A review by dayface
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

4.0

"Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves."

It took me fifteen pages until the prose flew through my head naturally, her manners and cadence easy to slip into with a bit of chance.
I'm fifty pages in, now, and... Yes, I see well why two people in my past have called me a Heathcliff, before. I should have listened to them, read it, opened my heart and head to the concept.
Instead, I nodded. He's like the dog from Your Typical Entertainer. I'm fully immersed.

Now 80 pages in, and the voice is natural to me. Likewise, I'm finding myself curious as to where the story will go, and heartfelt during moments of romance. When Heathcliff cried out his window - or when Catherine admitted her love to Ellen, to which he overhead and walked away too quick...
Damn it...

At the end, I understand why it's a classic. It's the precursor to The Great Gatsby and an evolution of Romeo and Juliet, threading considerably modern depictions of mental health and atypical romance or youthful connection. Beautiful book, though it's dense as all hell in its illustration - thick paint, complex textures. Unforgettable.