In conjunction with the classic snowstorm we’ve been pummeled with, I decided to reread a classic novel—Wuthering Heights.
It reminded me of the hit television show, Grey’s Anatomy.
I haven’t watched the show since the first couple of seasons, but my lasting impression has been that the producers were too cheap to hire any extra actors, because the assorted romantic liaisons seemed to shift among the various characters on the show. If I didn’t watch for a couple months, I’d tune in and have the sense that someone had hollered “ROTATE” and everybody found a new partner.
In Wuthering Heights the cast of characters consists of our hero villain, Heathcliff, and two families, the Earnshaws and the Lintons. Through multiple generations all the romantic relationships (marriage and otherwise) that occur happen between this small group of people. Talk about keeping it in the family.
My husband commented that he tried to read the book once, but didn’t finish it because nothing happened in it. In a sense, that’s accurate. Other than the periodic family rows, the biggest action scenes involve canine attacks.
But as I pondered trying to describe the plot to him, the evolution of associations was so convoluted I gave up before I even started. (Wikipedia has made a gallant effort to outline the narrative.)