Heathcliff was a psycho

I recently re-read Wuthering Heights again (during my exam period, no less. As if taking exams aren't stressful enough). I remember a time in secondary school when I thought it was quite a romantic novel, and sometime after the breakup with B that I relied heavily on Catherine (“a source of little visible delight, but necessary” continues to echo in my head till today). And I used to wonder in a typical adolescent fashion, whether I would inspire such depth of emotion in another. He was my dark Byronic hero, if you will.

But re-reading it again, I was quite horrified to find how much I have misjudged Heathcliff. He was a guy who killed his new wife’s dog to torment her for not being Catherine. And I know, I know, I shouldn’t be imposing contemporary societal values on someone living in a different period, but if I imagine someone killing Daiso just to watch me squirm, I might be tempted to wonder if I was one step away from being a victim on Saw.

It’s the same with Rochester in Jane Eyre, no? (Yes, I have a penchant for literature by old, dead white ladies) If you think about the novel as a movie made for modern audiences, it might go something like this:
Setting: at a Starbucks queue. Two stranger are chatting each other up.
R: You are the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes upon. Would you like to come back to my place?
J: That’s rather forward of you. Are you normally like this with women?
R: Well, not really. When I was courting my wife… oops, I mean uh…
J: You’re married?!
R: No, no, no! Well, technically yes. But she’s a psycho! She doesn’t understand me!! And it’s not cheating if I bring women home, because technically, we still live together.
J: So you still live with your wife?!
R: No, you misunderstand me! I’ve locked her in the attic, which means I’m totally free to see other people. So… how about a drink at my place, sweetheart?

In any case, it has made me wonder how much of my thoughts on love have been influenced by these historical ideals, like the fairytale idea of love-as-rescue or how one can differentiate a Shakespearean comedy or tragedy by whether there is a wedding at the end. I remember reading a quote by someone saying there are two questions you have to ask yourself in life. The first is “Where am I going?” and the second: “Who will go with me?”, and that the trouble is when you get these questions in the wrong order. And if I have to be brutally honest with myself, I’m not exactly sure where I’m going. But even so, knowing someone who is willing to wander around with me, is wonderful in its own right.

So lately, I have been in limbo (not unlike Leo in Inception, where time stops and killing yourself is the only way out). I am at that weird point in time, where you’re at the brink of the bubble and reality. If I don’t continue studying, I’ll start working (something I have been eagerly looking forward to). But I’ll admit that studying for another year or so does have its appeal. I may be lucky to have that opportunity again, in a new environment. So why not? I am still uncertain as to what I want to do, and to have abit more time in incubation, exploring what the world has to offer, may be just what I need. It reminds me somewhat of that T.S. Eliot quote: “We shall not cease from exploration, and at the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.”

On a random, slightly guilty note, I came across a speech by Reese Witherspoon on some award show. “I understand that it’s cool to be bad, I get it,” she said, in a thank-you speech. “But it’s possible to make it in Hollywood without being on a reality show… And when I was coming up, a sex tape was something you hid under your bed… And when you take naked pictures of yourself, you hide your face! Hide your face!” She finished off by stating that she was going to try to make it “cool” to be a “good girl”. I must say that while I admire her stand, it’s nothing new. Women on reality TV shows are easy targets; always criticized for their misogynistic, bimbotic portrayal of women, feeding into that stereotype, reversing the progress fought for by feminist movement etc etc. I must confess that in principle, I agree with the cynics. But I also think women should be allowed the freedom to “be bad” if they so choose, and not fit into this dichotomous mould of good/misogynistic. If you’re going to be bad, go ahead, but do it for a reason (to flaunt your sexuality, to cut the dictates of traditional female passivity etc). I share the same opinion about being offensive in writing. If you’re going to be offensive, do it for a purpose.

What I am blaming though, is the system of advertising, media, and a culture that schools girls into being defined by their sexual appeal and then punishing them for it (the same media that turns girls like Paris Hilton into a celebrity in the first place). I guess what I’m trying to say is: If you’re going to be bad, make it mean something… other than self-sabotage.

And on a slightly less cynical note, here is a cute limerick on The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot (which I had the misfortune of reading last year).

I
In April one seldom feels cheerful;
Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful;
Clairvoyantes distress me,
Commuters depress me–
Met Stetson and gave him an earful.

II
She sat on a mighty fine chair,
Sparks flew as she tidied her hair;
She asks many questions,
I make few suggestions–
Bad as Albert and Lil–what a pair!

III
The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep;
Tiresias fancies a peep–
A typist is laid,
A record is played–
Wei la la. After this it gets deep.

IV
A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot
About birds and his business–the lot,
Which is no surprise,
Since he'd met his demise
And been left in the ocean to rot.

V
No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,
Then thunder, a shower of quotes
From the Sanskrit and Dante.
Da. Damyata. Shantih.
I hope you'll make sense of the notes.

- Wendy Cope

Have a good week!