Rotten Reviews: Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

"Here all the faults of Jane Eyre (by Charlotte Brontë) are magnified a thousand fold, and the only consolation which we have in reflecting upon it is that it will never be generally read."
~ James Lorimer, North British Review, 1847

"...wild, confused, disjointed and improbable ... the people who make up the drama, which is tragic enough in its consequences, are savages ruder than those who lived before the days of Homer."
~The Examiner, 1847

It's a shame that the authors of these dismissive remarks never knew the success the Brontës' novels have had in the intervening years. Nor that their overwhelming longevity speaks to the universal themes that course through both books. "Love conquers all," would be putting a romance novel spin on them, but really, when it comes right down to it, these two books set the bar very high few "romance" writers since have attained.

The depth of feeling is what lingers with me after all these years. And the dialogue. Both stories lend themselves beautifully to screen adaptations. Make no mistake, they have been adapted so many times, new versions of these stories are met with little fanfare. It's as though every generation must have its own Cathy and Heathcliff, its own Jane and Mr. Rochester.

With Mother's Day approaching, I have only memories of life with my Mother and the fun we used to have together. She's been gone a few years and though that heartache seems like only yesterday, so do some of the good times we shared. We enjoyed both of the Brontë sisters' most famous stories. Usually during the holidays we'd read Jane Eyre, though it wasn't exactly jolly holiday fare, it did have a happy ending and it certainly confirmed that love conquers all. But any time of the year, even if the movie versions of these books were on the Late Late Movie (decades before cable's endless repeats or the handy VCR), we'd get ready for bed, bundle up with our blankets, settle in on the couch and allow ourselves to slip into the dangerous but romantic world of the Brontë sisters. Somehow we found a great deal of relief and triumph in the suffering of Mr. Rochester and Jane and Heathcliff and Cathy -- their ultimate happiness confirmed true love was possible, no matter how rocky the road.

Our love of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights seems quite trivial now, in the long view of life -- but of all the enjoyable things we did together, it's one that gains importance as the years go by. To just sit and watch a movie we knew by heart together, to weep with sorrow and joy together, however briefly over the misfortunes of fictional characters -- are simple memories I cherish. I'd give anything to be able today to phone her and say, "Hi Mom! How about dinner and a movie? Jane Eyre? With Orson Welles? Or George C. Scott?"

I can hear the excitement in her voice, "Oh, that would be fun! Either one -- but how about Orson? Oh, I just took a cake out of the oven. It's too hot to frost, but should I bring it?"

"Perfect! I'm just making the salad now. Come over anytime." It wouldn't be long and there'd be a little knock on the door and our evening of simple diversions would begin. Sometimes with Dad and/or Hubby, but sometimes just Mom and me.

I'd give anything to share such a humble but happy time with her again.