Wuthering Heights

This week I’ve been slogging through Wuthering Heights to the accompaniment of howling winds buffeting my house. Spring in Colorado means wind—cold, strong, inescapable wind. I have to say, it’s perfect weather for Emily Brontë’s passionate, disturbing novel set in the harsh Yorkshire moors.

When I mention Wuthering Heights and the research I’m doing for my next novel, most folks say, “I hated that book,” or “I just couldn’t get into it,” or “the characters in that novel are monsters.”

Then there are the wacky English majors like me who find it fascinating. Although cruelty and obsession reign in the novel and religion is presented as little more than vindictive judgment, this song by David Crowder Band has come to mind as I’ve studied the suffering.

Like the characters in Wuthering Heights, we often find it impossible to escape the mire we’ve created with our own poor choices and selfish desires. Indeed, we cannot escape the mess of our sin without His mercy. I think that’s what strikes me about the book—while the characters are exaggerated, intense, even supernatural, their essence remains so very human. So very in need of a Savior.

I know this hasn’t been my usual light-hearted post. Don’t worry. I can’t stay serious for long. But I thought Good Friday was an appropriate day to share these thoughts. I love that redemption waits even for a heart as black as Heathcliff’s.