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My High Withered: The Platypus Reads Part XLIX



Sadly, my heavy teaching load this year is not conducive to much else in my life. This has meant that many of my literary musings have not been expressed in as detailed a form as I would have liked. With that apology, let me attempt to fulfill my promise to weigh in on "Wuthering Heights."

To begin with, I think that "Wuthering Heights" suffers from the "Milton Problem;" that it does such a good job of picturing evil that readers are tempted to think that it is an apologetic for vice. I don't mind being in the company of John Milton (who, btw. there is plenty of reason to acquit of the charge of Arianism) but, sadly, I don't think I'd want to be in company of Byron and Blake as far as literary opinions go. Put simply, when someone with strong religious principles writes a book, I have a hard time believing that there is really some sort of satanic "back-masking." They may have made some errors, as do we all, or they may have miscalculated the effect the work would have on their audience, but I have a hard time believing that devout and intelligent writers (shy of hypocrisy) could be "of the devil's party without knowing it." In that light, I have a hard time believing that "Wuthering Heights" is meant to glorify the relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine.

Re-reading the book, the above interpretation also seems to jar with the actual work. I just can't find any evidence in the text that the author means for their affair to be anything other than wicked and disastrous both to the couple and everyone around them. Even the suggestion that Heathcliff and Catherine's ghosts haunt the moors doesn't strike me so much as a reconciliation as an echo of Dante's inferno where the lustful are eternally blown upon the winds. It seems more like a curse than a vindication.

So what is the book about? I don't have a definitive answer, but I think I can discern two themes.

The first is that "Wuthering Heights" plays with the idea of the "insider." Ellen Dean is always trying to work her way to the "inside" of events. Catherine's ghost is trying to get inside the house. Heathcliff and Catherine view the lavish but flawed lifestyle of the Lintons through a window. Lockwood is brought into the the events of the story by his visit to the Heights and by chats with Ellen Dean. In each case, the one trying to get "inside" is punished for the intrusion. Ellen Dean suffers all manner of hardships for her prying. Catherine's ghost has its fingers crushed by Lockwood and is forcibly kept out. When Heathcliff and Catherine have a peep at the Lintons, Heathcliff is thrown out and Catherine is mauled by a dog. Lockwood is attacked by dogs, treated with the height of bad manners, and finally catches a months-long illness as his reward for prying. All this seems to amount to a warning against the desire to be an "insider," or, as Lewis would say, to belong to an "inner ring."

The second theme seems to focus on our response to pain. The harsh treatment that Heathcliff receives fuels his bitter and resentful spirit. Catherine responds to pain by attempting to control everything about her suroundings. When this control is denied her, she goes insane. Linton responds to pain by becoming trecherous and sadistic, while Cathy settles for withdrawing into imperious disdane. Hareton lives in a state of denial. Ellen seems to keep a good cheer, and so comes through. Lockwood simply runs away. Edgar Linton seems to be improved by pain. Marrying Catherine seems to beat the spoiled softness out of him and by the time he meets his end, he seems to be something like a real, if deeply grieved, man. In addition, Lockwood's intervention allows Cathy and Hareton to turn away from focusing on their individual grievances and draw together to thwart Heathcliff's plans and find true happiness. The moral seems to be that the way we respond to pain shapes our characters. We can either use our pain as an excuse for moral corruption, or we can allow it to purify us of our faults and so begin to develop real virtue.

Given that C. Bronte, an intelligent and deeply moral writer, endorsed "Wuthering Heights" as strongly as she did, I find it hard to see the work as a justification of "doing anything for love." Moreover, a careful read of the book seems to militate against this view. Instead, what we find is a condemnation of the desire to be an "insider," and an admonition to allow our pains to sanctify us and not to use them as a justification for vice. That's about as anti-Byronic as it gets.
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