The Boat Was My Friend

“Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!" 

Wuthering Heights represents a massively important landmark in literature for a reason: It is overwhelming. I literally can't think of any tale of love that is as wild, as intense and as diabolic as the story of Catherine and Heathcliff. Wuthering Heights is a gothic story of obsession, vengeance and possessiveness on a dark land of.. ghosts. Because, that’s what Emily Brontë does; she somehow manages to make EVERYTHING in the book feel ethereal and eerie. And ghostly.

This novel was published 166 years ago and kicks contemporary romance fiction arse today. Because, at odds with common literary devices, it dares to explore the narcissistic side of love, the devilish side of love, the kind of love that is an undeniable fact of nature and hence, invincible, immune to externalities and powerful enough to unleash hell and that's done convincingly. Emily Brontë develops a sinister setting of a love that is cursed and purged at the same time and complex, wonderfully flawed characters. (And did I mention, the prose is completely dope?)

Catherine and Heathcliff know they’re doomed to eternal emotional turmoil; beyond their existence, beyond the grave. And reading Wuthering Heights is the most exhausting way to remind yourself that love is buried but never dead.