Wuthering Heights initially baffled readers who dismissed it as “a strange book”.
Earlier readers found it was “wild” and “confused”, portraying a “semi-savage love”. Yet, in 1850, the poet and critic Sydney Dobell recognised its originality and power, praising the novel’s distinctly poetic quality. To Dobell, “the thinking out” of many of the passages was “the masterpiece of a poet, rather than the hybrid creation of a novelist”.
Fittingly, before Heathcliff and Cathy haunted the moors, Emily Brontë was crafting her magic in verse preoccupied with death, steeped in grief and brimming with elemental passion and the spectral. Such motifs form the beating heart and singular atmosphere of Wuthering Heights, but without her gothic poetry, her beloved novel may not have existed. And, while this novel defines her reputation today, in her lifetime she was first and foremost a poet.
Among all her poems, Remembrance (1845) stands out as a direct ancestor of Wuthering Heights. The speaker mourns a lover lost for “15 wild Decembers”. It is full of imagery of frozen graves and icy bodies “cold in the earth” foreshadowing Cathy’s burial. The snow also anticipates the wintry desolation that frames Wuthering Heights.
In Written in Aspin Castle (1842-43), Lord Alfred’s spectral roaming in his family home (Aspin Castle) is not unlike the return of ghostly little Cathy to her childhood home in Wuthering Heights. In fact, Aspin’s “spectral windows” anticipate the window on which Mr Lockwood’s sleep is disturbed by what he assumes is a branch knocking on it.
“I must stop it, nevertheless!” I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch: instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!"
Windows as gothic portals clearly fascinated Emily, a fascination vividly captured in a drawing she produced in 1828 at just ten years old.
And in The Prisoner (A Fragment) (1845-46), the captive heroine – also like Mr Lockwood in Wuthering Heights – is tormented by nightly visitations in her “dungeon crypt” where a spiritual messenger figured as the wind summons “visions” that “kill me with desire”, which is much like Heathcliff’s anguish.
Continues . . .
