Emily Bronte.

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"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

When you pick up a book to read, with it often come many expectations. Especially with a book that virtually everybody knows of and quotes all the time.

Being a person who thinks romance is outdated, who thinks couples today are cringy and often just annoying, I took this book like a critic. I expected it to drain the life out of me, to make me never want to pick up a classic novel again. Did the writer reassure me?

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"Is Mr. Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil?"

I started reading it. I found myself not being able to put it down, not because I liked it so much but because I was eager to find at least one character who did not make me feel like, in real life, I'd hate them utterly.

At first, I pitied Heathcliff. I wondered why everyone was so cruel to him and nobody wanted him in that family. But, later in the book, he became mad, just like the quote says, and couldn't even love his own flesh and blood. I understand his motives, I understand that his evil comes from the evil he beared as a child but I was still a little disappointed when he told Nelly: "I'm trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I don't care how long I wait, if I can only do it, at last."

Hindley is the character I could even more not come to peace with because he, unlike Heathcliff, had no back-story that would explain his evil. He just refused to love his 'adopted' brother. And abused him every day of his child-life.

Catherine, on the other hand, I could understand better than both of the men. She understood that being with Heathcliff would bring her no good even if she loved him to death, so she married the man who was the only logical solution, but Heathcliff's enemy. Edgar Linton.

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The plot is interesting, I loved how there is as little romance between Heathcliff and Catherine, the main characters, as there could be just to show how they had to suffer for each other.

To sum up, I cannot say I hate this book while I cannot say it reassured me either. I liked it, but probably wouldn't read it again. What I liked most about it was the just amazing writing style Emily has. It seriously took my breath away and after reading this, I couldn't force myself to take a 21st century book in my hands. Nothing could compare to this. (Without meaning that books are bad nowadays.)

My next adventure was her sister's book. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte and that one I struggled with not because I didn't like it, but because I had little time and 500 pages to read. But if you want my view of that one, too, I'd gladly share it.

If I offended anyone by any means I apologize, because I know there are people who consider this their favourite book and I if I have been too harsh about, hope you don't take it to heart.

I don't know if I convinced you to read Wuthering Heights now, but you can't know if it'll suit your taste unless you try, so I encourage you: embark on this adventure and no matter what the result turns out to be, it is an adventure worth making.

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