The fact that "Wuthering Heights" is filed under the category of "romantic classic" to me seems problematic, for I myself can see no true semblance love within any character relationships. It was not for lack of trying, as I actively desired to be swept up in the romance and passion of classic English literature, yet when confronted with the text itself, I found it completely void of healthy interpersonal relationships. Surely there is no example of love depicted within the novel's pages which I could fathomably attempt to apply practically. It appears to me that after washing away the veil of girlish, romantic fantasy commonly asserted to the story, there remains merely a semblance of characters stumbling over their own inadequacies towards a befuddled attempt at human interaction. The ridiculous progression of absurd interpersonal relationships leads me to only one conclusion: life on the moors was extremely boring. I hate to defame the name of one of literature's most heralded heroins, but feel that my hand (brain) is forced into allotting Emily Bronte at least partial blame for the basely warped expectations of love held by woman even now. Yet perhaps she is not to blame, for how could she possibly expect such a horrible depiction of love to be put on a pedestal by woman across the globe for centuries after it's publication?
The most strikingly common misinterpretation of the book seems to be the valuation of Heathcliff by readers who rationalize his baseless insanity as an expression of his true love and passion for Catherine. Would a stalker be considered admirable solely for the reason that his his binoculars were directed by passion? Heathcliff's destruction though, was not limited to merely himself, or of characters whom he had wronged, but an entire ensuing generation as well. His love of Catherine, to me signifies nothing more than greed and infantile emotional and rational abilities.
Catherine too is baselessly upheld as an admirable...
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