Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

I must. I just must, must, must! Must make a post about what an impression Wuthering Heights has made on me! I won’t lie; I’m by far from knowledgeable of the theoretics behind literature and what exactly makes a good novel. But I did feel that something was a little off, it had its faults but -as it’s probably been said time upon time!- the characters are so alive and their story is simply so intense that I just could not help myself of falling in love. It is strange of course, the characters are so unlikeable. I should never like to meet them! I think I’d strangle them in an instant! Yet, perhaps because of the passion it is written with, I was so moved (and still am actually – I keep thinking about it and I’ve finished it several days earlier this week!) by Catherine and Heathcliff’s love for each other and later on Cathy and Hareton’s that I wept countless tears for them. Sure, I’m a very sensitive person at heart but tears don’t come easily for me! Oh and how my soul felt like it was ripped in half when Catherine died, I actually skipped school because of it! And when I read the last page and closed the book I had to take some time to recover. I am in absolute awe of any work of art (this certainly is a work of art to me!) that does that. How can I not? It is so admirable, to be able to convey such great emotions with some simple words… Oh Emily Brontë, you’ve conquered my heart and it will be yours forever!

Admittedly, I fall like a rock for stories of great passion, pain and drama. It is my own melancholy overpowering my thoughts perhaps (Drama! Passion! LIKE THIS, Eline!, shouts my insane mind). But really, how can one not worship this story? I understand that your prefernce are for happy ends and that you cannot feel for the charactars but… But! But! … I cannot explain it, words are pointless to describe my love for this story. Simply imagine tears gushing off my face but with a blissful smile.