Wuthering Heights is trauma porn

 I finished it. Tonight, on my walk, the dulcet tones of Hyacinth Bucket read to me the last pages of Emily Bronte's tome Wuthering Heights. 

And yeah, I'm still more of a fan of Jane Eyre, her sister's novel - it's much preferable to this drivel. And there is no incest. 

Alright, drivel is a bit much, but after listening to this book for an accumulated 14 hours over the last week or so, I've come to appreciate this book, but then scratch my head as to why it is so beloved. 

EVERYBODY IS SO MISERABLE!

I'll give some kudos for the writing, which is good, considering it was written in Edwardian England and this was the style. 

BUT:

• Heathcliff is an abusive douchebag who needs a lot of therapy. He also killed Isabella's dog and for this he will never be forgiven. 
• The themes of revenge go too far. 
• If this were written now, editors would have a field day about the everlasting trauma everybody inflicts on each other. And I know some of this stems from the behaviour of Emily's brother Branwell, who was as high as a kite and pissed for his later years. 
• And there's a bit of grave robbing - oh what fun. (Did anybody see A Current Affair last night - like, ew! And in Melbourne...)
• The latter bit of the book shows first cousins marrying - again, ew. 
• And both older Cathy and younger Cathy are a bit flighty. 
• And, yes, poor Hareton - I 'spose things came a bit good at the end, but still - HE'S MARRYING HIS FIRST COUSIN!
• And it's a book about infatuation. Nobody is particularly nice to anybody.

Psychologists would have a bloody field day in Gimmerton. 

So, it's done. I'm glad I've re-read it. It may be one overextended Evanescence song of a book, but it's done. 

And Patricia Routledge's reading of the book was excellent. She's a lot more than 

Will I read it again? Probably not - where I'm more certain I'll read Jane Eyre again. I'm definitely still

Will this stop me visiting Penistone Crags or Haworth on a trip to Britain - no, definitely not. I think I'd like to visit the Yorkshire Moors again. 

The next thing is to find and audiobook which isn't so bleak. Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children? The Philip Pullman Trilogy The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass? Henry James' Washington Square, in preparation for reading the next Hanya Yanigahara? Maybe. 

I've got plenty of books to read, it's just finding the right one. 

Today's song: