Throwback Thursday: Wuthering Heights

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Title page of ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Emily Bronte[/caption]

As I tell anyone who asks: I like books that make me mad. Not a lot of my friends understand why. Often, I will look up from a novel seething over a character or situation, only to see their wrinkled brows and hear their concern that I seemed to seek out things to anger myself.

t“If the book makes you mad, just stop reading it,” they say.

In my mind, if a book makes me mad, that is the exact reason to keep reading it. I like books that evoke an extreme reaction. I like books that make me laugh out loud, weep, and rage. To me, it’s a sign of a compelling story to be that emotionally invested in the narrative. Books that make me angry are books that have captured my attention.

My first experience with such a novel was when I picked up Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. It came in a pretty box set of novels written by Jane Austen, Leo Tolstoy, and others. The books were all dark-colored hardbacks with gold lining the pages. They now make up my collection of books that are not only enjoyable to read, but also enjoyable to look at.

My hate for Wuthering Heights was so strong that I seriously contemplated throwing it from my bedroom window to the grass below, despite its lovely blue casing. I could not stand the characters. All were cruel and motivated by their own interests. They were manipulative and selfish. Selfishness has always been a trait that gets me worked up quickly, which is why the novel became so memorable to me. I hated the book and I loved it. It made me feel something, and that made it memorable.

I reread Wuthering Heights frequently, asking myself to find a character who is arguably “good.” I like novels that make us question and search, as well as ones that make us a bit emotional.