I am currently reading Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.
I like it a lot.
It reminds me of my English literature classes in college and makes me miss reading hundreds of pages of the most celebrated writing in existence, then sitting through an hour-long class and, with the help of excellent professors, watching the intricate details of the author’s literary genius jump off the page. As I read about Heathcliff and Cathy, I find myself scouring the text for motifs and symbols, gathering themes, and analyzing the characters and their individual motives.
I’m reading with a pencil in hand once again.
It feels good.