It happens a couple times a month, but tonight is really bad. I can’t sleep at all. I tried reading one of the worst books in history, Wuthuring Heights, and not even that sent me sleeping. I used to adore classics, but as I skim through my very full shelves lately, I’ve been very disappointed. I’ve always wanted to read WH, finally did it and I’m having a hard time understanding why it’s a classic for any good reason. The characterization is actually remarkable, but imaginingthat anyone so foul as Heathcliff actually existed, is just sad. I realise that I am rather sheltered, but he is a foul fiend. But as far as the book, storyline. etc goes, it is not enjoyable. So much took place within the first 100 pages with more main character deaths than a Shakespearean play, I find it amazing there are still hundreds of pages left. How many more tongue lashings can someone take before plunging a knife into Heathcliff. I am tempted.
I do however find it amusing that Gypsies find their way into the dark pages of so many novels. In my rather extensive relationship with Gypsies, I have never found one remotely hateful. But, perhaps Heathcliff would never have seemed believeable as a pale-faced English chap.
Anyway, I plow through on sleepless, rainy nights such as tonight, solely so I can have the gratification of completing it and having the excuse of returning to a favorite such as Like Water For Chocolate .