'James' by Percival Everett

I'd been seeing and hearing about this new release everywhere. Having loved the classic on which it is based, I tracked down a library copy. Here is my review of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from which it is drawn. 

MY THOUGHTS:

This is the 2025 Pulitzer Prize winner which claims to present Mark Twain's classic in a new and transformative light. I initially heard that Percival Everett's aim was to write a similarly revealing novel as Wide Sargasso Sea, Jean Rhys' big hit featuring Charlotte Bronte's Bertha Rochester. Both authors set out to enter the head spaces and predicaments of characters who tend to get marginalized in various ways.  

Indeed, Jim gets a total character makeover. Forget your concept of Huck's good-natured but gullible travel companion who's brimming over with superstition. That's all just a ruse to fool the white folk. It's what Jim (or rather James) would have people believe. In reality, he's a brilliant scholar who has dipped into Judge Thatcher's library books and enjoys pondering the teachings of great philosophers such as Locke, Voltaire and Kierkegaard. He passes all his comments through his 'slave filter' before ever speaking a word, but occasionally makes lapses which sound too much like an educated man. He also has a cutting, acerbic wit which he keeps to himself, along with a deep secret.

Percival Everett would have us believe that his version of Jim is, in fact, the real one. Jim has merely played Huck a similar bluff to that which Huck himself uses on different characters throughout Twain's original story. Therefore along with Huckleberry Finn, Jim's dupes, by extension, include us readers of the original classic.   

I was willing to go along with this premise. It sounded sort of fun and as I first dipped my toe in, I seemed to be getting a retelling of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, except from Jim's perspective. So far so good. I accepted that Jim emphasizes other aspects of their travel tale, and remembers details slightly differently from Huck. Well, sure, that can happen. 

The first line of the book is great. 'Those little bastards were hiding out there in the tall grass.' Jim is well aware of Tom and Huck's mischievous shenanigans, even though they think he isn't. 

But then about a third of the way in, things changed. I ended up thoroughly disliking this book for three main reasons. The third will be under the red line of a major plot spoiler which you can skip if you wish. It presses my buttons enough that I can't go without mentioning it, but bear with me and I'll warn you in plenty of time. 

Okay, here goes.

1) Mark Twain's tale is far more evocative and lyrical than this. Through Huck's musing, he makes us feel as if we're floating on the Mississippi ourselves. Everett's retelling is faster paced and purely agenda driven. We don't get to dawdle and take in the scenery. Jim's voice is that of an angry, bitter, driven man. Of course we cannot blame him for this at all. But I really miss young Huckleberry's leisurely voice describing how lovely it is to live on a raft. Sure, Jim uses sarcasm and intellect with a smarting sting, but Huck's joyful engagement with his surroundings and whimsical asides are sadly lacking. 

2) That brings me straight to my next point. Jim's story deviates markedly from Huck's at times. We get more insight into what happens to him while Huck is off living under the Grangerford or Wilkes rooves, for example. And everything Jim records is sickening and extremely graphic. Everett makes his version worse than Twain's on many occasions for no other reason than effect. For example, in Twain's original the 'King' and the 'Duke' don't ever lash Jim's legs until they're raw! Everett is changing canon when it suits him to sicken and disturb us, and it surely succeeds. 

And that leads to my biggest bugbear of the whole book!

Okay, skip the following paragraph if you want to avoid major spoilers!!!

3) Jim suddenly drops Darth Vadar's line. 'Huck, I am your father!' (Nooooo!) It's Star Wars on the Mississippi. This totally undermines the stirring relationship between Huck and Jim which Twain achieves. It gives Jim a walloping great ulterior motive in looking out for Huck from the very outset, instead of having their devotion to each other unfurl with the unfolding plot. I can't believe Everett would attempt to pull this off, changing the delicate dynamics of canon with something so unlikely and farfetched. The true beauty of Twain's original is achieved greatly because Jim and Huck, two individuals who are essentially nothing to each other, form their irrevocable bond of kindred spirithood through fleeting circumstance. I'm sorta gobsmacked that such a heavy-handed manipulation of a classic has won the Pulitzer prize. 

Plot spoiler rant over (puffing and panting)

My bottom line is that not only did I not appreciate this book, but I don't even think Mark Twain's Jim needed this sort of reimagining, since he was one of the most loving, gentlemanly, and caring characters in the whole book, not to mention wise in his own instinctive way. Once again, a major prizewinning novel has left me disgruntled. It wouldn't surprise me if Mark Twain was writhing in his grave. 

If there is one good thing about this book, it has reinforced my love and admiration of Mark's Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Young Huck's headspace is simply a far more engaging place to find ourselves than Everett's brilliant James'.

🌟🌟         

'Mrs McGinty's Dead' by Agatha Christie

MY THOUGHTS:

 It seemed to be an open-and-shut case. Mrs McGinty was an ordinary cleaning lady who got murdered in her own home, apparently for her ￡30 savings. She was smashed brutally on the back of the head with a sharp object, and since there were no signs of breaking and entering, her young boarder, James Bentley, was arrested. What's more, his coat sleeve had an incriminating bloodstain and hair strand. Bentley now awaits execution with a defeatist attitude and his tail between his legs.

It's at this point when Superintendent Spence visits Hercule Poirot. Spence has a strong, niggling intuition that Bentley is innocent. It's reason enough for Poirot to head straight to the tiny town of Broadhinny, for if a man has not committed murder, he should not be hanged.

Leads there are thicker and more tangled than Poirot expects. Mrs McGinty had cut out an incriminating news clipping regarding some disappeared persons from decades ago. The big question is whether or not she'd identified any hidden faces among her cleaning clients and intended to come clean. More townsfolk seem to behave suspiciously than not, but is it all to do with the same crime? And is everyone who they claim to be?

Meanwhile, celebrated mystery novelist, Ariadne Oliver, has a major headache as she tries to collaborate with a young playwright named Robin Upward, who is adapting one of her stories for the stage. Upward tramples roughshod over everything, destroying all Mrs Oliver's personal headcanon with every step, even as he insists, 'I want you to be happy, darling.' 

She appeals to Poirot, 'How would you like to see a big black moustache stuck onto Superintendent Battle and be told it was you?' The rub is, I find she's not exaggerating. So many film and TV adaptations of books I've come across have been precisely this gung-ho and insensitive. Ouch! 

In another comic thread, Poirot suffers the martyrdom of scruffy hospitality, including dreadful cooking and slapdash sanitation, yet he has to suck it up because this guesthouse is the best Broadhinny has to offer. 

This story made me smile. The crime's solution is satisfactorily dramatic, and then rather than hightailing it straight back to London, Poirot announces his intention to stick around for long enough to dabble in a bit of matchmaking between a couple of innocent characters.

Bravo!

🌟🌟🌟

Long Term Effects of Being Bullied (by a Survivor)

I feel it's time I had my say about the issue of bullying. I'd never planned to write this post about a long season of my life I preferred to forget. But since my husband became a relief teacher, the worst parts of the school lifestyle have been popping into my head. 

Since bullying is still an ongoing scourge on society, I thought I'd share some hard-won insights from years of being on the receiving end. (That's me in the photo above, during a time when all this was ongoing. There wasn't ever a time when it wasn't.)

Throughout the Primary and High School years, you name it, I experienced it. Pinches, punches, shoves, kicks, and name-calling along the lines of ugly freak and pathetic loser. Also loads of sexual harassment which I thought I simply had no recourse but to put up with. The term was virtually unknown in the 1970s and 80s. 

Once a kid who was rebuked for bullying me replied to the teacher, 'It's not fair to single me out, because everyone picks on Paula.'

Here are some points that may sadly resonate with you too. It's decades ago for me now, but these things still rear their ugly heads. 

I suppose I should add a disclaimer stating that I'm not a professional counselor. Just an empathetic soul who has seen it all. Now for the list.

We deal with serious PTSD

 Just because chronic stress is invisible doesn't mean it's innocuous. The Bullied Brain by Jennifer Fraser, reveals that sending me back to school every day would've caused severe cortisol overload. That's the stress hormone. It was an eye-opener when I read that neurological brain scans of kids who have been persistently bullied by their peers resemble the brains of combat soldiers. So the burden of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder dogged my footsteps long after I thought I'd moved on. The horror of those school years helped mold and shape my anxious personality, just as wind and waves form the topography of the cliffs in any given region. 

In her book, The Cure Jo Marchant provides evidence that long-term psychological responses to ongoing stress can certainly harm us, and the emotion of fear takes a severe toll on people. Other authors, such as Joe Dispenza and Henry Wright, confirm how repeated treatment of us gets absorbed into our brain chemistries and outworked in our personalities. It reminds me of the way in which blue dye steadily becomes evident in hydrangea petals.  

We are ever on high alert.

We remain on the lookout for further attacks, hypervigilant and edgy. I liken myself to a crab scuttling for cover when a sheltering rock is lifted. I've never shed the habit of peeping out at my periphery, finding it difficult to relax, especially in social situations. If we were shy people to start with (which I was), the character trait blows out even more.  

Marchant quotes evidence that people with stressful childhood histories continue to react far quicker to stress stimuli than others, and small hassles escalate more rapidly to full-blown anxiety. This brain activity is measurable, which helps explain why the effects of early adversity may persist long after others think we should have gotten over it. 

This also explains why we feel a certain paranoia at times, and find ourselves second guessing deeper meanings behind personal remarks directed at us by others.

I haven't been to a chiropractor for years, but they always used to tell me my shoulders were wired extremely tight and tense. Probably no wonder.

We approach everyone with the sense that we must earn decent treatment. 

All the pep talks we may have endured during our childhoods have a way of eroding our confidence. Our well-intentioned relatives and friends may have urged us to be braver, behave with nonchalance, just ignore the bullies (yeah, right, as if they don't follow us), or try smiling and giving compliments. Or we might be counselled to 'learn to take a joke!' (Sure, having your fingers stomped on, your belongings stolen, the back of your head repeatedly slapped, or being called a repulsive misfit is really funny.)  

And our families never hear the note of delight in a bully's voice when they come up with a particularly venomous insult.

I used to try taking advice on board. It's easy for harassed kids to respond by becoming people pleasers or try-hards, hoping to create patches of relief for ourselves. Performative behavior goes against the grain though, and then we feel there's yet another character defect to beat ourselves up over. I kept waiting for the day when my antagonists might perceive some admirable quality in me and stop their behaviour. That day never came. 

In all honesty, I felt that I tried everything. I had nothing left in my arsenel. No idea what to do. And I internalized the responsibility, because I believed the fallacy that stopping bullies required deterrent action from me.

 We can't dodge the insidious message that there is always something we need to do differently just to be left alone. So you see why this isn't a blog post about how to get bullies to change their minds. I had no secret weapon, like Rudolph's glowing red nose, to turn the tide of unpopularity. Our culture promotes fictional stories about how characters transform themselves from sorry nerds to something impressive, but I never figured it out. Cinderella had to become a fairy tale princess to get her spiteful step sisters off her back.

We live with the default assumption that others won't like us.

When we've been treated harshly for being ourselves from our very earliest memories, our automatic recourse is to figure out what sort of mask we should wear. And of course pat advice such as, 'Just be yourself,' rolls off us like water off a duck's back. I can't count the number of times when my classmates suddenly burst into peals of laughter just because I said something unintentionally hilarious, pronounced something oddly, or showed my feelings too plainly. This is coupled with a sad sense of futility. We stop hoping that people will like us on face value because we know they'll soon discover the fashionable attitude towards us. 

Carrying this hangover into our lives beyond the school years can be extremely challenging. In my adult years I've written fiction, and trying to market my own books has sometimes felt like being handicapped with sandbags around my ankles.

We learn to instinctively mistrust signs of friendliness from others. 

This wariness is understandable, taking into account all that we've dealt with, including fake syrupy sweetness from people who eventually tell us that they hate us intensely. Second guessing others as well as ourselves becomes instinctual. 

It is hard to shrug off our mantle of shame.

We start out with the assumption that we must be flawed.

Our brains at the age of 5 or 6 are extremely plastic and malleable. When we're continually told that we're ugly and pathetic, we stand defenceless. At that age, we don't have the emotional kit-bag of coping hacks to help us deal with bullies. 

Years later, we still freeze when put on the spot. We face normal social situations as if we're about to sit an exam. We are accustomed to walking hunched with shame from a very early age. As small children, it seems perfectly logical that if we're being pushed around and called names, then there is evidently something fundamentally wrong with us. 

Once during my early years of university, I crossed paths with a former High School bully at a Christian youth camp, and my knee-jerk reaction was to pull back with shame, hoping she wouldn't see me. And I was about 19 or 20 years old at the time. 

So where do we go from here?

I believe the key is to accept that we've been broken. We resemble rag dolls who show up in our new, recycled lives having been knocked around, had our stuffing pummeled out of us, our clothes torn, and permanent marker scribbled over our faces. There might still be traces of shoe prints on our stomachs or ripped woolen hair hanging from our heads. I'm not advocating self-pity, but this perspective helps me forgive myself for being awkward at parties, shy during occasions when we've all been urged to step up, and tongue-tied when others in groups are freely sharing. 

It is counterproductive to be rough on ourselves if we come from a background of being broken. I sometimes find it easy to fall back into my old mental habit of kicking myself, and assuming my anxious, edgy behavior is the reason I was targeted in the first place. But no, that's circular reasoning. I've found it's more helpful to treat myself with a gentler approach.

Whenever I come across advice to send my former, confused self a hug back through time, I find myself growing emotional, and sometimes even a bit teary. 

That brings me to something I can't stress too highly. We never, ever deserved the way we were treated!!! It doesn't matter if our clothes were unstylish, or if we needed speech therapy, or liked goofy music, or couldn't hit cricket balls, or wanted to keep our heads tucked behind books in libraries. (All that applied to me. Your characteristics might be different.) Nor does it matter what we looked like. I was picked on mercilessly for physical attributes I certainly couldn't have changed. It is never okay to be harassed, assaulted and sneered at day after day.  

Hear me, we did nothing wrong! 

Forgiveness for our own sakes  is a powerful concept and not merely a platitude. Making the choice to forgive our bullies removes emotional toxins from our systems, even if we have to do it many times over. I've found it's not realistic to consider forgiveness a one-time action. Those acidic memories may return, and we have to do it over again. But each time becomes easier. 

Finally, we need to think of ourselves as survivors. We wear our wounds internally and unobtrusively, but the courage we've mustered is real. The fact that we've come out the other side with the ability to still be loving, trustful, moved by beauty and amused by humor makes us overcomers. 

If that describes you, you're a champion, as am I. Although we don't receive medals, we sure deserve them.

This was one of the hardest blog posts I've written, but I wanted to help bust the myth that being bullied is something we may go through for a period of time and then simply get over. I do hope it may help others realize they are not alone. Please feel free share it with any suffering souls you may happen to know, however long ago their trauma may have been. 

And next week I'll return to my usual blog content. 

    

'Dracula' by Bram Stoker

Here we are in the Halloween week of the year. I enjoy adding suitably dark or spooky reads to the blog right about now, and having deferred Bram Stoker's vampiric masterpiece for years, I've knocked it off at last. 

MY THOUGHTS:

This classic was first published in 1897, the late Victorian era when 'Invasion Literature' about monstrous beings converging on the British Empire had gained a fair bit of traction. Perhaps the Brits grappled with dread that the nations they'd colonized and subjugated might rise up in protest. Maybe it was a dose of conscience seeping out through the pages of the time period's fiction. 

The story begins with a young solicitor named Jonathan Harker, on his way to a castle in Transylvania. He intends to act as estate agent to Count Dracula, a new client who wishes to purchase a London property. Jonathan's first impressions of his scrupulously polite host are a bit icky; pointy teeth, hairy palms, and rancid breath. But since the guy can't help that, Jonathan brushes off his misgivings until the creepy vibes amp up one hundred fold. 

As well as banning mirrors from his castle, the count leaves no reflection in Jonathan's shaving mirror (gulp). He shuns daylight, slips lizard-like down the wall on gruesome moonlit errands, spends daylight hours concealed in a secret place, and it turns out he's keeping Jonathan prisoner (argh!) The young hero escapes in the nick of time, but not soon enough to prevent unleashing Count Dracula on the world. Jonathan's fiance, Mina, finds him a wreck of his former self, suffering from short term amnesia. But Jonathan has kept a journal of all that happened, so horrific memories soon come rushing back to him. 

Mina's great friend, Lucy, (surely one of the most doomed female characters in Vic Lit), becomes the count's first English victim. Perhaps Dracula has chosen the wrong person to follow his footsteps into the realm of the Un-Dead, for those who love Lucy are determined to stalk the Count and finish him off for good.

 It's an all-star cast, fully aware that separately, their strength is far punier than that of the hideous vampire who's been wreaking havoc for centuries. But together, with the aid of their garlic plants and holy relics, they're a force to be reckoned with. Plus, they each have what could be regarded as a 'super power' of their own.

There is Dr John Seward, a handsome young director of a lunatic asylum, who understands the deviant mind to a certain extent, and his charismatic Dutch mentor, Professor Abraham Van Helsing, expert in philosophy and metaphysics. Also on hand is Lucy's devastated fiance, Arthur, whose 'strength' is his family background. Strategically dropping Arthur's aristocratic name often opens doors, and not merely coffin lids. Then there's his American friend, Quincey Morris, who is big and brave, because he's a Texan. 

Naturally the young Harker couple is eager to step up too. But a potential fly in everyone's ointment is Mr Renfield, one of Seward's most challenging mental patients. You'll get the irony of my statement when you meet him. From now on, I'll never hear the kids' rhyme about the old woman who swallowed a fly without thinking of this guy. 

Mina Harker is a stand-out character for me, with her warm heart and super secretarial skills. Driven by her desire to help and armed with her trusty typewriter and shorthand pad, this girl is a legend. But she has to contend with a well-intentioned but sexist plan to shield her from danger when the crunch comes. Concensus rules that Van Helsing will be aided solely by his boy brigade (Jonathan, John, Arthur, and Quincey.) Yet we readers wait for whatever underhanded shot the count will take at Mina while their backs are turned.  

(Being a Victorian novel, of course it's riddled with sexism all the way through. Near the very start, when Jonathan takes a fancy to a Chicken Paprika dish he tries in Budapest, his default reaction isn't, 'I'll try making that myself.' Rather, he adds a 'note to self' style observation that he must remember to tell Mina so she can track down a recipe and make it for him.) 

I'm not really sure why I'm giving this doorstop four stars, since horror is not my favorite genre. It may be partly the scenic tour we get through the pages, which reminds me of a Ticket to Ride game spread out on its board. The great teamwork also gets my thumbs up, although you can probably smell everyone coming, with all that garlic they're forced to carry around. Jonathan and Mina's devotion to each other is lovely, and so is the paternal way Van Helsing treats all his proteges. ('And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I forgiven?')  

The unintentional Victorian comedy tickles my fancy too. There is something very droll about the idea of the Count flitting around doing castle drudgery behind Jonathan's back, to create the illusion that he operates a castle full of staff. Count Dracula gets caught making Jonathan's bed, so I guess he must've mastered the knack of perfectly tucked-in sheets, not a bad effort for someone who sleeps in a lined coffin. 

I'll finish off with the sweeping praise of Mina from Professor Van Helsing, one of her biggest fans. 'She is one of God's women, fashioned by his own hand to show us men and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its light can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an egoist - and that, let me tell you, is much in this age so skeptical and selfish.' 

Wow, compliments have lost so much finesse since the Victorian era, and perhaps that's why I enjoy reading these classics. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟

  

'Sara Dane' by Catherine Gaskin

I wanted a good convict yarn for my 2025 Aussie Reading Challenge. The vague memory of a TV miniseries popped up from the dim recesses of my memory. Those series were all the rage back in the eighties. A google search revealed that sure enough, it aired in 1982, when I was still at Primary School. Next I came across this retro novel which it was based on. It's an original edition from 1954 which was reasonably priced, so I took a chance and bought it. The dust jacket fell apart in my hand while I read the story, probably a sign of many readers before me. I found out the author, Catherine Gaskin, was just 25 years old she wrote it, which impresses me for her depth of research and authenticity in a time long before the internet.

Remembering almost nothing from the TV series (my parents probably sent me off to bed) I hoped this historical epic might tick my boxes. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

Sara Dane, a young woman from Kent, is convicted of theft based on flimsy circumstantial evidence. Sentenced to seven years of hard labor, she's on her way to Botany Bay aboard the Georgette. A sudden opportunity to work for the migrating Ryder family brings her out from the squalid hold full of feral female prisoners. Sara quickly captures the heart of a young sailor named Andrew Maclay, a restless dreamer with the instincts of an entrepreneur. Andrew sees vast potential in the harsh new land and vows to quit the nautical life and make Sara his wife. 

The pair of them are soul mates with a prosperous touch, but at a high social cost. Sara fits in nowhere. Snobbish free citizens suspect her of angling for Andrew, while in reality she urged him to consider carefully before marrying a convict. And although they're building their fortune, it's still a penal colony. Servants are invariably former-convicts, who regard Sara with envy and resentment. The possible threat of sudden revolts from discontented staff members simmers away everywhere, not just on Andrew and Sara's property.

Then surprising news arrives. You might expect the opposite side of the world would be far enough away for somebody's past not to catch up with her, especially in the early 1800s. This is not the case for Sara. Her childhood crush, Richard Barwell, arrives in Sydney Town, along with his wife. Richard was always a bit of an unwise brat, and if he still possesses this quality things could turn pear-shaped for Sara in any number of ways. 

An elegant dilletante named Louis deBourget, who survived the French Revolution, also shows up. And overlooking it all is political convict Jeremy Hogan, Andrew Maclay's faithful right-hand man. He burns with love for Sara but is far too loyal not to keep a lid on it. And without Jeremy's input, things might often turn bottom up very fast. 

This is our very own Regency Era colonial novel. It's Jane Austen's own time period, but set in Sydney. Sara is comparable with strong and determined classics heroines such as Becky Sharp and Scarlett O'Hara, who understand that they'll have to look out for themselves rather than wait for anyone else to do it. But she's a far kinder and more loving mother than either of those two. Indeed, concern for her childrens' welfare guides her to make questionable decisions. Since she's willing to think of long term consequences and sacrifice her personal happiness for her sons' sakes, I prefer Sara hands down over those others, even though her reasoning sometimes makes me groan. 

The Australian setting is well-utilized. Occasional paragraphs like this are delightful.

'As she rode along, she noticed the curved, prominent heads of a dozen or more kookaburras perched on a high bough of a ragged gum on her left. They remained motionless until she drew level; then their heads went back, beaks opened, and the bush for a mile around was abruptly regaled with their mad, wild laughter. Not in all the years that she'd been familiar with this sound had Sara been able to accept it as natural, nor had she schooled herself not to laugh with them. Her mouth curved delightedly; she threw her head back as they did and laughed inelegantly and without restraint. The noise they made followed her down the road, infectious, mocking; as strange and different as the country that had bred it.' 

Overall, a good Aussie novel by a talented storyteller. When you think about it, Sara is in love with four men, sometimes simultaneously, yet somehow we're willing to nod along with it. She is definitely the sort of heroine who is adored by men and tolerated by women. If there'd been a sequel featuring the following generation, I'd grown invested enough in David, Duncan, Elizabeth, and Henriette to read it. However, given Gaskin's way of suddenly killing off good characters, perhaps it's a good thing there wasn't. My poor nerves couldn't take anymore. 

🌟🌟🌟½

Delving Deeper into Wuthering Heights (The Second Generation)

Here we are again. Check out my first post here. At the end of Part One, Heathcliff is devastated that his idol and focus of his deepest desire has died (although she'd arguably still be alive if he hadn't returned from his mysterious self-exile). Now he'll have to pour his passion into his secondary reason for living, which is demolishing the two houses of his lifelong antagonists and making himself master of their properties. 

The plot surely thickens for the second generation. 

1) Nelly's bias strikes again - with the younger Catherine.

She's the same prejudiced caregiver she was with the older Catherine, but in the opposite way this time. Nelly calls Cathy, 'the most winsome thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house,' yet describes the actions of a spoilt brat.

As a young teenager, Cathy Linton is horribly headstrong and entitled. She throws her father's name around with the obnoxiousness of a female Draco Malfoy (and has the same blond hair), expects people to kowtow to her, and treats Nelly's instructions as challenges to disobey. I think part of the blame for her imperious attitude must lie at Edgar's door, since he's brought her up in solitude. 

Never mind, the twists and turns of the plot tend to wean this trait out of her, and Cathy's saving grace is that she is an empathetic person. I think by the end she's humbled herself and is a far worthier recipient of the HEA that's in store for her. I'm glad Hareton takes a while to trust her change of heart toward him. She deserves to work hard for his affection, after the inexcusable way she always treated him. 

2) Heathcliff's relationship with the two boys is creepily calculating.

He is far more partial to his enemy's son than he is to his own. 'Twenty times a day I covet Hareton, for all his degradation,' he tells Nelly. It's an unexpected complication for Heathcliff. He now faces a choice between sticking to his great ambition to destroy the progeny of his mortal foe, or indulging his natural inclination to treat Hareton like the son he wishes he truly was.

The second option might actually prove to be the path of least resistance, but Heathcliff sets his teeth and chooses to follow through with Plan A. But he does so in such a devious way that Hareton grows up unaware that he's been duped and degraded by his surrogate father. Heathcliff loathed Hindley so intensely, yet he chooses to become Hindley in his plans for Hareton. 

('Now my bonny lad, you are mine, and we'll see if one tree will grow as crooked as another with the same wind to twist it.')

But Hareton never becomes as twisted as Heathcliff. He's clearly no fool. He surely must latch on to rumors of the truth and put two and two together. His name has been carved above the front door for a few centuries, after all. Indeed, Cathy, the girl he loves, is anxious to enlighten him, but he stops her mid-sentence, because it makes no difference to him.

 Hareton's blinkered attitude used to strike me as stubborn passivity. I used to wish he'd stand up to Heathcliff more on behalf of others, if not himself. Yet now I see Emily Bronte wouldn't write it that way, because that's really not what Hareton is all about. In a way, his stance makes him the greater, nobler man. Having lived all his life as the victim of Hindley's and Heathcliff's power struggles, Hareton simply decides that the revenge motif stops with him. Kudos to him for that. 

How about Linton, that querulous teenage invalid who his father detests, but chooses to put up with just for the triumph of seeing his own flesh and blood lord and master over the estates of his enemies. Yet when he finishes using the poor kid as a decoy to acquire both properties, Heathcliff is callously through with him. Won't even call Kenneth for a spot of palliative care when he knows Linton is dying. 

The thing I find hardest to believe is that Linton Heathcliff inherits none of his father's swarthy features whatsoever, but remains the palest of pale Lintons, even more flaxen-haired than his uncle and cousin. Surely Heathcliff's genetics would be stronger than that. Still I can see why Emily Bronte planned it this way, for the sake of her art, and since it is plausible, I'm willing to consider him a throwback.  

Fascinating family dynamics, hey? That gloating speech that Heathcliff spouts about the pair of young men is superb. 'One is gold put to the use of paving stones and the other is tin used to ape a service of silver.' 

And Cathy Linton gets romantically involved with both boys, at different times! Cousins falling in love was all the rage in the Victorian era. 

3) Joseph plays such a cool 'character' role.

Almost every reviewer I've read complains about his thick dialect to the point that their objections get a bit old, but I consider this elderly servant as a code to crack. When we study each line of his dialogue closely enough, it's possible to figure out his meaning ninety percent of the time. I admit on a couple of occasions I remained completely baffled, but I enjoy having to work a bit for our reading entertainment. 

I'm clearly in the minority here, and people who claim that Joseph's rambling dialect slows down the story make a fair point. But if we truly want to immerse ourselves in the country Yorkshire moors of the earliest nineteenth century, then Joseph is what we get. I'm willing to pause every so often, and sacrifice flow for authenticity. 

I'd urge anyone not to skim over Joseph's speeches, because they're well worth the effort it takes to figure them out. He's such a dour and parsimonious old crank. Nelly Dean calls him, 'the wearisomest, self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses on his neighbors.' As such, his vitriol deserves to be fully understood for a bit of morbid comic relief. 

4) Could Heathcliff and Nelly be considered friends?

I think they have a bond that probably stemmed from when they were young and she nursed him through measles. Nelly is Heathcliff's sounding board for some of the introspective turmoil that he just can't keep bottled up inside. And it's a good thing she is, or we'd have no story. Heathcliff, knowing how much she already knows, seems to consider Nelly a trustworthy confidante who'll keep his rambling to herself. (Not quite true, to say the least.)

She tells Lockwood (among many other things), 'He might have had a monomania on the subject of his departed idol: but on every other point his wits were as sound as mine.' 

Hmm, if you say so, Nelly. How about Heathcliff's pathological hobby of shaping the younger generation into replicas of his past history, with Hareton unwittingly playing his own role, Cathy standing in for her mother, and Linton representing his delicate uncle Edgar. It's a posthumous kick in the guts for Hindley, and also a brilliantly diabolical way of wreaking vengeance on Edgar, for marrying Catherine. Nelly would have to realize it's freaking bizarre, if she thinks about it.

But yes, they are sort of friends. Heathcliff's destructive shenanigans horrify her, yet Nelly can still bring herself to tell him, 'You'd better eat something.'    

Which brings us to the next question. 

5) What is the physical cause of Heathcliff's death? 

It can't have been starvation. A sturdy guy in his late thirties can easily fast from food for longer than four days or so without kicking up his heels. Perhaps thirst had something to do with it, because humans can only survive for three to five days without water, and Heathcliff refused to drink during that cryptic last week of his life. Incredible to think that even someone as manic and focused as Heathcliff wouldn't take a sip of water when they're dying of thirst. 

6) So who inherits the two properties? 

The young couple do, of course, although their inheritance is undoubtedly more convoluted than it seems on the surface. Heathcliff grumbles that while he still has the mental capacity to think of such things, he needs to fetch his attorney, Mr Green. Then he puts it off for another day, which turns out to be crucial. I'm guessing Heathcliff's intention would've surely been to keep Hareton and Cathy out of his will. 

The fact that Heathcliff's plan wasn't carried through doesn't mean that Hareton and Cathy automatically inherit the properties they were cheated out of. Surely in the absence of any stated heirs, Heathcliff's two properties would revert to the crown! I found a few excellent articles and book chapters on this very thing by far more legal savvy people than I am, which describe how affairs must be sorted for Nelly's 'two children.' That goes beyond the scope of this blog post but it's a fascinating topic, so here is a link I found. 

I'll just leave you with the striking, Gothic image of Joseph, kneeling beside Heathcliff's corpse, offering up a prayer of thanksgiving that the 'auld family' now have their rights restored to them. Joseph is jumping the gun a bit, but his confidence turns out to be rewarded.  

Whew, what a ride! I was delighted to find that rather than simply living up to my wonderful first impression, this re-read of Wuthering Heights has brought to my attention even more nuances. The story reinforces my original opinion. It's safe to say that Wuthering Heights is still one of my very favorite books. Now, if only Emily Bronte had survived for long enough to finish that second novel she was working on. 

As always, Wuthering Heights lingers strong in my imagination. If you'd like to read a short story I wrote to follow the end of Wuthering Heights under my fanfic pseudonym, click here.

Delving Deeper into Wuthering Heights (The First Generation)

It's 'Victober' the time of year many of us find ourselves in the mood for something nineteenth century and Gothic. I counted this among my favorite novels when I was a teenager. In the intervening years, other friends, relatives and acquaintances have claimed to detest this classic story as much as I loved it.

It's been a couple of decades, so I decided now is the perfect time to refresh myself in the guise of an impartial reader. My biggest question was whether or not it would stand up to my positive first impression. 

I'll split my fresh observations into two posts, covering each of the two generations of Wuthering Heights goings-on.

Look out for spoilers. This is a discussion rather than a review. 

Okay, here goes for Part One.

1) Lockwood is self-delusional and cannot read any signs whatsoever

Our first narrator likes to kid himself that he's an interesting, solitary sort of chap, which is why he makes an impulsive decision to rent a property such as Thrushcross Grange, in the middle of an inhospitable bog. (Sounds pretty appealing to me too.) Yet all his attitudes and actions proclaim that he is the exact opposite type of person. Any genuine solitary guy wouldn't go calling on his landlord two days running, especially when the second day is brewing up a doozy of a blizzard. 

I used to think the Wuthering Heights family were all uniformly unfriendly, yet now I perceive that Lockwood is super annoying for placing them in a position to have to either guide him home or shelter him for the night. They owe nothing to this pesky stranger with his banal small talk who lobs there uninvited. Even after just one visit from Lockwood, Heathcliff puts out vibes that he's not interested in having him come again, yet Lockwood ignores this and returns the very next day. What sort of clueless duffer does this sort of gatecrashing? 

Way down the track, when Lockwood is about to return to the city, Heathcliff offers lunch and tells him, 'A guest that is safe from repeating his visit can generally be made welcome.' 

2) Was Mr Earnshaw's long walk to Liverpool remotely suspicious?

Liverpool is sixty miles away, and it's not a market town, so why would a Yorkshire farmer have any sort of business there at all during August, which is harvest time at home? And why walk, since he keeps a stable full of horses? Is it really as straightforward as it seems, that Mr Earnshaw simply chances upon an abandoned orphan boy while he roams the city streets? 

I know some readers suggest that Heathcliff was actually Earnshaw's illegitimate child, given birth to by some anonymous gipsy mother. Was Earnshaw surreptitiously going to fetch him? That might be reading far too much into it, but this scandalous interpretation adds an extra lurid layer of incest to Catherine and Heathcliff's intense relationship. It's one of these questions we'll never know the answer to, but the speculation is fun. One thing is clear, Emily Bronte certainly provides no satisfactory reason for this middle-aged family patriarch to take off on foot to a faraway seaport. Does she want us to poke around in Heathcliff's possible origins? 

Personally, I find the face value idea that Heathcliff is a destructive cuckoo from nowhere is far more compelling. 'You must e'en take it as a gift from God, though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil,' says the boy's new protector. 

3) The 'new and improved' Heathcliff has sold his soul to the devil.

Whatever he did during those mysterious three years when he went away, brooding over his wrongs at the hands of others was evidently a driving force. I love Heathcliff during his boyhood and adolescence, when he bears Hindley's injustice with such stoicism, and asks Nelly to make him look decent, if she possibly can. But his secret makeover into an impactful person comes at the cost of his soul. 

This dangerous young man, who is no older than nineteen or twenty when he returns, means dark business. He's decided that his life's calling, however long it might take, is revenge. Nelly says concerning Hindley and Heathcliff, 'I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there (at Wuthering Heights) to take its own wicked wanderings and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold.' 

Spare a thought for poor Isabella. She learns the hard way that just because a guy is sexy and hot, doesn't mean you can reform him and soften his heart. Heathcliff is no rough diamond (like Hareton). While the second Cathy eventually hits the jackpot, her aunt draws the short straw. 

4) Catherine uses tantrums and illness as weapons.

'Say to Edgar, if you see him tonight, that I'm in danger of being seriously ill.' She adds, 'I'll try to break their hearts by breaking my own.' Even though her freak-outs genuinely lead to physical sickness, they are nonetheless strategically planned, and used as means of gaining control of situations when she feels herself floundering. Bashing her head against the chair, tearing pillow fabric with her teeth, racing out in the pouring rain, it's all part of Catherine's arsenal to call the shots. 

Or maybe she just wants out. Being all things to all people has taken its toll. Social and mercenary thoughts of her future convince her that being the Lintons' household angel will be most to her advantage. Yet denying her real yearning, to run around wild and unfettered on the moors with Heathcliff takes emotional energy, especially when he too accuses her of selling out on her real desires. 

Perhaps throwing calculated hissy fits and falling sick is her unconscious desire for everyone to leave her alone. Incidentally, I think she really does value Edgar for his own sake. If Heathcliff hadn't shown up again, I think Catherine could've been content enough with her husband. He catered to her every whim, so why not? 

5) Nelly treats Catherine with passive aggression.

My word, this went under my radar as a teenage reader. Our main narrator admits that she never liked her young mistress after her infancy was past, and she's refined her own subtle way of letting it show. Nelly's weapon is staying calm and unruffled whenever Catherine tries her paddies on her. She coolly calls Catherine out for pinching her, tells tales on her, ignores Catherine's direct orders, and only obeys her when she feels like it. 

My youngest son used Nelly-like tactics on his sister. He'd say, 'Take a chill pill,' in an aggravating manner guaranteed to set her off even more. I can't help thinking Nelly's intention is similarly to press Catherine's buttons, whether she admits it to herself or not. (For example, when Nelly reports that Edgar is calmly reading his books, her aim seems to be to rub Catherine's face in it.) How frustrating for a volatile diva like poor Catherine, when the person who's supposed to be her loyal employee treats her with very thinly veiled scorn. 

When Edgar says, 'You knew your mistress's nature and you encouraged me to harass her,' he's not completely wrong. Nelly presents herself as a peacemaker, but I think at heart she's a stirrer. 

6) Does Heathcliff murder Hindley?  

I believe Emily Bronte intends to set our suspicion antennae twitching. Even though Heathcliff insinuates that Hindley basically committed suicide by drinking himself to death in one sitting, Joseph's aside to Nelly is telling. He mutters, 'Ah'd rayther he'd gone hisseln fur t' doctor! Ah sud uh taen tent u' t' maister better nur him - un he warn't deead when Aw left, nowt uh t' soart.' (Translation: I'd rather he'd gone himself for the doctor. I should've taken care of the master better than him - and he weren't dead when I left, none of the sort.)

 It's easy to imagine that Heathcliff snatched the opportunity to suffocate his foster brother with a pillow, or something equally sneaky and underhanded.

(John Sutherland, in his essay entitled, 'Is Heathcliff a Murderer' suggests that a 27-year-old man with Hindley's robust Earnshaw constitution would be hard pressed to drink himself to death within a few hours.) Surely Heathcliff's accusation of suicide is off the mark anyway. I highly doubt that Hindley would choose that stage of his life to shuffle off his mortal coil, when he's so anxious to win back his property for Hareton's sake. Can you imagine him opting out of the mess, knowing full well that his son will be a beggar in the hands of his enemy? 

But that's not to say he didn't top himself accidentally, by being his normal pathetic, pickled self. Once again, it's impossible to tell for sure. For a person with Hindley's habits, death by accumulated alcohol poisoning doesn't sound unreasonable. Perhaps he's not all that different from his sister. 

Indeed, a thread all through Part One could be how the Earnshaw kids drive themselves to the grave because they can't control their own explosive emotions. Brother and sister alike.

Oh, and Hindley was evidently a terrible card player. A sorry loser in every way, for a young man who starts off with such advantages in life. I wonder whether it would've been any different for him had Frances survived.

Which brings us to the next question. 

7) Is Kenneth the most tactless and insensitive physician in VicLit?

John Sutherland suggests that he may be the most useless, because when we think about it, what percentage of Kenneth's patients actually recover? Regardless of this, the question I pose is more pertinent.

Think about it. When Frances Earnshaw delivers her baby and is soon to die of consumption, Kenneth reproaches Hindley for choosing 'such a rush of a lass.' He takes on a similar tone during the older Catherine's illness, insinuating that it serves her right. Then later, he makes Hindley's untimely death into a guessing game for Nelly, adding, 'I knew I'd draw water.' At least he has the grace to add, 'Poor lad, I'm sorry too.'  

You can expect no bedside manner, from a straight-talking Yorkshire doctor like Kenneth.

I invite you to visit my entire Bronte-Saurus page. 

Next, please check out my impressions here of Part Two, which is when Heathcliff stirs the pot for the younger generation, intent on using them as pawns to wreak his revenge on their parents. Feel free to hum along to Kate Bush in the meantime. 

'Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home... So co-o-o-old, let me into your wind-o-o-o-w!'