There is certainly something to be said for reading seasonally “charged” stories in the seasons they are connected to. The ability to connect and relate to the story and characters seems to increase exponentially! The first time I attempted a springtime reading of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, the story simply did not click – it wasn’t engaging enough to keep me going. There was something about taking up the book again in the chill final days of November that transported me into the novel’s harsh, cold winter of northern England. Not only did the physical landscape of the novel come alive in my mind, but the emotional and moral aspects have lingered with me ever since as a fitting meditation for Advent and the expectation of Christ.

Given the literary arguments surrounding Brontë’s novel, it might be odd to take the novel as a deeply Advent-themed tale. Any blatant reference to religion throughout Wuthering Heights, especially as found in the servant Joseph’s sermons, is negative at worst or indifferent at best. The ever-present reality of death hardly inspires aspirations towards heaven in any of the characters. So how could such a bleak spiritual landscape point to the joy and hope of Advent? I would argue that it is in the very hopelessness and hardness of heart that propels the plot of Wuthering Heights that we find a form of Advent’s longing for Christ.

Looking back over the plot from “The End” side, one could see it all as a microcosm of Salvation History. In the beginning, the first Mr. Earnshaw makes the original fault of bringing in a foreign child, Heathcliff, and choosing to favour this child over his own offspring. Such original fault is not the same as Adam and Eve’s disobedience, but it taps into a similar selfishness. Rather than acting as a true father figure in his family, Mr. Earnshaw chooses to love something that he, and not the natural order of family, has put in his care. The result is an enduring rift in family life, which leads to violence and death. A break in the cycle of abuse and death, together with the renewal of beauty in the hereditary houses of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange, only comes with the removal of the slightly demonic Heathcliff. 

The sense of hopelessness for the afflicted Earnshaw family might offer a glimpse into the dark days when the house of Israel waited for its messiah. Just like Heathcliff’s evil cunning and strength, powers of darkness, embodied for Israel in hostile foreign nations, always arose in war and oppression over God’s people. A large portion of Israel’s history was also riddled with internal division between Northern and Southern kingdoms, much as the house of Wuthering Heights was fragmented by the action of the first and second Mr. Earnshaw. One appreciates the birth of Christ as Savior much more when reminded of how dark life is without Divine help, and such is the depraved state of life in Wuthering Heights.

When Divine help does come to Wuthering Heights, it is through the supernatural intervention of Cathy’s ghost, invisible to all but Heathcliff himself. The happiness and light that follows is very simple and nothing extraordinary in itself. Without knowing the dark background, one would not be surprised to see the joy of young love blossoming between Hareton and Catherine at the conclusion of the story. But if one has read through the drama and darkness that both Hareton and the second Cathy have experienced, there is a sense of miraculous happiness and fulfillment. 

Such is the joy of Christ’s birth in time. One does not at first realize how important is the birth of a baby in a stable, but if that child is God Incarnate, born of a miraculously Immaculate Virgin, his birth changes everything. As the ancient “O Antiphon” for this day phrases it, Christ is the “Radiant Dawn” which quietly breaks into humanity’s cycle of sin and violence. For Israel and the family at Wuthering Heights alike, the longing and prayer that God will “come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death” is profound and almost desperate. Light and dawn are both everyday items, but when filled with God’s grace in the face of evil, they are welcomed as miraculous. Christ coming as the dawn brings, as that oh-so-accurate line in “O Holy Night” puts it, “a thrill of hope” over which “the weary world rejoices.”

For writers, I believe it important to delve into the riches of our forerunners in the canon of great literature. Emily Brontë has something to teach us, not only as a spiritual meditation for Advent, but also as a good storyteller. One might draw from her example of infusing her story with hopelessness and know that every good story ought to have a taste of darkness and despair. I would not suggest everyone explore the same depth of darkness and vengeance that Miss Brontë delves into, but a streak of despair before a burst of hope will serve any story well.

May we all experience the thrill of hope that Christ brings this Christmas.

Copyright 2025 Maggie Rosario

Edited by Janet Tamez