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Volume 4
ISSN: 2454-6100
(UGC Approved)
Journal of
JADAVPUR UNIVERSITY
EDITORS
Saswati Halder (Coordinator)
COVER DESIGN
Anish Kundu
CONTENTS
Introduction.......................................................................................................
Abstracts............................................................................................................
Anhiti Patnaik..................................................................................................
Basundhara Chakraborty………………………………………………………….
Courtney Simpkins............................................................................................
Madhumita Biswas………………………………………………………………...
Madhumita Majumdar......................................................................................
Neepa Sarkar....................................................................................................
Horror, Terror, and the Gothic in Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre
Prodosh Bhattacharya…………………………………………………………….
Space and Landscape in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights and
Tatjana Šepić...............................................................................................
We are proud to present the third volume of The Confidential Clerk, an online journal published
annually by the Centre for Victorian Studies, Jadavpur University. Interdisciplinary, international
and innovative, the journal is broadly concerned with scholarship, new research and a keen
understanding of nineteenth-century literary history and theory. The current issue is a collection
of original and unpublished research papers on In Retrospect: Ellis Bell, Emily Bronte and
their Wuthering Heights., from young researchers and academicians all over the world.
Like some of the Romantic poets earlier in the nineteenth century, Emily Bronte died young
(1818-1848), having published her only novel (Wuthering Heights, 1847) and a slim volume of
poems that also contained the poems of her two surviving sisters (Poems by Curer, Ellis, and
Acton Bell, 1846). The pseudonyms adopted by the sisters while publishing the volume of
poems extended to the publication of their novels. Hence the progenitor of Wuthering Heights
was Ellis Bell, and Emily Bronte died without any book to her name. All this play with the
authorship of Wuthering Heights resulted in a curious publication history as it also engendered
an ambivalent critical response. The Athenaeum pronounced the Wuthering Heights a
'disagreeable story' even while it acknowledged its 'power and cleverness' and its 'truth to life in
the remote nooks and corners of England.' The Examiner professed it a 'strange book' though 'not
without evidences of considerable power.' There were many negative reviews even though some
reviewers acknowledged that Ellis Bell's work bore a 'colossal' promise and it evidently suffered
in comparison to Curer Bell's Jane Eyre which was very favourably received. However, there
was a shift in the reception of the novel after the publication of Charlotte Bronte's "Biographical
Notice" in the new edition of Wuthering Heights (1850) which, for the first time, publicly
identified Emily Bronte as Ellis Bell. A new set of reviewers showed themselves to be more
sensitive to the extent of Emily's achievement.
There is now a rich oeuvre of critical writings on Wuthering Heights though disagreements
between the critics abound. While Lord David Cecil proposes a theory that presents the novel as
a unified whole, J Hillis Miller challenges this assumption. Mark Schorer argues that it is one of
the most carefully constructed novels in the English language which is contradicted by Albert J
Guerard who reads occasional loss of authorial control in the brilliant but imperfect novel. There
are socio-economic readings of the work by Marxist critics like Terry Eagleton while scholars
like Ellen Moers have provided powerful feminist readings of the work. Indeed the text and its
publication and reception history offer the possibility of a broad spectrum of readings across the
theoretical domains, a challenge that has been taken up by many scholars of Victorian Studies.
Anhiti Patnaik in her paper The Feral Feminist Aesthetic of Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering
Heights examines how Andrea Arnold restores ‘queerness’ to Heathcliff’s character through her
postmodern cinematic adaptation Wuthering Heights (2011). Arnold’s film successfully de-
canonizes the bodies of both Brontë and Heathcliff using a feral feminist aesthetic. It revives the
wildness and sexual ambiguities of the original text, albeit with a contemporary urban audience
in mind.
Neepa Sarkar’s paper The Byronic Ellis Bell and the Victorian Female Author/Reader
attempts to look at the representations and constructions of the gendered self and how
Catherine’s frustrations become the frustrations of the writing women of 19th century opposing
the cultural constraints of womanhood imposed upon them. It also explores Julia Kristeva’s
notion of ‘the abject’ and Barbara Creed’s idea of the ‘monstrous feminine’ in deciphering the
reception, agency and autonomy of Ellis Bell/ Emily Bronte, one of significant Victorian woman
novelist operating in a predominantly male profession.
Tatjana Šepić in Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights and George Sand's Mauprat argues that
apart from some similarities in the plot and characters, both novels are structured on the principle
of dualism where themes and motives not only of love and the denial of love but also of
nature/culture, man/woman, cruelty/kindness, speech/muteness, freedom/confinement,
heaven/hell, appear as antithetical polarities in dialogue.
Prodosh Bhattacharya’s paper Horror, Terror, and the Gothic in Wuthering Heights and Jane
Eyre investigates the use of horror and terror in the two Brontë-Sisters novels, using Mrs
Radcliffe’s distinction between the two emotions.
Madhumita Majumdar in Life – Death- Afterlife in Wuthering Heights looks into notions of
life, death and afterlife that is weaved in Wuthering Heights. Available biographical details are
also used in parts to substantiate the thought, and the premise is developed on the fact that
Wuthering Heights has many characters who visualise or believe in postmortem lives.
- Anhiti Patnaik
The feral theory of feminism, initially proposed by queer theorist Judith Halberstam,
but conceptualized by the Toronto-based journal Feral Feminisms, is “a provocative call to
untaming, queering, and radicalizing feminist thought and practice today.” The assumption is
that not all feminisms or queer movements are radical, intersectional, and affective. They have
been academically ‘domesticated’ or made conventional over time and need to be ‘feralized’
in order to maintain their subversive power over ideological forces. The word ‘feral’ means a
nonhuman or liminal animal, like a human child in wilderness or one who has escaped from
captivity. It is certainly the idea behind Emily Brontë’s introduction of Heathcliff into the
English gentrified society in her novel Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff’s character has, over the
years, been domesticated through literary archetypes like Byronic hyper-masculinity. This
essay examines how Andrea Arnold restores ‘queerness’ to Heathcliff’s character through her
postmodern cinematic adaptation Wuthering Heights (2011). Brontë’s 1847 classic remains of
course, a subversive text par excellence. Jean Kennard reads it as a “lesbian narrative space”
but presumes that the queerness of the text—the forbidden, yet sterile and narcissistic romance
of Catherine and Heathcliff—may have originated in Brontë’s own queerness, carefully
concealed and censored by her sister Charlotte. It has now become fairly commonplace within
Victorian literary criticism to trace the subversive content of a text back to its author’s allegedly
repressed sexuality. However, Arnold’s film successfully de-canonizes the bodies of both
Brontë and Heathcliff using a feral feminist aesthetic. It revives the wildness and sexual
ambiguities of the original text, albeit with a contemporary urban audience in mind. This is
accomplished by emphasising elements that remain at the periphery of white heteronormative
urban culture such as the animal, the ecological, the female child, and the colonised body. It
highlights the raw, sublime wilderness of North Yorkshire where the film is set. Arnold casts
the black actors Solomon Glave and James Howson to re-inscribe the violence committed
against Heathcliff in his childhood within the history of English colonialism and patriarchy.
When Hindley whips Heathcliff, Arnold boldly transforms his body into that of an ex-slave by
showing scars and wounds from past floggings. This violence is affectively redressed in the
next scene where Catherine soothes a bleeding, weeping and emasculated Heathcliff by licking
his wounds clean. The film thus feralizes Catherine and Heathcliff’s relationship by stripping
language to the bare minimum and portraying a tactile, affective or ‘creaturely love’ between
them.
- Basundhara Chakraborty
The present paper endeavors to study the poetic contributions of Emily Bronte, in the
sphere of English literature. While her sole contribution in the genre of novel, Wuthering
Heights earned her a permanent status in the history of English literature, it has also eclipsed
her poetic legacy. The present paper is an attempt to trace that lost legacy of this ‘poet as
recluse’. By placing her poetic works in the social and historical context of the Victorian age,
the paper will attempt a reappraisal of her lyrical canon and study how Emily was not a poet
sui generis; the paper will also analyze her poetic works in relation with the landscape poetic
tradition of the Victorian age by doing a comparative study between her poetic works and the
poetry of Tennyson, Hardy and Arnold, the great trio of Victorian poetry. The paper will also
attempt a holistic understanding of Emily Bronte’s poetic development through textual analysis
of her childhood literary creations as well as her mature poems and critically analyze: (a) how
the process of dreaming informs both the content and lyrical structure of Bronte’s poetry; (b)
how Emily Bronte placed Gondal narratives as the background and framework of her poetic
creations; (c) how she used landscape as the central metaphor of her poetry and present nature
in dialogue with social and moral relations. The critical approach of the study will combine
textual analysis, biographical criticism and socio-historical reading.
The Disappearance of Homosocial Relationships and Female Agency
in the Adaptations of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights
- Courtney Simpkins
Emily Brontë’s singular novel introduces readers to the codes of her nineteenth century
society, where women and men were often met with standards of living which were nearly
impossible to achieve. Although Brontë’s beliefs are often coded throughout the characters’
dialogue, the arguments are clear and present. An example of this is the tumultuous relationship
between Catherine Earnshaw Linton and her trusted servant and confidant, Ellen “Nelly” Dean.
Emily Brontë presents this as one of the strongest homosocial relationships in Wuthering
Heights, and defends against the nineteenth century societal assumption that women, when
together and gossiping, were dangerous creatures. Furthermore, the two women are from two
very different classes. Catherine is of a fairly high status, but Nelly is her servant. These two
women from different classes gossip together, blurring the lines between social classes and
social discourses.
By analyzing the coded dialogue between Catherine and Nelly in the famous “I am
Heathcliff” scene, along with other scenes, we can begin answering two major questions in
adaptation theory: does the addition, deletion, or alteration of scenes and arguments create an
unsuccessful adaptation, and do these changes enhance or detract from each source novel’s
arguments. To answer these questions, I argue that David Skynner (1998) and Coky Giedroyc’s
(2009) adaptations alter these arguments, but neither film solely enhances or detracts from the
original points made. Several storylines are changed in both films, sometimes enough to create
entirely new situations, but nevertheless, the two directors worked diligently to eliminate
enough of the novel’s details to fit their respective films in a two-hour time frame, but
fundamentally alter the essence of Emily Brontë’s protofeminist novel.
The 1998 cinematic Wuthering Heights, directed by David Skynner, alters many details.
Conversations between Nelly and Catherine no longer seem as significant, because their history
is neither described nor shown on screen. Rather than allowing Catherine’s and Nelly’s
relationship to remain as the most important homosocial companionship, Skynner’s
characterization illustrates they mean little-to-nothing to one another. Since these two women
are not solidified as confidants prior to this meeting, the exchange isn’t as meaningful, and
Nelly is no longer an important figure in Catherine’s life. Analyzing Emily Brontë’s critique
of nineteenth century class distinction and society’s focus on wealth is extremely difficult with
Skynner’s adaptation, since many of the novel’s details are eliminated. Similarly, many
arguments in Wuthering Heights are also altered or eliminated from Coky Giedroyc’s 2009
adaptation. Once again, Nelly’s character does not appear as vital to the story as she is in the
novel. Some may say that Nelly’s disappearance from the film is an attempt to give all agency
to Catherine, since she will undoubtedly need to stand up and speak for herself. The writers of
Giedroyc’s film did not explicitly eliminate portions of dialogue for the movie, as in the first
adaptation. They simply rearranged the discourse into a new sequence, sometimes between
different sets of characters. Overall, both adaptations are important interpretations of the novel,
but they both largely detract from, and in some cases outright reverse, Emily Brontë’s
arguments about homosocial relationships, class distinction, and strong women through the
elimination and alteration of dialogue found in Wuthering Heights.
- Madhumita Biswas
- Madhumita Majumdar
The Brontës have been associated with the ghostly, an association that continues till
date. Throughout the twentieth century, biographers and creative writers have seen Emily
Brontë as someone who longed for death and communed with spirits. Her only novel,
Wuthering Heights reveals Emily’s obsessions with some dark subjects. Where did this
darkness and turbulent passion come from? A part of the answer lies in the house of Haworth
Parsonage where the Brontë children lived their short and all too tragic lives. The paper will
look into notions of life, death and after life that are weaved in Wuthering Heights. Available
biographical details are also used in parts to substantiate the thought. The premise is developed
on the fact that Wuthering Heights has many characters who visualize or believe in postmortem
lives.
The Byronic Ellis Bell and the Victorian Female Author/Reader
- Neepa Sarkar
This paper would also like to explore Julia Kristeva’s notion of ‘the abject’ and Barbara
Creed’s idea of the ‘monstrous feminine’ in deciphering the reception, agency and autonomy
of Ellis Bell/ Emily Bronte, one of significant Victorian woman novelist operating in a
predominantly male profession. Besides focusing on readership, issues of authorial legitimacy,
intent and interpretation; the paper probes into Victorian notions of marriage, morality, social
and ideological binaries faced by the dispossessed Byronic hero and the displaced heroine
(psychologically and socially) who are assertive and at times conforming in role playing the
‘performative’ aspects of gender. Wuthering Heights remains experimental for its times, both
in form and content, not only blending many literary genres but also examining the ideas of
power, dominance and powerlessness specifically in terms of the Gothic novel.
Horror, Terror, and the Gothic in Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre
- Prodosh Bhattacharya
The paper investigates the use of horror and terror in the two Brontë-Sisters novels,
using Mrs Radcliffe’s distinction between the two emotions. The vampire motif is common to
both novels. In Wuthering Heights, Catherine is a revenant, but her appearance is followed by
unexpected subversion of the trope. The novel ends with rumours of her and Heathcliff being
seen on the moors as revenants. In Jane Eyre, Bertha Mason is explicitly likened by the
eponymous heroine to the vampire, and her attack on her brother has clearly vampiric
overtones. The irony is that, in Emily Brontë’s novel, it is Lockwood who inflicts violence on
the apparently vampiric Catherine, and in Charlotte Brontë, Jane has unexpected similarities
with Bertha, something she herself recognizes. In the final judgment, one may say that
Wuthering Heights, which leaves its portrayal of the supernatural hovering between reality and
fantasy, belongs perhaps more to the tradition of Walpole and Lewis, whereas Jane Eyre is
more in the tradition of Ann Radcliffe’s ‘the supernatural explained’.
- Tatjana Šepić
Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights (1847) and George Sand's Mauprat (1837) absorb
the common reader, enwrapping him in the violent, passionte love stories of their main
characters. More attentive readers and critics have been enticed by abundant “material inviting
for interpretation” and by coded meanings underlying the surface of literal representations of
these two texts. Apart from some similarities in the plot and characters, both novels are
structured on the principle of dualism where themes and motives not only of love and the denial
of love, but also of nature/culture, man/woman, cruelty/kindness, speech/muteness,
freedom/confinement, heaven/hell, appear as antithetical polarities in dialogue. These
contraries do not represent only the principle the characters are shaped on, but also the universe
of both texts. In the context of the novels, the real Yorkshire and Berry obtain a metaphorical
meaning, where the landscape and the spaces of the houses mirror emotional states and
(tormented) souls of their inhabitants. The contrast between Wuthering Heights and
Thrushcross Grange is the same as the one between Roche-Mauprat and Sainte-Sévère, namely,
a wild, uncontrolled energy of the dark Dionysian world opposed to the tamed and controlled
nature, of static and rational characters, the embodiment of the Apollonian order, harmony and
perfection. These contraries coexist creating the totality not only of the fictional, but of the real
world as well. In Emily Brontë's and George Sand's narratives, the function of nature is
representational and semantic, metonymic and metaphorical at the same time, which is typical
for the Romantic period. Only here the traditional roles are changed, male characters
(Heathcliff, Hareton, Bernard) take the place of nature, instinct and irrationality, usually
associated with the female principle, while heroines (Edmée, Catherine, Isabella and partly
Catherine Earnshaw) embody reason, culture and are capable of verbalizing emotions, all
typically male characteristics.
The dual image of the book and education, together with the recurring words, images
related to nature/animals or hell, fire, damnation used as metaphors for human characteristics,
frailty or moral deficiency, are all closely connected with the two opposing spaces of the
Heights and the Grange, Roche-Mauprat and the chateau of Sainte-Sévère. Both novels can be
read as the confluence of their authors' personal experience and the Romantic aesthetics,
creating a vision of the world from the female perspective, revising the traditional binary
structures which have influenced the Western thought since the age of Antiquity. On the level
of landscape, and space in general, the writers' poetic syncretism combines representational
and metaphorical function to show antithetical polarities of “nature” and “culture” in dialogue
and exchange.
The Feral Feminist Aesthetic of Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights
- Anhiti Patnaik
− Andrea Arnold
“The challenge is to resist the old habit of ‘ontological apartheid’: equating species
with specific bodies, and then quarantining them from each other.”
− Dominic Pettman
terms of its rootedness within the English Romantic tradition and its exemplary critique of the
class, race, and gender hierarchies of the Yorkshire gentry. And yet, there is a perverse,
undefined, ambiguous, or ‘queer’ quality to the novel’s portrayal of these hierarchies, which
allows it to resist the genres into which it is often classified. This ‘queerness’—or
interactions on the moor. Even Brontë’s lengthy narrative explication of their relationship
through Nelly Dean and her dense, inscrutable conclusion to the novel cannot define or morally
circumscribe their romance. This is perhaps because, while the conventional Victorian novel
deals with the intricacies of human interaction by showing how it all contributes to the
produces a retrospective, deconstructive, or ‘queer’ curve. Hila Shachar in her book Cultural
Afterlives and Screen Adaptations of Classic Literature: Wuthering Heights and Company
states that Brontë’s novel stands out in the Victorian canon as its ‘queer’ themes have invited
multiple intertextual and postmodern adaptations. She defies the tendency within adaptation
studies to “clump adaptations of famous novels together, often ignoring how a specific work
or an individual author is used to create a particular type of cultural legacy” (Shachar 2). She
prescribes instead a close textual analysis of these adaptations as autonomous works in their
own right. With that in mind, this essay examines the feral feminist aesthetic of Andrea
Arnold’s 2011 cinematic adaptation of Wuthering Heights and how it valorises the ‘queerness’,
It is worth clarifying at this point that this essay employs the term ‘queer’ not with
reference to the medico-legal discourse of same-sex desire. Jean Kennard’s “Lesbianism and
the Censoring of Wuthering Heights” for instance, argues that the ‘queerness’ of Catherine and
Heathcliff’s relationship may have originated in Brontë’s own lesbianism. To call Brontë a
‘lesbian’ is of course anachronistic and Kennard acknowledges that, “I do not claim that Emily
Brontë was a lesbian in any modern sense of the term [...] nor am I claiming that Emily
consciously set out to encode homosexuality in Wuthering Heights” (17). However, Kennard
attributes the ambiguous, sterile, narcissistic, and repressed relationship between Catherine and
Heathcliff to the author’s own concealed homosexuality. Brontë did, after all, publish
Wuthering Heights under the masculine pseudonym Ellis Bell and may have encoded her
When Catherine and Heathcliff are separated, the violence that ensues suggests the
intense pain of losing a part of oneself. The violence Heathcliff demonstrates after his
return is the power of emotion denied, of taboo violated [...] (Kennard 24)
Kennard also asserts that Charlotte Brontë’s editorial interventions to her sister’s novel
and her destruction of some apparently incriminating letters proves that there was something
‘unnatural’ about Emily that had to be repressed. The problem with such a biographical bias in
literary criticism is that it reverts the subversive themes of a text back to the author’s personal
In Memoriam or Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. All that such interpretations achieve,
however, is to confine the ‘body’ of a literary text to the body of its author. In a bizarre
reincarnation of the intentional fallacy, Kennard argues that Wuthering Heights challenges the
wish-fulfilment or “queer dream” (Brontë 62). But what matters most about the novel is not
whether Brontë herself was queer, but precisely how she was able to construct such a queer
text through her portrayal of Catherine and Heathcliff’s (otherwise heterosexual) attraction?
within the Western academy by transcending the biological category of same-sex desire. In
order for a novel to be deemed ‘queer’ it seems that neither its main characters nor its author
need to be identifiably homosexual. Queer has now become a category of gender ambiguity,
aesthetic subversion, and epistemological irreducibility. This does not automatically divest the
term of a very real history of discrimination through which homosexual and transsexual bodies
are forced to clinically and socially comply with a compulsory heterosexist matrix. Simply that
the scope of the term may be broadened to include “multiple social antagonisms” rather than
ever vigilant to the fact that sexuality is intersectional, not extraneous to other modes
In a recent collection of essays titled What’s Queer about Queer Studies Now? Judith
Halberstam states that there is nothing more detrimental to queer theory as its being restricted
to a biological or racially determined object. Invoking Judith Butler’s call for “a kind of
“to appreciate “what’s queer about queer studies now” is to embrace such a critical perspective
and to honour such an ethics of humility” (Halberstam et.al. 15). The word “humility” is not a
passive resistance to the normative forces of neo-colonial and neo-liberal patriarchy but rather
the recognition that “in a historical moment of intense political conservatism” (Halberstam
et.al. 5) and ecological degradation, the Enlightenment concept of the human must be radically
concludes that a wild, untamed, and intersectional model of queer theory can resist the urge to
define, domesticate, and discursively delimit the category of queer within the Western
academy.
This is certainly the idea behind Brontë’s introduction of Heathcliff into the normative
confines of the Earnshaw family as a wild, unruly, gypsy-like, savage, dirty, and feral child.
All that is provided by way of explanation for his arrival is that Earnshaw found him on the
streets of Liverpool. Liverpool was a well-established British slave port in 1847. Earnshaw
states that upon finding no ‘owner’ for the child he decided to adopt him “See here, wife; I was
never so beaten with anything in my life; but you must e’en take it as a gift of God, though it’s
as dark almost as if it came from the devil” (Brontë 29). Heathcliff’s mysterious darkness and
undefined heritage has produced much speculation among literary critics. Deborah Epstein
Nord dedicates her essay “Marks of Race”: Gypsy Figures and Eccentric Femininity in
counts it as evidence of his non-English Romany descent. Earnshaw’s reference to the devil is
particularly telling, as the English peerage in the nineteenth century believed gypsies to be
pedlars of black magic. There was also a stereotypical link between gypsy life and wilderness,
which would explain Heathcliff’s love for running on the moors and disdaining cleanliness and
civility as a child. Nord notes the primacy of the gypsy figure as a social pariah in the Victorian
age:
Unlike the colonial subject, who remained a remote or wholly foreign figure, or the
Jew, who, though outsider, functioned within English society, the gypsy hovered on the
outskirts of the English world, unassimilable, a domestic and visible but socially
In Heathcliff’s case, however, it is not only his alleged Romany heritage that becomes
threatening to the established yeoman families of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange.
He contaminates Catherine’s training towards idealized femininity with his insolence and
Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks till Christmas. By that time her ankle
was thoroughly cured, and her manners much improved. The mistress visited her often,
in the interval, and commenced her plan of reform by trying to raise her self-respect
with fine clothes and flattery, which she took to readily: so that, instead of a wild,
hatless little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless,
there alighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person with brown ringlets
The peculiar brand of vengeance that the adult Heathcliff seeks through upward
mobility also confirms his status as an interloper. Nelly Dean repeatedly calls him ‘wicked’
and impervious to ‘normal’ social and ethical behaviour, and frequently attributes this
‘queerness’ to a non-English heritage “Who knows but your father was Emperor of China and
In the same vein as Nord, Terry Eagleton sees Heathcliff’s darkness and resistance to
the norms of English gentility as a sign of his Irish origin. His book Heathcliff and the Great
Hunger: Studies in Irish Culture notes how Brontë’s novel was composed roughly around the
Irish Famine, when her brother Branwell witnessed the influx of hundreds of Irish immigrants
onto the shores of Liverpool in the summer of 1847. Eagleton claims that Branwell’s accounts
of these immigrants may have influenced Emily Brontë’s depiction of Heathcliff as a “beast,
savage, lunatic, and demon. It is clear that this little Caliban has a nature on which nurture will
never stick; and that is simply an English way of saying that he is quite possibly Irish”
(Eagleton 3). Eagleton writes that it difficult to ascertain exactly “how black” Heathcliff is or
whether his darkness is a symptom of racial alterity or the dirt with which he is perpetually
covered as a child. Andrea Arnold pushes the question to its limit in her 2011 cinematic
adaptation of the novel by casting Solomon Glave and James Howson, both black actors, in the
role of Heathcliff. She chooses to re-inscribe the physical and ideological violence committed
against Heathcliff in Bronte’s novel within the more complex history of English colonialism
and slave trade. When Hindley whips Heathcliff for example, Arnold boldly transforms his
body into that of an ex-slave by showing scars and wounds from past floggings. This violence
is affectively amended in the next scene where Catherine soothes a bleeding, weeping, and
‘feminine’ Heathcliff by licking his wounds clean. In his review of the film “Dark Depths of
Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights” Benjamin Secher calls this “the film’s most electrifying
moment”.
Nelly Dean clearly mentions in Brontë’s original text that Heathcliff could bear
Hindley’s attacks with a strange hyper-masculine fortitude “I was surprised to witness how
coolly the child gathered himself up, and went on with his intention, exchanging saddles and
all, and then sitting down on a bundle of hay to overcome the qualm which the violent blow
occasioned, before he entered the house” (Brontë 32). But Arnold casts Heathcliff as a young
ex-slave to show how Hindley’s hatred for Heathcliff is not out of personal jealousy but a
collective Anglo-Saxon fear of the racial Other, “He’s not my brother. He’s a nigger”. In
Arnold’s film, Earnshaw repeatedly berates Hindley for not being a “good Christian” rather
than teach him to accept Heathcliff as his brother. Hindley’s floggings are nothing but a
physical embodiment of the ideological violence with which Heathcliff is forcibly baptised.
This outcast black child cannot subscribe to the archetypal Byronic image of masculinity and
seeks ‘feminine’ empathy, compassion, and reparative gestures from Catherine. Even
Heathcliff’s return to Wuthering Heights, as an adult, deviates from the original paradigm of
Byronic vengeance. He re-enters the world that had rejected him out of dread and sympathy
for Hindley’s poverty (as it no doubt, reminds him of his own). James Howson’s performance
also reveals a ‘feminine’ desire to renew his friendship with Catherine rather than a ‘masculine’
need to punish her for choosing Edgar Linton. When Catherine crushes a side of Heathcliff’s
face under her boot, it signifies her ideological conformity to the norms of Thrushcross Grange,
but he does little to fight back or assert his masculinity over her. Catherine and Heathcliff are
thus portrayed as caged birds of Victorian society—a visual metaphor that Arnold consistently
employs in the film—that prevents them from being able to rescue one another.
Eagleton succinctly states that, “The reverse of the cultivation of Nature is the
Heights arises from the fact that its main characters obstinately refuse to be cultivated by
ideological apparatuses like the family, the Church, heterosexual marriage, and even
Christian death. In the early sections of Brontë’s novel, Catherine’s dead spirit returns in the
form of an insolent narcissistic child who causes the ageing Heathcliff to tragically regress to
his boyhood anxieties and desires. Even as he desperately attempts to maintain a ‘white’
hyper-masculine façade as owner of Wuthering Heights, Catherine’s ghost thwarts him from
performing that idealised role. This is beautifully rendered in Arnold’s film where Catherine
orientation from the very beginning. It resists ideology by opting for a wild, tactile,
‘creaturely love’ shorn off language and its consequent classist, racial, and patriarchal biases.
The film deliberately avoids using a musical score and dialogue during the first half. Secher
observes how “Arnold’s film cleaves fiercely to the wild spirit, if not the word, of Brontë’s
unsettling text, steering a ragged course far removed from the conventions of period romance.
There’s no swooning here, no happy endings”. When she first sees the young ex-slave enter
her home with her father, Catherine spits on Heathcliff’s face and is struck by Earnshaw. She
curiously peeks through a crack in the door as Nelly Dean bathes Heathcliff in the kitchen,
and Heathcliff reciprocally returns her gaze. Her first words to him are not of symbolic
violence but affect and compassion, “Are you hurt? Can you understand me? Come.”
Catherine then teaches Heathcliff the word “lapwing” by showing him her collection of
his innate ‘wildness’ to finally feel at home with its flora and fauna. She immediately relates
to his distaste for the white patriarchal civility that governs the interior domestic spaces of
Wuthering Heights. Michael Lawrence in his essay “Nature and the Non-Human in Andrea
Arnold’s Wuthering Heights” writes that Arnold’s sketch of Catherine and Heathcliff’s
childhood interactions on the moors “functions not only to divide our attention across human
and non-human realms but also to counter nostalgic and ultimately ideological idealisations of
‘white’ and ‘English’ natural landscapes and rural lifestyles” (177). Rather than show an
intensely humanistic heterosexual relationship between the two main characters, Arnold
revives much of the wildness and ambiguity of Brontë’s novel for a contemporary urban
audience by locating all the action resolutely within nature. The film is shot mostly from
Heathcliff’s perspective, but Lawrence notes the “preponderance of unmotivated shots of the
attention that not only exceeds the perspectives of its human protagonists but also challenges
popular ideas about the novel and subverts the conventions of narrative cinema” (178). By
regarding ‘nature’ as nature, Arnold satirises the ideological tendencies of Victorian patriarchy
to symbolise wilderness through the gypsy, the female child, the homosexual, or the colonial
body. She locates her adaptation within the original context of English Romanticism that drew
Brontë’s attention towards Wordsworth and the Lake Poets. Anne Williams calls the novel “a
claims that both Charlotte and Emily Brontë’s writing reflected “an intuition that the natural
and the supernatural provide complementary contexts for the revelation of what Wordsworth
and Shannon Beer from actually speaking to each other. They communicate almost exclusively
through facial, emotive, and tactile expressions. Language is not repressed or sublimated here
because of gender, race, or class difference but it is simply extraneous to Catherine and
Heathcliff’s ‘queer’, wild, and spontaneous interactions on the moor. When they fight or
struggle with each other on the fields, it is not through words but a kind of ‘creaturely’
competition like dogs nipping at each other’s tails. The development of their love in the film
is framed by, “expansive views of the empty countryside and intimate vignettes of insect
activity; we are given shots of cloudbanks in the sky and of lichens on the ground; we are
invited to contemplate the moonlight on a spider’s web and mist descending on a herd of cows”
(Lawrence 179). For a contemporary audience expecting at least some homage to the original
text, such expansive silent scenes of nature can be extremely disturbing and disorienting—in
other words, ‘queer’. But Arnold is able to strike a balance between the plot and the setting, so
much so, that much of the natural drama escalates the progression of the plot. Following a shot
of beetles collecting leaves and rocks to build shelter, we see Heathcliff working as a labourer
on the field lifting stones. This generates sympathy not only for Heathcliff’s subaltern status in
the household after Earnshaw’s death, but it draws this affect out of nature over culture.
surrounded by animal life on the farm “combine to produce a period drama or literary
adaptation that is inherently political due to its revelatory exposure of the history of
The apotheosis of these wild or ‘queer’ gestures of love may be seen in the moment
Catherine licks Heathcliff’s wounds clean. This is ironically recapitulated in adulthood when
Isabella Linton scratches Catherine’s forearm in jealous rage, but Heathcliff cannot reciprocate
due to his newly acquired ‘white’ chivalry. Catherine smirks at him, and perhaps at the moral
hypocrisies inherent within Victorian marriage, and sucks the blood from her wound herself.
Despite their desire to appear civilised, Arnold represents the humans in her film to be nothing
but an extension of the animal. When Heathcliff brushes the hair of the horses in the stable, he
recalls the time he had scrubbed dirt from Catherine’s wet dark hair. Dominic Pettman’s book
Creaturely Love: How Desire Makes us More or Less than Human argues, “Whether it is the
texture of the beloved’s skin or hair, their singular scent, the way they drool in their sleep, the
way they eat with their mouth open, or the way they are trapped within their own umwelt of
semiotic disinheritors: we love the creaturely in the other, as much as their humanity” (3).
Pettman’s treatise on desire and the “animal side” of love is invested in de-pathologizing
notions of ‘queerness’, savagery, and bestiality by claiming that these feelings are actually
quite normal in sexual desire. In lieu of the simplistic Darwinian reduction—that animals are
our ancestors or their sexual urges are an ‘erotic equivalent’ to human ‘love’—Pettman claims
that the “creaturely” impulse inheres within the elevated humanistic ideal of romantic love. His
aim is to deconstruct that “traditional distinction” between the human, who experiences love,
and the animal that experiences only primal attraction. Pettman traces this distinction back to
the Enlightenment and identifies the Romantic tradition in literature to be the first serious
‘queer’ this humanistic and heterosexist ideal of love by introjecting elements of the wild and
the creaturely. Arnold takes this a step further in her postmodern adaptation by actively
situating their relationship within a feral framework of animal and insect life. Pettman believes
that by acknowledging the creaturely in love, one does not essentially devalue its spiritual
aspects but may imbue it with a humility that transcends social boundaries and norms. This is
reminiscent of Butler’s call for queer theory as an “ethics of humility”. It is worth noting that
the success of Arnold’s adaptation, or at least its “inherently political” significance, comes
from her connection of English colonialism to the industrial revolution and its destruction of
all things natural or creaturely in the human. Arnold shows how each reminder of this
destruction becomes painful to Heathcliff, such as when Catherine returns from Thrushcross
Grange with her hair properly coiffured in “ringlets”. She immediately recoils from his body
stating, “All you have to do is wash and clean up. You do look dirty”. In this poignant scene,
which invokes Heathcliff’s original response to Catherine from Brontë’s novel, he sullenly
retorts, “You did not have to touch me. I like being dirty”. The fact that Heathcliff’s ‘dirtiness’
or difference in the novel stems first and foremost from his racial alterity—regardless of
whether it is Romany, Irish, or black—is worth remembering. Kennard blindly equates the
violence and repression of Heathcliff’s identity to Brontë’s own repressed homosexuality. But
Arnold’s film avoids making that fallacy by depicting Heathcliff and Catherine’s love to be
Arnold successfully de-canonises both the bodies of Brontë and Heathcliff within
definition, archetype and other forms of ‘domesticating’ discourses. In her interview for The
Guardian with Benjamin Lee, Arnold draws attention to one of the most iconic scenes of her
film where the Heathcliff traverses the moor with dead rabbits slung on his back. She wanted
to convey the image of “a misty moor on a day when the earth and sky are merging, and there’s
a big animal climbing inside of the moor”. The audience then realises that the animal is in fact
“a man, carrying rabbits on his back”. She even goes on to state that she finds her own film
difficult to watch or “hard to look at”—much as Brontë’s original text is a disturbing read even
today. Arnold’s film is an excellent example of what the Toronto-based journal Feral
Feminisms calls an “untaming, queering, and radicalizing [of] feminist thought and practice
today” (5). Founded in 2013, the scope of the journal is grounded on “the implication that not
all feminisms are feral”—meaning not all feminisms are adequately intersectional, anti-
patriarchal, and anti-colonial in their collective approaches. Taking off from Halberstam’s
claim that the political potential of queer theory lies in “going wild”—the journal agrees that
certain strands of contemporary feminism and queer theory have become ‘domesticated’ over
time. As per various “homo-normalizing political agendas” (8) in the West, the term ‘queer’ is
most often interchangeably used with the categories of ‘gay’ and ‘lesbian’. But by wilding or
feralizing the concept, Feral Feminisms commits itself to a kind of on-going radicalism or
Feral Feminisms actively chooses the word ‘feral’ over ‘wild’ in order to highlight the
liminality and slippage between otherwise binary oppositional social categories such as
masculine and feminine, human and animal, white and black, native and settler, or homosexual
and heterosexual. ‘Wild’ and ‘wilderness’ are archaic terms that denigrate all that is not white
or masculine as being “barbaric, savage, or that which the civilized opposes” (9). However, by
adding the prefix ‘feral’ to feminist representations in politics and literature, the journal allows
one to reclaim animality and ambiguity not only as (negative) modes of critique of the
humanistic paradigm, but also as (positive) ontological categories in their own right. An
example of this is how Pettman’s places his theory of “creaturely love” within the normal
category of “human love”, rather than construing it as an opposition. Or how Arnold’s interest
in the flora and fauna of North Yorkshire “extends far beyond representing the characters’
ordinary interactions with pets, working animals and livestock. Non-human animals that serve
no obvious purpose (as pets or food) for the human characters are nevertheless privileged by
the film’s expanded mode of attention, and are not always utilised for the purpose of
augmenting the human story” (Lawrence 186). It seems that a feral or creaturely aesthetic
allows one to recognise the vulnerability of certain bodies and experiences within white
heterosexist patriarchy while retaining the force of their struggle for self-expression and
reclaimed desire. It firmly declares that both aggressor and victim are wounded by these violent
oppositional interactions, thus producing the fraught nature of contemporary politics and
literature. In their introduction to the volume “Feral Theory” of the journal, Kelly Struthers
We are drawn to the liminal animals who are apart from the society in which they
nonetheless live. Although being liminal in the case of nonhuman animals may often
be less voluntary, the liminality of these animals has parallels to being feminists in a
misogynist society and vegans in a carnist society. The liminality of these animals also
precarious sense of identification, we are drawn to the feral because at least some ferals
represent the prospect of escape from a former relationship of domination and control.
(6)
In conclusion, the feral feminist approach acknowledges the historical and material
violence committed upon these bodies but couches it within a more general framework of
− Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. Ed. Richard J. Dunne. New York and London: W. W.
− Eagleton, Terry. Heathcliff and the Great Hunger: Studies in Irish Culture. London and
− Halberstam, Judith, David. L. Eng, and José Esteban Muñoz. What’s Queer about Queer
Studies Now? Social Text 84/85. Durham: Duke University Press, 2005.
− Kennard, Jean. “Lesbianism and the Censoring of Wuthering Heights.” NWSA Journal 8.2,
− Lawrence, Michael. “Nature and the Non-Human in Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights.”
Journal of British Cinema and Television 13.1, Edinburgh University Press (2016): 177-194.
− Lee, Benjamin. “Andrea Arnold: I find my adaptation of Wuthering Heights ‘hard to look
wuthering-heights-american-honey-tribeca-film-festival
− Montford, Kelly Struthers, and Chloë Taylor. “Feral Theory: Editors’ Introduction.” Feral
− Nord, Deborah Epstein. “Marks of Race”: Gypsy Figures and Eccentric Femininity in
− Pettman, Dominic. Creaturely Love: How Desire Makes us More or Less than Human.
− Secher, Benjamin. “Dark Depths of Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights.” The Telegraph
(5 Nov 2011).
www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/filmmakersonfilm/8870091/Dark-depths-of-Andrea-
Arnolds-Wuthering-Heights.html
− Shachar, Hila. Cultural Afterlives and Screen Adaptations of Classic Literature: Wuthering
− Wuthering Heights. Dir. by Andrea Arnold. Perf. by Solomon Glave, James Howson.
- Basundhara Chakraborty
The composition of literature has always been a male privileging province and as a
consequence, women composers have had to work against the grain. Never part of the dominant
canon, their works have always been considered secondary to those of their male counterparts.
This tradition of discrimination has a universal character, as the subordinated status of female
literary figures in every part of the world, down the ages, bears witness to it. The fate of the
works read their compositions as “a light, readable mixture of poems, stories, letters, and
fashionable chit-chat’ and categorized their works as ‘frivolous, trivial and unliterary’ (Mermin
125). A great number of literary practitioners of merit were thus relegated into the sphere of
oblivion. Yet their voice was mighty enough to break the labyrinthine structure of the
patriarchal prejudices. Emily Brontë was a forerunner of these female literary figures who
“exploded out of the Queen’s looking glass” and destroyed “the glass coffin of the male-
authored text”, and as a consequence, “the old silent dance of death became a dance of triumph,
a dance into speech, a dance of authority”(Gilbert &Guber 44).An enigmatic figure among her
contemporaries, she was “alternately the isolated artist striding the Yorkshire moors, the
painfully shy girl-woman unable to leave the confines of her home […] and the ethereal soul
was an extremely private affair for her as she used to “hide her poems in kitchen cabinets (and
perhaps destroyed her Gondal stories)”(Gilbert & Gubar 83) and get only two of her literary
compositions published during her lifetime – the novel, Wuthering Heights and the collection
of poetry Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell(1846), a collective endeavour undertaken
along with her sisters Charlotte and Anne. Written at a time when the poet laureate Robert
Southey advised Charlotte Bronte: “Literature cannot be the business of a woman’s life, and it
ought not to be. The more she is engaged in her proper duties, the less leisure will she have for
it even as an accomplishment and a recreation” (Jenner 12), it was no wonder that the second
edition of Wuthering Heights was an “ill success”,(7) as Charlotte Brontë states in her
Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell. Though she was never much enthusiastic about
the success of Wuthering Heights, Charlotte never failed to recognize the merit of her sister
Emily’s poetry:
knowing that she could and did write verse: I looked it over, and something
more than surprise seized me -- a deep conviction that these were not common
effusions, nor at all like poetry women generally write. I thought them
condensed and terse, vigorous and genuine. To my ear, they had also a
Though only two copies of Poems were sold in her lifetime (Akbay 375), her poetic works
earned Emily positive reactions from some of her contemporaries also. The reviewer in the
Athaneum(1846) noted that Ellis Bell (Emily Brontë) has a “fine quaint spirit” and added that
she had “things to speak that men will be glad to hear,—and an evident power of wind that
may reach heights not here attempted” and the review in the journal Critic found in her poetry
traces of Wordsworth and Tennyson’s influence (Allot 60-61). But perhaps the greatest praise
came from Matthew Arnold who found similarities between Emily and the enigmatic figure of
Lord Byron:
…and She—
Yet, in spite of all these positive criticisms, Emily was never part of the dominant tradition of
Victorian poetry of which Tennyson, Arnold, and Rossetti were representative voices. And for
the successive generations, her reputation as a poet has been eclipsed by the phenomenal
success of Wuthering Heights, a tour de force. Most of the scholarly anthologies on Victorian
women poets have excluded Emily Bronte from their ambit, for example we can mention
Angela Leighton’s Victorian Women Poets: Writing Against the Heart (1992), Armstrong and
Blain’s Women’s Poetry: Late Romantic to Victorian (1999), Virginia Blain’s Victorian
Women Poets: A New Annotated Anthology (2001). The explanations for this tradition of
neglect are beyond the immediate objective of this paper as it is an attempt to trace that lost
legacy of this “poet of solitude” (“Hermitary”). The paper will attempt a reappraisal of her
lyrical canon and analyze her poetic works in landscape poetic tradition of the Victorian age
by doing a comparative study between her poetic works and the poetry of Tennyson, Arnold
and Hardy, the great trio of Victorian. The paper will also attempt a holistic understanding of
Emily Bronte’s poetic development through textual analysis of her early literary creations as
well as her mature poems and critically analyze: (a) how the process of dreaming informs both
the content and lyrical structure of Bronte’s poetry; (b) how she used landscape as the central
metaphor of her poetry; and (c) how she earned the epithet of the “poet of solitude”. The critical
approach of the study will combine textual analysis, biographical criticism and socio-historical
reading.
human beings in a completely new light (Akbay 379). The experience of dreaming is one such
phenomenon exploited by her. It has been a constant theme in Emily Bronte’s poetic oeuvre.
They endorse not only her urge for imaginative escape from the mundane world but also,
paradoxically her acceptance of the need to live in that world. The metaphoric quality of her
dream poems bears witness to this fact. A sense of loss is all pervasive in Emily Bronte’s
poetry. In poems like “Stars”, “The Night of Storms”, “Alone I Sat”, “Lines by Claudia”,
“Castle Wood”, “The Guardians are Asleep” the speaker perceives an imaginary landscape in
a dream and waking up laments the loss of it. In this context, her poetry reiterates the medieval
tradition of dream allegory, where this same sense of loss had a dominant presence. This
allegorical quality of dream framework is particularly beneficial to the poet using it, as it had
been for Chaucer, as it said to have protected him or his narrator from exhibiting “his bleeding
heart”, as Dorothy Bethurum puts it. She further adds: “[the dream framework] serves mainly
for aesthetic distancing. It is a vision within the poem, two degrees from reality, and allows an
even further idealization that we ordinarily expect in a poem” (214-215). This process of
distancing has been a very subtle one – the strategic use of limited vocabulary provides the
Freud in his Interpretation of Dreams elucidates (349-56). The poems provide the readers with
no explanations; rather they distort their practice of conventional reading of poetic pieces
where the principle of logic has been given the dominant presence and they can best be read in
line with Kenneth Burke’s theory of reading “the poem as dream” where he asks the reader to
notice: “… the way in which grammatical rules are violated… the dream’s ways of enacting
of grammatical rules has been a constant feature in Emily Bronte’s poetry, for example, we can
mention the poem “It is not pride, it is not shame”, wherein asserting the negation of causality,
she actually means to assert the presence of both these emotions (Ross 125).
In Emily Bronte’s poetry, the poetic voice often laments the loss of the ideal state of
childhood where some mysterious happenings seem to have taken place. She often recollects
the happy bygone days of her childhood and sometimes this process of recollection turns into
a daydream, as it happens in the following extract: “Oh, I’m gone back to the days of youth,/I
am a child once more;/ And ‘neath my father’s sheltering roof…” (Bronte 284). Freud, in his
essay “The Relation of The Poet to Dayd reaming” has explained childhood memories to be
the source of creative inspiration in later life. He explained the analogy between creative
Some actual experience which made a strong impression on the writer had stirred up a
arouses a wish that finds fulfillment in the work in question, and in which elements of
the recent event and the old memory should be discernible… the stress laid on the
writer’s memories of his childhood, which perhaps seems so strange, which ultimately
This “substitution” becomes evident in Emily Bronte’s poetry as she writes: “No – Not forget
eternally/Remains its memory dear” (10-11); And here she shares an affinity with the great
romantics like Wordsworth and Thomas De Quincy, as in their creative world childhood is
Emily Bronte was not only a dreamer but a visionary herself who has transcended the
limitations of her immediate world. In her poem “Stars”, the narrative voice is waking herself
up in the morning after a dreamful night. We do not get to know about the contents of her
dream as the psychological activity of dreaming was more important for the poet than the
psychology of her poetic self: “Although the dream has ended, she writes about what it feels
like to be caught up in it, not about what it feels like to contemplate it or to use it to better
understand the waking self” (Gezari427-429). She is bereaved at the loss of the maternal care
of the night stars and the patriarchal spirit of the sun has made the estrangement between them
all the wider:“The soul of nature, sprang, elate, I But mine sank sad and low!” Yet soon she is
able to transcend the limitations of herself and feel for the suffering humanity itself, as she
becomes conscious of the oppressive nature of the sun “that does not warm, but burns?;/ That
drains the blood of suffering men;/ drinks tears instead of dew” (Gezari 405).
Though nature has been a constant presence in Bronte’s poetic oeuvre, she can never
be categorized as a nature poet. The natural beauty of the landscape of West Yorkshire is never
the central theme in her works; rather it serves as a pre-condition, a metaphor for the various
state of mind of the poetic self. All the natural objects in the landscape- Mountains, Moon, Sun,
the stars, wildflowers are there not for their own sake, but for the sake of the poetic self. The
bleak natural surrounding stands for the isolated self that feels estranged from its surroundings.
Many of Emily Bronte’s poems begin with a description of nature; in Winifred Gerin’s words
“What the day was like, and how the earth looked” (67). The tranquil state of nature is often
The “wild words” of the “ancient song” makes her recollect the bygone days of her happy
This joyous state of childhood makes us remember the happy child of Wordsworth’s The
Prelude, Book I and the innocent state of childhood in William Blake’s Songs of Innocence.
The absence of that blissful state of mind, as well as heavenly nature, has been the central
designate her as the “poet of loss” (248). This elegiac sense of loss is central to Emily Bronte’s
poems as in almost every poem the poetic self is recollecting that experience of loss or
meditating upon it. And the landscape is the most compatible vehicle for expressing that
emotion. Emily Bronte was perhaps the most a-historical poet of the Victorian era as “she did
not possess even her sister Charlotte’s ability to depict a human consciousness as it passes
through phases of development, from isolation to psychic integration” (Ross 153). And this
characteristic of her makes her stand apart from her celebrated contemporary Tennyson. The
speakers in Emily Bronte’s poems are not interested in conveying a sense of continuation from
innocence to experience, fragmentation to unity; rather they stand for the emotions resulting
A binary between the microcosm and macrocosm, i.e. man and nature is self-evident in
Emily Bronte’s poetry. In her world, the solace in the human world is vulnerable to benign
nature. This anti-naturalist spirit is something she shares with Thomas Hardy and Matthew
Arnold. Among the successive generations Walter Pater, Wallace Stevens, Phillip Larkin are
the flag bearers of this school of poetry. Ann Marie Ross in this context writes:
Emily Bronte’s poems affirm again and again Phillip Larkin’s perception, that
among the objects in nature “none of this cares for us” (The Whitsuntide
“the nothing that is not there and the nothing that is” (158).
In an early poem of her called “Lord of Elbe”, the poetic selfseems to find a resemblance
between the fire in the domestic hearth and the stars in the sky:
Bright are the fires in your lonely home
Through the careful use of simile, in a roundabout manner, she has pointed out the gap between
the domestic corner of solace and bleak nature. In a later poem, this unbridgeable gap between
But the poetic selves in Emily Bronte’s poems never experience the sense of desolation that
was common in the Victorian landscape poetry, especially in Arnold’s poetry. She was never
afflicted with the Victorian man’s dilemma concerning nature – whether to follow the
Augustan philosophy or the Romantic philosophy concerning it (Roper 9). The figures in her
poetry never interact physically with nature – we never see them ascend or descend hills or
mountain, nor pass through valleys as in many of Arnold’s poems. In this context we should
remember that the landscape in Emily Bronte’s poetry is “the indurate northern landscape [that]
resists the efforts of man to tame, to humanize it” in contrast with the hospitable southern
Solitude has been one of the most pervasive themes in Emily Bronte’s poetic oeuvre,
leading Helen Dunmore to aptly title her collection of Emily Bronte’s poetry as Poems of
Solitude(2004).A large number of critics have found her preoccupation with the theme of
solitude as a fictional reflection of the reclusive life that she used to live. The voice of Margaret
Drabble is a representative one in this context, as she in “The Writers as Recluse: The Theme
I am sure that one of the reasons why the Brontes have so captured the
imagined solitude… Emily was a true solitary, a true recluse: she had no
friends, wrote no letters to speak of, hated to travel or to be away from home,
and seemed to commune more with animals, books, nature, and God, than
If we agree with Yeats’ theory that: “a poet writes always of his personal life, in his finest
work, out of its tragedy, whatever it be, remorse, lost love, or mere loneliness” (200), then the
solitude in Emily Bronte’s poetry seems to have autobiographical significance. In this context
we should also keep in mind that the solitude in her poetic meditations does not bear any
melodramatic undertone – it would be a fallacy to interpret her solitude as the tragic fate of a
spinster as her solitary life was more a choice than compulsion, as she, being “a solitude-loving
raven, no gentle dove”, as Charlotte Bronte puts it, “found in the bleak solitude [of the moors]
take up a close reading of this poem by Emily Bronte wrote on May 11, 1837:
O may I never lose the peace
Solitude was never a dreadful thing for her poetic selves, as she announced:
In unexhausted woe.
Give me the hills our equal prayer:
Disillusioned with the hypocritical, inhuman world, Emily found herself triumphant as, in her
own words; she “fought neither for my home nor God”. Being confident about the enlightening
nature of her solitary state, she is said to have felt the presence of “God within [her] breast”
The solitary figure in Bronte’s poetry often regains her “faith in himself and the universe”
(Gezari492) in her dream, as it happens in the poem “A Day Dream”. As the poem begins, she,
a “sullen” figure, is lying “alone” on a “sunny brae”. But gradually she is relieved of her
miserable state, “a fit of peevish woe” as she sees in her dream “thousand thousand gleaming
Though critics like Robin Grove argue that Emily Bronte’s poetic oeuvre “shows no
convincing chronological development” (45), Inga- Stina Ewbank has traced “a development
towards a stronger moral consciousness” (106-107). Ross has explained it thus: “If the
strategies of escape and withdrawal remain constants in Emily Bronte’s poetry, at least in her
later poetry she is able to create speakers who more fully explore the relationships between
internal and external reality” (188). Though the dominant tone in the early poems has been an
urge for escape as the poetic self feels alienated from nature, in the later poems the self achieves
a greater understanding towards the relationship between human beings and nature: “ [They
often] counterpoint[their] subjectivity against the tangible existence of nature” (ibid). The
omnipotent nature and its enduring quality often provide relief to the poetic self from mundane
worldly existence. The earlier poems often record minute detailing of nature and its objects,
but gradually, in the later poems, especially in the poems written during 1841-1846 nature and
its objects attain symbolic status; less attention is given to the detailing of nature. The rhetorical
figure of antithesis is the dominant one in the later poems. For instance, we can mention
Emily’s frequent oxymoronic use of adverbs like “never” and “always”, “all and one” in her
poems. Ross has traced a “tendency towards an antithesis of extremes, towards hyperbole” in
Emily Bronte’s poetic development (198). Her strategic use of verbs and adjectives in her later
poems bear witness to this thesis. In the poem “Stars”, Bronte has used verbs like “thrilled”,
“throbbed”, “burn”, “drank”, “scorched”, “struck” and traced the progression of the poetic self
from attraction towards repulsion to the natural objects (Gezari 405). Similarly in the poem
“Death that struck when I was most confiding” (Bronte 39-40), the verbs and particles trace
the progress of the poetic self from birth to division and finally reunification. In the poems of
the earlier stage, Bronte has used a number of adjectives to give voice to the emotions of the
poetic self, as it happens in the poem “Were they shepherds who sat all day?”: the brows are
“fevered” and “pallid”, the heart is “sickened”, joy is “blissful”, the day “dreary” or “gloomy”,
and the wind “restless” (Bronte 152). While describing nature, these adjectives also throw light
space” of the narrative self in poetry as well as the creator: “Emily Bronte’s poems often depict
the speaker’s withdrawal amidst nature as they depict her withdrawal from nature; for, as the
single figure inhabiting the uninhabited expanse of the moors she may experience the more
In making the theme of isolation central to her poetic oeuvre, Emily Bronte exhibited a
continuum with the dominant tradition of Victorian poetry, but her writing was more a
major poets of the period, especially Arnold, tend to view it as, at best, a
palliative for the life enclosed within the ‘brazen prison’ of Victorian urban
society, and, at worst, an escape from the duty to participate in the world
(Ross 303).
In Arnold’s poetry, the isolated speakers seek refuge in nature. For example, in the poem
“Parting” the desolated lover is complaining to nature of his ladylove Marguerite’s indifference
But nature itself is void of the human emotions and fails to substitute human love “because it
contains no reference point to human values” (Ross 283). The speaker of Emily Bronte’s “To
Another distinction between Bronte and Arnold can be seen in their different treatment to the
memories of the past. Unlike Arnold’s “A Summer Night” where memories fade into “the dewy
dark obscurity at the far horizon’s rim”, in Bronte’s “The farewell’s echo from thy soul”the
past gets fused into the present as the speaker recollects her wrongdoings in the past and claims
This endless cycle of remembrance and repentance gets reiterated in many of Bronte’s poems,
like “Remembrance”, “Death that Struck When I was most confiding”, “This Summer Wind”.
Unlike Arnold, Bronte never details the event that her narrator remembers as the act of
present. Bronte’s speakers do not so much meditate upon the past as use to
This condensation of the past at present has been a signature style of Bronte and it makes her
stand apart from her celebrated contemporary Tennyson. Interestingly, both of them shared an
affinity for using the same symbolism of window and domestic space, but with differing
treatments. While for Tennyson, this symbolism was intended to emphasize the “contrast . . .
between a modern setting and a circumscribed past of myth, legend or fairy tale” (Ross 425),
for Bronte it symbolized continuity between the domestic setting of home and nature outside,
protagonist’s emotions from her surroundings and emphasizes on her self-delusory state,
through the words “dreamy house”, and presents her experiences thus:
Ross explains it thus: “Whereas in Tennyson’s poetry window and enclosure more often
symbolize the disparity between the speaker’s desire and his actual condition, the same image
in Bronte’s poetry symbolize the imaginative fusion of actual condition and dream or desire”
(294).
Of all her contemporary poets, it was Thomas Hardy with whom Emily Bronte shared
some affinities in her attitude towards the themes of time and landscape. The fusion of past and
present has been a dominant characteristic of both of them. Yet there are some individual traits
that made them stand apart from each other: firstly, we miss in Emily Bronte’s poetry the sense
of discovery that is all-pervasive in Hardy’s poetry: the speakers of Hardy’s poems minutely
detail all that they “see” and “hear” in nature and also the “lessons” they have learned from
nature. But this detailing about nature cannot be seen in Bronte’s poetry. And secondly, the
subtle fluctuation between past and present has been a trademark of Hardy’s poetry. But in
Bronte’s poetry, this oscillation takes a new shape: as “swiftly and inexplicably in her poems
we are shifted to the past; instants of time, associated with disparate emotions, shift rapidly”
(Ross 327). Ross has read the image of “pond’s edge” to be the epitome of the “fluctuating
margin between events” in Hardy’s poetry, but in Bronte’s poetry the events move towards
or lacking in judgment and finish” like Emily Dickinson’s poetry (Howe 23-24), Emily
Bronte’s poetry has been praised by Gezari for being “the record of a powerfully independent
mind responding to her own inner experience in the world and seeking always an abrogation
of human limits compatible with a stern morality”(69). Almost as elusive as the life of their
creator, her poetical works are the best specimens of her individual, self-taught philosophy.
But to consider them as personal statements of her poetic mind would be a mistake as Virginia
Woolf reminds us: “the impulse which urged her to create was not her own suffering or her
own injuries, [but the] gigantic ambition [to comment on the relations between] the whole
human race [and] the eternal powers” (189). It was this ambition of hers that made her give
birth to a new kind of poetic language, which was personal and impersonal, conventional and
Works Cited
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− Allot, Miriam. ed. The Brontes: The Critical Heritage. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul,
1974, p.60-61. Print.
− Bethurum, Dorothy. “Chaucer’s Point of View as Narrator in the Love Poems”.PMLA, 74
(1959).Rpt. in Chaucer Criticism. Ed. R.J. Schoeck and J. Taylor. Vol. 2. Notre Dame: Notre
Dame University Press, 1961, p.211-31. Print.
− Buchen, Irving. “Emily Bronte and the Metaphysics of Childhood and Love”. Nineteenth
Century Fiction, 22 (1967).Rpt. in Emily Bronte.Ed. Jean-Pierre Petit. Penguin Critical
Anthology. Harmondworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1973, p.248. Print.
− Burke, Kenneth. A Rhetoric of Motives. Prentice-Hall,1950, 238. Print.
− Ewbank, Inga- Stina. Their Proper Sphere: A Study of the Bronte Sisters as Early Victorian
Female Novelists. London: Edwin Arnold, 1961, p.106-107. Print.
− Drabble, Margaret. “The Poet as Recluse: The Theme of Solitude in the Works of the
Brontes”. Bronte Society Transaction, 16 (1975), p.259- 69. Print.
− “Emily Bronte, The Poet of Solitude”. Hermitary. Web. 29 March 2018.
<www.hermitary.com/solitude/bronte.html>. Poetry Foundation. Web. 29 March 2018.
<https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/emily-bronte>.
− Gerin, Winifred. Emily Bronte: A Biography. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971, p. 67. Print.
− Gezari, J. Last Things: Emily Brontë’s Poems. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
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− Gilbert, S. M. Gubar, S. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the
Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, USA: Yale University Press, 2000, p.44-83. Print.
− Grove, Robin. “‘It Would Not Do: Emily Bronte as a Poet”, in The Art of Emily Bronte, ed.
Anne Smith. New York: Burnes and Noble, 1976. P.47-49. Print.
− Hewish, John. Emily Bronte: A Critical and Biographical Study. Macmillan,1969. Google
Books, <https:// book-google.co.in/books?isbn=1349002925>.
− Howe, Susan. My Emily Dickinson. Berkley: North Atlantic Book, 1985, p.23-24. Print.
− Jenner, S. Identity and the Victorian Woman Poet: Working in and Against the Poetess
Tradition, Published Master’s Thesis, UK: The University of Birmingham, 2010. Print.
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Genre”, 1830-1900, Review, Victorian Poetry, 37.1. (1999), p.125. Print.
− Roper, Alan. Arnold’s Poetic Landscapes. Baltimore: John Hopkins University, 1969, p.9.
Print.
− Ross, Ann Marie. “The Dreamer in The Landscape: A Critical Study of Emily Bronte’s
Poetry”. Diss. U of California,1980. Print.
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- Courtney Simpkins
Emily Brontë’s novel introduces readers to the cultural codes of her nineteenth century
society, where women, and men, were often met with standards of living nearly impossible to
achieve. Wuthering Heights also uncovers the importance of homosocial relationships between
women – registered in their personal conversations – particularly between Nelly and Catherine.
Through its representation of the close contact between the servant and mistress, one of the
more important arguments in the novel focuses on the idea of class distinction and whether or
not a person should be able to move freely between classes. Furthermore, Brontë critiques the
patriarchal society working mercilessly to create weak women who must submit to the will of
men. In their adaptations, David Skynner and Coky Giedroyc alter these arguments, but neither
film enhances or detracts from the original points made. While the storyline is changed,
sometimes enough to create entirely new situations, nevertheless, the two directors worked
diligently to eliminate enough of the novel’s details to fit in a two-hour time frame, but still
The tumultuous relationship between Catherine Earnshaw Linton and her trusted
servant and confidant, Ellen “Nelly” Dean, is arguably one of the strongest homosocial
relationships in Wuthering Heights. Emily Brontë gives two women the oldest, and arguably
strongest, relationship, and through this defends against the nineteenth century societal
assumption that women, when together and gossiping, were dangerous creatures. Traditionally,
only the lower class gossiped about the upper class, but not vice versa (Gordon 723), but the
fact that the two women from different classes gossip together, means that the distinction
between social classes and social discourses become blurred. Jan B. Gordon also states that
“gossip represents a kind of collective conspiracy to gain access to that which is spatially or
socially hidden, and tends to be subversive” (723). This type of class distinction was important
in the nineteenth century, but in the novel, Brontë speaks out against it. Many of the most
significant sections of dialogue occur between Catherine, Heathcliff, and Nelly – all of whom
characters who seem to defy all odds. Catherine is a prime example of this for she is often
described as wild, and close to nature. Even after she is interred, her ghost and corpse appear
– and there’s no way to be closer to nature than to be buried within it. When Catherine isn’t
seen as wild, she’s often perceived as cunning, especially in her scheme to create a “better life”
for Heathcliff and herself via Edgar Linton. She is not the quintessential nineteenth century
woman in her actions and attitude. By creating a character who is sure of herself, even in her
downfalls, Brontë’s arguments are solidified in the text. According to Arnold Shapiro,
[Emily Brontë] has great sympathy for her characters, but she mercilessly
them. She has a great vision of the possibilities of love, but she also quite clearly
shows how the limitations of human beings and society can make that love
unattainable…at the end, she gives us hope for the future, neither sentimentally
nor compromisingly. She calls for a revolution – the reversal of the old ways of
thinking and behaving. She wants society to live by the values which it has
Although Catherine’s personality initially seems uncultivated and Isabella’s more refined, both
women show their strength by the end of the novel, regardless of their status in society.
Isabella is an important example of a victim of domestic abuse, but she is also one of
the most forgotten characters. She has little agency throughout much of the novel – until she
flees Wuthering Heights – and critics often “represent Isabella as arrested in her infantile
girlhood” but W. C. Roscoe, in 1857, stated that “Isabella Linton becomes imbued with said
coarseness, when in fact it is only as Isabella Heathcliff that this transformation takes place”
(Pike 349). Although Isabella is not a major character in the novel, her femaleness supports
Brontë’s theme; she is first presented as weak and mild, then shown, like Catherine, as strong
and abrasive. She instantly becomes enthralled with Heathcliff, runs off with him, and proceeds
to suffer in a negative relationship. She is degraded and abused by Heathcliff, and she
eventually flees, pregnant with his child. During the nineteenth century, women were often not
allowed to request divorces, and taking a child away from their father constituted kidnapping;
Isabella disregards this legality. In the moment, Isabella replaces her timid disposition with a
new bold and brave one when she finally escapes the drunken, tyrannical powers of Heathcliff.
Probably one of the more prominent arguments Emily Brontë makes is the importance
of female strength in the nineteenth century. Catherine’s determination to marry a man for
reasons that are important to her – but go against society’s traditional views of marriage –
shows a power not characteristically ingrained in females. In the following scene, most
famously known as the “I am Heathcliff” scene, Catherine and Nelly Dean converse about
Catherine’s love for Edgar Linton; the discussion moves forward to her secret love for
Heathcliff. Here, we see Catherine voicing shallow reasons for wanting to marry Edgar Linton,
such as his appearance, his wealth, and his emotions. Nelly, though of lower class, honestly
“I’m very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,” [Nelly] replied. “You love Mr.
Edgar, because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and loves
you. The last, however, goes for nothing. You would love him without that,
probably; and with it, you wouldn’t, unless he possessed the four former
attractions.”
“No, to be sure not – I should only pity him – hate him, perhaps, if he were
“But there are several other handsome, rich young men in the world;
Catherine’s desires are superficial and misdirected, but nevertheless, she wants Edgar for
reasons that only make sense to her. Her inherent strength – her independence – is
overshadowed and hidden by this trivial desire. At this point, Brontë critiques these women
and their situations by showing how senseless it is for a person, especially a woman, to want
to marry for trivial reasons rather than more heartfelt ones. Insincere marriages were
commonplace; Catherine knows her marriage to Edgar Linton would be of this kind, no matter
demonstrates that the clash of economic interests and social class is an important factor in
nineteenth century society. She shows this by juxtaposing Heathcliff’s and Linton’s financial
situations throughout the novel. This allows the audience to relate more to the characters’
experiences, since many of her female readership went through similar situations. Regardless
of whether or not these women had romantic feelings for the men courting them, deciding
between the wrong and right spouse centered on how much the relationship would improve a
woman’s life and financial situation. Heathcliff simply cannot offer Catherine what she
“needs” by nineteenth century standards, and Edgar Linton can. In the continuation of this
earlier scene, Catherine is still speaking with Nelly about her reasons for marrying Edgar, but
her feelings are continuously wavering as she details even further how much she and Heathcliff
are meant to be together; However, she needs Edgar Linton’s power, social status, and money
to aid Heathcliff to rise to the point where she wants him to be:
“…Nelly, I see now, you think me a selfish wretch, but, did it ever strike you
Linton, I can aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother’s power.”
“With your husband’s money, Miss Catherine?” [Nelly] asked. “You’ll find
him not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though I’m hardly a judge, I
think that’s the worst motive you’ve given yet for being the wife of young
Linton.”
“If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,” [Nelly] said, “it only
goes to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in
marrying; or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble me with
Many women sought economic marriages, because, given the lack of educational opportunities
and paucity of professions for women, they and their families would be adequately supported
throughout their lives. Brontë’s twist on this, however, is that Catherine’s goal is to use Edgar’s
money for Heathcliff, who is not her family, but the man with whom she is in love. With Edgar,
Catherine knows she will never truly love him the way she does Heathcliff; this all-
encompassing love, in her mind, completely justifies the undertaking of this economic
marriage. Nelly attempts to discourse with her on the subject, but she becomes increasingly
frustrated with the situation. Catherine steps out of the woman’s traditional role in the
Emily Brontë is also engaging with gender discourses in this moment, because
Catherine’s willpower and strength of purpose far exceeds gender norms nineteenth-century
women were supposed to subscribe to. Although seemingly manipulative, she nevertheless
takes an active role in Heathcliff’s present and future, without first offering him a chance to be
an active agent in his own life. She attempts to make the decisions for him, especially when
she concludes, to Nelly’s surprise, that a separation between herself and Heathcliff is
Much to her dismay, and despite the power and passion she shows throughout this entire
conversation, that is precisely what happens because Heathcliff does not understand how to
approach a woman who unintentionally emasculates him and makes him feel inferior. In her
article “‘The Situation of the Looker-On’: Gender, Narration, and Gaze in Wuthering Heights,”
Beth Newman – in relation to Catherine’s continual demand that Heathcliff look at her face or
a gaze that escaped patriarchal specular relations would not simply reverse the
positions of male and female, as Catherine’s malign look pretends to do, but
would eliminate the hierarchy altogether...In assuming the role of spectator,
she seeks a “masculine” position that because she is a woman, redefines her as
exaggerating the role of the woman whose gaze is dangerous to men, engaging
a construct. (1032-1033)
Newman indicates that Catherine is a firm mix of femininity and masculinity, causing other
characters to not know how to react. She is stubborn in many situations, and no one, not even
her own family or husband, can settle her down; she wants what she wants, and she stops at
Heathcliff does not hear the remainder of Catherine’s and Nelly’s conversation, because
he has silently fled from the room as quickly as he entered; after this night, he moves abroad
and doesn’t return until three years later, after he has acquired an education and earned enough
money to raise him to the same, or even a higher, status as Edgar Linton and his family. To top
this off, he purchases both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. Heathcliff is finally
the type of man Catherine wants to be with: handsome, rich, and in love with her. Here, Emily
Brontë raises her argument about class distinction and mobility again when Heathcliff uses his
extravagant purchases to show his rise from lower-class to upper-class. Catherine’s platonic
and romantic feelings about Edgar and Heathcliff directly rival one another in purity and
intensity, but she cannot seem to make the final decision about how, and with whom, she wants
to spend her life: with a man whom she believes to mirror her soul, or with a man who appears
to be her opposite – tame and polished where she is wild and unkempt – who can give her the
the film adaptations as in the novel; the 1998 cinematic Wuthering Heights, directed by David
Skynner, alters many details of the novel, as does the 2009 version, enriching some arguments
and diminishing others. Modern film critics and audience members often “resort to the elusive
notion of the ‘spirit’ of a work or an artist that has to be captured and conveyed in the adaptation
for it to be a success” (Hutcheon 10). The language of this observation is quite terse, and some
may even say this is a lackluster way to study an adaptation. I disagree with that sentiment,
because studying the alterations made often allows the audience to experience a slightly
different story, with arguments of its own. Adapting one medium to another does not inherently
create a better/worse hierarchy; it simply allows the two to interact with one another in a
different way. Perhaps a screenwriter’s or director’s desire to keep a film “true” to the novel
should be considered an homage to the author’s vision. An example of this, and the original
convey the essence of Norris’s novel, the filmmaker Erich von Stroheim produced an eight-
hour film entitled Greed. Of course, the director was forced to cut the final product down to
two hours, resulting in the seemingly disjointed version of the story (“Cruel and Unusual”).
Unfortunately, this is not what Erich von Stroheim set out to do with his adaptation; he wanted
to create a vivid, visual depiction of Norris’s text, but the studio couldn’t, or wouldn’t, allow
for this long of a movie. We see this same sentiment in eight adaptations of Jane Eyre. These
attempt to pack a five-hundred-page book into a two-hour time span. However, the 2006
adaptation, directed by Susanna White, comes in right under the four-hour mark, and is much
closer, more loyal, and true to the novel than many of the other films.
In his book, Film Adaptation and Its Discontents, Thomas Leitch outlines several types
of adaptations, the first type being “curatorial adaptations.” These “subordinate whatever
specific resources they find in cinema to the attempt to preserve their original texts as faithfully
as possible” (96). In other words, the writers and directors of these adaptations work tirelessly,
regardless of cinematic conventions, to keep the spirit of the source text alive, and the original
arguments intact, much like the adaptation of Jane Eyre. The second type, “adjustment,” is
where “a promising earlier text is rendered more suitable for filming by one or more of a wide
superimposition (98). This type of adaptation alters a text that is too long or too short, or it
provides an alternate outcome. Likewise, George Bluestone states, in relation to the film
[with] all the additional changes that a new medium demands…it becomes all
of retaining Emily Brontë’s tropes would make the shift inevitable. The
cinema cannot retain…the simile which shows how Heathcliff’s anguished cry
is ‘like a savage beast getting goaded to death with knives and spears.’ In
abandoning language for the visual image, the film leaves behind the author’s
Similarly, much of Jane Eyre’s arguments in the novel are shown via Jane’s inner thoughts,
which cannot be adequately reproduced on screen, unless a majority of the film were to use a
voice-over, which could make for non-entertainment. Consequently, deleting portions of the
narration, or inventing dialogue between characters, is not unheard of and can be quite
impactful to the overall story. However, many of Emily Brontë’s arguments within Wuthering
Heights are represented through dialogue. Nevertheless, in the adaptations, some of these are
eliminated completely or occur between completely different characters, thereby inherently
Emily Brontë chooses to introduce Nelly as the narrator, to help the story progress
naturally, but Nelly does not appear in David Skynner’s adaptation nearly as often as in the
novel. This choice by the director greatly impacts the story, because the conversations between
Nelly and the two leading characters no longer seem as significant where their history is not
shown. However, within the first five minutes of the movie, Heathcliff’s love for Catherine is
strongly impressed upon the minds of the audience. Rather than allowing Catherine and Nelly’s
text, Skynner’s characterization seems to suggest that they mean very little to one another, and
Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship is placed center stage. The film also takes agency away
from Catherine, since she must fight for agency among her male counterparts. She eventually
has a sort of heart-to-heart with Nelly almost an hour into the film, much farther than it occurs
in the novel. This conversation happens soon after Heathcliff is accosted by Edgar and Hindley
about his different attire and the fact that Heathcliff can “scrub [him]self for all [he’s] worth,
but [he’ll] never get the darkness out of [his] skin” (Skynner 28:36-28:41). Hurt by the
comments from her suitor and her brother, Catherine looks to Nelly for support. Since these
two women were not established as confidants prior to this meeting, the exchange isn’t as
Furthermore, the section of the dialogue where Catherine and Nelly discuss her
engagement to Edgar Linton is completely eliminated from Skynner’s adaptation. The decision
to remove this conversation from the script changes the power and dynamics of this scene and
effectively eliminates one of the only allies, and the voice of reason, to Heathcliff and
Catherine’s story. Moreover, Nelly isn’t given the opportunity to become equal to Catherine.
Unlike in the novel where both women are able to discuss freely the engagement to Linton,
and Nelly even gives her opinion on the matter, woman-to-woman, without fear of censure or
conversations. Skynner’s scene shows Nelly giving Catherine advice, but the conversation is
abrupt, and does not come across as profound and meaningful as the scene in the novel. Nelly
isn’t given the screen time to plead her case to Catherine, unwittingly adhering to the societal
In this film, the scene in question begins with Catherine telling Nelly she is convinced
she is wrong about marrying Edgar, articulating her dream of heaven, stating, “I have no more
business to marry him than I have to be in heaven” (Skynner 40:00-40:04). Like in many Gothic
novels, as soon as Catherine states her realization, there is a crack of thunder and a flash of
lightning; the thunder is an aid to revitalize the audience’s attention, and the lightning fills the
frame with white light bright enough to almost wash out the characters’ faces. She continues
should never have thought of it. But it would degrade me to marry Heathcliff
now.
beggars… (40:05-40:27).
Where Brontë’s text bleeds emotion, this adaptation is seriously lacking; the characters don’t
move around the space and sufficient time is not given to the scene to build the emotion
required to achieve the same feeling that Brontë does. Here in the adaptation, Catherine is
shown kneeling at Nelly’s feet, looking up to her as she speaks, rather than as in the novel,
where she is laughing and “holding [Nelly] down, for [she] made the motion to leave [her]
chair” (Brontë 63). Since there is obviously no joking going on between Nelly and Catherine
(perhaps stemming from the fact that Nelly is not one of the primary characters in this
adaptation), the writer and director negate the importance of conversation between Nelly and
Catherine. Although cinematic versions of these novels have a time limit, typically hovering
around the two hour mark, the deletion of much of this scene may have been done purposefully
to save time for other aspects of the novel to be illuminated more vividly on screen.
CATHERINE: It’s the best reason. I do love Edgar, but my love for him is
like, it’s like the foliage in the woods: time will change it. But my love for
own being.
(40:27-41:36)
As we can see, this portion of the scene has changed vastly in the adaptation. Here, the
discussion of Catherine using Edgar’s fortune to elevate Heathcliff and expecting Edgar to
simply “tolerate him” is drastically shorter. Where Nelly has almost as many lines as Catherine
in the novel, here she is given less than ten, continuing to cast her as a secondary character
rather than a primary one. As a strong female character in the novel, Nelly stands out among
the others for her ability to speak on behalf of, and against, other characters, regardless of their
gender or class. Many of Brontë’s arguments in Wuthering Heights are exemplified through
Nelly’s character because her narrative is used to defy many of society’s most absurd and
illogical standards of conduct. But here, Nelly’s importance is diminished by excluding her
Analyzing Emily Brontë’s critique of nineteenth century class distinctions and society’s
focus on wealth is difficult with Skynner’s adaptation, since much of the novel’s text is excised.
The simple act of eliminating this text inherently changes the meaning; Catherine’s somewhat
manipulative plan is brushed over, her power is diminished, and the modern audience almost
completely misses the point that Catherine’s unreasonable request reflects the classist
stereotypes. By making Catherine emotional and wild, Brontë gives her more agency because
in the novel she will stop at nothing to “have her cake and eat it, too.” She truly believes that
she will be able to not only have a marriage with Linton and a relationship with Heathcliff, but
that these two men will be able to coexist with one another. Catherine believes this up until
Heathcliff returns years later, yet she still cannot comprehend why it is not possible to have
both Heathcliff and Linton in her romantic life. In some ways, Skynner’s adaptation actually
irrationality. The adaptation presents marriage and romantic relationships in a more favorable
light than the novel does. Presenting the audience with a less dramatized version of the story
negates the importance of Catherine’s agency. In the novel, Catherine’s need to help Heathcliff
rise in society is often seen as an example of manipulation by the character, but in the
adaptation, she is incapable of being manipulative because her strength is limited by the other
characters.
Many of the arguments Emily Brontë makes in Wuthering Heights are also altered or
eliminated from Coky Giedroyc’s 2009 adaptation. Once again, Nelly’s character does not
appear as vital to the film as she is in the novel. In the novel, Catherine went to Nelly for
multiple reasons: mentoring, friendship, advice. In the film, that option is no more and she
must find another person – equal or not – to confide in. Some may say that Nelly’s
disappearance from the film could be seen as an attempt to give all agency to Catherine, since
she will undoubtedly need to stand up and speak for herself. However, I do not believe this to
be the case. Yes, she is given every opportunity to be strong and outspoken, but many of these
opportunities are disregarded by other characters who use their physicality to overwhelm
Catherine. Edgar and Heathcliff both speak for Catherine throughout the adaptation, and she
seems to lose not only her best homosocial connection, but her voice as well.
The writers did not explicitly eliminate portions of dialogue, unlike the Skynner
adaptation. They simply rearranged the portions into a new sequence, sometimes between
different sets of characters. As the scene in the film progresses, Catherine turns to Nelly for a
little support:
NELLY: Do you love Mr. Edgar?
NELLY: By no means. [Catherine and Nelly sit, facing one another.] You
neighborhood.
pleased.
NELLY: Edgar Linton is a good man and he will save you. ’Tis neither
practical nor desirable for you to marry Heathcliff. And if you love Edgar and
CATHERINE: Nelly, my love for Edgar is like the foliage in the woods.
Time will change it, I’m well aware, but my love for Heathcliff resembles the
miseries. If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be.
(Part 1, 59:49-1:02:07)
This adaptation does resurrect an equalizing conversation between Nelly and Catherine, but
this is one of the only times we encounter her in the film. However, Giedroyc’s decision to
give Nelly more screen time than in the first adaptation solidifies their connection in this scene.
She is present enough for the first hour of this film for the audience to realize when
conversations between Nelly and Catherine occur, Catherine’s outlook is often changed in the
process. The only problematic detail is that Nelly is rarely seen after this scene, and her
Nearly ten minutes before this conversation, the audience’s emotions are heightened by
Catherine and Heathcliff kissing in the moors, followed by a scene similar to the one previously
mentioned where Edgar and Hindley accost Heathcliff. Edgar does this by assuming Heathcliff
is a servant, and Hindley calls him a “vagabond” and a “dirty gypsy” (50:30), which mirrors
the descriptions of Heathcliff in the novel. Where this film varies significantly from the
previous adaptation is in the physical agency of Catherine at this moment. Skynner’s scene
shows a more timid, frozen Catherine, but here she pushes Hindley away from Heathcliff,
punches him on the arm and back, and finishes by slapping Hindley in the face, leaving
scratches on his left cheek (50:40). Her anger knows no boundaries. She has no qualms about
the violence she unleashes on Hindley on behalf of Heathcliff. Here we see that Giedroyc’s
version of Catherine is closer to Emily Brontë’s wild and untamed heroine than Skynner’s.
This also gives Giedroyc’s adaptation more authority due to its faithfulness, in the eyes of
However, one of the more interesting – and drastic – changes this adaptation makes
actually subverts both the homosocial relationship and the earlier show of Catherine’s female
strength. Rather than a conversation between Nelly and Catherine, the “I am Heathcliff” scene
has been transformed in Giedroyc’s 2009 adaptation, and it begins when Heathcliff walks into
HEATHCLIFF: And have you considered how you will bear the separation
from me, and how I will be quite deserted in the world without you? Did you
consider that?
pray?
CATHERINE: Yes. And as Mrs. Linton I can aid you to rise and place you
HEATHCLIFF: With your husband’s money, you will rescue me? Do you
Giedroyc’s choice to have this scene begin as a conversation between Catherine and Heathcliff
is quite inventive. Suddenly, Heathcliff is not merely a bystander in Catherine’s plan to make
him rise to Edgar Linton’s status through Edgar Linton’s wealth, but he is an active proponent
of his need to become someone important in his own way. This is shown visually through an
earlier conversation with Nelly, where Heathcliff asks her, “and when will I ever have the
chance to be as rich as [Edgar Linton]?” (49:08). Creative liberties taken by Giedroyc do not
impede Brontë’s inherent storyline; in some ways they enhance certain aspects to further bring
out her critiques of nineteenth century culture, but in other ways they diminish Brontë’s
about money, but this adaptation’s choice to depict Heathcliff and Catherine having this
conversation with one another gives Heathcliff all of the agency in his own social ambition.
The power Catherine once had is diminished, and she must now share the power with
Heathcliff, and the actor, Tom Hardy, uses his large physique and booming voice to cease all
discussion on this matter. This major difference between novel and adaptation – along with the
now reduced character of Nelly – transforms the social arguments made by Emily Brontë; the
adaptation shifts her argument from homosocial relationships possessing the ability to elicit
power to one where stereotypical masculine traits continue to reign over female voices.
Similarly, Isabella Linton’s character is quite different in this adaptation. She initially
comes across as a very timid character, and during the argument between Edgar, Hindley, and
Heathcliff, she appears speechless. Wide-eyed, she looks nervous and fearful when the fight is
finished. The males in this scene have literally scared this woman by being brutes. None,
including Heathcliff, have redeeming qualities about themselves here, because this scene is
used to show the harshness of Hindley’s actions toward Heathcliff and Catherine; although
Heathcliff is always meant to be vulnerable while being brutalized by Hindley, the women are
also victims of this abuse. This enhances Emily Brontë’s argument because the audience is
never left wondering with whom they should sympathize, including the female victims who
were also made to watch the scene unfold. Later in the movie, Isabella is quite infatuated with
Heathcliff since he has changed both aesthetically and financially. This is quite similar to how
the novel portrays Isabella, but nearly midway through the movie, in a line that is original to
this adaptation, Heathcliff is the first to state that Isabella is not, in fact, meek, and he states
that “it’s as though [Edgar] has a woman’s gentleness, and [she has] all the fight” (Part 2, 4:45-
4:50). The addition of this line completely alters the perception of Isabella. Whereas in the
novel she is quite timid until the moment she decides to leave Heathcliff for good, here – much
earlier in her storyline – Heathcliff is upfront in presenting her as a person who is strong, much
like Catherine. Isabella’s strength, again like Catherine’s, is taken away by Heathcliff. No
matter the change here, Coky Giedroyc’s adaptation stays true to the novel’s depictions and
Both of these adaptations alter the arguments being presented by Emily Brontë in
Wuthering Heights. Among the arguments being changed are those about homosocial
relationship that blur the lines between different social standings in society, class distinction
and mobility, and the power behind each gender – and those characters who seem to break all
between classes, places, and emotions. In all three works, Heathcliff is unkempt and unruly,
but Linton is polished and controlled. Similarly, Catherine is untamed and uninhibited, but
Isabella is more restrained and timider. The differences between these characters make the
story more dynamic, since they exemplify the two ends of the gender spectrum. As the
Nelly’s and Catherine’s conversations connected directly to the strength and independence of
Catherine. Her desire to change Heathcliff’s status to meet her own is underplayed in Skynner’s
adaptation; in Giedroyc’s Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff assumes much of the power rather
than Catherine. The major differences in the two adaptations both enrich and diminish the
arguments in the novel, and actually create texts that pay tribute to, yet stand apart from, Emily
Works Cited
− Bluestone, George. Novel into Film. Balitmore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1957. Print.
− Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. 1847. 3rd ed. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2000.
Print.
− “Cruel and Unusual: The Exquisite Remains of Erich von Stroheim.” Harvard Film Archives.
− Gordon, Jan B. “Gossip, Diary, Letter, Text: Anne Brontë’s Narrative Tenant and the
Problematic Gothic Sequel.” ELH 51.4 (Winter 1984): 719-745. JSTOR. Web. 20 March 2016.
− Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Taylor & Francis Group, LLC., 2006.
Print.
− Leitch, Thomas. Film Adaptation and Its Discontents: From Gone with the Wind to The
Passion of the Christ. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007. Print.
− Newman, Beth. “‘The Situation of the Looker-On’: Gender, Narration, and Gaze in
Wuthering Heights.” PMLA 105.5 (1990): 1029-1041. JSTOR. Web. 2 Nov 2015.
− Pike, Judith E. “‘My name was Isabella Linton’: Coverture, Domestic Violence, and Mrs.
− Shapiro, Arnold. “Wuthering Heights as a Victorian Novel.” Studies in the Novel 1.3 (1969):
− Wuthering Heights. Dir. David Skynner. Perf. Robert Cavanah, Peter Davidson, Orla Brady.
- Madhumita Biswas
his 1993 seminal book Spectres of Marx coins a deconstructive concept termed “Hauntology”
temporal, historical, and ontological disjunction in which the apparent presence of being is
substituted by a deferred non-origin. Colin Davis in his essay “Hauntology, Spectres and
which, “the figure of the ghost as that which is neither present, nor absent, neither dead nor
alive” (373) In the realm of Hauntology, what we encounter is not the presence of the presence
but the forever absent spectre of a past-presence that continually haunts our spatio-temporal
consciousness of time and the phenomenological order. Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights
with its inverted plane of spatio-temporal consciousness and incoherent order of reality,
exhibits a kernel of this "haunting" that forever dismantles the novel's moorings in a present
reality and in its stead engages in a referential order that forever harks back to some forever
receding and irrevocable "past". The gothic narrative is rendered as an "unheimlich" that haunts
by way of its invocation of a temporal order that is beyond the normative narratives of the past
and yet which persistently renders inconsistent our consciousness of the present and future.
Bronte seems to reverse the ethical teleology of the Victorian romantic novels by substituting
In Wuthering Heights, haunting takes place in myriad forms, both actively and
passively throughout the novel. However, the first instance of haunting that sets the gothic
enigma of a mystery unravels itself in the present-day scenario, circa 1801, when Mr.
Lockwood, an affluent young man from South England, a new tenant of the farmhouse property
at “Thrushcross Grange” of Yorkshire, visits his neighbouring landlord Mr. Heathcliff who
lives at an isolated moorland manor house named “Wuthering Heights”, to exchange greetings
as well as to introduce himself. But Mr. Lockwood upon visiting Wuthering Heights quickly
finds himself in a very awkward and unwelcoming situation which he describes by stating that
“the ‘walk in’ was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, ‘go to the deuce’;
even the gate over which he [Mr. Heathcliff] leant manifested no sympathizing movement to
the words;(9)” and later his in-house experience grows even graver. Lockwood meets an odd
bunch of people at the house apart from the forever morose and harsh Mr. Heathcliff, whom
he describes as “a dark skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman” (11)1; he
meets Heathcliff’s widowed daughter-in-law, an young lady; a young man with uncouth
dressing and manners; two servants Joseph and Zillah, and a pack of dogs. As destiny has its
way of things, Lockwood instead of having an unpleasant evening at Wuthering Heights gets
stuck there for overnight owing to a blizzard. And this night results in holding the most
significant key event of the novel. As chapter three opens, Lockwood is being escorted by
Zillah, the servant girl, towards a room with massive precaution of not making a noise; “for
her master [Heathcliff] had an odd notion about the chamber she would put [Lockwood] in,
and never let anybody lodge there willingly” (24). As pin-drop silent framework, shadowy
figures reminiscent of noir-fiction, fastens the suspense of any gothic story, the description of
the room in minute detail builds the gradual suspicion of an impending horror, and may be the
furniture can be read as token representation of the symbolic lingering of desire attached with
The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case,
with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having
approached this structure, I[Lockwood] looked inside, and perceived it to be a
singular sort of old fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the
necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it
formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a
table. I slid back the paneled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together
again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and everyone else.
The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in
one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing,
however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and
small - Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and
As British scholar and critic, Jodey Castricano states, that the topic of fear and desire cannot
be separated from that of “ghostly inheritance,” whether in the sense of what is received by
descent or succession or what returns in the form of a phantom to tax the living (9). The riddle
begins, Catherine, the main female protagonist, in all her possible and impossible probabilities,
in her given spatio-temporal time zone has been unleashed into the contemporary world
through her name scratched upon the book, absent yet present in her inscribed presence.
Lockwood is unaware of who or what happened to Catherine, and thus, began to read her
In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling
over Catherine Earnshaw - Heathcliff - Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had
not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as
vivid as spectres - the air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel
it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat
up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean
type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription - 'Catherine
Earnshaw, her book,' and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and
took up another and another, till I had examined all. Catherine's library was
select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not
altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped, a pen-
blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took
the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top
of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly
Lockwood reads the memoir of Catherine Earnshaw and learns a few incidents of her
childhood. But during reading these journals he falls asleep and had nightmares twice. The first
nightmare is suggestive of the reading he was doing just a while before falling asleep, and the
nightmare. It is in this second nightmare that Lockwood encounters the frightening apparition
of Catherine. In the first dream Lockwood wakes up at the sound of a fir-tree brunch toughing
his lattice, “as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes!”(29) But then he
This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the
gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its
teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much,
that I resolved to silence it, if possible;… stretching an arm out to seize the
little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to
draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice
sobbed, “Let me in - let me in!” “Who are you?” I asked, struggling, meanwhile,
to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied…” I'm come home: I'd lost
through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt
shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it
to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, “Let
me in!” and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear.
…the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! “Begone!'
I shouted. 'I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.” “It is twenty
years,” mourned the voice: “twenty years. I've been a waif for twenty years!”
(30)
an actual haunting; because Lockwood did not know either Catherine Earnshaw or Catherine
Linton, and thus, the internal correlation between them is entirely impossible for him to
visualize. And certainly he had no way of dreaming anything which he did not know, as dream
beyond the grave to “re-entre” Wuthering Height is not Lockwood’s to experience, especially
when he is a complete outsider and had not heard anything regarding Catherine’s (Earnshaw,
and later Linton) struggles in life[which he later learns as a “gossip” from his grange help Ellen
(Nelly)Dean]. So, in this given context how do we explain this “hauntological” occurrence?
How the spatio-temporal past is overlapping with the presence of the present?
Taking a cue from Mark Currie’s observations on temporality of time from his
renowned work About Time, Narrative, Fiction and the Philosophy of Time (2007), we can
categorise time into two divergent realms: to be precise, “cosmological and phenomenological
time” (33) Cosmological time denotes the time we measure and experience through a clock,
linear time which treats time as a line succession of “nows”, whereas, phenomenological time
disjunction.
The second haunting represents itself through a symbolic narratorial liminal space when
Lockwood returns to Thrushcross Grange and falls ill following his spectral experience at
Wuthering heights, and Nelly Dean stars depicting her version of Catherine’s life; “Eighteen,
sir: I came when the mistress was married, to wait on her; after she died, the master retained
me for his housekeeper… I'll turn the talk on my landlord's family!” (37) And thus, the
“gossip” begins as Lockwood encouraged Nelly by asserting interest, “Well, Mrs. Dean, it will
be a charitable deed to tell me something of my neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed;
so be good enough to sit and chat an hour.” (39) From this point, Nelly becomes the primary
narrator of the story. Now, it is noteworthy, that whatever Nelly saw, and interpreted as “truth”,
can be solely her own version of “truth”, pertaining to her own understanding of the self and
the “other”. It is evident from the novel that Nelly as a maid servant in a nineteenth century
country-house has internalised patriarchy deeply, and her views on Catherine’s life is tainted
by her patriarchal rendition of Catherine’s spirit as a girl, and her courage and grace as a
woman.
Observing the shift in the narratorial authority is important while discussing the second
haunting as the leap in cosmological time zones: from present day Lockwood’s narrative to
present day’s “Past” narrative as a re-envisioning from memory by Nelly, creates a spatio-
temporal disruption from which a liminal space for spectrality can itself emerge. In Nelly’s
case the concept of cosmological time is severely perturbed because the narrative starts in the
aftermath of the events when the ghost of the protagonist has already begun haunting the living.
apparition is present at the present, covering the twenty years’ gap between her physical death
and haunting in 1801 and then again, there is Catherine’s life being narrated in a retrospect
from childhood to her untimely death, adding the consequence to the in-between years. We can
argue that prolepsis in Wuthering Heights is meant to give the past events a greater significance;
in other words, the retrospective quality of temporal progression gives the text a kind of
“fictional self-consciousness” as Currie words it (47). This jarring consciousness addresses the
author-reader reaction function. As Derrida observes, this ghostly textual encoding is mostly
at the service of affecting reader response (Specters of Marx 15) And Catherine’s spectral
existence adds to the reader response as they reevaluate her in the present through a lens of her
conventionally used “spectrality” as a mark of subversion of the dominant and the egocentric
(ix). He believes that the liminal quality of the specter as something not alive, yet not
completely dead and absent, has enabled political writers to use ghost stories as a textual
instrument to delineate a subversive social presence (xii). It is fascinating that the agency of
the spectre does not in fact limit itself to revealing the otherisation, the subversive; it also
history, culture have operated and still continue to function on a tool of exclusion, the spectral
character enacts a reconsideration of conventional practices and of representation in general. It
obscure zones and unconscious spaces that resist an ultimate meaning formation. And by
Nelly’s representation of Catherine, this subversion is doubly utilized. First of all, the “gossip”
about the spectral character is being narrated by a marginalized servant character. Here, the
marginal, the servant becomes the authorial narrator, thus, subverting the power norms.
Secondly, being a marginal cog in the patriarchal hegemony of Thrushcross Grange and
Wuthering Heights, she instead of her all well-meaning narration, paints a domesticated and
unhappy picture of Catherine during her married life, which she mistakenly calls to be a happy
union.
The third occurrence of spectral intervention takes place through a “faux re-
incarnation” of Catherine in her daughter Cathy who was born prematurely at seventh month,
just a while before her mother’s death. Daughter of Cathernie shares her mother’s post-marital
name, Catherine Linton, and also shares her wildness of spirit and character. The text holds in
its core the regenerative process, as if one Catherine is dying to give birth to a newer version
of her:
Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till Miss Cathy reached
rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late mistress’s death. (170)
The uncanny resemblance and overshadowing is constantly hinted upon in the text numerous
times. Catherine Linton is embodiment of every unfulfilled desire and dream of her mother.
Little Cathy’s wonderings and life ventures directly mirrors her mother:
While surveying the country from her nursery windows, she would observe:
“Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills? I wonder
The chapter division of this novel is also noteworthy, as the thirty –four chapter long novel is
equally divided into two parts, like mirror-images, one half reflecting the other, and this
mirroring gives a premonition that history is going to be repeated: the first half reaches its
climax at chapter-sixteen, and declares the end of the story of the first generation, with
Catherine’s death. Chapter-seventeen opens with the story of the second generation with young
Catherine Linton, Hareton Earnshow, and Linton Heathcliff, the representative progenies of
the previous generation’s protagonists. The internal dynamics start repeating itself as the story
progresses. Here, although the new generation is primarily unaware of their critical ancestral
past, the baggage of the past looms heavy on them, and through them the haunting transgresses
from one generation to the other: As Slovenian continental philosopher, Slovaj Žižek observes,
haunting always implies a debt and it “materializes a certain symbolic debt beyond physical
expiration” (qtd. in Catricano 11) In this sense, the return of the phantom is uncanny and is
generation in the unconscious of another (Castricano 16). And according to Derrrida, in this
“transgenerational” process, the textual structure becomes both “uncanny” and “double”
(Otobiographies 33) just as the exceptional narrative structure Bronte has created. This
“uncanny” double occurrence happens when Catherine’s ghost finally gets to enter Wuthering
Height in a metaphorical sense through her daughter’s acceptance into the manor as Linton
Heathcliff’s wife, and then after Linton’s death, enters into the enigmatic union of the haunted
souls, through an impossible conjugal union with Hareton Earnshaw. With this Catherine’s
rebirth encircling completes, she becomes Catherine Earnshaw once again, residing happily at
Wuthering Heights with Hareton who is undoubtedly a reflection of Heathcliff. But this
marriage is a radical new turn from the Victorian conventionality. Hareton once again posits
the same social markers that rendered Heathcliff unfit for marriage with Catherine at the very
first place. Hareton Earnshaw is uneducated, socially awkward, and wild in his features, and
most importantly, he is economically at the bottom of the class paradigm. Hence, his friendship
and gradual marriage with young Catherine is an unorthodox union undermining every
Victorian ideology about the socio-economic match-making system. Gilbert and Gubar
consider Hareton “the illiterate outcast [who can play] as metaphorically the true son of his
[Heathcliff's] own true union with Catherine” (77). Hareton, therefore, plays a twofold part:
First by giving the unattainable final accreditation of Catherine and Heathcliff’s marriage
through his own, and then representing an exceptionally reversal of the gender-roles in the
nineteenth century society, where the he, “the man of the house” is illiterate, and is getting
educated and financially emancipated through his wife. As Kate Flint explains: “It is Cathy who
teaches Hareton to read, thus giving him the key to unlock literature: the very thing which, the
novel demonstrates by its own existence has the potential to unsettle norms, to pose questions
rather than provide answers” (177) and that is precisely what an apparition does. It creates a
The last, but not the least, and perhaps essentially, the most significant hauntological
ideology that manifests itself throughout the novel, and creates a spiral of continuum of time
of Heathcliff himself. Heathcliff’s existence is the foreground on which the whole spectral
deferred “neither present, nor absent, neither dead nor alive” temporality unravels. The
haunting is for Heathcliff, through Heathcliff, and at times by Heathcliff, as he becomes the
embodiment of the haunted. Catherine is forever present in Heathcliff’s perception, yet he earns
for the spectral as she is presently absent, for him she is “neither dead nor alive”, as in one
hand he lives in perpetual denial of Catherine’s death and on the other hand to feel her presence
he tries to summon the spectral presence, which would be otherwise impossible if death has
not taken place at any juncture. So, to emphasize once more, Heathcliff provides the incoherent
order of reality, exhibiting a kernel of the "haunting" that forever dismantles the novel's
moorings in a present reality and in its stead engages in a referential order that forever harks
back to some forever receding and irrevocable "past". The ideology of ghost and spectrality is
deeply embedded within multilayer narrative of this novel as the story goes through a multitude
of deaths of the characters, starting from Mr. Earnshaw and Frances, and then followed by Mr.
and Mrs. Linton, followed by Catherine, Isabella Linton, Edgar, Linton, and Heathcliff
respectively. If we look closely, we will find that the story is weaved in a matrix of deaths, and
inevitably death leads to spectrality. The authorial fascination with death-ridden story-line can
be attributed to Bronte’s autobiographical element as Bronte’s mother died when she was very
young, and she also experienced the deaths of her two elder siblings soon after, resulting in
spending a considerable amount of time “playing along the graves in the churchyard, roaming
over the lonely Yorkshire moors”( Bronte, Introduction 5) which might have played a central
part in inspiring these stories. The first spectral presence initiated a parallel haunting in
Heathcliff himself:
What do you mean?' asked Heathcliff… 'If the little fiend had got in at the
window, she probably would have strangled me!' I returned. 'I'm not going to
endure the persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the
Reverend Jabez Branderham akin to you on the mother's side? And that minx,
Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called - she must have been
a changeling - wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth
these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I've no
doubt!' 'What CAN you mean by talking in this way to ME!' thundered
Heathcliff with savage vehemence. 'How - how DARE you, under my roof? -
God! he's mad to speak so!' And he struck his forehead with rage. I did not know
powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I
had never heard the appellation of 'Catherine Linton' before, but reading it often
imagination under control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the
bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed,
He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it,
into an uncontrollable passion of tears. 'Come in! come in!' he sobbed. 'Cathy,
do come. Oh, do - ONCE more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me THIS time,
sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my
And at Catherine’s deathbed when Heathcliff visits her in tremendous anguish the
central tension as intense love proves to be the deferring force behind the encircling of
time, the repetition. As contemporary theorist Mark Fisher have used the term
futures”. Hauntology has been described as a "pining for a future that never arrived;"[8]
in contrast to the nostalgia and revivalism which dominate the eighteen years of
Catherine’s being dead, and Heathcliff is continually seeking out the hauntological
desire for the future."[3] But what sort of future are we talking about?
I plainly saw that he could hardly bear, for downright agony, to look into her
face! The same conviction had stricken him as me, from the instant he beheld
her, that there was no prospect of ultimate recovery there - she was fated, sure
to die. 'Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it?' was the first sentence he
“You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And you both come to
bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be pitied! I shall not pity
you, not I. You have killed me - and thriven on it, I think. How strong you are!
How many years do you mean to live after I am gone?”…'I wish I could hold
you,' she continued, bitterly, 'till we were both dead! I shouldn't care what you
suffered. I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? I do!
Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say
twenty years hence, "That's the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long
ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is past. I've loved many others since:
my children are dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not rejoice that
I am going to her: I shall be sorry that I must leave them!" Will you say so,
Heathcliff?' (155)
Heathcliff asked “Do you reflect that all those words will be branded in my
memory, and eating deeper eternally after you have left me? You know you lie
to say I have killed you: and, Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget
you as my existence! Is it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while
and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us” if not it was
Catherine herself,; then he goes on to declare that it will not be an actual living without
Catherine, as how can he live while his soul will be in a “grave?” And as promised Heathcliff
lived a wretched life which he finally confides in Nelly nearly the concluding chapter:
I'll tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's
grave, to remove the earth off her [Catherine’s] coffin lid, and I opened it. I
thought, once, I would have stayed there: when I saw her face again - it is hers
yet! - he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air blew on
it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it up: not Linton's
side, damn him! I wish he'd been soldered in lead. And I bribed the sexton to
pull it away when I'm laid there, and slide mine out too; I'll have it made so: and
then by the time Linton gets to us he'll not know which is which! (274)
He narrates his unfathomable anguish of living with the fact of Catherine’s death. It is
perhaps the spectral presence which kept him sane instead of driving him crazy:
he has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen years - incessantly -
wild after she died; and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to
Heathcliff proclaims his “strong faith in ghosts” And then confesses of doing an
unimaginable thing. His desperation and tormented displaced self are evident from his
actions, he narrates:
The day she was buried, there came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the
churchyard. It blew bleak as winter - all round was solitary. I didn't fear that her
fool of a husband would wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business
to bring them there. Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was
the sole barrier between us, I said to myself - 'I'll have her in my arms again! If
she be cold, I'll think it is this north wind that chills ME; and if she be
motionless, it is sleep." I got a spade from the tool-house, and began to delve
with all my might - it scraped the coffin; I fell to work with my hands; the wood
object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from someone above, close at the
edge of the grave, and bending down. "If I can only get this off," I muttered, "I
wish they may shovel in the earth over us both!" and I wrenched at it more
desperately still. There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the
warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I knew no living thing in flesh
and blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some
that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth.
I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to her…I felt her by
me - I could almost see her, and yet I could not. […] she must be somewhere at
the Heights, I was certain! And when I slept in her chamber - I was beaten out
of that. I couldn't lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was either
outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, or even
resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a child; and I must
open my lids to see. And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a night -
buried side by side. The moor lands hold witness to their undying love and the venture
thereafter. According to the country folks, “he [Heathcliff] walks: there are those who speak to
having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house.” Some has “seen
two on 'em looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his death.” (319)
Thus, although they are absent their spectral existence is unavoidably present.
Finally, to conclude it can be said that with the advent of a late-capitalist society in the
latter half of the 20th century we have arrived at a point when the imperative on us is to engage
reproductivity. In such a situation when the spectres of history recede back to a forgotten realm
and remain in cultural memory as mere artifacts of monolithic and stagnant epistemes, it
becomes an ethic prerogative for us to re-imagine and re-configure the unaccustomed past in
radically new and unimaginable ways. The haunting of the past as an excess and an ephemeral
"presence" is precisely this ethical intrusion of the Lacanian Real in the monolithic path of
progressivist history. Lockwood in Wuthering Heights embodies the communal memory that
needs to be haunted time and again by the sudden and unimagined intrusion of the forgotten
"past". Catherine and Heathcliff's love resides in the kernel of an originary desire that refuses
normative compatibility in the age of utilitarian motives. It can never be written in the present
order of Symbolic meanings but functions outside it, often causing speculative ruptures both
within and outside the play of societal norms and gestures. It serves the space of this ethical
haunting so pertinent for a monolithic society that is comfortably smug in its ipseity of selfdom
Notes:
1. If not mentioned otherwise, all the quotations would refer to Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. UBS
Publishers’ Distributors Pvt. Ltd. 2007. Print.
2. Emphasis added.
Works Cited
− Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. UBS Publishers’ Distributors Pvt. Ltd. 2007.Print.
− Castricano, Carla Jodey. Cryptomimesis: The Gothic and Jacques Derrida's Ghost Writing.
− Currie, Mark. About Time Narrative: Fiction and the Philosophy of Time. Edinburgh:
− Davis, Colin. “Hauntology, Spectres and Phantoms.” French Studies 59.3 (2005): 373-9.
Web.
− Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International.
Trans. Peggy Kamuf, Bernd Magnus, and Stephen Cullenberg. New York: Routledge, 2006.
− Flint, Kate. “Women Writers, Women's Issues.” The Cambridge Companion to the Brontës.
− Fisher, Mark. Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures.
Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights. Updated ed. New York: Bloom’s Literary Criticism, 2007.
33-88. Print
− Wolfreys, Julian. Victorian Hauntings: Spectrality, Gothic, the Uncanny and Literature. New
− Madhumita Majumdar
Haworth was a remote, semi-industrial village, built on the edge of the moors — the
railways did not come there until 1867. A report by a public health inspector of the time stated
that Haworth was one of the least sanitary villages in England, and did not have a single water
closet. Incidentally water supply came into the village after flowing through the over-full burial
ground beside the church. Half the population died before the age of six and the average life
Amongst the three Bronte sisters, Emily Brontë was said to be a bundle of passions.
Her only novel, Wuthering Heights reveals Emily’s obsessions with some dark subjects. Where
did this darkness and turbulent passion come from? A part of the answer lies in the house of
Haworth Parsonage where the Brontë children lived their short and all too tragic lives.
At 5ft and 6inches, Emily was the tallest of the three novelist sisters. Gondal, a mystical
land of magic was weaved by Emily and her sister, Anne as children to escape the pain that
was theirs forever after the untimely demise of their mother. In the Gondal poems Emily’s
different voices and personae interestingly visit and explore the themes of imprisonment and
death. The dark and overpowering emotions manifested in the poems by a younger Emily
certainly channelize into her invention of Catherine and Heathcliff, the characters in her only
novel, Wuthering Heights. Charlotte, the more practical one along with their brother, Branwell
invented the Kingdom of Angria. The tiny books written by the sisters at Haworth are a sign
of their closed and secret world. Neighbours of the Brontës noted that in the presence of
strangers, the little children would ‘hug one another like timorous animals huddling against
predators. They spoke not with the local Yorkshire dialect, but with the Northern Irish brogue
of their father, the Rev Patrick Bronte’ (Wilson). As the Brontës spent most of their lives
cloistered away in Haworth Parsonage, often in poor health, people have tended to assume that
they were timid as they were retiring but the truth is far from this. Claire Harman in a new
biography, Charlotte Brontë: A Fiery Life (2015) mentions an interesting episode that reveals
the fiery side of Emily. It is said that one day the family dog, Keeper – a mastiff dirtied a
counterpane with his muddy paws; this left Emily so angry that she punched the hapless dog
very hard almost leaving him blind. Thus, it is not uncanny when Heathcliff and Catherine
share this cruel streak of their creator. Catherine when she sees Isabella is deeply attracted to
He’s fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. He’d crush you like a sparrow’s egg if he found you
Heights, p.93).
And we can recall the scene when Heathcliff eloped with Isabella, he hung the latter’s puppy
leaving it to die. Intimidated but Isabella too is attracted to violence though she is finally
incapable of performing it (she says this when Heathcliff kills her puppy):
I surveyed the weapon inquisitively, a hideous notion struck me. How powerful I
should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his hand and touched the
It is thus perhaps not very strange that Emily Brontë's spiritual belief and secular
spiritualism is symbolized by her love of nature and typified by 'shadows of the dead' which
she saw around her. Gilbert and Gubar saw Emily Brontë's poetry and beliefs as threatening
the rigidly hierarchical state of heaven and hell, and suggested that Emily believed that the
dead remained on the earth and moved around her (Gilbert and Gubar, p.225). Emily
apparently saw dead friends and dead family members watching her at night. A brief stay at
Brussels and the tutoring of M. Heger saw Emily and her elder sister learning French. Soon
after Emily left Brussels, she composed a prose allegory, "Le Palais de la Mort," that influenced
the second of the two poems Self-Interrogation." In the essay as well as the poem Death is
personified. In the poem Death logically convinces the human speaker that life is hardly worth
living with its emptiness. Janet Gezari notes that the said poem is one the grim poems of Emily
written especially after the death of Aunt Branwell in 1842 that brought Charlotte and Emily
back to Hawthrone. This would mean the end of the brief stay for Emily who unlike her elder
sister would never return to Brussels. The poems are here stated to reiterate the point that Emily
was again and again returning to the notion of Death and sometimes an afterlife in works
The Brontës have been associated with the ghostly, an association that continues till
date. It is a well-known fact that the house at Haworth has been converted into a museum as
tribute to the Brontës. Throughout the twentieth century, biographers and creative writers have
seen Emily as someone who longed for death and communed with spirits. Lucasta Miller, the
author of The Bronte Myth (2001) speaks of séance conducted at the parsonage way back in
1940. Again as recently as 2006, Cornelia Parkar along with novelist Justine Picardie was
commissioned by the Parsonage Museum as part of her Brontean Abstracts to record and
conduct a séance! Parker justified her foray into spiritualism that when science could not
answer her questions, then using psychic methods seemed an interesting path (Regis and
Wynne, p.17). Spiritualism, the belief that the dead communicate with the living became
fashionable throughout Europe around 1850 (Queen Victoria and Prince Albert participated in
Spiritualist séances as early as 1846. On July 15 that year, the Clairvoyant Georgiana Eagle
demonstrated her powers before the Queen at Osborne House, on the Isle of Wight). Here was
Emily talking something similar in her novel, Wuthering Heights. Even after Catherine
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 the 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!
Incidentally a little before Catherine died, she envisions a heaven. Catherine is heard saying:
‘I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly
through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart, but really with it, and in
it’(Wuthering Heights, p.143). It is as though she had in mind a heaven that was like the moors
in every way but without the constraints of physicality: the spirit of natural freedom pervading
everywhere. Heathcliff on the other hand cannot imagine how Catherine can be happy with her
soul in the grave, alone and away from her Heathcliff. Interestingly when Catherine is
contemplating the marriage proposal from Edgar, she is not exactly looking with euphoria or
happiness to her new life rather the doom of death loom large. She speaks of her dream to
Nelly: ''I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart
with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into
the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy''
(Wuthering Heights, p.148). One thing is clear Catherine wishes not to leave Wuthering
Heights; and secondly, it foreshadows, warns of, Catherine's life after death. Nearly every
character in Wuthering Heights is afflicted with death at a young age, which creates a fixation
on death!
Edward Chitman, Emily’s biographer, wrote that Emily Brontë's religious symbolism
showed no hope for everlasting life and her spirit languished in 'dead despair'. Emily believed
in the 'soul' that was crushed by worldly experience. It is death that released the soul to peaceful
oblivion rather than everlasting life, so Emily concluded. Emily desired freedom and 'liberty'
for an unconfined and 'chainless soul' (Wuthering Heights, p.146). Emily Brontë's derisive
view of patriarchal heaven suggests that it cannot contain or even partially fulfill her wild
desires or experiences. She has no fear of hell or its perennial fire because her 'will' is strong.
It is then safe to conclude that Emily’s frustration and secular spirituality blended to create her
All Emily wanted was peaceful sleep, vibrant with imagination and thought and away
from earthy woes. The moors where she lived and nature all around are intrinsically linked to
her spiritual beliefs, but this adoration is different from another Victorian, Gerald Hopkins.
Hopkins visualized nature as an essential part of God's glory while Emily was more into the
mystical aspect of nature and the moods produced rather than the contours of nature.
Obviously, Emily’s poetry is reflective of the changing faces of her own faith as well as the
changes in belief within her society as this was also the time when the Victorians began
increasingly to see a separation of the 'moral sense from the religious institutions that had once
expressed it' (Gilmour, p.93). Emily, who could never bring herself to accept the patriarchal
and ordered concept of Christianity, came to reflect upon some of the processes of doubt in
Victorian England. No wonder, Emily allows Heathcliff literally to stare at his death and share
the grave of his beloved. The sky above and the wild nature all come to endorse this union of
Heathcliff and Catherine that did not find fruition in the social domain. Heathcliff strongly
Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan
inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken
your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine
In his final days Heathcliff seems to be communicating directly with Catherine’s presence and
is like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do the slightest act
not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I notice anything alive or
dead, which is not associated with one universal idea. (Wuthering Heights,
p.391)
Indeed, Heathcliff’s own approach to death in Chapter 34 leaves Nelly unsure as to whether he
is dead or alive:
Mr. Heathcliff was there - laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce, I
started; and then he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead: but his face and throat
were washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. (Wuthering
Heights, p.393)
Incidentally the strangest notion about death in the novel gives the corpse a certain
value, as if in the afterlife the body mattered. After Catherine’s death, Heathcliff enters her
room to find a locket round her neck that contained a lock of hair of Linton. Heathcliff replaces
it with his hair but as Linton enters the room Heathcliff leaves in a hurry and that means his
and Linton’s hair happen to be twined in the locket of Catherine. In fact, it was a popular
practice of the time to bury with the dead things needed in the afterlife. John Callcott Horsley,
a popular Victorian painter, wrote in his diary about a little red-velvet bag that he hung around
his wife Elvira’s neck after her death in 1852. It contained his and his children’s locks which
his wife had cut herself when she sensed that she was nearing her death, labelling each person’s
name and the date when it was snipped! Like Horsley and his family, both Edgar Linton and
Heathcliff want a fragment of their bodies to go with Catherine hoping that it would act as
connect between life and death. The other was also true, the memorabilia of the dead like a
lock of hair or even a hairpin was preserved by those left behind. In all probability Charlotte
Brontë' too wore an amethyst bracelet entwined with the hair of Emily and Anne as a physical
link with her dead sisters. Having such mourning jewellry was again the fashion of the day, till
Wuthering Heights has many characters who visualize or believe in postmortem lives.
Nelly’s conventional heaven to Catherine’s dream about being kicked out of heaven and
landing on the paradise of the earthly moors are few examples. There are country folks who
report of having seen the ghosts of Catherine and Heathcliff. A young shepherd claimed his
sheep refused to be guided because the dead lovers flit across the road and the shepherd is not
alone in his claim. Catherine promises Heathcliff that “they may bury me twelve feet deep, and
throw the church down over me; but I won’t rest till you are with me—I never will!”
(Wuthering Heights, p.113). He believes her, having always had a “strong faith in ghosts”
(Wuthering Heights, p.257). Catherine’s corpse buried with his hair in her locket is not enough
for Heathcliff – he designs to press his flesh against hers after his death. In fact, Heathcliff digs
up Catherine’s grave twice. When Linton dies, and his grave is dug next to his wife, Heathcliff
strikes one side of the coffin loose and bribes the sexton “to pull it away, when I am laid there,
and slide mine out too . . . by the time Linton gets to us, he’ll not know which is!” (Wuthering
Heights, p.256). His yearning for Catherine even after her death includes her body; he wants
to find her “resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a child,” and it doesn’t
matter if his heart is “stopped and my cheek frozen against hers” (Wuthering Heights, p.212).
Nelly is shocked and asks if Heathcliff was not afraid of disturbing the dead thus. This kind of
eroticism with the dead bodies or parts of it was not unknown to the Victorians. I wonder if
Emily had been thinking of Tennyson’s 1842 Locksley Hall which she knew well wherein the
speaker thinks it “Better thou wert dead before me . . . Better thou and I were lying, hidden
from the heart’s disgrace, / Roll’d in one another’s arms, and silent in a last embrace” when
envisioning the idea of Heathcliff’s obsession of Catherine’s dead body. Heathcliff desires his
body to become one with that of Catherine’s in the grave. Catherine has a strong presence in
her afterlife – it is her icy hand that pulls Lockwood and more importantly it is she Heathcliff
believes does not allow him to sleep or eat. In one of his attempts to feel her, Heathcliff decides
to sleep on Catherine’s box bed but gets “beaten out of” it, and the moment he closes his eyes,
she is “either outside the window or sliding back the panels, or entering the room….”
(Wuthering Heights, p.257). He finds her in all things even in everyday objects. Inanimate
things also seem to come alive given a kind of afterlife by Catherine’s presence. The windows
or the two old balls in a cupboard, one marked “C” and the other “H” is all invested with
Catherine’s afterlife presence. In this way Catherine begins to surround everything around
Heathcliff so much so that he is filled with a fatalistic desire of his own death!
This belief that an afterlife shimmered through objects or animals was part of ancient
folk customs. J. Hillis Miller rightly points out that the end of Wuthering Heights is part of the
long tradition where love is a private religion. Interestingly the recounting of the love romance
narrative almost begins as a postmortem. Lockwood enters Wuthering Heights and our novel
narrative begins. By that time, Heathcliff is extremely bereaved and not in the most stable state
of mind. Nelly begins to tell Lockwood the story of Wuthering Heights and almost in the
beginning we know that Catherine has died young. In the final illness, Catherine and Heathcliff
embrace each other with Catherine saying: “I wish I could hold you, till we were both dead!”
(Wuthering Heights, p.168) Yes, Catherine and Heathcliff are aware that their romance can
only have an afterlife. Both Heathcliff and Cathy threaten not to rest in their graves if their
wishes concerning their burials are not honored. Cathy declares that she will walk if Heathcliff
is not with her, and Heathcliff threatens to haunt Nelly Dean if she doesn't make sure he is
placed by Cathy's side. In Chapter 29 of the novel, Heathcliff carries this odd notion still further:
he modifies Cathy's coffin and his as well so that they can lie in a single grave so by the time
Linton got to them, Heathcliff opined, the former will not know who is who! In an afterlife,
their bodies will be united. Once Edgar banished Heathcliff from the Grange, Catherine locks
herself and starves herself for three days falling ill. Heathcliff later enters the Grange to see
How many years do you mean to live after I am gone? ... Will you forget
me – will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years
hence, ‘That’s the grave of Catherine Earnshaw. I loved her long ago, and
was wretched to lose her; but it is past. I’ve loved many others since – my
children are dearer to me than she was, and, at death, I shall not rejoice that I
am going to her, I shall be sorry that I must leave them! (Wuthering Heights, p.160)
Catherine is afraid that in death, she will be forgotten by the living Heathcliff. Yet when she
dies, Nelly comments that no angel in heaven could be more beautiful than her. In death, she
achieves calm. In death, Catherine feels peace that she had not in her life.
When death had been imminent, Catherine was unable to recognize herself as she saw
herself in the mirror and the mirror itself became a sign of premonition for her death. Emily as
mentioned earlier was growing up in Haworth where forty per cent of the population died by
the time, they were six years. Patrick Bronte, her father, from 1820 on presided over more than
111 deaths annually. From 1824 to 1830, the number of deaths rose to 140 per year, in just this
small rural area of Haworth in northern England (Barker, p.101). Naturally, death and afterlife
are a recurring theme that keeps coming to the works of Emily. In her brief life she wrote more
than a hundred poems out of which about thirty happen to be on death and afterlife. Then to
suggest that Emily’s only novel Wuthering Heights was reflective of her upbringing and belief
Works Cited
− Barker, Juliet. The Brontes, The Overlook Press: New York 1997. Print.
− Bronte, Emily. Wuthering Heights, New Delhi: Fingerprint Classics, 2016. Print.
− Gibert, Sandra and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the
− Gilmour, Robin. The Victorian Period: The Intellectual and Cultural Context of English
− Wilson, A N. Insanity. Beatings and a brother's forbidden passion. As a lost book by Charlotte
Bronte is auctioned, the truth about literature's oddest family; Mail Online: 12th Nov. 2011.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2060600/The-Brontes-ultimate-taboo-As-lost-
book-Charlotte-Bronte-auctioned-truth-literatures-oddest-family.html#ixzz5B9j5M3V2. Web
References
− Colby, Vineta. The Singular Anomaly:Women Novelists of the Nineteenth Century. London:
Athlone, 1970.
The Byronic Ellis Bell and the Victorian Female Author/Reader
- Neepa Sarkar
Wuthering Heights remains one of the oft discussed novels in English literature and
though initially rejected as ‘eccentric’ and illogical on its publication in 1847; it gained
universal appreciation in the twentieth century for its complex narrative structure and intense
psychological appeal. By choosing to tell the doomed romance of Catherine and Heathcliff
spread over the Yorkshire Moors, Emily Bronte gives her readers a glimpse into a facet of
human condition previously not examined by any other novelist. The novel represents the
changing world of the English middle-class gentry faced with poverty, exploitation, loss,
displacement and hunger however much reference to the world beyond the Moors seems to be
resolutely avoided by the author and the action abounds in Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross
Grange mainly. With the novel form firmly establishing itself in the nineteenth century and
with a concomitant rise in female readership, women writers tried to express the female
experiences of home, self and identity into this new form- till then not completely
institutionalized by the male. However, as compared to the male writers, women authors had
to struggle more to not only publish themselves, but as well as, simultaneously resist and
conform to the patriarchal traditions to get their voices heard. It was no surprise then that the
Bronte sisters chose male noms de plume to publish their works in the conventional Victorian
society and also question the cultural notions regarding gender performances and
representations of women writers while trying for a semblance of ‘literary autonomy’ (Gilbert
only novel Wuthering Heights defies simple categorization and infact goes against the
prevailing Victorian notions of the feminine ideal and the woman’s exclusive place in the
Heights remains a fascinating text for readers with its Victorian focus, albeit unconventionally,
on responses to women’s experiences of home, family and the female self. The world of
Wuthering Heights apart from everything else is also the world of alternate possibilities of
reality wherein power, authority and dominance do not simply remain relegated to the
masculine domain but are, sometimes, exercised by some of the women characters as well.
The novel was published in 1847 as part of a three novel publication written by the
‘Bells’ (though the publisher Thomas Newby published the other two only after viewing the
popularity of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre); there was ample curiosity regarding the true
identity/authorship behind these androgynous names – Currer, Ellis and Acton. These
pseudonyms helped the Bronte sisters to represent the female self and psyche onto the page in
an uninhibited manner which often appalled their contemporaries. With the publication of
Charlotte Bronte’s Biographical Notice (1850) the identities of the Bronte sisters came to the
forefront along with the news of the death of Emily/ Ellis Bronte/ Bell; however the Victorian
readers remained reluctant to believe it for their novels had been portrayals of female assertion
of desire and passion as well as a recognition of the female individual subjected to and
restricted by cultural oppression which seemed to be against the prevalent gendered norm of
femininity. The encompassing patriarchal perception viewed the male as the Self, the subject
who is knowable and human whereas the female was the Other, not fully human nor fully
knowable and hence the ‘abject’. Abjection, to acknowledge Julia Kristeva’s usage of the term,
is a function of the psyche through which the subject’s identity is formed by expelling anything
that points to the fragility of the body and its borders. Kristeva states that experiencing the
abject induces both fear and fascination, a return to the state of the maternal semiotic to “the
place where meaning collapses.” (Powers of Horror 2) Kristeva in Powers of Horror conceives
a phase in the composition of subjectivity that exists prior to the Imaginary and which requires
the subject to abject (separate) itself from the mother and this stage is also prior to the subject’s
entry into language. In this novel the love as depicted between Catherine and Heathcliff seems
to be boundless with no recognition between the self and the other (before Catherine’s
acceptance of Edgar Linton’s proposal). Their escape to the Moors at every opportunity appears
not only an unrestricted entry into the unsupervised realm of the wild (nature) away from
cultural restrictions but also a sort of regression into childhood where demarcations regarding
the self and the other are yet to begin and be strengthened. Subsequently, with Catherine’s
acceptance of Edgar’s marriage proposal Heathcliff, the foundling, is forced to abject from his
idealized self-object (Cathy). Before this abjection, Heathcliff remains powerless and alone,
driven by rage but unable to do much. However, after this abjection brought on by Cathy’s
words, “It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now” (Wuthering Heights 87); he disappears
for three years only to return educated, rich and with a plan for revenge and reciprocal violence.
In certain ways Wuthering Heights was influenced by the classical tragedies and its
revenge plot and also the issue of property which faces loss, displacement, change of ownership
and restoration is depicted in detail. Terry Eagleton in Myths of Power: A Marxist Study of the
Brontes (1975) looks at this novel as a tale which can be interpreted as reflecting class and
familial conflicts. For instance, after the death of Mr. Earnshaw, Hindley ill-treats Heathcliff
(a foundling, who has been named after the dead infant son of the Earnshaws) and denigrates
him to the position of a servant. This also brings to mind the instance in the beginning of the
novel when Mr. Earnshaw reveals a child from inside his coat instead of the gifts (Hindley’s
fiddle is broken and Cathy had asked for a whip which is now lost) promised to his children,
Hindley and Catherine. Cathy is the first to react to this loss and spits on Heathcliff for which
she gets a thorough scolding from Mr. Earnshaw, who remains fond of Heathcliff till his death.
…both began searching their father’s pockets for the presents he had promised
them. The former was a boy of fourteen, but when he drew out what had been a
fiddle, crushed to morsels in the great coat, he blubbered aloud; and Cathy,
when she learnt the master had lost her whip in attending on the stranger,
showed her humour by grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing, earning
for her pains a sound blow from her father to teach her cleaner manners
(Wuthering Heights39).
For Terry Eagleton, Wuthering Heights remains a superior novel mainly because it is able to
uphold the inherent contradictions present in a class-based society in an organized way and
The entry of the foundling into the Earnshaw household not only causes a stir but also
instills a surreptitious fear in Hindley in terms of loss of ownership and authority in the
domestic sphere ultimately leading to his mistreatment of Heathcliff which increases after the
death of Mr. Earnshaw. The gift episode in the beginning of the novel seems a reversal of the
popular fairytale Beauty and the Beast wherein the Beast has been displaced and brought into
stature. Heathcliff remains the ambiguous hero-villain of the novel, tortured like Hamlet to
wreak his revenge as if it were his duty and sole purpose. Heathcliff remains in the novel like
a primitive, elemental force; mysterious and fierce. Dorothy van Ghent in Form and Function
as ethnically marked and meant to remain the perpetual other in the story:“Who knows but
your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy
up, with one week’s income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you
were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England” (Wuthering Heights 61).
Both Cathy and Heathcliff are required to abject albeit momentarily to be restored to
the symbolic order of the society and both for a certain amount of time perform the roles in a
triumphant manner. For instance, when Cathy marries Edgar and settles into domesticity and
Heathcliff’s disappearance for a short while only to reappear as an educated and rich man.
Emily Bronte through these instances also seems to be questioning the fragile veneer of
‘genteel’ society and cultural mores which passion and primitive energy (id) can rip apart at
any instant. Marriage, in this novel, does not appear to be the resolution or accomplishment of
desire but the suppression of it and seems to be going against the notion of self and identity.
As Catherine utters, “My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods; time will change it.
(Wuthering Heights86).
The novel’s plot is framed by Lockwood’s voice, the new tenant of Thrushcross Grange
who learns about its mysterious owner through the recollections of the housekeeper Nelly Dean
as well as from glimpses of Catherine’s journal. In true Gothic style the polyphonic narrative
makes the readers realize that neither narrator is reliable. This unreliability of narration
intrigues the readers and brings in the need to question the history which is underscored in the
episode when Lockwood chances upon the scratched ledge where a name gets repeated with
changing last names (Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Heathcliff and Catherine Linton) or when
entering Wuthering Heights Lockwood detects the name Hareton Earnshaw on its door, though
Heathcliff is the supposed owner. Like Gothic romances, this novel too anticipates and
foregrounds the troubled past which has or will wreck the lives of those involved. Further this
complex plot gets highlighted more through visual glimpses that the characters achieve in
various episodes in the novel. Characters peeping through windows and doors, eavesdropping
or deriving voyeuristic pleasure or pain (whichever the case maybe) shatters the comforting
notion of the domestic, no longer the refuge but an instrument of imprisonment in the novel.
For instance, when Cathy and Heathcliff chance upon the Linton house and stealthily watch
the Linton children petulant and weepy, they begin distinguishing themselves as more mature
than the Lintons as Heathcliff later recounts to Nelly, “…we did despise them! When would
you catch me wishing to have what Catherine wanted” (Wuthering Heights 51)? but this
comfort of oneness and friendship is soon broken when Cathy is bitten by the guard dog and
Heathcliff after not being allowed entry into the Linton’s house has to leave her behind.
Heathcliff states, “… I suppose she was a young lady, and they made a distinction between her
The novel undoubtedly emphasizes upon the trope of imprisonment to convey the
spiritual and physical restraint that the characters undergo, especially the women characters
caught up in the patriarchal power relations and cultural oppression making the need to be a
‘genteel lady’ an expected social convention. So when Cathy has to stay at Thrushcross Grange
on account of her injury for five weeks and comes back as a mannered lady, she no longer is
the other or the ‘monstrous feminine’(Barbara Creed) for now she had appropriated herself to
the ‘performance’ based on gender and class. From then on in the plot Cathy appears
suppressed in terms of voicing her free spirit which is now caught up in the patriarchal
expectations of the Victorian feminine ideal. She is no longer the terrifying and the violent
brought up in the untrammeled wild Moors with an elemental fierce force, Heathcliff. Nelly
says, “…instead of a wild, hatless little savage jumping into the house, rushing to squeeze us
all breathless, there lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person, with brown
ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered beaver…” (Wuthering Heights 55).
Another instance of the fear of the ‘monstrous feminine’ is displayed in the beginning
of the novel when Lockwood dreams of a young Cathy trying to enter the house and begging
him to let him in, he brutally shuts her out, “the intense horror of nightmare came over me; I
tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, “let
me in--let me in” (Wuthering Heights 25)! Ultimately, the novel also questions the lack of
possibilities for women to lead a life of their own without succumbing to the patriarchal ideal
of femininity and domesticity. Many of the Victorian novels depict the Gothic trope of female
social and psychological imprisonment through its women characters for whom the only
chance to escape is through marriage or illness; death being the ultimate freedom. For
Catherine the choice of marrying Edgar does not work for she becomes more removed from
her sense of self and realizes late that her place is with the elements (nature). This novel not
only relooks at notions of sexual difference in terms of discourses of power and dominance but
also brings in the psychological effects of abjection, jealousy, violence, rage and revenge as
The novel gives an emphasis to the ability of imagination as influenced by the Romantic
tradition with Lockwood becoming a parody of the romantic lover- gentleman. In the beginning
he is seen as a foolish and foppish man unable to grasp his situation and with no control over
his external circumstances and in contrast, Heathcliff appears as a stronger, powerful, brooding
man who is capable of instilling and implementing fear. The novel plays with binary
Lockwood as the name suggests, appears submissive and human whereas Heathcliff like his
name is the wild nature which can never be contained. Infact, he appears both Gothic and
Byronic, reminding the readers of Byron’s The Giaour. This book is replete with Gothic
aesthetics, but Bronte is able to modernize the genre and instead of exotic locales, the plot takes
place in a common domestic household where the imprisonment (spiritually and socially) gets
contrasted with the openness of the wild Moors. Also, Thrushcross Grange is presented as a
more civilized and contained place as opposed to Wuthering Heights, elemental and passionate.
Here, the Byronic hero Heathcliff does not simply internalize his pain but also is able
to externalize it by inflicting pain upon others. The Gothic element reaches its culmination in
the plot when Heathcliff wants to dig up the corpse of Cathy and be buried with her; Cathy in
her death completes her haunting grasp over Heathcliff’s sense of self - ironically, when she
was alive, Heathcliff in his absence had occupied her mind and soul. However, Bronte brings
in the notion of the ‘Female Gothic’ trying to highlight the conditions of women in domestic
familial spheres. ‘Female Gothic’ a term coined by Ellen Moers was seen as women’s writing
concerned with expressing the hitherto unexpressed womens’ experiences but Bronte takes it
a step further by stating through the displacement (both psychological and social) of her
heroine, Catherine; the displaced voice of the female writer, under threat from patriarchal
suppression and objectification and weaves it cleverly into the body of her novel. The idea of
restraint borrowed from the Gothic genre helped her to explore the position of writing women
in Victorian times. Literature, here, becomes an allegory of the cultural focusing on the
questions of choice available to women in general and writing women in particular. Examining
Gothic feminist approaches to the female self, identity and role, the novel, subsequently, ends
on a conciliatory note. Towards the end, there is an emphasis on the reintegration of the self to
societal ways of living and this reintegration is underscored with Catherine Linton Heathcliff
marrying Hareton Earnshaw. Like all classical tragedies, the balance is regained with the
restoration of property and rights to the legitimate one. Breaking fictional and moral
conventions for its time, there is no doubt that Wuthering Heights remains experimental, both
in form and content, not only blending many literary genres but also examining the ideas of
Works Cited
− Bronte, Emily. Wuthering Heights. New Delhi: Atlantic Publishers, 2008. Print.
− Creed, Barbara. The Monstrous Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis. New York:
Routledge, 1993. Print.
− Eagleton, Terry. Myths of Power: A Marxist Study of the Brontes. UK: Palgrave, 2005. Print.
− Gilbert, M. Sandra and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and
the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. London: Yale University Press, 1984. Print.
− Kristeva, Julia. Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection. New York: Columbia University
Press, 1982. Print.
Horror, Terror, and the Gothic in Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre
- Prodosh Bhattacharya
Introduction
“Terror and horror are so far opposite, that the first expands the soul, and awakens the
faculties to a high degree of life; the other contracts, freezes, and nearly annihilates them.” So
spoke Mr. S – in Mrs. Radcliffe’s “On the Supernatural in Poetry”. The distinction is best borne
out by the alternative versions of the line in Coleridge’s “Christabel”; Part I, when the body of
Geraldine undressed is described. What we read today is that Geraldine’s “bosom and half her
side” were “A sight to dream of, not to tell”. This is terror, and one would like to think that this
is the version that Byron read out to Shelley which “awakened” the “faculties” of the latter to
such a high degree that he envisioned a woman with nipples instead of eyes, and became
unconscious. The alternative version, which Hazlitt is said to have preferred, is “Hideous,
deformed, and pale of hue”1. This is horror, which leaves nothing to the imagination. Both
Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre invoke terror and horror, and it is to be seen in what ways
they do so.
Wuthering Heights
The first Gothic motif in Wuthering Heights2 is the eerie house itself and its master with
the dark eyes. As pointed out by Sheila Smith in “’At Once Strong and Eerie’: The Supernatural
in Wuthering Heights and its Debt to the Traditional Ballad”, from his initial appearance,
Heathcliff is associated with Satan. Mr. Earnshaw, using the neuter pronoun, says “it’s as dark
almost as if it came from the devil” (29). Nelly later admits to feeling that he “possessed of
something diabolical” (51). The infatuated Isabella, who elopes with him, writes to Nelly after
their honeymoon, asking whether he is mad, and, if not whether he is a devil. Eventually,
Lockwood’s entry into the house is followed by an encounter which brings to mind
another Gothic motif: the vampire. Lying in the oak closet, Lockwood is disturbed by the noise
glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead
The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back
my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed –
Going by Radcliffe’s distinction, this seems to be horror, particularly tactile horror with the
“little, ice-cold hand”. However, the motif is introduced only to be given an unexpected twist.
As Paula M. Krebs points out, rather than the ghost of Catherine, it is Lockwood who frightens
us. We have previously seen his behaviour with young Cathy which Krebs describes as
“inappropriately, ridiculously courteous.” (47) This makes his self-confessed cruelty to the
creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and
fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, “Let
fear. (20-21)
It is the ghost which bleeds, not its purported human victim. To quote Krebs again, “The ghost
allows for human cruelty, which is substantially more dangerous than a moaning dead girl
outside a window.” (47) And this blood-stained horror is inflicted on the ghost by a human
being! The pathos is intensified by Heathcliff’s reaction, which allies him with the unfortunate
He got on to the bed and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled
[Lockwood] tries to get rid of the ghost by slitting its wrists, a method
books, but her wailing continues to haunt him; books cannot block out
this passion. And what Lockwood cannot block out with books isn't a
girl at all; it is a ghost, which is something he, a good, middle-class
must turn to Nelly, his connection to the Heights and the novel's
At the same time, Catherine is a revenant at this point. Earlier, Heathcliff behaves like
a revenant when, after betraying her love, Catherine unleashes a demon she cannot control: “I
want you to be aware that I know you have treated me infernally … and if you fancy I’ll suffer
unrevenged, I’ll convince you of the contrary, in a very little while.” (88)
Heathcliff returns to the Grange out of love for Catherine. This is answered by
Catherine when she returns from the grave in response to his love. “The novel ends,” to quote
Smith, “with local rumours of Catherine and Heathcliff as revenants on the moors” (514). The
“rumours” elevate these ghosts to the level of terror, with the reader’s imagination free to run
Jane Eyre3
Whitcross recalls the Heights; the characters’ intense cris de coeur echo
it is unambiguously combined with another Gothic motif, that of “the Madwoman in the Attic”.
Also, unlike in Wuthering Heights, we see the vampire as less a revenant and more a predatory
monster. Bertha’s depiction begins in “terror” mode. First, the laughter, then the unseen
presence outside Jane’s bedroom, which is followed by the fire in Rochester’s, and then the
encounter with Mason, unseen by Jane, when frantic cries of help are heard. The effect on the
reader’s imagination in these passages is indeed “terrifying”, because our faculties race to
imagine fear-inspiring presences which remain invisible. Finally, on the eve of her soon-to-be-
aborted wedding, Jane is visited by the demented Bertha whose reflection Jane sees “in the
dark oblong glass” (327). The key words in her description to Rochester of what she saw are
“discoloured face”, “savage face”, “roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of
the lineaments”, “purple”, lips swollen “red and dark”, furrowed brows, and “black eyebrows
widely raised over the bloodshot eyes” (327). This is horror, with specific details leaving little
to the imagination. Stevie Davies, in her annotation to the passage, evokes the associations of
a black person, which, she says, are elided with those of the maniac. She adds that the purple
and distended features also emblematize Bertha’s rage at the usurpation of her rights (566).
Jane herself, however, is reminded of only one thing, as she tells Rochester: “‘the foul German
Bertha’s vampiric attributes have already been in evidence during her encounter with
her brother Mason referred to above. As the surgeon, Carter, says, while treating Mason after
he is attacked by Bertha, “The flesh on the shoulder is torn as well as cut. This wound was not
done with a knife: there have been teeth here!” (245) A horrified Mason later says, “She sucked
the blood: she said she’d drain my heart.” (246). Since we are not told what exactly has
happened, the effect is one of horror mingled with terror, the red herring in the shape of Grace
Poole contributing to this effect. Of course, in keeping with the tradition of the vampire
established by Polidori, Bertha has, in addition to her teeth, also used a knife on her brother
first, the teeth coming into operation when Rochester relieved her of the weapon.4
The irony, which Jane is at least partially aware of, is that Bertha is in many ways an
alter ego of the eponymous heroine.5 During Bertha’s visitation, Jane sees in the mirror the
“unconscious identification between the two” (566). The trope of the “bridal vampire” applies
mostly to Bertha, but Jane is not exempt from it casting its reflection on her. Bertha calls to
mind Sir Walter Scott’s Lucy Ashton, from The Bride of Lamermoor (1819), who, on her
wedding night, having murdered the man she was forced to marry “couched, like a hare upon
its from – her head-gear dishevelled – her night-clothes torn and dabbled with blood – her eyes
glazed, and her features convulsed into a wild paroxysm of insanity …[and] gibbered … an
exulting demoniac”. When Jane finally sees Bertha in the room in which the latter is sought to
be confined in vain, the latter is so dehumanized that the description uses the neuter pronoun:
“What it was, whether beast or human being, one could not, at first sight, tell: it grovelled,
seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal”(338). Grizzled
hair, “wild as a mane, hid its head and face” (338); sheer horror again. Terror, being unseen,
attracts the imagination and makes it function more intensely than it would normally. Horror,
with everything explicit, repels, and, in a way, shuts down what Radcliffe would call the
In her turn, Jane, when retaliating against John’s attack, horrifies Bessie and her maid
Abbot who describe her as “a fury” and “a picture of passion”(14), going on to add that “ ‘she’s
like a mad cat’ “ (15) , epithets, which , taken out of context, may, with perfect appropriateness,
be used for Bertha. Mrs. Reed speaks to Jane herself of her “incomprehensible disposition, and
her sudden starts of temper, and her continual, unnatural watchings of one’s movements! I
declare she talked to me once like something mad, or like a fiend – no child ever spoke or
looked as she did” (267). Bertha similarly watches Jane, and the latter describes the former’s
In comparison with the two women, the apparently dominant figure of Rochester is, in
effect, ineffective and subservient, in spite of his literary ancestry going back to the far more
aggressive Heathcliff. Captivated by the sex-appeal of Bertha, he marries her, only to be unable
to contain her irrational fury, though he is shown to be able to control her physically.6
Confining her, and then trying to commit bigamy with Jane, he is stymied, jointly by his
pusillanimous brother-in-law, the one with the “quivering limbs and white cheeks”(336-7), and
the solicitor dispatched by Jane’s uncle from Spain. In trying to save Bertha from the fire she
herself has started, he is blinded, and loses an arm. Eventually, he is nursed by Jane.
Conclusion
One is tempted to relate to two novels to two different traditions of the Gothic in English
literature. Wuthering Heights, which leaves the paranormal hovering on the threshold between
reality and fantasy, but never doubts or debunks it, seems to belong to the school of Horace
Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto and Matthew Gregory Lewis’s The Monk. Jane Eyre, on the
other hand, for all its powerful evocation of the paranormal, eventually settles for “the
supernatural explained”, a trend established and championed by the novels of Mrs. Ann
Radcliffe. However, with regard to terror and horror, Emily Brontë’s novel perhaps has more
of the former. The horror, when it comes, is given a novel twist, as seen in Lockwood’s reaction
to Catherine’s ghost. Charlotte Brontë, while equally effective in her own way, is perhaps more
1. The reference is from Judith Pascoe’s The Sarah Siddons Audio Files: Romanticism and the Lost Voice.
2. If not mentioned otherwise, all textual references are quoted from Emily Brontē’s Wuthering Heights (1847),
ed. R. J. Dunn, N. Y. & London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2003.Print.
3. If not mentioned otherwise, all textual references to Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847) are quoted from
Brontë. Charlotte, Jane Eyre (1847), ed. Stevie Davies, London: Penguin Books, 2006. Print.
4. In John Polidori’s “The Vampyre” (1819) in The Vampyre and Other Tales of the Macabre, edited by R.
Morrison, Aubrey surprises the titular vampire, Lord Ruthven, when the latter is with his victim in a novel. The
vampire attacks Aubrey as well, but escapes when rescuers arrive on the scene. Their torches reveal the victim to
be Aubrey’s beloved Ianthe who had described to him what vampires looked like, which, to his horror, had
amounted to “a pretty accurate description of Lord Ruthven”. (10)We are then told that “upon her throat were the
marks of teeth having opened the vein” (10), and Aubrey also finds in the hut “a naked dagger of a particular
construction” (10) Later, Lord Ruthven “dies” of a shot in the shoulder by robbers, and disappears after being
revived when the robbers expose his apparently dead body “to the first cold ray of the moon that rose after his
death” (16). Among Ruthven’s effects, Aubrey finds “a sheath apparently ornamented in the same style as the
dagger discovered in the fatal hut” (16). Incidentally, in the 1970 Hammer film Scars of Dracula, the Count,
infuriated by the faithlessness of his vampire bride Tania, repeatedly stabs her with a dagger.
5. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar in The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-
Century Literary Imagination provides a detailed reading of the two characters along these lines.
6. “She was a big woman, in stature almost equaling her husband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force
in the contest – more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-
planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle. At last he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him
a cord, and he pinioned them behind her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a chair” (338-9).
Davies, in her commentary, says that Bertha is further dehumanized by being viewed as a perversion of femininity
(567).
Works Cited
− Brontë. Charlotte, Jane Eyre (1847), ed. Stevie Davies, London: Penguin Books, 2006.
Print.
− Brontë, Emily, and Richard J. Dunn. Wuthering Heights. New York: W.W. Norton, 2003.
Print.
− Gilbert, Sandra M, and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and
the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007.
Print.
− Krebs, Paula M. “Folklore, Fear, and the Feminine: Ghosts and Old Wives, Tales in
wuthering Heights.” Victorian Literature and Culture. 1998, Print.
− Lewis, M G. The Monk - the Original Classic Edition. Dayboro: Emereo Pub, web.2012.
− Pascoe, Judith, The Sarah Siddons Audio Files: Romanticism and the Lost Voice, The
University Michigan P: Arbor. Web. 26 Aug 2018,
<books.google.co.in/books?isbn=0472117661>
− Polidori, John W, Robert Morrison, and Chris Baldick. The Vampyre: And Other Tales of
the Macabre. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Print.
− Radcliffe, Ann. On the Supernatural in Poetry. Place of publication not identified: New
Monthly Magazine, 1826. Print.
− Scott, Walter, and Andrew Lang. The Bride of Lammermoor. Boston: D. Everyman, 1893.
Print.
− Smith, Sheila. "'at Once Strong and Eerie': The Supernatural in Wuthering Heights and Its
Debt to the Traditional Ballad." The Review of English Studies. 43.172 (1992): 498-517.
Print.
Space and Landscape in
- Tatjana Šepić
Emily Brontë (1818-1848) with her single novel Wuthering Heights and some two
hundred poems is different in many ways from her French counterpart George Sand (1804-
1876), a prolific authoress of more than eighty novels, different autobiographical texts,
(fictionalized) travel accounts, plays, journal articles, and abundant correspondence. Besides
her rich and diverse literary production, George Sand was also a prominent public figure,
actively involved in political and social events of her time. Many well-known nineteenth
Apart from her novel and poems, Emily Brontë left behind only two short letters and
two diary papers. She had no friends, no interest in writing letters and searched for no
companionship beyond the narrow family circle. For generations of readers to this day, Emily
Brontë has remained an enigma. By the end of the 19th century, her life, as well as that of her
sisters Charlotte and Anne, had become so interwoven with their literary production that the
question of the Brontës “had scarce indeed been accepted as belonging to literature at all”
(James 70). George Sand's literary work, on the other hand, until just a few decades ago was
completely overshadowed by her tumultuous love affairs and a scandalous lifestyle. Over the
years, the novels and lives of both writers have inspired numerous biographies and created a
In spite of the obvious differences, these two contemporary women writers shared a
number of traits and had some common interests, such as the love of nature and music, and a
vivid and creative imagination. As passionate readers, they enjoyed freedom in their childhood
and teenage years to read whatever was available to them without any restrictions, something
(Local) folk tales, ballads, legends and fairy-tales together with the books they read
shaped their literary tastes and inspired their first attempts at writing at an early age. Inclined
to daydreaming and making up stories as a way of coping with traumatic losses they both
experienced in their early childhood, little Emily and Aurore (future George Sand) started
creating their imaginary worlds that would accompany them for the rest of their lives. Emily
Brontë's poetry together with her lost Gondal saga and George Sand's oral and “silent” novel
of Corambé were the sources of inspiration and poetic space from which their mature works
In popular imagery, Wuthering Heights and Mauprat are seen as great love stories of
men struggling to win the affection of seemingly free-minded and independent women, of
obsessive love and devotion which goes beyond the grave. But these charismatic stories hide
Apart from some similarities in the plot and the polyphonic structure of “nesting
narrative frames” (Paglia 449) with multiple narrators, the recurring themes and motifs of love
and the denial of love, of nature and culture, man and woman, freedom and confinement as
antithetical polarities in the dialogue can be found in both novels at macro- and micro-levels.
The paper examines how this principle of dualism is used to create the universe of the novels,
i.e., its semantically coded space and landscape, which is played out in the relationship between
two houses, two estates: Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange, Roche-Mauprat and
Sainte-Sévère. These two spheres constitute complementary and at the same time opposing
Clear temporal and spatial frames of the novels allow readers to determine the time (the
last decades of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century) and the places of the events
narrated (Yorkshire and Berry). Yet, these spaces and landscapes are not simple fictional
transpositions of farmer's and gentleman's houses or fortified castles still found in Northern
England or central France, but elements that in the novels' context acquire symbolic and
metaphoric meanings. Besides the obvious contrast between a simple, primitive way of life and
the impression of neglect given by Wuthering Heights and Roche-Mauprat, and the beauty and
splendour of Thrushcross Grange and Sainte-Sévère, the two estates also function as magnetic
poles, representing at the same time the opposite principles of male and female, nature and
culture, affection and intellect, Dionysian and Apollonian in symbolic interdependence and
interaction.
On the top of the hill, exposed to the “stormy weather” and “atmospheric tumult” (46)1
Wuthering Heights is a rude and inhospitable masculine world. Its few inhabitants spend their
time in hard work with the cattle and doing other day-to-day tasks of a working farm. The
blackmailers. On the other hand, Thrushcross Grange and Sainte-Sévère, situated in a fertile
valley, sheltered by a park, are a feminized world of luxury, Apollonian gentility, culture and
Wuthering Heights is one of the few novels where the characters and their story are
fused with the physical world of the house and the lonely Yorkshire moors in such a way that
we experience them as inseparable. Although most of the events take place inside the house
(either on the Heights or at the Grange), nature is still so powerfully present at all times.
Its rare, terse, and very often frightening descriptions frequently turn into symbols, as
the winter landscape Lockwood encounters after the snowstorm, or, as we shall see later, the
description of the house in the opening chapter of the novel. Typically for the Romantic period,
The moors in particular represent “an ‘other’ world”, “the space beyond and between”
(Davies, Heretic 181), the unsaid, which, like a blank margin of the text, sparks our imagination
developing “the sense of an elsewhere” (Davies, Emily Brontë 78). It is the world where the
visible and the invisible coexist, and where the mysterious and the supernatural interweave
The first impressions of the house on the Heights, as well as that of the castle of the
elder branch of the Mauprats, are given by the narrators' description of their exterior and their
surroundings. Looking through Lockwood's eyes we see the Heights as a fortress-like building
with “a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and a range of gaunt thorns”, the inscription
Hareton Earnshaw, the date 1500 above the principal door and a “grotesque carving (...) of
crumbling griffins, and shameless little boys” (46). Besides having a decorative function, these
figures considered in the context of the novel gain deeper meaning since with Brontë no detail
is insignificant.
The griffin's dual nature that combined the symbolic qualities of the lion and the eagle
was often associated with Jesus Christ, God and man. It was also seen as the Antichrist, the
Devil, a crippled creature unable to fly unconstrained like the eagle or walk nobly like the lion.
According to a legend, if either partner died, the other never searched for a new mate but
continued its life alone (New World Encyclopedia). The current landlord of the Heights, Mr
Heathcliff, shares some of the characteristics attributed to this legendary creature. Often
referred to as the devil, the Satan, Heathcliff is an emotionally crippled person who continues
a soul-mate relationship beyond death. The little boys who suggest “the primitive, youthful
phallic fertility of family origins” (Kavanagh 25) are in contrast to the present desolate and
barren landscape and the house which “defies the anger of heaven itself” (Bachelard 46).
The hawthorn, with its beautiful hermaphrodite flowers and lethal looking thorns,
symbolising male and female, life and death (Goddess Tree) stands for the union of opposites
thus foreshadowing the systematic dualism and the attraction of contraries the whole novel is
structured on.
Throughout the novel Brontë uses nature imagery and metaphors to describe human
behaviour or characteristics, while in representing the house and its surroundings, nature and
inanimate things acquire human “physical and moral” features (Bachelard 46). The firs are
stunted, “a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs (...), as if craving alms of the sun”
seem like human hands raised imploring mercy. “The narrow windows (of the house) are
deeply set in the wall”, and its “corners defended with large jutting stones”, the kitchen “is
forced to retreat” into another part of the house, and the sitting-room, (…) looks threatening
because of the “villainous old guns” and dark heavy chairs “lurking in the shade” (46, 47; my
emphases).
Lockwood's description at the beginning of the novel brings out the contrast between
the outside world exposed to the tumult of the elements and the world within. But, instead of
the expected “perfect Heaven”, he gradually becomes aware that there is “an absolute tempest”
and “the storm” (49) inside the house as well. The Heights, its surroundings and the moor, are
a “psychic state” (Bachelard 72), and together with its landlord they create a landscape of
deeply hidden trauma, anguish and pain. They are an outward, visible reflection of the
overwhelming feeling of denial and abandonment of its “unloved” (Levy) inhabitants who like
The Heights resembles ruined castles and old mansions of Gothic fiction where the
architectural images provided metaphors for describing the dark side of the psyche and the
As Lockwood on his second visit progresses deeper and deeper into the house, he is
finally led into the forbidden chamber and the oaken closet with a bed. At the centre of “the
house's demonic energy” (Jacobs 215), he is not only drawn into its spiritual secrets, but he
finds he has closed himself with “a terrible stranger, his own self” (Davies, Heretic 79).
George Sand's unnamed narrator, similar to Lockwood, begins his story by the
description of the castle of Roche-Mauprat and the surrounding area. The landscape here is
also seen through the eyes of a traveller because the narrator is a young man from the city who
occasionally comes into the country. The words “on the borders of La Marche and Berry, in
the district known as Varenne” define the geographical area, and “a little ruined chateau” (1)2
the time-period the novel is set in – during the decline of feudalism since the castle has been
abandoned for decades. From this general view, the narrator takes us step-by-step across a vast
moor studded with dense forests of centenary oak and chestnut trees to the dark ravine and
In his attempt to enter the house on the Heights, Lockwood encounters a series of
obstacles and the hostility of its inhabitants. Sand's narrator also comes across an inhospitable
landscape. Verbs like “to cross”, “to stumble”, “to experience the greatest difficulty”, “to bar”
give the impression of an impenetrable territory dominated by wild nature while consonance
deserted, gnarled trunks, crouching, obscurity, dark (1) conveys the idea of a mysterious and
Roche-Mauprat buried in everlasting darkness, like the Heights, mirrors the “psychic
state” (Bachelard 72) of its diabolic and bestial inhabitants steeped in the life of crime and
debauchery. Mauprat is the name of the family and of the estate which will prove to be barren
like a vast moor around it. A patronym of “a horrifying etymology” (Lacassagne 27) combines
two words with opposite meanings: male pratum literally means dangerous/ominous field. If
the Heights only seems like a fortress, Roche-Mauprat is a real fortified medieval castle with
its stout walls, turrets, portcullis and a drawbridge. Both the Heights and Roche-Mauprat are
spaces dominated by nature where the animality and passions of people are in interaction with
the forbidding environment and unrestrained energies of the elements the houses are exposed
to.
Even though the castle is abandoned and in ruins when the story begins, it inspires fear
and a certain uneasiness with the local woodmen and colliers who believe that the ghosts of
the old Tristan de Mauprat and his descendants still inhabit the place. While the Heights is
situated on the top of the hill, Roche-Mauprat, like “an ambush predator” (Bernard-Griffiths
259), lies hidden behind a thick forest, not revealing its dilapidated turrets to visitors until about
Many years later, when Bernard decided to remove its roofing and to cut down all the
timber, the sun would shine for the first time upon “the damp walls within which [his]
childhood was passed” (7). “Dark”, “cold”, “damp” are words more commonly associated with
a grave than with somebody's home and they express the idea of privation and absolute cruelty
In the recollections of his childhood, the old Bernard does not give any direct
description of the interior of the Coupe-Jarret “den”3. It is left to the reader's imagination to
picture its huge open rooms, chilly vaults, dark corridors, massive walls where Tristan and his
sons, after plundering small farms of the neighbourhood and intimidating local peasants,
withdraw in the state of “perpetual siege” (21) with an enormous pile of hunting weapons,
On the night of Bernard's first encounter with Edmée, it seems as if the barrier between
the outside world, where a fierce storm is raging, and the inside of the house has disappeared:
the rain, driven through the broken windows, is running in streams across the stone floor, the
old walls are trembling, the wind makes the resin torches flicker weirdly (54).
The furious tempest the castle is exposed to during that frightful night corresponds to
its inhabitants’ brutal savagery, and also to the fierce passion that the sight of the beautiful
Edmée arouses in an inebriated Bernard whose imagination is already inflamed by wine and
his uncles' mockery of his shyness with women. On several other occasions the stormy weather
or images related to the wind, heavy rain and thunder are used by Sand to translate the
Both Mauprat and Wuthering Heights, as we have seen, examine the complex and
symbolic relationship between man and nature. While Brontë is faced with the choice between
Wordsworth and Coleridge, i.e., between benevolent and daemonic nature (Paglia 439), Sand's
choice lies between Rousseau and Marquis de Sade. Brontë's response is ambivalent, but Sand,
even though the dark shadow of the Divine Marquis is present in the novel, definitely follows
Whether taken in its mimetic or coded meaning, nature in Wuthering Heights is nearly
always violent and destructive. Beauty and creation coexist with ugliness and destruction.
Brontë has no illusions about the benevolence of nature or man's superiority over animals and
other living beings as it is written in the Bible. Like Darwin, she believes in our being “all
netted together” (quoted in Davies, Heretic 102) and having a common ancestor.
Therefore, images and metaphors from nature are not only used to measure the
characters' spiritual strength, as we shall see later, but it is a way for the writer to bring “the
anthropocentric system of language into question”, the system which reflects a “hierarchy of
domination and denomination which ignores the kinship between men and animals” (Davies,
Heretic 55, 113). In Wuthering Heights, animals, whether those on the farm or on the moor,
share the fictional space of the novel with the characters and have their own role in it.
In the description of characters, the preponderance of the imagery and metaphors from
the natural world – of animals, plants, earth, sky, clouds, natural forces such as wind, storm is
striking. Establishing the relationship of similarity or contrast between people and (physical)
calls Edgar “a lamb” (153), “a sucking leveret” (154), while Lockwood “feels feeble as a
But this kind of imagery more often refers to wild animals whose ferocity Brontë
recognizes in man, and uses it to indicate a thin line which divides an apparently civilised
creature from his true, savage nature. The description of the male characters living at the
Heights, or of the members of the Coupe-Jarret family in Sand's Mauprat, is rife with beasts
and vicious animals and creatures as an expression of their brutality and/or brutish physical
appearance.
Heathcliff is “a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man” (141), “a mad dog” (197) “a savage/brute
beast” (204, 207) with “sharp cannibal teeth” (212), “his forehead, (...) was shaded with a heavy
cloud; his basilisk eyes (...) wept tears of blood, (...)” (215, 209). Hindley, when drunk,
becomes a “wild beast” that “glares like a hungry wolf” (175) and Hareton is “a dog”, “a cart-
horse” (341), “a bear” (57), a wild and uncultivated young man whose whiskers “encroached
Landscape imagery also frequently functions either as a metaphor for human feelings,
moods or condition. Catherine's face was just “like the landscape – shadows and sunshine
flitting over it” (29). Hareton scowls like “a thunder-cloud” (344) and was bred in “clouds of
ignorance and degradation” (351). Linton's soul is as different from Heathcliff's “as a
Sand's novel. The cunning and smooth-tongued Tristan is “a treacherous animal of the
carnivorous order, a cross between a lynx and a fox” (16) who rallies his progeny around him
“as the wild boar gathers together its young after a hunt” (12). Uncle Jean lurks to trap his
victims “crouching down like a cat ready to spring” (20) and the sorcerer Patience looks like
“a wild beast” whose eyes seem “ to flash like lightning at the end of the summer behind the
fading foliage” (36). Bernard is not only “an old branch happily torn from a vile trunk and
transplanted into good soil” (4) as he likes to describe himself, but he is also “a (wounded)
wolf”, “a bear”, “a badger”, “a kite”, “an ogre”, “a hulking dog”, “a savage”. A mane of long,
black hair falls loosely around his face, “a hyena smile” plays on his lips while the voice of M.
In contrast to birds of prey and wild animals that the elder villainous branch of the
Mauprats is often associated with, nature imagery used by the narrator to talk about Edmée
stresses her frailty, delicate beauty and gentle character. She is “a hind”, “a lamb”, “a dove”, a
“linnet”, “the prettiest of all birds in the woods” threatened by “these vile night-birds” (75), the
evil and lecherous sons of Tristan. “The holy child of God” (147), “a star in the firmament”
(150) whose “goodness is like a moon that sheds light on all” (149) and whose “divine face”
(160) enchants Bernard the first moment he sets eyes on her, she will become his good angel,
a fairy that will help him in his struggle against “the rebel angels” of Coupe-Jarrets (Schaeffer
8).
Solange, the patron saint of Berry and that of a wild flower of the New World. Not only the
main female protagonist, but many other characters in the novel are linked with the world of
vegetation, in a way that we can talk of “the flower theme semiotics” (Flory 202) or the
semiotics of botany. The forest that surrounds Roche-Mauprat is a symbol of the old feudal
family that ruled there for centuries, while the beginning of Bernard's story is the history of the
family-tree of the Mauprats, its two branches, and of the hero himself who is like an old branch
Patience, a rustic philosopher, lives in the abandoned Gazeau Tower, sleeps on a bed
of moss, and some stumps of trees, and survives on roots, wild fruit, and goat's milk. His real
name is Jean le Houx (Holly). As the ruler of the white realm, of winter, holly is associated
with dreams and the subconscious. It is also a metaphor for stubborn victories won, for life,
hope and good fortune (Goddess Tree). These are also characteristics of this exceptional figure
Of all the characters in the novel, Edmée is most closely associated with the motif of
flowers which is employed to define her relationship with Bernard. The most powerful scene
involving flower imagery occurs when Bernard wanders out in a field where, intoxicated by
the beauty of nature, his eye falls upon a little daisy in which he, as if in some sort of delirium,
recognizes the face of Edmée. This reverie invokes Novalis and his dream of “the blue flower”.
The little daisy is “the miniature of being” (Bachelard 153), which like “the blue flower” is
associated with the face of the beloved girl. Bernard's wandering into the country does not
represent a return to nature, to the animal part of himself, but it marks the beginning of his
transformation. He experiences both the flower and the girl as the work of God, and the whole
landscape appears to him as “an earthly reflection of the scattered heavenly light” (Hecquet
115). The flower's white collaret fringed with purple can also be read as a metaphor for the
enclosed, harmonious space of the park of Sainte-Sévère in which the values of nature and
culture are fused, similarly to Novalis' “blue flower” that symbolizes “the synthesis of man and
To show not only the primitive, predatory instincts that drive Tristan and his sons, but
also to provide the understanding of their infernal nature and what Bernard's life at Roche-
Mauprat was, Sand uses imagery related to hell, devils, fire, and their opposites, as we have
seen, to speak of Edmée. Bernard's life is “infernal” (20) and his cousin tries to persuade him
to flee from Roche-Mauprat in order “to draw himself out of the abyss in which he lies” (62).
Their escape through the underground passages of the castle on the stormy night symbolically
marks the hero's coming out of the “infernal night” and the beginning of a new life with the
first morning light and the arrival at Sainte-Sévère. This passage from darkness to light, the
awakening of Bernard's consciousness will happen under Edmée's influence. The embodiment
of noble feelings, virtue, knowledge, culture, she is his “anima” (Muelhemann 9), the symbol
of light in any man's life. Yet, because of his wild nature, for a very long time Bernard will not
be able to get used to the order, calm and silence that reigned at Sainte-Sévère. He will look
back on his past life with bitter regret, dreaming of the unrestrained freedom he enjoyed in the
“accursed soil” of Roche-Mauprat (259), which now seems like “an earthly paradise” (101).
Bernard expresses his violent and fierce passion towards Edmée through a powerful
imagery full of aggression, similar to Heathcliff's words when he speaks of his feelings for
Catherine. To see M. de la Marche, Edmée's fiancé, or just to hear his name mentioned, “a flash
of jealousy fires [Bernard's] senses” (67). He stares at the girl with “flashing eyes” ready to
“tear out with his nails the heart” of any man who tries to win her from him (208, 212).
Although Brontë in her novel has few biblical references and quotations, the images of
heaven and hell, salvation and damnation are as frequent as those associated with nature. From
the very first page, when Lockwood describes the Heights as “a perfect misanthropist's
Heaven” (45), throughout the novel we encounter different, personal experiences of these two
opposing Christian concepts. Besides the spaces of the houses experienced as heaven
(Hindley's in the sitting-room by the fire, Joseph's in the kitchen, the Lintons' drawing room
for Catherine and Heathcliff, together with the moors and the Heights which will turn into
places of misery and suffering for Isabella and the younger Catherine), the word hell, and this
is particularly true of the two protagonists, is synonymous with agony and grief caused by their
separation and the loss of the beloved person. Catherine's dream of heaven turns into a
nightmare and when the angry angels “flung (her) out, into the middle of the heath on the top
of Wuthering Heights, (....) she woke sobbing for joy” (120-121). For years after her death
Heathcliff “will writhe in the torments of hell” (196), awaiting “his heaven” (363) because that
The house of nature is also “an infernal house” (106) whose inhabitants swear, curse,
threaten using forceful verbs full of energy. They are most frequently pronounced by
Heathcliff, or by some other character talking about him. Recurring images of hell and the devil
are used to underline his demonic nature or appearance. He is called “a devil”, “a Satan”, “a
lying fiend”, “a ghoul”, “a demon”, “a goblin”, “a hellish villain” who has “his kin beneath”
(209), “who fights like a legion of imps” (216) and whose conscience, as Joseph says, has
Nelly Dean describes the difference between the dark-haired, morose and unsociable
Heathcliff and a fair-haired, young Linton whose soft-featured face is brilliant with delight as
the contrast one sees “in exchanging a bleak, hilly, coal country for a beautiful fertile valley”
(110).
The same contrast between abundance and lack can be found in the two opposing
worlds of the Heights and the Grange. The Grange, symbolized by a thrush, “a pretty, non-
predatory bird” is “a nature managed” (Paglia 448) where the “atmospheric tumult” (46) of the
Heights is softened, “filtered and diluted” (Goodridge 61). Damp and empty rooms, a huge
sitting-room with the stone grey floor, dusty pewter dishes and an inhospitable hearth of the
Heights are in sharp contrast with the luxury and comfort of the Thrushcross Grange, the
Lintons’ beautiful drawing room carpeted with crimson and crimson-covered chairs, a white
ceiling bordered by gold, and a chandelier which seems like a shower of glass-drops
shimmering with little soft tapers. While most of the inhabitants on the Heights are illiterate or
can hardly read, and eat simple, peasant food, at the Grange cakes, negus and tea are served to
the genteel and refined Lintons who are guarded by servants and dogs.
wealth, but also of restrained, subdued passions. The “Manichaean theme” (Didier 183) of two
opposing estates as the expression of “the dialectics of inside and outside” (Bachelard 212) can
also be recognized in the fact that the home of the younger branch of the Mauprats, like that of
the Lintons, is always experienced from the inside: its carpets softer than moss, the curtains
and coverings of chintz, china vases with flowers exhaling a delicate perfume. It is a house of
hospitality and magnanimity, dominated by women and/or men who appear “qualified or
impaired” (Paglia 453) and whose power lies in the gift of speech as a contrast to the barbaric
books and education. For the children at the Heights, the book is a source of knowledge
necessary to acquire social status, while the lack of it leads to barbarism. Catherine Earnshaw's
journal, written on the margins of the books, gives yet another image of this “cultural artifact”
(Williams 90). Prayer-books in Joseph's hands become “an instrument of oppression”, and in
The atmosphere of physical and spiritual neglect dominates the Heights from the
opening chapters. Heathcliff's words to his daughter-in-law “to put her trash away” (books),
and “to stop being at her idle tricks” (reading) (72) clearly indicate that it is a masculine world
where a feminised culture has no place. It is a simple working farm where, as Heathcliff has
taught Hareton, “everything extra-animal” should be despised “as silly and weak” (253).
The Grange is the realm of culture where the written word contained in all kinds of
documents such as wills, testaments, titles and leases secures Linton's social power and makes
possible the transmission of patriarchal culture from one generation to another (Gilbert and
Gubar 281). Books for Edgar are also an excuse to withdraw from the reality of the outside
world he cannot control. For the younger Catherine, whom we associated with books from the
beginning, these “images of an unreal security” (McKibben 38) will also become a kind of
refuge in the protected world of childhood. Even when they are taken from her at the Heights
she says that she has written them on her brain and printed them in her heart so that no one can
entirely new language that he can understand but cannot speak. Very often he just stammers a
few confused words or simply remains silent and immobile. His appearance and behaviour are
very much like those of Heathcliff when he was first brought to the Heights: a ragged, black-
haired child who stared around and repeated some gibberish that nobody could understand, or
of the wild and uncultivated Hareton. The difference between Bernard and M. de la Marche is
the same as the one between Heathcliff and Edgar – the ignorance and muteness of the one
opposed to the ability for lively and refined causerie of the other.
Yet, very soon, Bernard realizes the power of words, of language. So does Hindley,
when he deprives Heathcliff of education and forces him to hard labour on the farm, or
Heathcliff himself when he brutalises Hareton, reducing him to a state of crude nature.
Heathcliff's physical appearance, as well as that of Bernard, and Hareton later, matched their
mental deterioration. All three of them became young brutes of ignoble look, who, deprived of
In spite of Heathcliff's effort to keep Hindley's son in the state of ignorance, Catherine
and Hareton gradually develop a relationship conducted around learning. Hareton's desire to
please his cousin and to win her love by the acquisition of literacy is similar to Bernard's
For Bernard and Patience, the passage from Roche-Mauprat and Gazeau Tower to
social skills. But more than the house itself, it is the space of the park that has the role of
“intermediary” between two estates not only in terms of geography but of “sociopoetics” as
well (Flory 204). In the shadow of its “fine lordly oaks” (224) and in the atmosphere of
harmony, where the dimension of culture is brought together with that of nature, Bernard will
learn to control his wild passion and animal instincts and to transform them into feelings and
thoughts of an enlightened and civilised person, while Edmée will teach him a lesson of love
from a female point of view. Bernard, like Hareton, eventually acquiesces to become
cultivated, will achieve social status and come into his rightful inheritance. While the process
of acculturation proved to be fatal for Catherine and Heathcliff, Edmée and the younger
Catherine manage to reclaim the children of nature and, in the space of dialogue and exchange,
reconcile oppositions that divide the realm of culture and the realm of nature.
Opposites represented by Wordsworth and Coleridge, Rousseau and Sade, and brought
together in Blake's dualistic vision of the world, are present in the works of Emily Brontë and
George Sand. Similar to Blake's antithetical poems, simple at first sight, but rich in implications
and hidden meanings, Brontë and Sand, under the illusion of mimetic representation, create the
opposing spaces of multiple coded meanings. The Heights and the Grange, Roche-Mauprat and
Sainte-Sévère are yet another variation on the theme of the conflict between nature and culture,
body and soul, emotion and reason, masculine and feminine. As the result of the confluence of
their personal experience and the Romantic aesthetics, and revising the traditional binary
structures that have influenced Western thought since the age of Antiquity, the writers create a
vision of the world from the female perspective. Traditional roles are changed here since male
characters (Bernard, Heathcliff, Hareton) are identified with nature, instinct and irrationality
usually associated with the female principle, while heroines (Edmée, Catherine and partly
Catherine Earnshaw) embody reason, culture, and are capable of verbalizing emotions, all
younger Catherine to Hareton. Their relationship is the one between the body and the soul,
culture and nature. They are two parts of a symbolon4, two halves of the same being which can
form a new and different antithetical unity of opposites only when together.
Notes:
1. References to Wuthering Heights cited in the paper are to the edition by David Daiches (Penguin Books,
1983).
2. References to Mauprat cited in the paper are to the edition by Edmund Gosse (London, 1902).
3. There was the senior branch of the Mauprats known also by the name Cut-throat (Coupe-Jarret) and the junior
one nicknamed Headbreaker (Casse-tête).
4. The Greek word symbolon was used to describe a clay seal that was broken in half and given to two people,
serving as a sign of recognition between them. Aristophanes used the word to denote two halves of a whole,
neither one being complete until they are reunited.
Works Cited
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− Flory, Emmanuel. “Sémiologie des fleurs et jardins dans Mauprat.” Fleurs et jardins dans
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Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven and London: Yale University Press,
1984. Print.
− The Goddess Tree. <http://www.thegoddesstree.com>. Web. 12 March 2018.
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Print.
− Jacobs, Naomi M. “Gender and Layered Narrative in Wuthering Heights and The Tenant
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Anhiti Patnaik
Anhiti Patnaik is professor at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Birla Institute
of Technology and Science - Pilani, Hyderabad. She completed her doctorate at the Cultural
Studies department of Trent University, Ontario specializing in Victorian literature and culture.
Her thesis examined the aesthetics of murder in the works of Charles Baudelaire, Oscar Wilde
and Walter Sickert. She was an Ontario Trillium Scholar and a fellow of The School of
Criticism and Theory, Cornell University. She read for a Masters and M.Phil in English at the
University of Delhi and a chapter of her thesis was recently published in Neo-Victorian Studies
Vol. 9.2.
Basundhara Chakraborty
Basundhara Chakraborty is currently pursuing her M.Phil from School of Women’s Studies,
Jadavpur University. She has completed her M.A. in English Literature from The University
of Calcutta in 2014. Her research interests include Feminism, Gender studies, Indian Writing
in English, Cultural Studies and Linguistics.
Courtney Simpkins
Courtney Simpkins is an instructor of English at Radford University, where she teaches first-
year Composition, British and Commonwealth Literature, and Victorian Literature courses.
She received her Master of Arts degree in English Literature from Radford University in 2016.
Her scholarly interests include literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, particularly
works by Frances Burney, Mary Shelley, and the three Brontë sisters.
Madhumita Biswas
Madhumita Biswas is a PhD scholar at the School of Women’s Studies, Jadavpur University.
She completed her M.Phil at the same school and received an MA degree from the Department
of English, Jadavpur University.
Madhumita Majumdar
Neepa Sarkar
Neepa Sarkar teaches in the Department of English, Mount Carmel College, Bangalore. She is
currently working on her doctoral thesis on Literature and Memory. She has presented papers
in many national and international conferences and has published research articles in
international journals − Melus Melow Journal (2014), Journal of Literature and Aesthetics
(2015), Glocal Colloquies (2016), and The Himalayan Journal of Contemporary Research,
H.P. University, Shimla (2015). Also, her poetry has been published in an anthology brought
out by Cyberwit publishers, India in 2016, and Daath Voyage journal (ISSN: 2455-7544), 2017.
Her poems were shortlisted for the Srinivas Rayaprol Prize (2015).
Prodosh Bhattacharya
Prodosh Bhattacharya began by specializing in Old English and Middle English literature, and
then shifted his focus to late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century popular fiction, obtaining
his doctorate on the novelist Marie Corelli. He has published extensively in all these areas,
including children’s literature. He began teaching in 1982, and has worked at Syamaprasad
College, Kolkata, Presidency College, Kolkata, and the University of Calcutta, before shifting
to Jadavpur University in 1996. He was Head of the Department of English at Jadavpur from
2012−2014.
Tatjana Šepić
Tatjana Šepić is a senior lecturer at the Polytechnic of Rijeka, Croatia. She studied English and
French Language and Literature at the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University
of Zagreb, Croatia where she also completed Postgraduate Studies in Literature and earned her
Master of Science in 2008 and a doctoral degree in 2015. Her research and writing are focused
mainly on (comparative) literature and 19th century women writers.