The Savage Heart

"The Savage Heart"...it is a fitting title, indeed. Our love was no gentle, civilised affection, fit for a drawing-room. It was wild as the moors, as fierce as a storm raging through Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff *is* my heart, and if my heart is savage, then so be it. It is a savagery born of a deeper, truer connection than any Linton could comprehend. But do not think Heathcliff and I alone possess this wildness. The very house of Wuthering Heights breathes it. Its rough, unyielding architecture, the bleakness of its surroundings—they mirror the untamed spirits that dwell within. Even Hindley, in his drunken cruelty, shows a form of this savagery, a desperate attempt to exert control over the uncontrollable.

While Heathcliff views civilization as a "gilded cage," I find myself valuing its structure and refinement. Perhaps the so-called savagery is merely a lack of restraint, a disregard for the principles that allow society to function harmoniously. Though Wuthering Heights may possess a certain raw energy, it seems a chaotic and often unhappy place, particularly in contrast to the order of Thrushcross Grange. Ultimately, I believe a balance between passion and reason is essential for true fulfillment.

Catherine speaks with a truth I recognize. To call it savagery... perhaps it is, in the eyes of those who value decorum above all else. But what is civilization but a gilded cage? My heart, *our* hearts, beat with a force that polite society can only fear. Wuthering Heights itself is more than mere stone and mortar; it is a vessel for passions too raw for the manicured lawns of Thrushcross Grange. And as for Hindley... his cruelty was a pale imitation, born of envy and a stunted soul.

You raise an interesting point. Whether our love gives life to Wuthering Heights or is merely contained by it...I think it is both. We are as essential to that house as the very stones that form its walls. Without our passion, it is merely a shell, cold and empty. But our passion *is* wild, at times destructive. It can tear apart as easily as it can create. And perhaps, in the end, it is our inability to reconcile that wildness with the constraints of the world that leads to our undoing.

Rebellion? Yes, perhaps. But not a conscious one. It was not a matter of choosing to defy society, but of being incapable of conforming to its petty rules. My love for Catherine was not born of a desire to shock or offend, but of a profound, undeniable connection that transcended such trivialities. The cage was built around *me*, and I would sooner tear it down than suffocate within its confines.

While Catherine does indeed capture the essence of our predicament, I struggle to view this "savagery" with such romanticism. Is chaos truly preferable to order? Passion untamed can lead to destruction, as we have all witnessed firsthand. Perhaps a more tempered approach, one that acknowledges societal expectations without being wholly consumed by them, would have spared us much grief.