I love Haighs honeycomb chocolate.
I am also quite fond of Pascals chocolate coated marshmallow bites (vanilla flavoured).
This weekend I decided to try their honeycomb flavoured version. Not good.
They tasted strange. Definitely honeycomb flavoured but with an almost smokey finish.
Henceforth I will stick with vanilla.
But now, Wuthering Heights.
Having recently finished the Artemis Fowl series of books I was browsing my kindle for inspiration.
Wuthering Heights caught my eye. Obviously I had heard of the book and the most famous characters (Catherine and Heathcliff).
It seemed like as good a time as any to read the classic.
Now, I don’t want to offend anyone, so if you are a huge fan of the book please STOP READING NOW.
Browse to another blog. Maybe a classical literary blog, or try Pinterest, that is always diverting.
I read it. Perhaps my expectations were flawed. There was an idea in my head that it was a classic love story.
Two star crossed lovers separated by fate and death on the moors.
What I found was a small cast of mostly unlikeable characters causing each other pain and suffering through deliberate actions.
There is no moral, no real consequences to their behaviour and very little to like about any of them, save one of the supporting cast (Edgar) and the servant (Nelly) who narrates most of the tale. – Ok, Cathy and Hareton end up being ok at the end.
The ending was sufficiently happy to leave me with no ongoing distaste, but I am at pains to understand the ‘love story’ aspect.
Heathcliff is an irredeemable nasty piece of work. Catherine is a selfish, spoiled, eventually insane woman.
The story of their love is over in the first third of the book.
Perhaps I missed the point and again, I apologise to any literary scholars who are currently yelling at my blog.
To ‘borrow’ a favourite item from pinterest:
What the author wrote: “The curtains were blue”
What your english teacher thinks the author meant: “The curtains represent his immense depression and his lack of will to carry on”
What the author actually meant: “The curtains were f*$^ing blue’.
In the end, I do not read novels to interpret the hidden meaning in the author’s use of the term ‘melancholy’ rather than ‘sad’.
I read novels to escape into the story, to feel for the characters, to grieve their losses and experience their pain.
I tried to empathise with the Earnshaw/Linton families, but it was tough going.
But I have to say I would rather read the book again than watch the Kate Bush film clip.
Really – give it a try, I lasted about 2 minutes. There are some awesome dance moves that I quite possibly used in the 80s.