A Dollhouse in Scarborough

Washington City Paper publishes a (rather not very good) review of Brontë Sister House Party: 

At first, the concept makes good use of actors trying to act mirthful, a feat even more difficult to pull off convincingly onstage than in real life. In time, the irony fades, and the audience—who is, for some reason, also in the void with the sisters—must endure the Brontës’ fumbling efforts to achieve a measure of self-acceptance. (...)

It doesn’t help that the cast’s vain efforts to engage the audience seem pitched for a bigger space (or for overpowering the steady drone of the air-conditioning), making us feel even more like befuddled trespassers in the afterlife. Add a general grasp of character that rarely moves past stereotype and directorial composition that gets more muddled as the play gets more crowded and suddenly everything is being forced, not just the fun.

Granted, [Courtney] Bailey’s script—aiming for feminist critique by way of a postmodern, madcap mash-up—gives the company many confusing cues to sift through, including when it comes to the author’s thesis. The sisters indulge their angry, mediocre brother, a poster boy for toxic masculinity if there ever was one, and yet the authors’ famous characters are there mostly to flagellate them for not writing work that was feminist enough. Internalized misogyny is at play throughout, as one character bluntly states, but that’s a hard problem to unpack thoughtfully when the sisters’ punishment already seems wildly harsh and when their salvation has a lot more to do with “being their true selves” than it does with the plight of women as a whole. (Jared Strange)

Chicago Review of Books publishes its review of Anjet Daanje's The Song of Stork and Dromedary: 

Following the acclaimed arrival of her English translation debut, The Remembered Soldier, a National Book Award finalist, Anjet Daanje’s latest novel, The Song of the Stork and Dromedary, is yet another psychological puzzle, enveloping readers in a mystifying literary haze that persists until the novel’s final pages. Drawing on the lives of the Brontë sisters, Daanje weaves macabre imagery, dubious diaries, scattered letters, and a series of vignettes into a story spanning nearly 300 years. The result is a sprawling meditation on death, sisterhood, and the mysteries that refuse to be buried.

Opening the novel in late 18th-century England, Daanje wastes no time linking the novel to the esteemed Brontë sisters, primarily Emily, whose life is mirrored by the cryptic Eliza May Drayden. The Drayden sisters not only write Victorian Gothic novels but also echo the Brontës in their sisterly bonds, childhood-born imaginary worlds, and encounters with illness, all of which lie at the heart of the narrative. Blankly gazing at the corpse of yet another sister, six-year-old Eliza asks, “Is God hungry?”, initiating the novel’s lengthy exploration of death. Along this ghastly thread, readers follow eleven primary profiles—including biographer Agnes Chambers, Emery Niles, and several pairs of fated sisters—whose lives are all influenced in some manner by Eliza Drayden and her novel Haeger Mass, a heavily criticized Gothic tale in the vein of Wuthering Heights. These episodes are interspersed with diary entries, notes, and poems that gradually fill in the gaps of the enigma that surrounds Eliza far beyond the grave. (Brock Covington)

Daily Mail vindicates the wonders of Scarborough:

Ignore the haters – I fell in love with Scarborough all over again, from Anne Brontë’s grave to fish and chips, cheap arcades to seaside tat. (...)

Standing in a quiet corner of St Mary's Church in Scarborough, I gaze at the gravestone of Anne Brontë, who died in this North Yorkshire seaside resort in 1849 aged just 29. The peaceful spot overlooks South Bay, where pavements are heaving with day trippers.

Nowadays, visitors flock to Scarborough for fish and chips and, of course, the beaches.

But Anne came to Scarborough when it was rising in popularity in the 1800s, although its famous spa waters were discovered earlier, in 1626, marking the creation of the UK's first seaside resort. (Alesia Fiddler)

Decider reviews the last film by Julia Hart, Don't Say Good Luck (beware of spoilers):

Elizabeth is wheeled out in the backyard in a wheelchair, looking very sick and frail, but still happy to see her family. She hands her husband Ted (Max Greenfield) a copy of the book she had been reading, Jane Eyre, with a note on it to him, “You’ll have to tell me how it ends.” They both understand this to mean that Elizabeth only has a few weeks, maybe even just a few days, left to live. (Anna Menta)

Wuthering Heights 2026 features among the 20 sexiest movies on Prime Video to stream according to Esquire:

Love her or hate her, Emerald Fennell can make a steamy movie. Wuthering Heights is a little more of a reimagining than an adaptation, taking quite a few liberties with the text, but It puts the romantic and sexual dynamics right at the forefront of the story.

MyRepública thinks that the original novel deserves your attention, no matter what you think of the film:

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (1847)

Emerald Fennell’s 2026 adaptation has sparked outrage among the book’s lovers and (hopefully) interest among those whose introduction to Emily Brontë’s 1847 masterpiece came through the movie. The movie, with its stunning visuals and a subdued storyline, strips away much of the original story—including the entirety of the second generation of Linton, Heathcliff, and Earnshaw children—and leaves much to be discovered in the pages of the book.

Brontë’s novel has romance, certainly, but also includes tension caused by race and class. Heathcliff as a character is both sympathetic and abhorrent. His status as an outsider causes him to be abused at the hands of Hindley. Yet, his own cruelty toward Isabella and toward the offspring of Edgar Linton and Hindley Earnshaw, enemies he wishes to take revenge upon, cannot be overlooked. 

Catherine Earnshaw, Heathcliff’s equal, also defies expectations of the heroines in most romance novels. She is cruel, selfish, and temperamental; her hold over Heathcliff, and their inability to be together, is the central conflict in the story. Cathy proclaims, “I am Heathcliff,” a statement both romantic and terrifying, inviting the reader to understand the depth of their passion for and obsession with each other. Their love is far from healthy, and that is one of the most compelling aspects of the book.

Ultimately, the ‘love story’ the reader has been expecting throughout the tale happens in its third act, as the younger generation puts an end to the cycle of violence and abuse. A story centred around human emotion that does not shy away from its ugliness and destructiveness, Wuthering Heights deserves a read for both its romantic aspects and its exploration of human behaviour. (Samanata Shrestha)

Elle explores the revival of dollhouses:

The renewed fascination with dollhouses isn’t just playing out online; it’s influencing pop culture. Emerald Fennell notably added a dollhouse to her film, Wuthering Heights, a 1:12-scale replica of Thrushcross Grange (Brontë devotees will know there is no dollhouse mentioned in the 1847 novel). The scaled replica featured prominently in Architectural Digest’s tour of the film’s set with its star, Margot Robbie, and production designer, Suzie Davies, who showed viewers its perfectly scaled Regency rooms. (Madeline Weinfield)

The Hindu has an article of how Madras filmmakers adapted literature to film:

 Shanti Nilayam (1969) borrowed the unsettling mysterious elements of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. (Suganthy Krishnamachari)

TodoLiteratura (Spain) compares Carmen Laforet and Emily Brontë:

 Nuestra Emily Brontë es Carmen Laforet. Voy a ir una semana a Tenerife y decido leer “La isla y los demonios” de Laforet, que se desarrolla en Gran Canaria, pero habla de Tenerife. Dice que los demonios son las pasiones humanas, que son mucho más de siete. Y las pasiones constituyen a las personas y ayudan a conocerlas. Y forman parte de su vitalidad profunda, de su abismo. Lo mismo ocurría en “Cumbres borrascosas” y en las obras de Shakespeare. (...)

[Nada] tenía una fuerza sorprendente en una novelista de veinte años. Lo mismo que “Cumbres borrascosas”, de Emily Brontë, que con veinte años parecía ya haberlo vivido todo y conocido todo. (...)

El mismo estilo, sin florituras, pero expresivo y certero, contribuye a esa hondura de [La Isla y los demonios], a que la vivamos con fuerza y casi miedo como la de Emily Brontë. (...)

No hay nada que Carmen Laforet escribiera por escribir o por predicar algo. E incluso el catolicismo que aparece en “La mujer nueva” es el catolicismo desgarrado y vivo de Georges Bernanos, no el de las estampitas. Y sobre todo Laforet tiene novelismo, en el sentido más noble del término. El que señala un romanticismo como expresionismo, como indagación en lo que la realidad convencional esconde. Las novelas hacen eso, y las de Carmen Laforet más que las otras. Igual que las de Emily Brontë.

Incluso Charlotte Brontë, la hermana, que en “Jane Eyre” habla de una institutriz en apariencia convencional, tiene sus demonios. En el desván de su amante casado está la mujer loca en el desván. Esa mujer de las Antillas que enloqueció por las frialdades del marido inglés, o más bien la consideran loca porque no sigue la frialdad del montón.

Jean Rhys en “Ancho mar de los Sargazos” cuenta la historia desde el punto de vista de la loca, una mujer que vibraba en las selvas y los acantilados de la isla Dominica y llega a los estiramientos de una familia británica.

Emily Brontë era británica, pero con algo de Jean Rhys y de esa loca de los Sargazos. Y Carmen Laforet es española, pero tiene esos demonios encendidos y oscuros que pone en sus novelas. (Antonio Costa Gómez) (Translation)

Ranker has a list of fictional characters named Jane, and Jane Eyre (only) gets number 8. Good Housekeeping vindicates Wuthering Heights 2009.