Jessica Duchen selects her top 10 literary Gypsies in
The Guardian and a
false one slips in... a very Brontë-related one:
5. Mr Rochester (in disguise) in Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre
Mr Rochester takes advantage of the much-caricatured superstition that Gypsies are clairvoyant, and with good reason: when he disguises himself as a Gypsy fortune-teller, it gives him the power over Jane and Blanche to see beyond the superficial niceties that the women present to his usual incarnation. Jane is terrified by the fortune-teller's aspect – afraid of "her" dark skin, and of something or someone different from herself. Simultaneously, of course, she's transfixed.
Bloomberg.com reviews Sam Savage's Firmin:
Bronte Lettuce
Soon, Firmin spends most of his time reading and limits his snacking to the margins, working his way through Ezra Pound, Charles Dickens and Leo Tolstoy. When he finds a piece of lettuce, it tastes like ``Jane Eyre.'' (James Pressley)
We published a post about this book some months ago.
We read on
iBerkshires.com the following statement about Wuthering Heights 1939:
I am the one who cries when the ill-fated young lovers in "West Side Story" are parted by death. "Wuthering Heights," is one of my favorite films, though it is a "two-hanky" movie for me. I guess I am a softy when it comes to romance.
I so wanted Heathcliff and his beloved Cathy to know the joy of being together during their lifetime, but it was not until they met in the hereafter, Healthcliff running to Cathy as she stood in the heather on the moors, that they knew happiness. I suppose "Wuthering Heights" is a good date movie, the fellow putting his arm around his girl to comfort her as she cries. (Phyllis McGuire)
Finally,
Pozitivní Noviny publishes an article about Emily Brontë (in Czech and with a wrong picture),
WGC Reading Blog posts briefly about Wuthering Heights and
Die Presse (from Austria, in German) has an article about Heathcliff's gravedigging
habits:
Aus unserer Sommerschule des Erlebens. – Er ist Totengräber am Friedhof „Wuthering Heights“, das ist ungefähr dort, wo einst der Gutshof aus Emily Brontës Sturmhöhe lag. Sein Name ist Heathcliff, was soll er machen? Er heißt, wie er heißt, selbst wenn er so heißt wie das Findelkind in Brontës Roman, ein düsterer Charakter, entstiegen – man muss schon sagen – Brontës kränkelnder Fantasie, die sich auf den windgepeitschten Anhöhen des Hochmoors von Yorkshire entzündete. (...) (Peter Strasser)
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