Firstly, sorry for being so petty in my last blog. Since I couldn't physically hurt blogspot, that vented my anger nicely. Sorry blogspot.
I will repost what I was saying though, but it might take me a few days. It took ages to write.
Anyway, every now and again I've been trying to read "Wuthering Heights" here and there, and after a long pause I've got back to it. I don't know how long it'll be before I give up on it. I didn't like Charlotte Bronte's writing, I'm finding Emily's just as arduous. It's not because of the language, because if a phrase doesn't make sense I'm more likely to skim over the text and get the jist of what's being said (it's how I got through C.S.Lewis' autobiography, I didn't have half the vocabulary he used at the time) and I liked Jane Austen's Pride And Prejudice so it's not because of the era. It's something about the Bronte's style. That or I don't like three pages dedicated to making porridge (or starting up a motorcycle, Stefenie Meyer) and I wish she'd just get on with it. Heathcliff's a bastard, Cathy's a nutjob who's going to die soon, I get it already (I'm at chapter 14, by the way).
But it's either this or Percy Jackson. Hmmm. I wasn't impressed by the blurb. And I hate first pages of books that start by warning you off the book. Um, don't you want people to read? I'm aware I might be prejudiced before I read, but I'll be prejudiced throughout the book. I'll still read until the end.
After the hired help watched Cathy and Heathcliff make out, and all that was said, I'm beginning to think Stefenie Meyer only wrote Twilight as a 'what if Cathy and Heathcliff were together and Linton buggered off' fanfic. With names changed. And he eats his animals very rare.
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