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So I haven’t done one of these book reviews on my website in a while, but I got a lot to say about this one, Bronte, and perhaps the entire romance genre in general, and this seems like the best place to do it.
To kick off, I’ve had this book on Kindle for some time. I went on this spree where I combed over my to-read list and downloaded all the free books I could find (ie: those in the public domain) and have been slowly working my way through that list ever since. Wuthering Heights was low on my priorities because I’d heard it was a romance, a long romance, a long historical romance, and none of those checked any boxes for me in what I wanted to read until now. But finally I dove in and, well, DAMN!
I don’t even know where to start. I guess I’ll just dive in at my first thoughts. This book is an example of the best trainwreck I could have ever conceived. Terrible characters doing awful things to each other, drowning in a cesspool of drama and contrived tension, thinly justified by an unjustifiable lapse in mental stability caused by, but never directly stated, the ridiculous notion of — Love. Honestly, I should have hated this book.
But I couldn’t freaking put it down, and I have no idea why! Quick summary time:
A man known as Mr. Heathcliff is taken as a boy to a wealthy home with a son and a daughter. He grows up, has a fling with the daughter, a feud with the brother, then disappears for 2 years. The daughter marries someone else, the son loses his wife to childbirth, and Heathcliff comes back into the picture. He gets all pissed off that the daughter didn’t “wait for him” and then proceeds to screw everyone over in the most vindictive ways he can possibly think of without resorting to physical violence, including the offspring of the former parties, all because he couldn’t be with his “one true love.”
Seriously? WTF? There’s about 3 paragraphs of romance in this entire novel, and the rest of the other 30 odd chapters of story is about vindictive and petty revenge being acted upon or by this one dude. By the end of the story, it’s clear Mr. Heathcliff is a miserable jerk who deserved what happened to him, and how any of his actions are justified because he loved someone is thinner than wet paper. Which leads me to believe that…
Wuthering Heights is secretly a satire on the romance genre, too well done for anyone to actually realized it, and Emily Bronte is a genius.
I mean, think about it. All I could imagine when reading this novel was, “Bronte must have tried to write the most despicable character in existence, just too see how much evil people would ignore so long as the villain has a deep love for somebody.” That’s all I can think of! Because Mr. Heathcliff, and most everyone else, is terrible, and I can’t fathom why anyone would feel anything other than disgust at his conduct.
And yet, all that aside, I still can’t figure out why I didn’t throw this novel through a window. Emily Bronte, my hat is off to you. I’m not sure what you did, but damn did you do it well.

About the “Wuthering Heights Epub” Book

Bold and unique, Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights is a heartbreaking tale of love, loss and vengeance.

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