HEATHCLIFF: The Sequel to Wuthering Heights By Lin Haire-Sargeant (Arrow, $72) IT'S hard being gothic. These so-called gothic youngsters who these days go around with pale make-up, shaggy black hair and albums by The Cure don't know what they are letting themselves in for.
To be truly gothic, you have to be homeless and destitute. You have to find succour in a mysterious isolated old house, with a feeling that someone or something is watching you.
There will be strange creaking noises in the attic. People will look at you with side-long glances as if you are mad.
There will be a mystery about your parentage. But the worst thing of all, is that you have to be consumed by a mad, passionate love for someone who is entirely unsuitable in every way.
Emily Bronte died shortly after the publication of Wuthering Heights in 1847. But she would have been amazed at the way her novel has since found its way on to literature courses all over the world as one of the most powerful books ever written.
At a time when writers were producing gallant fictions about romances between fine ladies and gentlemen, Emily, who was in her 20s, introduced the world to the anti-hero.
