Cumbres borrascosas by Emily Bronte

Cumbres borrascosas (Ediciones Fenix) (Clasicos de La Literatura) (Clasicos Seleccion) (Narrativa74) (Novela Romantica) (Clasicos Ilustrados)

by Emily Bronte

Since its debut in 1847 Britain, Cumbres borrascosas became one of the greatest narrative works from the last century. It describes a passionate, violent, and tumultuous world that explores the boundaries of rigid Victorian morality. It remains a topic of scholarly debate and continues to be adapted and translated across the globe.

En 1847 aparece en Gran BretaÑa Cumbres Borrascosas. En su momento, fue sÓlo una novela mÁs de las muchas que se publicaban en esa Época de auge del gÉnero y cuyo recibimiento por parte de la crÍtica contemporÁnea no resultÓ, ni siquiera remotamente, favorable. Sin embargo, con el paso del tiempo y las sucesivas lecturas, se la empezÓ a considerar como una de las grandes obras narrativas de los Últimos siglos. FuncionÓ –y, de hecho, continÚa haciÉndolo– como una suerte de usina para mÚltiples adaptaciones a lenguajes, medios y soportes diversos.   Cumbres Borrascosas no es una novela  fÁcil o complaciente. En ella, la autora crea y describe un mundo apasionado y violento, tumultuoso y desbocado en pos de abordar cuestiones brutales, descarnadas y hasta censuradas por las convenciones que regÍan a la famosa y por demÁs rÍgida moral victoriana. Todo ello, lo hace retratando a un protagonista que se aleja bastante de los cÁnones valorados por la sociedad britÁnica del siglo XIX, y a travÉs de una narraciÓn que se caracteriza por un tratamiento seco y escueto del lenguaje.

Reviewed by brokentune on

3 of 5 stars

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A few months ago I re-read Wuthering Heights. I had read it before, many years ago, as an impressionable teenager but couldn't remember much about it as most of my impressions from reading the book had been edged out of my memory by Kate Bush's song and Monty Python's most excellent re-telling of the story in semaphore.

Anyway, having re-read this, I have no idea how I could have ever perceived the story of Heathcliff and Catherine as a romance haunted by obsession.

All I am left with now is an impression of a story marked by a passion for violence, bitterness, and obsession with revenge.

"If it be, he deserves flaying alive for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin. Unnatural cub, come hither! I’ll teach thee to impose on a good-hearted, deluded father. Now, don’t you think the lad would be handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something fierce —get me a scissors— something fierce and trim! Besides, it’s infernal affectation—devilish conceit it is, to cherish our ears—we’re asses enough without them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my darling! wisht, dry thy eyes— there’s a joy; kiss me. What! it won’t? Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee, kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a monster! As sure as I’m living, I’ll break the brat’s neck.’ Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father’s arms with all his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him up-stairs and lifted him over the banister. I cried out that he would frighten the child into fits, and ran to rescue him. As I reached them, Hindley leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost forgetting what he had in his hands. ‘Who is that?’ he asked, hearing some one approaching the stairs’-foot. I leant forward also, for the purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come further; and, at the instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless grasp that held him, and fell."

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  • Started reading
  • 27 March, 2014: Finished reading
  • 27 March, 2014: Reviewed