I don’t think I’ve ever hated fictional characters as intensely as I hated the people in this book, and yet… I couldn’t stop reading. Everyone is cruel, selfish, and emotionally insufferable, which made the experience frustrating at times, but also weirdly compelling.
The story itself is dark, messy, and deeply intriguing. It’s a portrait of obsession and revenge rather than romance, and once I stopped expecting likable characters, the novel started to work better for me. The writing is undeniably beautiful and atmospheric, and it’s honestly astonishing to think Emily Brontë wrote this in the 1800s. The language, the intensity, the emotional brutality all feel far ahead of its time.
This wasn’t an enjoyable read in the comforting sense, but it was a fascinating one. A difficult, haunting classic that I’m glad I read, even if I never want to meet these people again.