Catherine: A Retelling of Wuthering Heights, Essie Fox

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This post is part of a blog tour. Thank you to Random Things Tours and Orenda Books for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

Fox’s retelling of Wuthering Heights places Catherine front and centre. The book opens with one of the most evocative scenes from the original - Heathcliif having her coffin dug up so that they can be placed together when his time comes. In disturbing her corpse he sets her ghost free and she is then taken through not just her own story but also that of her daughter into young adulthood. Fox’s writing fits nicely with the tone of the original, meaning that when passages are lifted directly from Brontë’s novel they fit quite naturally within the narrative. The story of Heathcliff and Cathy’s obsessive, unhealthy love for each other and the actions that lead to the destruction and misery of not just their own lives but all those around them is a powerful, frustrating, and heartbreaking one. 

A sense of place is so integral to Wuthering Heights; the contrast between the darkness of the Heights and the lightness of Thrushcross Grange. We see the Heights go from a relatively happy family home to one filled with grief and violence, later becoming a prison. The moors are also central, the place where Cathy and Heathcliff feel completely themselves, free from societal expectation or the judgment of Joseph. It is where they are able to come together completely. It is also a dangerous place - even those familiar with the landscape can get into trouble in inclement weather, and for those less hardy there is danger and foreboding in its wildness. Inhabitants of Thrushcross Grange are often banned from venturing beyond their own landscaped grounds. We learn a lot about the characters by where they feel most at home. Fox manages to capture the essence of this throughout.

The main purpose of this novel seems to be to make Catherine a bit more sympathetic, to explain the reasoning behind her actions and the guilt she feels when things go wrong. There are still many unlikeable characters of course, but, as with the original, you feel for them, understanding where things have gone wrong for them, and the ways in which the environments they grew up in have shaped them. Of course, there is a point where Heathcliff tips over into being unrelatable and although you do understand how he has suffered there is a limit to the sympathy you can feel as he seeks to destroy everything Edgar has ever loved. It felt slightly less extreme in this novel, although the same actions took place. The ghost of Catherine is horrified by what he has become, and the suffering he is inflicting on her daughter, but ultimately she continues to love him and there is a feeling of redemption. 

My main issue with this novel was that I didn’t feel it really added much to the story. For the most part you are just reading Wuthering Heights told in different words. Fox adds a few scenes here and there, filling in some of Heathcliff’s backstory, and taking away some of the ambiguity about his relationship with Cathy, but there just doesn’t feel like there’s any great depth being added. Yes, we experience a little more of her emotions as the story plays out, but they can be inferred from the original, so rich in feeling. Most retellings that I’ve read in the past focus on highlighting characters that were otherwise sidelined; in attempting a retelling based on one of the main characters it is inevitable I suppose that not much is gained. The point at which the story continues after Cathy’s death felt like the moment for more additions, to see how she responds to how everything plays out. For the most part this doesn’t happen, we are just told the story without comment. It is only in the last fifty pages or so that we get a little more insight into how she feels, what she thinks of the man she once loved so desperately, how she reacts to seeing her daughter grown up. If there was more of this throughout it would have felt a much stronger novel, as it is I couldn’t help but wonder what the point of the retelling was, and getting frustrated that we weren’t delving deeper with Cathy. That is not to say it’s a bad book, far from it, but I couldn’t help but feel that you’d be better off just reading the original. I adore the original, it is my most-read and favourite book, so perhaps I am coming at it from a critical place. I wonder how this book would be received by someone coming to the story for the first time. I imagine it would be read with pleasure. All the power and emotion of the original but perhaps in less intimidating writing, a bit less confusing with the repetition of character names in the second half. It is a worthy read, and the writing is rich and evocative, but for me I felt the enjoyment came from the strength of the original.

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Reader Morality

* Spoiler alert – this post discusses Rebecca, Wuthering Heights, The Phantom of the Opera, and American Psycho and you may find some parts to spoil the plot *

Last year I finally got round to reading Rebecca, and although it wasn’t quite what I was expecting, it is a book that inspires debate. The final quarter is by far the most engaging section of the novel as Rebecca’s murder and true character are revealed. Of course, Maxim’s depiction of her may well be skewed – their marriage did not end well and he’s unlikely to admit to murder in the same breath as praising his deceased wife. There are hints from other characters that suggest she was not as perfect as others would have the new Mrs de Winter to believe. Assuming that we believe Maxim’s tale, does this justify the reader in rooting for him to get away with it? Does the fact we know it’s fiction lessen the moral dilemma? I would argue that we are more accepting of extreme behaviour within the confines of fiction, and yet it can help us to see the world in less black and white simplicity.

The point of view of the narrator will play a large part in our reaction to events. We have witnessed the story unfold through the eyes of Maxim’s new bride and although she is not particularly likable and seems self-centred to the extreme when discovering the sticky end of Rebecca and feeling only relief that she no longer has to live in her shadow. Yet, because we have never met Rebecca except through the reminiscences of other characters, it is easier to side with Maxim. We experience the events through the loving eyes of his new wife and so it is her desire for evading the law that is projected on to the reader.

Often it is either the narrator’s voice that sways us as readers or the knowledge of mistreatment that has led to their otherwise unforgivable actions. Take Heathcliff for example; he behaves abominably through large chunks of Wuthering Heights and yet generations of fans hold him up as a romantic hero or misunderstood man. Popular adaptations lean heavily toward this interpretation, cutting many of his wicked deeds, yet many readings of the novel are also often reluctant to condemn him. Why? Is it because we see his mistreatment at the hands of Hindley and abandonment by Cathy and hold on to the sympathy this evokes? Regardless of this, can we really justify his abuse of the next generation who have done him no harm? Is it fair to look the other way because of childhood trauma? Would we feel the same way if it were real life?

Similarly in The Phantom of the Opera we are led to feel pity for the Phantom. Again, popular adaptations downplay his villainy, but even in the popular musical he kills somebody. In the book he has a torture chamber that we see put to use in horrifying detail, but we are also told that even his own mother would not kiss his head. His rejection is total. This sense of him having been wronged throughout his life through no fault of his own, to begin with at least, encourages us to feel more compassionately toward him. These characters show humans to be much more complex than simply good or bad. We seem to find this almost easier to accept in fiction than in life.

In both Wuthering Heights and The Phantom of the Opera we don’t have the story told to us by the perpetrators themselves but pieced together through other narratives. This suggests that it is knowledge of hardship that plays with our reactions more than the narrative point of view. If we look at a more recent example, American Psycho, we are reading a first person narrative, experiencing crimes in uncomfortable detail, and I can’t imagine many readers making excuses for Patrick Bateman’s actions as we have in the previous examples. Why does he not hold this same ambiguity (for the purpose of this post, let’s assume the crimes are real and not figments of his imagination, as is the belief held throughout the bulk of the book)? Consumerism and the shallow society he lives in seem to be his main driving factors, seeing humans as little more than commodities. This admittedly does not spring from the same abuse that our other examples have endured, yet there is the suggestion that he is mentally ill and therefore not entirely culpable for his actions. Why is this not enough? If we witnessed Heathcliff’s actions against Isabella in similarly gruesome detail would we find it as easy to make excuses for his behaviour? Does Bateman’s lack of regret close him off to us where in others there is some inkling of remorse? Do we need this as something we can relate to on a human level?

I’d love to hear your thoughts on these famous characters, what books have raised moral questions for you, and if the experience translated into altered world views? Let me know in the comments below.