Book : Wuthering Heights (signet Classics) - Bronte, Emily

-Titulo Original : Wuthering Heights (signet Classics)

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Signet

-Descripcion Original:

There are few more convincing, less sentimental accounts of passionate love than the story of the tormented Heathcliff, who falls wildly in love with Catherine Earnshaw, the daughter of his benefactor, and of the violence and misery that result from their thwarted longing for each other. Review It is as if Emily Bronte could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognizable transparencies with such a gust of life that they transcend reality. --Virginia Woolf About the Author Emily Jane Bronte was born July 30, 1818, at Thornton in Yorkshire, the fifth of six children of Patrick and Maria Bronte. Both of Emilys parents had literary leanings; her mother published one essay, and her father wrote four books and dabbled in poetry. In 1821, shortly after Emilys third birthday, Maria died of cancer. Marias sister, Elizabeth, came to live as a housekeeper and was responsible for training the girls in the household arts. Although Emily did spend a few short times away from Haworth, it was her primary residence and the rectory where she resided now serves as a Bronte Museum. Emilys only close friends were her brother Branwell and her sisters Charlotte and Anne. Emily died of tuberculosis on December 19, 1848, also at the age of thirty, and never knew the great success of her only novel Wuthering Heights, which was published almost exactly a year before her death on December 19, 1848. From the opinions of those who knew her well, Emily emerges as a reserved, courageous woman with a commanding will and manner. In the biographical note to the 1850 edition of Wuthering Heights, Charlotte Bronte attributes to her sister a secret power and fire that might have informed the brain and kindled the veins of a hero. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 1801--I have just returned from a visit to my landlord--the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropists Heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name. Mr. Heathcliff? I said. A nod was the answer. Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts-- Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir, he interrupted, wincing. I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it--walk in! The walk in was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, Go to the Deuce: even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathizing movement to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. When he saw my horses breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did pull out his hand to unchain it, and then suddenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court,-- Joseph, take Mr. Lockwoods horse; and bring up some wine. Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose, was the reflection, suggested by this compound order. No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters. Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. The Lord help us! he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me o