Originally Posted by
mono
Ouch again!
Wuthering Heights seemed a very unique novel in its time, and continues to prove its sharp genius even in contemporary times. With my favoritism for Emily Brontė over her sisters, Charlotte and Anne, I always called her the "Brontė with a brain," feeling relieved when reading her novel over her sisters, all of which I have read, too. In order for publication, female authors got stuck in this genre of higher-end romance, something along the lines of a worker-class-woman-usually-a-governess-or-servant-or-heiress-of-the-family-estate-is-lonely-may-not-realize-it-falls-in-love-with-mysterious-man-finds-happiness-in-societal-conformation-marriage-and-children template, copied and pasted by writers like Jane Austen and Charlotte and Anne Brontė; Virginia Woolf would later poke fun at this fact, too, in her lifetime. Authors like Emily Brontė, George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), George Sand (Amandine Dupin), and Kate Chopin, some of whom took up masculine pen-names to avoid the stereotype that "women ought to write this-or-that way," dared to step out of that impeded creativity. Indeed, while having to read Wuthering Heights, I expected something similar to Jane Eyre, too, which I also enjoyed most parts of, but thought it a beautiful work of genius.