I'll Be Cathy to Your Heathcliff

I am currently reading Wuthering Heights for the second time, and I am loving it. I think the first time around I appreciated it, sort of, but I did not really love it. I admired Bronte and I mourned with Cathy and Heathcliff, but I wasn’t excited to sit down and spend some time with them. I first read the book senior year of high school and wrote an in-class essay about it, but I never got to discuss it in class or with anyone. I had one class period to hash out all of my thoughts about the book, and it turns out that does not even begin to do Miss Bronte and her creation justice.

The assignment for today’s class was to read chapters 1-9, and I have to read 11-20 by Friday. I have to admit this assignment came at exactly the right time because I have been in a bit of a slump lately. A sophomore slump, as I have been affectionately referring to it in my head. My classes aren’t exceptionally difficult this semester, and some of them have even been tolerable to the point of interesting, but I just can’t seem to make myself care. I sit around at night and I know I have homework that I should be doing, that would be easy for me to do, but I just don’t do it. And I don’t care. Up until this point in my life, when I have not done my homework, I fret about what will happen and how it will affect my grade and how far behind I will be, but as of late, nothing. No remorse, no worrying, just pure, unadulterated apathy. (Unless, of course, you count my concern about my apathy.) It has been a little unsettling.

Enter Bronte. Enter Cathy and Heathcliff. Enter wild, stormy, dark, Yorkshire moors. Enter wretchedness, selfishness, pride, violence, confusion, and chaos.

And I care. I want to read this. I want to participate in the class discussion. I want to write and I want to learn. I am excited about this. I read this, and it breaks my heart.

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same...”

“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”

And finally,

“Nelly, I am Heathcliff.”

It is premature to call an end to my sophomore slump, as my English 200 homework is currently the only thing that is getting done, but at least this is something I can grasp on to. This is something, the only thing, right now, that is not making me say “What’s the point?” Because I understand the point of this. This is what makes sense to me.

I love this.