Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' -- Chapter 5

Mr. Earnshaw, Cathy's and Hindley's dad, was weakening in his health and was confined to one room. He grew irritable, especially because he knew people resented him for taking in and caring for the gypsy-looking orphan boy Heathcliff. Paranoia at its finest.

Hindley, of course, grew even more jealous when the servants paid more attention to Heathcliff because they were trying to placate Mr. Earnshaw. Hindley's unruly behavior toward Heathcliff got so bad that Mr. Earnshaw had to send Hindley away to college to keep peace in the house.

As for Joseph, Mrs. Dean called him "the wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to trake the promises to himself and fling the curses to the neighbors." That's a brilliant description of the preachy old prick! Anyway, Joseph kept bothering Mr. Earnshaw about Heathcliff and Cathy, ratting them out and getting them into all sorts of trouble.

Cathy, on her part, was always hard-headed and difficult to control as a little girl. Always in mischief -- "a wilde wicked slip she was." But her cuteness as a kid and her beauty as a young woman made it hard for people to stay mad at her for too long.

"She was much too fond of Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him: yet she got chided more than any of us on his account."

How adorable... except that they're being raised as brother and sister. Not that Cathy and Heathcliff are blood-related. But it's still awkward. I guess I can kind of see how Cathy and Bella are similar in that quote. Both feel pretty darn lost without their men doting on them 24/7. There's a phrase for that nowadays: clingy.

They're on the fast track to insanity if they don't watch it. Well, with Bella she already lost her marbles when she cliff-dived and expected that Edward (the imaginary voice in her head) would save her. Either that, or she felt utterly worthless without her sparklepire and truly wanted to die. Behold the following image:

I predict Cathy will go mad when she realizes that she could never truly be with Heathcliff for the rest of her life. I wonder how Bronte will present that scene, if Cathy does indeed go insane.

Oooooh... Check this passage out:

"She was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready words; turning Joseph's religious curses into ridicule, baiting me [Mrs. Dean, housekeeper], and doing just what her father hated most -- showing her pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over Heathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do her bidding in anything, and his only when it suited his own inclination."

So Cathy would get a kick out of arguing and winning each time -- she reveled in outsmarting those who would chide her for her antics. Heathcliff must have been really been in love with her, even when they were both little children. He seems all-too-willing to be Cathy's lackey.

I kind of respect Cathy for her rebellious tendencies. However, I still have my reservations regarding her character. I also predict that aside from her going mad, Cathy's rebellious streak will morph into full-on catty behavior and manipulation.

Anyway, back to the story --

Mr. Earnshaw died. Cathy and Heathcliff were distraught, wailing when they discovered they were both orphans. Sucks for Heathcliff, having his adoptive father die. We see a little moment of sweetness when Cathy and Heathcliff tried to console each other:

"I ran into the children's room: their door was ajar, I saw they had never laid down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to console them. The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk: and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing we were all there safe together."

Awwwww... Young, innocent love.

How theirs will unfortunately turn sour. This is silly of me, but I really think that Lady Gaga's hit song "Bad Romance" should be the theme song, if some production team ever decided to adapt teh novel into a soap opera. Maybe it should be called "Weathering the Heights."

Or "Passion: Romance and Revenge." Better yet... "Romancing Revenge."

Interesting titles, wouldn't you say? Well, even if they're tacky, I'm having way too much fun with this!

TO CHAPTER 6... AND AWAY!

Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' -- Chapter 4

Ms. Emily Bronte --

The main reason I avoided reading your novel when I was 13 was because of Lockwood's blunders with dogs and his stupidity in mistaking a pile of dead rabbits for cute, cuddly kittens. Lockwood, as a character, is just an unnecessary presence whose clumsy awkwardness and inability to get a freaking clue is just an embarrassment to the rest of us human beings. Do you truly hate your readers that much that you must bore us first before getting to the good stuff? We have incredibly short attention spans! Don't be a tease! Just jump into the juicy parts, why don't you?

At least, now we're getting somewhere!

You could argue that Chapter 3 should have been the start of the story, but for me, perhaps it should have been a sort of prologue. The REAL start of the story, I would say starts in Chapter 4. Mrs. Dean, the housekeeper, tells Lockwood about what had happened at Wuthering Heights. We finally get to learn who the people that inhabit the estate really are, and the reasons for their lackluster and hostile personalities. Mrs. Dean had been living in Wuthering Heights for 16 years, so there's bound to be some juicy stuff she's witnessed.

But before we plunge into the story, let's take a couple of steps back first so we don't get confused with who's who and who owns what and who screwed over who and... well, here it goes:

So Heathcliff owns Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights. He's extremely rich, but he doesn't spend any money on renovations to fix either place up. Maybe he's trying to pull a moldy and cobwebby Miss Havisham stunt (from Dickens' Great Expectations) by just letting everything dilapidate on their own because he's too busy being miserable and sour to care or notice. Or maybe it shows that he longs for the past because that's when he felt most alive. Otherwise, the dilapidated conditions of the estates represent his own ruin as a person, the ugly part of him that's torn and broken.

Anyway.

Heathcliff had a son, but his son died. His son was married to the young lady, Catherine. Catherine Linton -- not to be confused with Catherine Earnshaw Linton. Both were obviously mother and daughter. That's got to be pretty awkward for Cathy the younger, knowing that your father-in-law had the hots for your mom.

Meanwhile, Hareton Earnshaw was Catherine Earnshaw Linton's nephew. Hareton is younger Cathy's cousin.

Heathcliff's son was also Catherine the younger's cousin (ugh!) because Heathcliff had married the sister of Catherine Earnshaw Linton's husband. In other words, Heathcliff married Catherine the elder's sister-in-law. Why he did that is beyond me... Unless he did it to get back at Cathy the elder for dumping him. But this would still be f***ed up on sooooooooo many levels!

I think we've already established that it's a confusing family tree. Thank goodness no one marries their cousin anymore! Geez!

Cathy Linton (the younger one) is the last of the Lintons, and Hareton Earnshaw is the last of the Earnshaws. The Earnshaws used to own Wuthering Heights, whereas the Lintons used to own Thrushcross Grange.

So, on to the story...

Cathy and Hindley Earnshaw were brother and sister, and Hindley was 8 years older than Cathy. Their father was supposed to go away on some business trip, and he promised to bring back some spiffy presents for his kids.

But instead, he brought home a dirty beggar boy and decided to adopt him. Just imagine the look on Cathy's and Hindley's faces when they heard, "SURPRISE! YOU HAVE A NEW BROTHER NOW! BE NICE!"

It's like dropping a silent but fatal fart bomb on someone's head.

Of course, Cathy and Hindley were not thrilled, especially because they now had to share their room and their toys with this snot-nosed gypsy kid that their father randomly plucked off the street to raise as his own son. This street urchin was baptized and named "Heathcliff." In Mrs. Dean's words, "It was the name of a son who had died in childood, and it has served him ever since, both for Christian and surname." At first it sounded like he'd have a name like "Heathcliff Heathcliff." How dreadful. But then I thought about celebrities like Madonna, Prince, Pink, or Akon, who are known by just the one name (well, their stage names). Then I was like, OHH, I SEEEE...

Heathcliff -- a man without a history, a future, but a man nonetheless, who's just trying to make it through the present.

Sounds pretty sexy if you ask me. Until you realize how he ends up, if you recall from Chapter 3. That's right. Hysterically calling out the name of his long-lost beloved who may or may not be (to our knowledge) dead in the middle of the night. Depression? Bipolar disorder? Schizophrenia? Borderline personality disorder? Antisocial disorder? All quite possible. This guy needs a shrink.

Heathcliff was always "sullen... hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment." Hindley always bullied Heathcliff, to show that he was better and more worthy of respect than Heathcliff. And I was right: Hindley tortured Heathcliff because he was jealous that his father treated Heathcliff with more favoritism. The two boys even got into a fight over who deserves to own a horse. No matter how badly Hindley beat up or insulted Heathcliff, the orphan boy always walked away with a sense of dignity, despite defeat.

Heathcliff's got swag. ;)

OHHHHH, and I just found out there's going to be an upcoming film adaptation of Wuthering Heights! Even though I know the sudden sparked interest is due to SMeyer's books' popularity, I'm still looking forward to watching it. I think it's coming out next year. Can't wait!

TO CHAPTER 5... AND AWAY!

Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' -- Chapter 3

Zillah leads Lockwood to the room in which he will spend the night until the blizzard passes. It's not a room that Heathcliff would be willing to have guests stay in. Oh, the allure of snooping around...

The room used to be Catherine's. Although which Catherine is unclear, as Lockwood notes upon seeing the window-ledge bookcase with the names "Catherine Earnshaw," "Catherine Heathcliff," or "Catherine Linton" scratched randomly onto the painted wood.

I'm guessing that all these different Catherines are actually pertaining to one person.

She may have been born "Catherine Earnshaw," daydreamed that she would marry Heathcliff and therefore become "Catherine Heathcliff." BUT things most likely didn't turn out so well. Instead, she married someone else and became "Catherine Linton."

Of course, I could be wrong. This is all just a hunch. A theory.

I doubt that Lockwood would have arrived to the same conclusion. He seems so clueless. I guess he's supposed to represent us, the readers, in much the same way that Horatio in Hamlet is supposed to represent us -- as transplants into the story. We're outsiders to the lives of the other characters, and we're only just learning about them.

He seems oblivious to the doodle-dreaming tendencies of a young woman fancying herself in love with someone and courting the idea of marriage. That Catherine was just trying out different names for herself to see which sounds better. I used to do this all the time -- up to now I still do, especially if I find a guy completely irresistable (e.g. "Julianne Gallinari," "Julianne Cavill," "Julianne Somerhalder," "Julianne Lautner," and... you get the picture).

Okay, turns out I was right after all! (At the time I was writing this, it was in real time, by the way.) Lockwood kept seeing all these different names and felt a little overwhelmed:

"In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine -- Earnshaw -- Heathcliff -- Linton, till my eyes closed..."

It's not until Lockwood picks up some of the books on the window-sill shelf and flips through them that he realizes the girl -- Catherine Earnshaw -- was the one who wrote these diaries.

We get a snippet of this mysterious Catherine's childhood through the narration provided by Lockwood. It's pretty weird to stumble upon someone else's diaries and read all their deepest secrets to yourself. Then again, we have TMZ and Perez Hilton and a whole host of gossip magazines for that nowadays. Not to mention the Internet. Facebook's stalker-friendly nowadays. You can dig up dirt on virtually anyone!

I wonder if Emily Bronte will continue using Lockwood's narration as a storytelling device, or Catherine's diaries as some sort of plot ploy to get us suckered into the rest of the story.

So far, the excerpt that Lockwood came across in Catherine's diary came out of her youth when she, Heathcliff, and some other boy were supposed to be reading their prayer books to make up for not attending church. "It had been flooded with rain," so it wasn't wise to venture outside and risk it.

OH WAIT. Sorry. I think I misread that.

Joseph (the mean old servant, if you recall) had set up a makeshift church service "in the garret." Otherwise known as an attic -- especially a small, cramped one. Cathy, Heathcliff, and the ploughboy were supposed to sit on a sack of corn and pay attention to the sermon. They shivered from the cold, and exaggerated their shivering so that Joseph would quickly STFU. But it was useless because they ended up sitting through 3 hours of the sermon. Sucks for them.

Especially for Cathy. Her brother, Hindley, was a totall hypocritical douche bag. Here's why:

"...Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire -- doing anything but reading their Bibles...'You forget you have a master down here,' says the tyrant. 'I'll demolish the first who puts me out of temper!' "

And then Hindley proceeds to verbally abuse Heathcliff and has his new wife (Hindley was a lot older than Cathy) pull the poor gypsy boy's hair.

I've got 2 words for Hindley and his wife: churlish and childish.

Hindley's totally jealous of Heathcliff. I'm guessing it's because Heathcliff got more attention from Hindley's dad, and Hindley felt robbed. Sore loser.

Cathy then wrote:

"Frances [Hindley's wife] pulled [Heathcliff's] hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husband's knee; and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour -- foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of."

If you're wondering what Cathy meant by the word "palaver," it's defined as profuse and idle talk. Hindley and Frances were probably exchanging sickeningly saccharrine "OMG, ILY" with each other while feeling each other up. Cathy, I totally get where you're coming from. Hindley and Frances remind me way too much of those shameless couples on the Subway who can't keep their hands off each other. They're often oblivious to the fact that their PDA on overdrive grosses other people out. Some couples just don't know how to get a room. Or a freaking clue, for that matter.

Joseph's cruel. If he were living in today's society, he would definitely get arrested and locked up for child abuse. All Cathy did was try to keep herself and the boys warm, and what does Joseph do? Tear away their pinafores and bash Cathy's ears with his fists, claiming that they were being awful children. The cruel moron.

You gotta love Cathy for rebelling, though. She hurled her book into the dog kennel first, then Heathcliff followed. They got punished for it, but I think Cathy is a bit more resilient in receiving the punishment, believing herself to be in the right. All I have to say is, YOU GO GIRL!

Also, you can already tell Cathy's in love with Heathcliff -- "Poor Heathcliff!" -- and that their relationship will be defined by the rules of rank in Victorian society. Forbidden to associate with each other, even as young adolescents. That's pretty damn harsh. I would love to throw rocks at Hindley, if only to knock him off his high horse. Hindley needs to get over himself.

So, back to Lockwood...

He dozes off and gets a bad dream. It sort of mirrors the 3 hour service Cathy and Heathcliff had to go through -- Lockwood (in his dream, I suppose) had to sit through an entire tirade by a preacher named Jabes Branderham (what an awful name!).

"Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-first. A Pious Discourse Delivered by the Reverend Jabes Branderham."

FML if I had to sit through an entire four hundred and ninety parts of a sermon. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe Branderham's so-called pious discourse is in reference to Jesus's response that we should forgive our transgressors seventy times seven times. And 7 is such a huge symbolic number in various religious traditions. In Christ's case, he meant we should ALWAYS forgive our enemies, no matter how horribly they've wronged us. However, if this is a novel about romance and revenge, then I highly doubt any of the characters would really heed Jesus's advice. Maybe that's what they get for not paying attention to the homilies every Sunday, ahahaha.

Anyway, Lockwood was sick of listening to it, so he let Branderham know. People ambushed Lockwood for it, including mean old Joseph. I would imagine that Lockwood gets the crap beat of him, but I'm not really sure because Emily doesn't give us that much details to go on.

She just jumps ahead to the disturbing part:

For some weird reason, Lockwood was inside of an oak closet (did he pass out in there? LOL!). He kept hearing odd sounds, which he ascribed to the belligerent windy weather surrounding the moors of Wuthering Heights. I think Lockwood may have heard banging noises that bugged him, so he went to see what it was, expecting that it was just a branch knocking on the window glass. But it wasn't.

Lockwood thought he had grabbed a branch, but realized to his horror that it was the "fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!" It freaked him out even more when the mysterious hand clasped onto his hand even tighter. And then "a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in -- let me in!"

SHIT. Talk about freaky!!!!!

But here's the kicker:

Lockwood asked the thing who it was, and the reply came back as "Catherine Linton... I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!"

And then he saw a face.

WTF. I was confused as to whether this actually happened or it was all just in his head, because after the "Cathy" entity introduced itself, Lockwood was mentally talking to himself, as noted between the enclosed parentheses:

"Why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton."

Was this the same Cathy? The same Cathy who wrote all those diaries? It would be funny if the reason she came back was to freak Lockwood out for reading her private thoughts.

Anyway, Lockwood became so desperate to free himself that he rubbed the Cathy entity's wrist back and forth across the window's broken glass -- to injure it so it would finally let go of him. The Cathy entity, meanwhile, kept begging to be let inside, wailing and wailing. As another attempt to have it let go of him, Lockwood said that he would let her in if she let him go. She did. But then Lockwood shoved a pile of books against the broken glass to keep the Cathy entity from terrorizing him further.

The Cathy entity claimed it was lost for 20 years. TWENTY FREAKING YEARS. And then it tried to push the books out of the way. Lockwood, obviously scared shitless, yelled. I honestly would have, too.

Then Heathcliff came rushing in, all hot and bothered, pissed off at Lockwood because (1) Lockwood wasn't supposed to be in this room, and (2) Lockwood's yell had probably woken Heathcliff up from an already disgruntled state of slumber.

Lockwood told him everything that happened -- excluding one little detail. The fact that Lockwood had... oh, I dunno, just snooped through the private diary pages of Heathcliff's dead girlfriend.

Heathcliff, meanwhile, struggled to keep his emotions in check. Most likely he and Cathy didn't end their relationship so well. Either that, or she was dead and Heathcliff was trying his best not to go berserk over a ghost. Just as Lockwood was leaving the room, Heathcliff lost all sense of control and flung himself onto the sheets, begging that Cathy come back to him.

That was really heartbreaking, that Heathcliff still mourns for her -- although whether Cathy Earnshaw Linton was, in fact, dead at this point, is unclear. Heathcliff at his most vulnerable = sad.

Even Lockwood was moved, and he felt ashamed to have witnessed this unraveling of emotions that he gave poor Heathcliff the space he needed.

Later, we can sense the tension between Heathcliff and the younger Catherine, his daughter-in-law. Perhaps she was the daughter of Catherine Earnshaw Linton?

I came across this fuzzy-looking cat when I was searching for images of Wuthering Heights, and it just made me laugh. Someone called it "the Poor Man's Garfield." Maybe it's named after the hero of Emily Bronte's novel? Hmm... But anyway, he sure does look happy!

Just thought it would bring a smile to your face. Prepare yourself for more depressing details in the upcoming chapters. I'll do my best to include a light-hearted flare in my next recaps.

TO CHAPTER 4... AND AWAY!

Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' -- Chapter 2

Lockwood leaves Thrushcross Grange and heads over to Wuthering Heights, just as snow begins to fall.

The weather -- hence, "Wuthering" -- gets really nasty, to the point that it becomes too dangerous to leave without getting lost in the moors or buried in the snowstorm. But anyway...

Lockwood comes across a rough-looking young man and a beautiful young girl seated beside a fire, whom Lockwood mistook for Heathcliff's wife. She's actually Heathcliff's daughter-in-law, but Heathcliff's son had died (I wondered how and why.) And as for the young man, he's not Heathcliff's son. His name is Hareton Earnshaw.

Since the snowstorm grows into one nasty blizzard, Lockwood asks for a guide to accompany him back to Thrushcross Grange. But no one wanted to help him.

Talk about awkward...

So Lockwood takes a lantern, saying he'll find his way back on his own and that he'll return the lantern in the morning. But the mean old servant Joseph thought that Lockwood was stealing it.

What does Joseph do?

He sics the dogs on Lockwood, of course! Poor dude. He's pinned down to the floor by the dogs, and he feels angry and humiliated. This brings on a nosebleed, so he has to stay at Wuthering Heights. Zillah, another servant, leads Lockwood to the room where he'll be sleeping for the night.

Maybe Bella (from the Twilight saga) has more in common with Lockwood than with Cathy. Lockwood really has a knack for putting himself in awkward and clumsy situations. But I don't know if I can really blame him. His host and the people who reside at Wuthering Heights are not likable at all. They're all so... cranky!

TO CHAPTER 3... AND AWAY!

Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' - Chapter 1 in a Nutshell

1801.

No, that's not a prequel to the Phoenix song. That's really the first thing Emily wrote down.

In which we meet the surly and sour-mannered master of both Wuthering Heights (hence, the title of the novel) and Thrushcross Grange. And his name is Heathcliff.

Narrated by some ass-kissser who's renting living space from Heathcliff. Said narrator's name is Mr. Lockwood, and he tries way too hard to stay in Heathcliff's good graces (whatever graces the man does happen to have, that is. He just seems so belligerent).

Joseph is Heathcliff's servant. Both are mean to Lockwood. Maybe they have really sensitive bullshit meters. Even the dogs don't take too kindly to Lockwood. They bark constantly and try to bite him. I kind of wished they did. Lockwood is already annoying me -- he's such a boring narrator!

TO CHAPTER 2... AND AWAY!

Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' - Before the Beginning

If you've read my last post, I said I would transpose my initial thoughts that I had written down in my handy-dandy notebook and type them out here on this blog. Here's what I wrote before embarking on this new reading venture:

Dear Reading Journal,
... And to whoever else that may be reading this --

I am attempting to break down chapter-by-chapter the romantic legendary novel of love, passion, betrayal, revenge, and all the guilt and good juicy stuff of Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights.

My main reason for finally picking up this dusty book off my shelf is to find out what makes this story so effin' breathtaking that Stephenie Meyer kept referring to it in the Twilight saga as Bella's favorite (and by extension, SMeyer's fave) novel. But where the comparison lies between Bella and Cathy or Edward and Heathcliff -- that's something I plan to investigate, to see if the comparisons are really there.

Or not.

My bet is that SMeyer really only scratches the surface. Sure, there seems to be some passion and a smattering of vengeance-seeking throughout the Twilight saga. But to me, Bella and Edward got nothin' on the heated bad romance between Catherine and Heathcliff. I mean, Bella and Edward at least get to be together for eternity. But as for Cathy and Heathcliff... they're lost forever, DOOMED, their all-consuming love for each other never fully consummated.

That's the tragic part right there. And if you're pervy enough to be thinking this, you can also go so far as to say it's really tragic that Cathy and Heathcliff never actually... um, DID IT. With each other, that is. (Maybe that's why Bella's so anxious, so hot and bothered about dying a virgin. LOL.)

Both Cathy and Heathcliff die lonely and bitter, especially the surly (yet really sexy sounding) Heathcliff. He's had it rough since he was a kid, so I can't say I blame him that much for turning into a douche-faced jerk to everyone he meets.

And Cathy... she seems like one cruel little wench, playing around with Heathcliff's feelings for her.

But then again, I'm getting ahead of myself, only relying so far on what I've heard about the story. So I'm finally going to read it after 7 years of avoiding it due to the fear of confusion. So please, wish me luck!

I just hope I end up loving Emily's story as fervently as I love Charlotte's Jane Eyre -- or at the very least, appreciating Wuthering Heights for what it's worth as a literary mainstay.

TO CHAPTER 1... AND AWAY!

Brontë-saurus!

It's an odd title for a blog post, but if you have no idea what I'm talking about, then just bear with me. I promise that you will find out why eventually. ;)

Sorry if my last post sounded a little depressing. Things are okay and have calmed down over the weekend. In fact, my sister and I kind of re-bonded over a successful charity project we had to do yesterday for Rainbow. Thank goodness!

Anyway, I finished reading Jane Eyre recently, and I've gotta say, I ABSO-FREAKIN'-LUTELY LOVED IT. Charlotte Bronte, you are a literary genius! AMEN to strong female protagonists who show us the way to be true to ourselves, who reject the BS society tries to shove down their throats, who eventually forgive those who have utterly wronged them, and who are capable of loving someone unconditionally (no matter how horribly twisted his mistakes were, *cough, cough, Rochester*).

Jane Eyre has officially joined my list of favorite female heroines, along with Viola of Messaline, Elizabeth Bennet, Suze Simon, Em Watts, and Buffy -- to name a few.

So anyway, I've recently picked up Wuthering Heights, written by Charlotte's sister Emily, and so far I'm on Chapter 5. It's been sitting on my shelf collecting dust for about 7 years. I bought the paperback in a 2-book special from the Scholastic catalog when I was in the 6th grade. You can't resist buying a couple of classics that cost altogether $2.00 and have pretty covers like these: 

Darcy gives his letter of sincere apology to Elizabeth! GASP! I devoured Pride & Prejudice right away -- it was actually the main reason for my purchase, hehe. I'd read the abridged version in 4th grade and wanted to read the original text, so I went ahead and bought it -- especially since Wuthering Heights came with it, both for a cheap price!

Heathcliff on this book cover looks TOTALLY hot. That's the edition that I have, and man, do I feel butterflies a-fluttering in my tummy whenever I admire the cover. But perhaps Scholastic picked up on this, so they changed the cover to something less... um, provocative. They're a children's book publishing company, first and foremost. Go figure. Here's the new cover that they settled for instead:

The cover art seems appropriate here, if a 12-year-old girl were to pick this up and read it. The setting is in the moors, an endless stretch of uneven grassland that you could easily get lost in. It's supposed to symbolize the characters getting lost in their passions -- both for love of each other and for bitter revenge against those who have wronged them.

But I still prefer the blue cover with the hot Heathcliff. I could just 'effing SWOON!

Then, in the middle of my search, I came across a completely different type of cover...

OH GOD, NO. I found this Twilight-ish cover for Wuthering Heights on this website. WHY, WHY, WHY must it permeate everything?! To tell you honestly, Stephenie Meyer sort of killed Wuthering Heights for me. When I was reading Eclipse last summer, I thought Meyer was stretching the comparison between Belward and Cathcliff wayyyyy too far. Bella, according to SMeyer, has it SOOOOO BAD for Edward -- as much as Cathy had it for Heathcliff. But I beg to differ. Bella's just sex-starved, in my opinion. As if dying a virgin was a fate worse than death itself. There are SAINTS who died to preserve their virginity, and yet this twit-face a-dork-a-klutz is so willing to give hers away to a sparkly, blood-sucking century-old popsicle. I mean, Bella was the one trying to desperately jump Edward's bones from day one.

I get the message that both couples are star-crossed, but they're star-crossed in very, very different ways.

Exhibit A: How The Lovely Couples All End Up 

Cathy and Heathcliff NEVER get together -- not officially, at least to my knowledge and from what I've heard about Bronte's story. Society always gets in the way, because society says that Cathy's too good to marry Heathcliff. And okay, it may seem that forces also try to keep Bella and Edward apart -- such as Bella's werewolf friends disapproving of her relationship with Edward, and other vampires who want to tear Bella's throat out. HOWEVER, Bella and Edward end up attached at the hip for eternity with a life-sucking monster daughter whom Jacob imprints on. A slightly messed up ever after for the vamp lover and the twinkle-toed mind reader, but an ever after nonetheless. Cathy and Heathcliff weren't so fortunate -- one of them dies, and the other is constantly haunted by the lover's ghost (or vivid memory of their beloved, really).

Exhibit B: The Heroines (in Bella's case, the heroin, hardy-har-har)

Cathy is impetuous and mischievous, often wiry and adventurous. She's always getting into trouble because she's always active. If I'm correct, she always drags Heathcliff down with her when she's running around making mischief. Whereas Bella is just a Mary Sue whose only interest is in doing the laundry, washing dishes, and eye-sexing (er, gawking and drooling over) her dazzling undead "veggie" vamp boyfriend. If Bella does find herself in knee-deep shit, it's because she's the passive victim of other vamps wanting to drink her blood or wanting her dead because Eddie killed their mate.

Exhibit C: The Heroes, the Bloody Bastard and the Bloodsucker
Heathcliff is a surly and sullen kind of guy, due to his rough childhood. He's an orphan, and he was found by Mr. Earnshaw, Cathy's father, who decided to take him in and adopt him as if Heathcliff was his own son. Meanwhile, Cathy's older brother, Hindley, totally hated Heathcliff because Heathcliff was always stealing his thunder, always their father's favorite. Heathcliff was pretty much abused throughout his life, and this hardened him into the harsh man he grew up to become. Heathcliff can't possibly be compared to Edward -- at least, not in a substantial and monumental way that SMeyer tries to pass it off as.

So Edward is also an orphan, due to the Spanish influenza outbreak in the early 1900s. And maybe Edward's probably killed a few people because he may have lost control when he was a newborn vampire (as we vaguely learn in the leaked Midnight Sun draft). But a majority of the time Edward is too much of a gentleman to get rowdy. Sure, he gets jealous of Jacob -- especially after Jake does a reverse fur-splosion and morphs back into his impeccable naked human glory. (Bella, you should have gone for wolf boy!) But despite the angsty grimacing and jealousy, Edward usually is the Kodak picture, the poster-child of decorum (insofar as how Meyer wants us to see him; Edward's just a walking mess of psychological fuckery, even more so than Heathcliff).

The Verdict?
If anything, I think SMeyer's attempt at the comparison between her lovebirds and Emily Bronte's classic couple pales greatly. Twi-tards are going to get the wrong idea about Wuthering Heights.

On a lighter note, I found out that a Sparknotes blogger plans to blog about Wuthering Heights, mostly to find its literary merit. SMeyer had also killed the classic story for this person, but due to the persuasive pleading of some Brontephilic friends, this person decided to read Wuthering Heights after all, and to also blog their reactions about it. They're pretty funny. So far, they've blogged about chapters 1 and 2. You can find their blog posts -- just click here.

I think I'll do the same. I already have a marble composition notebook especially dedicated for this, and I actually entitled it "Julianne's Reading Journal for Breaking Down Dense Literature: Tackling Wuthering Heights." So far I've written recaps for chapters 1-5. I'll type them up and post them in this blog in my next entries. Maybe it'll help you out and also get you interested in the book.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with this extremely amusing video that I found on Youtube a couple of weeks ago. These would have been AWESOME toys to play with growing up, wouldn't you say?

"Freedom" -- What Is It?

My entire family got into this huge argument earlier this evening. The source? My younger sisters.

The one in middle school went to the park with her friends across the street from her school right before her classes were supposed to start. This was around 7:30 in the morning, mind you. She lost her cell phone because it supposedly fell out of her sweater pocket. My guess is that it probably fell out of her pocket and someone found it... execept this person didn't return it. Hence, her very first cell phone (a very nice, very cute and very green Sony Ericson model) was stolen without her knowing. She's not getting a cell phone again for a looooooong time.

My other sister, the one in her junior year of high school, has a particular bad habit of not calling (because supposedly my mom never answers her calls) and staying out late until 8:30 or 9:00 PM on a SCHOOL NIGHT for the ENTIRE WEEK. The reason for this behavior, this sister claims, is that she wants to have more freedom.

Even though my mom already lets her go to school on her own and trusts her enough to come home at an appropriate time after hanging out with her friends.

But to this wart of a sister, it's not enough.

So the big question that kept coming up during the argument -- which I got dragged into because my parents are always using me as the standard of comparison (because I'm supposedly the good one). I'm only the good one because I'm trying to set an example to my sisters. I've screwed up lots of times before. I know what it's like to want to stay a little longer and just be cool and spend time with friends. Every teenager goes through that.

But that doesn't mean you should always do it. My sisters -- especially the brick-headed one in high school -- can't seem to fathom that. It's like they're defining themselves solely through their friendships. As if their sole reason for existing is their friends, and God forbid they be shunned.

I get it. I've been there. High school was always like that. The need to belong is strong, and can overpower, leading you to follow your impulses and damn all torpedoes because you just want to be cool and hang out after school like everyone else is doing. Because you don't want to be the odd one out, the "loser," the "freak" with the controlling and overprotective parents.

The problem is that when we're going through this stage, we can't see outside of ourselves. We may have theory of mind, but in the end we don't want to use it -- we don't want to see things from other people's perspectives because we don't consider them as relevant to our own point of view. And let's face it -- if we even dared peek into our parents' perspective of the situation, we'd run the risk of being wrong. So instead, we remain dogged, we rebel, we hold steadfastly to our own beliefs. We try to assert our own desire for independence. For freedom.

But when my mom and I asked what my sister meant by this "freedom" she oh so craved, she couldn't even tell us coherently at first. Perhaps it was partly due to her blubbering. However, it was plain to see that she really had no fucking clue what exactly this "freedom" was. Until finally, my sister said this [paraphrasing]:

"I want to be able to hang out with my friends. I want to be able to call you and tell you that I want to hang out with my friends, and I want you to be okay with it."

Um, that's what we've been trying to tell her all year! My parents aren't tyrants. We're actually pretty lucky that they don't slap us right on the spot if we screw up horribly. My mom is notorious for her neverending lectures and OCD tendencies, but that's about the worst it can get. How many times have my parents told my sister that she can totally hang out with her friends? I've lost count. Though, I'm pretty sure it was somewhere between 99 trillion and 99 zillion.

Of course, since my sister blew her chances by coming home unreasonably late every night for the entire school year, my mom has forbidden her from hanging out with her friends this summer. Which may seem harsh at first, but if you measure the countless hours my sister has already spent "gallivanting" (a favorite English word for Filipino parents when describing their kids' screwy behavior) with her friends during the year, it's totally fair.

She just has to learn not to define herself solely through her friends. She has to realize that some of them may not always be there for her. That some relationships have an expiration date, whatever those reasons may be, as a good friend of mine puts it. Very few friends will actually stay with you for the rest of your life, and these are the kinds of friends we should all be thankful for.

And she has to realize that freedom always has its limits.

To me, freedom is knowing your own limits and making those choices which will produce the best possible outcome for all those involved. Freedom is not go-crazy-because-your-parents-are-not-here-to-hound-you-for-being-a-total-imbecile.

Freedom is knowing yourself, and knowing that you have options. And that sometimes, making the right choices -- even if it's just to placate your mother from giving her neverending lecture -- can set you free.

Free from what?

Free of guilt. Free of moral repurcussions. Free of charge -- pun totally intended.

Procrastinating Part II: To "google" or not to "google"?

Don't get me wrong. I don't have a deadline (*Shudders at the word*). And I did get some work done since my last post.

Even if I was book-licking again. "What the heck is book-licking?" Meg Cabot explains it here. I also wrote an earlier post on this subject as well.

Anyway, I got hung up on the proper usage of "google" as a verb. As in, searching for information using the Google search engine. Because 1) I wasn't sure if it was still just a slang word until I found out that it was actually included in the Merriam-Webster dictionary, and 2) if I would get sued by Google, Inc. if I inadvertently misused their trademark because I "genericized" it into an already commonplace and informal verb. So I googled "using google as a verb" on Google and came across Google's official blog post regarding this matter, written a few years ago (Um, where was I when this happened?).

That last sentence was pretty redundant, wasn't it? But that's how clear (albeit a tad anal-retentive) Google wants us to be when using "google" as a verb.

While Google's marketers are thrilled at the search engine's extreme popularity, I guess I can see the point that Google's trademark lawyers are trying to make. It's all about protecting a brand name, much like protecting one's rep from misinformation and miscommunication. I mean, have you ever heard of someone "googling" a topic on say, Yahoo or Bing? Ridiculous. Because you can only google things using Google. Duh. But unfortunately, too many people have generalized the term to encompass all sorts of searches on the Internet.

It's like when people continually mispronounce your name or misspell it, no matter how many times you try to correct them on its proper usage because it's disrespectful to your existence as a human being, as if they're denying you the very identity you chose for yourself.

My name, Julianne, happens to be one of those names that cause perpetual confusion. (I can't even find it on a keychain!) People have misspelled it time and again: Juliane, Julie Ann, Julieanna, and a whole bunch of incorrectness... I especially get offended when someone pronounces or spells my name as "Julien" or "Julian" when addressing me because these particular names are commonly given to BOYS. And even though I was named after my mom (Julieta, because she was born in July) and St. Anne, I still resent the fact that "Julianne" is considered by most baby name websites as the feminine derivative of "Julian," which means "of or belonging to Julius." As in, Julius Caesar.

I know I'm probably taking this too literally, but let me just say this: I am NOT the property of a dead Roman emperor who was backstabbed by a brute (perhaps the etymology of "brute" and "brutal" came from the ever-famous Shakespearean line, "Et tu Brutus"? I must "google" this later... Ha!). Although, in the French, Greek, and Spanish meaning of the name, it's supposed to mean "youthful." That's gotta make up for things, right?

Anyway, I'm digressing. Sorry about that.

Returning to the word "google" and why I got so hung up on its proper use so as not to get my arse slapped with a lawsuit once I get my story published...

The main character in my story is trying to dig up dirt on someone in order to put annoying rumors to rest and finally know the truth. She thought there'd be a news article regarding an arson incident, and quite possibly a murder, that would implicate the guy she's suspicious of. So naturally, because it's so commonly used as a verb in everyday life by practically everyone who's Internet savvy, I really needed to linger on the diction.

And as long as we're talking about Google...

I'm glad that it's back to normal after some days of its attempt to look like Bing. Not that I have anything against the backgrounds. But there's a kind of comfort in seeing the blank white background with the familiar logo (or surprise design, depending on the occasion) of Google greeting you as you begin your intricate web journeys. That, and I really don't like how there's a delay whenever I try to conduct an online search just because the background picture is still loading. If I want a customized background, I'll use the iGoogle feature. But as of now, I really prefer the look Google's had for years. The constancy of the plain, white background is somewhat comforting, especially if I'm going through a superlatively crappy day.

I know I just violated #8 on my "Procrastinator's Checklist." Blame it on my impulsive clicking and wandering attention-span. But as my friend Liliana says, "Remember: great art cannot be rushed! Just let the muses guide you!"

I'm going to violate #5 now on my "Procrastinator's Checklist." It may be close to midnight, and it probably won't make a difference anymore in my current weight, but I'm getting myself a bowl of cold, creamy, chocolatey ice cream. Mmm...

Maybe the sugar will help me think. ;)

Procrastinator's Checklist

This is bad. Really bad.

I keep telling myself that I shall focus on writing. I bet you're probably annoyed by it, as well. But I think I might have some sort of attention-deficit problem, especially if other people -- my family -- are in the house.

I just simply can't get anything done.

I know what you're probably thinking: this girl is making up excuses because the summer bug just bit her with a dose of laziness. You're probably right.

So, here's a list of things I need to stop doing in order to become more efficient. Maybe it'll help you out a little, if you're also distracted from completing a writing project, or any sort of project, for that matter:

1. Stop playing Sorority Life on Facebook. At least, limit it to 30 minutes maximum per day.
2. Stop looking for games to play online. (Clearly, having a laptop is way too much fun.)
3. Stop watching crap on Youtube.
   Even if it's compelling crap.
4. Stop searching gossip websites for celebrity updates. That's what the "Sleaze" segment on the Elvis Duran Morning Show on Z100 is for.
5. Stop eating. Even if you're craving that bag of Cheetos or that carton of Edy's rocky road ice cream. You're better off burning calories either jogging (and thinking about your story) or typing (and working out the kinks in your story).
6. Stop browsing through design websites and impulsively changing the look of your blog.
   Not that many people read it anyway, and let's face it -- those who do probably won't care all that much. Unless your faithful readers can't read your posts and unless you really (like, REALLY) feel like going through all the HTML mumbo jumbo, please don't bother. Your blog is fine the way it is. At least, for now anyway. (See how cool it looks now! Haha... well, okay. I couldn't resist. Blogger's new template designer was so tempting to play around with. SO, that's it for designing... for now.)
7. Stop clicking through the Food Network website!
   Again, Julianne (because this is my personal checklist, but feel free to substitute your name if you believe that this checklist may also apply to you), stop eating. Even if that bar of chocolate is begging to be consumed...
8. Stop your impulsive Google surfing!

There's probably a whole lot more that I should stop doing, but I can't think of them as of now. Though it's probably futile, given my easily influenced attention-span, wish me luck!

Maybe I'll finish a chapter or two. I hope.

Until next post, friends!

Getting Somewhere - Books with (Good) Bite and Digging Up Words

I'm almost done reading Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre! I've only ever seen a couple of movie versions of it (they weren't really that great). Reading the actual book, the actual words that Charlotte penned, is so much better than I expected. It's actually more engaging than Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, which I never even finished, having never gotten past the first three pages as a result of Emily's writing style. But to each her own, I guess. I'm reading the Norton Critical Edition of Jane Eyre, complete with literary criticisms, transcriptions of letters Charlotte wrote to her publishers, and essays on feminism.

I also downloaded a few e-books from this website called Scribd, including a series about vampires. If you haven't already guessed, I'm a sucker for these kinds of stories... Excuse the pun. Although, in my defense, I've been a fan of vampire stories since I was twelve years old, when I saw a movie version of Bram Stoker's Dracula starring Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder (which I think came out in 1992) and also some episodes of Buffy (they were random, and I'd watch them when I had the time), as well as the original film that inspired the Buffy TV series. Since then I read Dracula, and I read Amelia Atwater-Rhodes's Den of Shadows series (and a couple of her shape-shifter stories), some stand-alone chick-lit novels featuring the bloodsuckers, and of course (which is probably in every pre-teen's literary canon -- I say this in the sense that these tweens will treat Meyer's stories as if they were Gospel truth. Shocked? Me, too.) the Twilight Saga. So enough explanation.

I like vampires. Even though I was completely terrified of them in the 1st grade after watching Nosferatu and those documentaries on the paranormal. I was so scared that I actually slept with my covers over my head, thinking that my blanky was a nifty shield against any bat that might crawl through my window looking to suck the life out of my neck.

Yeah, I know. I had a vivid imagination as a kid. Didn't you?

Anyway, if you're just looking for something entertaining, funny, and refreshing to read, I suggest you check out the Blood Coven series by Mari Mancusi.

Book 1: Boys That Bite

Book 2: Stake That

Book 3: Girls That Growl

Book 4: Bad Blood

I'm planning on reading them next, once I finish Jane Eyre and the last installment of L.J. Smith's Vampire Diaries. If you're interested in reading the Blood Coven series, just let me know. I can send you the ebooks.

I'm also planning to read the books by Charlaine Harris on which the HBO TV series True Blood is based. I'm still waiting for season 3 to start.

Ditto with The Vampire Diaries. I'm almost done with the last book. The only thing I'll be looking foward to in the fall would be season 2 -- it's getting really juicy, what with Damon suddenly trying to be good in order to impress Elena (who's already taken by Stefan and only sees Damon as a friend) and Katharine (YES, Elena's doppleganger) comes back to Mystic Falls!

While I have these two shows/book series in mind, I have to share my current TV infatuations (aside from Ethan Peck, who doesn't play a vampire, hehe). And the gorgeous guys are...

Alexander Skarsgard -- aka "Eric" on True Blood

Ian Somerhalder -- aka "Damon" on The Vampire Diaries

Vampires must really dig leather, the way Victorians had a fetish for lace, don't you think? "You can be my leather. Take from me my lace..." Hahaha!

They can bite my neck anytime! At least, the fictional characters that they portray on television can. I heard they have girlfriends in real life (go figure), so if I got anyone's hopes up... Sorry. Now that that's out of the way, permit me to throw a bucket of ice water over my head. Ahem.

I'm back. That was refreshing. Okay, I didn't literally do that. But I did wash my face and drink some water, which did the trick. So, where was I? Oh, yes. I just finished my vampire-obsession spiel, hehe.

As for my own writing...
For the past couple of weeks, let me put it in terms of Lolcats:

However, I also had some progress. After ignoring the story I've been working on for quite some time, I finally listened to the nagging voice in the back of my brain that kept telling me something was off. I just didn't know what it was at the time. But now I do.

The timing -- the pacing of the story was going too fast, with not enough conflicts in each chapter, and not enough appearances of a major character. Plus, I had some major editing to do with chapters that I felt didn't flow that well to fit in with the rest of the plot points. I've also had to do some character study -- that is to say, I had to imagine the world through the other characters' perspectives in order to understand their motivations behind their actions. They seemed kind of... hollow until I focused on them somewhat more, creating their backstories (even if I wasn't really going to use most of it). And so, with all of this bouncing back and forth, and some Facebooking in between (Sorority Life is ridiculous, but so addictive!), I tried my best. I even stopped searching for good music for a while because that tends to greatly distract me from ever getting anywhere.

Though I did find some more interesting songs -- some of them recommended by a couple of friends and others discovered on Purevolume or on one of the online AOL indie rock stations -- I eventually decided that I'd probably be better off writing in silence for a bit.

So far?

The silence (save for the whirring of the electric fan amid the summer heat) helped me regain focus a little. I was able to write a few more pages. Granted, there's always editing to do, but at least for the time being, I got somewhere. I also figured out how to add more scenes in between to make the plot richer with more conflict and more ways to torture my protagonist (not that I hate her or anything... but whining is a big thing with her, so if you plan to read any excerpts I decide to put up in the future, be forewarned, hehe).

In any case, I'm off to write again. And then explore the new literature blogs I found after I run out of steam, like this one that gives book reviews (sorry, they talk about vampires again -- but they talk about other things in their posts, too! I swear!): Litbites.

Until next time, friends!