Today, i figured out why i like the novel Wuthering Heights so much.
If you're a close friend of mine you will know that I do not like novels (or stories, for that matter) with unrequited love as the main theme. No matter how good the writer is or how profound the story may seem to be, I have noticed that all those stories boil down to three salient points.
These are:
1. Boy meets girl.
Usually, it's not man meets woman because their 'fate' has decided to introduce them at a terrorizingly young age. The age of accumulated acne, seemingly innocent but uncontrollable emotions, and most importantly, rebelliousness. All the important factors that would fling impressionable lovers together. Sometimes, it's poor boy meets rich girl. Which disgusts me more,really. All they are are tired, old story lines that are more magnificent than the idea of a grandmother-eating wolf.
2. Something happens that would thwart their budding affair.
These 'somethings' may come in the form of: disapproving mothers/fathers/stepdads (that would sometimes lead to the girl being married off to a wealthier man, or she goes mad, or she runs away and becomes an inevitably ridiculous damsel in distress); a natural disturbance (storms, earthquakes, unexplainable illnesses), then lastly, some vague misunderstanding that would induce prolonged and unnecessary separation.
3. By a sudden twist of fate, they miraculously are thrown back together.
They cry and shake their heads at their past mistakes and hold hands. Curtain closes. It is implied that they are stuck with uninteresting lives by living 'happily ever after'. either that or they both die (a pox on both your houses! die, pond scum!) I am right, am I not?
There is nothing that is even remotely satisfying in reading stories like that. I just cannot see the friggin point in all of it. A perfect example, (although, many may, i am sure, contest my sentiments) is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera. I enjoy Marquez's other works but when it comes to romantic drivel, this story takes the cake. What's so romantic about waiting practically your whole life for a person who didn't want you in the first place and then dying of a disease with that self same person?
Please. Life is complicated enough. And since i am not particularly fond of barfing, i have stopped being curious about books that i know have the same story line as that one.
I forgot that i was trying to drive a point home. I like Wuthering Heights because the characters are unpretentious. Catherine didn't have to pretend that she loved Heathcliff because she really did. (do not ask me how i know this. i just do.) And we all know that Catherine died. No happy endings but there are no uncertainties either because she's already, well, dead. Even if she haunts the corridors of the manor, Heathcliff will never again be obliged to return to her or to seek her out. But he still does.
You realize that at this point, I have to remind myself that I am still talking about Wuthering Heights. Nothing else.
If you're a close friend of mine you will know that I do not like novels (or stories, for that matter) with unrequited love as the main theme. No matter how good the writer is or how profound the story may seem to be, I have noticed that all those stories boil down to three salient points.
These are:
1. Boy meets girl.
Usually, it's not man meets woman because their 'fate' has decided to introduce them at a terrorizingly young age. The age of accumulated acne, seemingly innocent but uncontrollable emotions, and most importantly, rebelliousness. All the important factors that would fling impressionable lovers together. Sometimes, it's poor boy meets rich girl. Which disgusts me more,really. All they are are tired, old story lines that are more magnificent than the idea of a grandmother-eating wolf.
2. Something happens that would thwart their budding affair.
These 'somethings' may come in the form of: disapproving mothers/fathers/stepdads (that would sometimes lead to the girl being married off to a wealthier man, or she goes mad, or she runs away and becomes an inevitably ridiculous damsel in distress); a natural disturbance (storms, earthquakes, unexplainable illnesses), then lastly, some vague misunderstanding that would induce prolonged and unnecessary separation.
3. By a sudden twist of fate, they miraculously are thrown back together.
They cry and shake their heads at their past mistakes and hold hands. Curtain closes. It is implied that they are stuck with uninteresting lives by living 'happily ever after'. either that or they both die (a pox on both your houses! die, pond scum!) I am right, am I not?
There is nothing that is even remotely satisfying in reading stories like that. I just cannot see the friggin point in all of it. A perfect example, (although, many may, i am sure, contest my sentiments) is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera. I enjoy Marquez's other works but when it comes to romantic drivel, this story takes the cake. What's so romantic about waiting practically your whole life for a person who didn't want you in the first place and then dying of a disease with that self same person?
Please. Life is complicated enough. And since i am not particularly fond of barfing, i have stopped being curious about books that i know have the same story line as that one.
I forgot that i was trying to drive a point home. I like Wuthering Heights because the characters are unpretentious. Catherine didn't have to pretend that she loved Heathcliff because she really did. (do not ask me how i know this. i just do.) And we all know that Catherine died. No happy endings but there are no uncertainties either because she's already, well, dead. Even if she haunts the corridors of the manor, Heathcliff will never again be obliged to return to her or to seek her out. But he still does.
You realize that at this point, I have to remind myself that I am still talking about Wuthering Heights. Nothing else.
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