Home alone one night, I pored over my Brontë shelf: beautiful editions of the novels, an assortment of biographies, the complete letters, and various books on Brontë lore –– of which fans all over the world never seem to tire. I soon reached for one book in particular: an edition of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights together that my father had given me for Christmas when I was 14 years old. It’s bound in plush red leather with gold writing on the cover and gold-edged pages. Opening it, I read the inscription:
To Kristin,
for her 14th Christmas
Read with delight and pleasure, my dear.
Love, forever and
ever,
Dad 1983
Tears sprang to my eyes, for my father had recently died. Seeing his handwriting again and his lovely inscription was like getting a little “hello” from him when I least expected it — and when I most certainly needed it. (...)
I read Jane Eyre in that volume shortly after he gave it to me, but it would be another ten years before I’d read Wuthering Heights, in a graduate course on the novels of the Brontë sisters, which sparked my Brontë mania. My mother shared my delight and pleasure in the Brontës, and we enjoyed talking about their lives and works. Of the countless things I miss about my parents, exchanging and discussing books with them might be what I miss the most. (Kristin Czarnecki)
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