entering into the all forgiving, healing light of Helvetica there has been much debate on the subject of what does and does not constitute a love story. Certainly it can take many forms.
Some would have us believe that for a tale to truly be a love story it must end happily. Romeo and Juliet, arguably the greatest of all love stories, would then be out of the running entirely. Indeed, the modern romantic classic Possession by A. S. Byatt would only count because the modern couple gets together though the past couple does not.
I submit to you that for a love story to truly be that in name, it must actually show the protagonist couple in love and doing loving things to and for each other. At it's very base element this must be present.
I further submit, therefore, that Wuthering Heights is the furthest thing from a love story since Machiavelli's The Prince or perhaps Mein Kampf. I don't use these comparisons lightly at all. When we look at Wuthering Heights what do we see between Catherine and Heathcliff? Only passion; animalistic and self serving passion. I do believe that I could excuse the novel as merely a tawdry little work if it was just animalistic passion. Tawdry but not nearly a love story.
Seriously, though, what am I supposed to think about this Heathcliff? A brute from the moment we meet him, cast into a family of brutes and selfish prigs, who has a certain amount of passion for a beautiful, sniping, selfish, conniving...wench. All he knows is beating people into submission and all she knows is manipulating people for her own uses. Why am I supposed to cheer for this couple? At all?
I last left these people with Heathcliff having returned to find Catherine married Linton, who is now one of two people who actually seem virtuous. It seems that Linton actually loves Catherine though her standards of "passion" are clearly not met in that relationship. She teases and taunts Heathcliff with the marriage and disrespects her new husband in many respects by allowing/demanding that Heathcliff be allowed to visit whenever he likes.
Heathcliff reveals his plan to destroy Earnshaw through the son he neglects, Hareton, and then gets the bright idea to revenge himself on Linton, for marrying Catherine, by taking up with his little sister, Isabella. Catherine correctly sees what Heathcliff is up to and says, not considering for a second that the same might be said of her, "Your bliss, like his (Satan's), lies in inflicting misery." The husband overhears all, steps in, Heathcliff threatens to beat him, she says it's all his (Linton's) fault and how dare he accuse Heathcliff of being horrible...Seriously. She declares "If Edgar will be mean and jealous then I will break their hearts by breaking my own." Yes...she's intentionally going to pitch fits because her husband won't allow her to see a man who is passionately in love with her and has threatened to beat her husband bloody. And this is love? She spends the next few chapters being not so much a Drama Queen as a freaking Drama Empress. She claims she'll kill herself and it's only out of selfishness that Linton wants her around.
It's about this time that Heathcliff comes around, scoops up Isabella to elope and, as any lover would do, hangs a dog by the neck so that it should die. It would be belong to his new wife, Isabella.
When news reaches Catherine then she predictable falls into a brain fever.
This section is where I pretty much lose it. Before, at Wuthering Heights, it was terrible people doing terrible things to other terrible people. Now they are leaving a trail of broken hearts and damaged psyches in their wake because they insist on involving decent people. Linton attends to Catherine and dotes on her before, during, and after the illness. Sure, he's not the most passionate guy, I mean her prefers books to strangling puppies to death, but he cares. Isabella warmly invited Catherine into their lives and she ends up repaid with abuse, physical and mental.
Isabella writes a letter to Nelly and asks if Heathcliffe is a man. If not is he insane or a devil? Seriously, honey, if you have to ask...you're in deep Bantha poodoo. Upon Nelly pressing Heathcliff for an explanation he declares it was all Isabella's fault. Hanging up her dog, beating her, no brutality had any effect on her so he continued to be brutal.
Gosh, he's dreamy.
Catherine takes ill even more. Apparently her fake tantrums took their toll especially in light of her pregnancy (surprise) and near to giving birth Heathcliff gets wind of her illness and stands outside the house, hidden. He's lurking, waiting until the husband isn't home and the door is accidentally left unlocked. (So freaking gallant and not at all creepy!)
"Oh, Cathy! Oh, My life! how can I bear it?" he says upon forcing his way in.
"'What now?' said Catherine, leaning back and returning his look with a suddenly clouded brow: Her humour was a mere vane for constantly varying caprices. 'You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be pitied...(ain't she a gem?) You have killed me-and thriven on it, I think....How many years do you mean to live after I'm gone?'"
Chapter sixteen begins with the fact of Catherine's death in childbirth...to which I could only manage to say, "Then why is there so much freaking book left?!?!".
Loving, chivalrous Heathcliff responds as anyone would expect a caring individual who just lost the love of his life would.
"May she wake in torment!...Why she's a liar to the end!...haunt me...only do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you!" Yeah, cause you treated each other so well when she was alive. I mean, she must be in hell not being abused by you or be able to watch you tormenting her sister in law with a freaking KNIFE shoved between her teeth (actually happened). She must be missing you something fierce.
As ever Nelly has the right of it when she says, "Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies."
We fast forward...Isabella escapes Heathcliff and Earnshaw to London, pregnant but more than happy to make it on her own than around those two. She gives birth and names the child Linton, hoping that will disuade Heathcliff who only declares, as a good father would, "When I want it, I will have it." Edgar Linton has named his child Catherine, after her mother, and sixteen years pass. During that time Earnshaw died leaving Heathcliff with Hareton. Isabella dies and Edgar goes off to fulfill his sister's wish of having Linton live with him. Heathcliff objects and the poor, sickly child is brought into his care. And why would he want him? One simple reason; to have the ultimate in pathetic revenges; Linton to marry Cathy and then when Linton dies, because of the language of the law, Heathcliff would rule over both estates. Of course he can't help but encourage Hareton to try for Cathy and thereby cause even more discord. It's not enough to play with and ruin the lives of adults, but now he has to destroy the lives of children.
The worst part of it all? There is still one hundred pages to go, and we already know how this ends because the beginning is the end; Heathcliff abusing both Hareton and Cathy around a fire.
I could spill all of my feelings about this book, what all it's taught me, and that sort of thing, but I think it's best left for the final entry.
I will say, however, that I got on multiple sites and read reviews for this book by many people. The one thing that amazed me was how many people think that this is such a good love story, and how amazing Heathcliff is. Seriously?
Renee commented on my last post about how there's a sort of Heathcliff arc in fiction. Edward Cullen, Four, Christian Gray and all these guys who are dark, brooding, abusive types are so lapped up by readers as so dreamy. I'd even go so far as to put Lestat in that category. I guess it's likely human nature on some level. When I was in high school who did all the girls want? That guy who was no good for them at ALL...but gosh they want them. They give their bodies and their lives to them and then when they are used up, abandoned with kids, past their "prime" they wonder where all the good guys are.
Now the interesting question, of course, is what would Charlotte Bronte think of her sister's work and does Rochester apply as the dark, brooding, abusive type?
I'll leave that to your gentle hands, dear jury, to type out into the comments below. :)
Pax,
W
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