Please, no moor

I dragged myself through Wuthering Heights, a book I’ve long intended to read. It was not at all what I had thought. I thought Heathcliff would be a handsome romantic figure, i.e., dark and brooding, but in a nice way; and that the romance with Catherine would be…I don’t know…something I gave a crap about. In fact, I found all the characters and situations either odious or tiresome. Often both. The only character I cared about was Minnie the pony. I wonder what happened to Minnie, her mane tangled as willow fronds in the chill wind off the moors. Ah, Minnie. Even now I hear her whinny in the dark, the tap of her hoof on the windowpane.

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2 thoughts on “Please, no moor

  1. I reread WH last year in conjunction with a writing project involving a woman who has never read a classic in her life and finds WH in a library where she’s holed up in the Witness Protection Program. I hadn’t read it since high school I didn’t like it then and I still don’t like it. It’s a snarky book about mad snarky people and I don’t even remember the pony. The only saving grace is thinking that the moors, Dartmoor, Baskerville, make the Maddest Hatters madder and more murderous and loony than ever.

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