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风中飘零的命运——《呼啸山庄》寂静的土地里长眠着不安的灵魂。
伤痕累累的手抚过蒙尘的镜子，映出他疲倦的眼眸。
立身在黑暗之中，身边是令人窒息的沉默。
他知道，若欲生存，唯有比黑暗更加深邃。
审视过去，他在与暗影斗争中得到了地位、声望、财富……但是，他却失去了最初的目标。
浸没在绝望的深渊中的他只能痴痴凝望着凯瑟琳，他唯一的光，渐渐消逝。
没有她……一切都没有意义了。
呼啸山庄里落下最后的帷幕。
这不是命运的悲剧，而是性格的悲剧。
暴戾恣睢的欣德利是一切暗黑的起源。
他骄横高傲，自私自利，殊不知他的扭曲源于童年的缺爱。
厄肖恩先生忙于工作，对自己的子女的关照难免欠缺。
儿时的欣德利是那么渴望父亲的关怀，或许对于他来说，父亲的一句肯定，就足以将他从迷茫之中拯救。
“希望能被肯定……成为父亲那样的人。
一直敬仰的父亲啊，请您回头看一看我吧！为什么，不能多夸夸我呢……”他那样复杂的感情，终于在希斯克利夫被领养回家时扭曲成为了嫉恨。
希斯克利夫乖巧听话，与张扬跋扈的欣德利截然不同，深得父亲的宠爱喜欢。
“明明我才是父亲的儿子……为什么……父亲更加疼爱一个捡来的孩子！”嫉妒吞没了理智，愤怒滋长了罪恶。
欣德利的人格最终向无法逆转的消极方向发展，导致了最终的悲剧。
他变得只考虑自己的感受，连亲妹妹也不在意，还疯狂虐待希斯克利夫，将希斯克利夫推入深渊之中。
但他没想到，深渊里最后会爬出来一个复仇怪物。
全书最核心的角色应属希斯克利夫了。
他的复仇之火燃烧了整本书，让人为他的诡谲多变心思细腻暗暗捏汗。
他是黑暗之子，深沉顿郁的眼眸似笑非笑，像毒蛇的信子，让不敢直视。
但是他并非一开始就是如此。
养父过世以后，一直承受着欣德利的压迫，让他不禁为自己感到悲哀与不平。
少年应该拥有的活力无忧的青春，他没有。
他只有被当做佣人呼来喝去的回忆。
他或许也尝试过无视他，尝试过原谅他，但是他不是神，也不是圣人，终无法宽恕一个毫无悔意的罪人。
欣德利的百般刁难，让他忍无可忍。
“我也是人，也有自己的情感，也有追求平等的权利，凭什么只有我要被折磨与伤害！”以牙还牙，以眼还眼。
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比较《简爱》和《呼啸山庄》摘要：《简爱》和《呼啸山庄》是英国同胞姐妹作家夏洛蒂•勃朗特和艾米莉•勃朗特的作品，是英国现实主义的杰出代表作品。
但虽然作者有同样的家庭生活背景和社会背景，但是所写的作品却具有很多的异同之处。
关键词：经历性格反抗爱情哥特《简爱》与《呼啸山庄》是英国同胞姐妹作家夏洛蒂·勃朗特和艾米莉·勃朗特于1847年同时出版的两部长篇小说。
这两部作品的出现，引起了文学界强烈的轰动；而这两部不朽的名著竟出于名不见经传的两姐妹之手，更成了英国文学史上的佳话。
夏洛蒂·勃朗特与艾米莉·勃朗特姐妹俩生活的19 世纪上半叶的英国，虽说两个人是姐妹，但写出来的作品却有很大的异同。
一．作者的生平经历的不同导致所写出的文章内容也大有不同《简爱》的作者夏洛蒂·勃朗特出生于1816年生于英国北部约克郡的豪渥斯的一个乡村牧师家庭。
母亲早逝，八岁的夏洛蒂被送进一所专收神职人员孤女的慈善性机构——柯文桥女子寄宿学校。
这所学校学费低廉，饮食粗劣，但纪律森严。
孩子们经常挨饿受冻，受体罚，每逢星期天，还得冒着严寒或者酷暑步行几英里去教堂做礼拜。
第二年，她的两个姐姐玛丽亚和伊丽莎白在因染上肺病而先后死去。
于是夏洛蒂和妹妹艾米利被父亲接回到家乡，但是在那里的一切已经在夏洛蒂的心灵深处留下了可怕的印象。
因此在后来她的小说《简爱》中，她又饱含着痛切之情对此作了描绘。
就如，《简爱》中的女主人公简爱在里德太太家，面对舅母、表兄妹的歧视和虐待，已经表现出强烈的反抗精神。
当她的表兄殴打她时，她勇于回击；当舅母嚷着叫自己的孩子远离她时，她高喊“他们不配和我在一起”；当她被囚禁在空房中时，想到自己所受到的虐待，从内心发出了“不公正”的呐喊。
在孤儿院，简的反抗性格更为鲜明，对冷酷的校长和摧残她们的教师深恶痛绝。
她对海伦说：“假如她用那根条子打我，我要从她手里把它夺过来，并且当面折断它。
”而小说中可爱的小姑娘海伦的形象，也是以她的姐姐玛丽亚为原型的。
《呼啸山庄》——《心灵世界·小说讲稿》之八王安忆：《呼啸山庄》——《心灵世界·小说讲稿》之八进入专题：小说《呼啸山庄》● 王安忆今天我们是讲《呼啸山庄》，它的作者是艾米莉。
勃朗特（1818—1848）。
我们终于谈到爱情了。
我想花点时间，先谈谈爱情这个题材，我想爱情对于一个严肃的艺术家来说，其实是一个危险的题目。
我记得老舍在一篇文章里说过：爱情的题材往往是两类作家写的，一类是九流作家，还有就是最好的作家。
我想它为什么会成为九流作家那么热衷的题材呢？那是因为这些九流作家的任务是制造人生的美梦，爱情为他们提供了材料。
因为爱情带有幻像的特征。
但是我要特别强调：九流作家所创造的人生的美梦，和我说的心灵世界有根本的区别，虽然它们都带有不真实的虚无的表面。
区别在何处？我想这就好比宗教和迷信的区别。
他们看起来都是同样的活动方式，在寺庙里烧香，在教堂祈祷，但迷信是有着非常现实的目的。
他们请求：给我分房子，婚姻如意，财源滚滚，让我生个孩子……最远的企望，也就是来世了。
它是很现实的，求的是现世现报的，来世虽远，在迷信的眼睛里，也是可见的现实。
那么宗教又是什么呢？宗教也是帮我们解决问题的，帮我们解决一个无可逃避却无可解决的问题，那就是生死的问题。
这是一个困难得多，也高级得多的问题，它没有现实的手段可以使用，它靠的是艰苦的玄思。
我觉得九流小说家制造的人生美梦和我们所说的心灵世界的区别就在这儿。
他们的故事再神奇，也是满足现实的心。
比如那些言情小说，波澜迭起的情节，欲生欲死的爱恨，然后是甜蜜的结局。
它带有消费的性质，让我们缺什么补什么。
日常生活那么枯燥、乏味，没有奇遇，那么在小说里面做做梦，补偿一下现实的缺陷。
而真正的心灵世界它解决不了任何问题，手头的问题它一个也解决不了，它告诉你根本看不见的东西，这东面需要你付出思想和灵魂的劳动去获取，然后它会照亮你的生命，永远照亮你的生命。
话再说回去，爱情，因其幻像的特质，确是给制造美梦的作家提供了非常现成的材料。
“JANE EYRE” AND “WUTHERING HEIGHTS”Of the hundred years that have passed since Charlotte Brontė was born, she, the centre now of so much legend, devotion, and literature, lived but thirty-nine. It is strange to reflect how different those legends might have been had her life reached the ordinary human span. She might have become, like some of her famous contemporaries, a figure familiarly met with in London and elsewhere, the subject of pictures and anecdotes innumerable, the writer of many novels, of memoirs possibly, removed from us well within the memory of the middle-aged in all the splendour of established fame. She might have been wealthy, she might have been prosperous. But it is not so. When we think of her we have to imagine some one who had no lot in our modern world; we have to cast our minds back to the ‘fifties of the last century, to a remote parsonage upon the wild Yorkshire moors. In that parsonage, and on those moors, unhappy and lonely, in her poverty and her exaltation, she remains for ever.These circumstances, as they affected her character, may have left their traces on her work. A novelist, we reflect, is bound to build up his structure with much very perishable material which begins by lending it reality and ends by cumbering it with rubbish. As we open Jane Eyre once more we cannot stifle the suspicion that we shall find her world of imagination as antiquated, mid-Victorian, and out of date as the parsonage on the moor, a place only to be visited by the curious, only preserved by the pious. So we open Jane Eyre; and in two pages every doubt is swept clean from our minds.Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near, a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.There is nothing there more perishable than the moor itself, or more subject to the sway of fashion than the “long and lamentable blast”. Nor is this exhilaration short-lived. It rushes us through the entire volume, without giving us time to think, without letting us lift our eyes from the page. So intense is our absorption that if some one moves in the room the movement seems to take place not there but up in Yorkshire. The writer has us by the hand, forces us along her road, makes us see what she sees, never leaves us for a moment or allows us to forget her. At the end we are steeped through and through with the genius, the vehemence, the indignation of Charlotte Brontė. Remarkable faces, figures of strong outline and gnarled feature have flashed upon us in passing; but it is through her eyes that we have seen them. Once she is gone, we seek for them in vain. Think of Rochester and we have to think of Jane Eyre. Think of the moor, and again there is Jane Eyre. Think of thedrawing-room,11even, those “white carpets on which seemed laid brilliant garlands of flowers”, that “pale Parian mantelpiece” with its Bohemia glass of “ruby red” and the “general blending of snow and fire”—what is all that except Jane Eyre?11 Charlotte and Emily Brontė had much the same sense of colour. “. . . we saw —ah! it was beautiful—a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft tapers” (Wuthering Heights). “Yet it was merely a very pretty drawing-room, and within it a boudoir, both spread with white carpets, on which seemed laid brilliant garlands of flowers; both ceiled with snowy mouldings of white grapes and vine leaves, beneath which glowed in rich contrast crimson couches and ottomans; while the ornaments on the pale Parian mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemia glass, ruby red; and between the windows large mirrors repeated the general blending of snow and fire” (Jane Eyre).The drawbacks of being Jane Eyre are not far to seek. Always to be a governess and always to be in love is a serious limitation in a world which is full, after all, of people who are neither one nor the other. The characters of a Jane Austen or of a Tolstoi have a million facets compared with these. They live and are complex by means of their effect upon many different people who serve to mirror them in the round. They move hither and thither whether their creators watch them or not, and the world in which they live seems to us an independent world which we can visit, now that they have created it, by ourselves. Thomas Hardy is more akin to Charlotte Brontė in the power of his personality and the narrowness of his vision. But the differences are vast. As we read Jude the Obscure we are not rushed to a finish; we brood and ponder and drift away from the text in plethoric trains of thought which build up round the characters an atmosphere of question and suggestion of which they are themselves, as often as not, unconscious. Simple peasants as they are, we are forced to confront them with destinies and questionings of the hugest import, so that often it seems as if the most important characters in a Hardy novel are those which have no names. Of this power, of this speculative curiosity, Charlotte Bront ė has no trace. She does not attempt to solve the problems of human life; she is even unaware that such problems exist; all her force, and it is the more tremendous for being constricted, goes into the assertion, “I love”, “I hate”, “I suffer”.For the self-centred and self-limited writers have a power denied the more catholic and broad-minded. Their impressions are close packed and strongly stamped between their narrow walls. Nothing issues from their minds which has not been marked with their own impress. They learn little from other writers, and what they adopt they cannot assimilate. Both Hardy and Charlotte Brontė appear to have founded their styles upon a stiff and decorous journalism. The staple of their prose is awkward and unyielding. But both with labour and the most obstinate integrity, by thinking every thought until it has subdued words to itself, have forged for themselves a prose which takes the mould of their minds entire; which has, into the bargain, abeauty, a power, a swiftness of its own. Charlotte Brontė, at least, owed nothing to the reading of many books. She never learnt the smoothness of the professional writer, or acquired his ability to stuff and sway his language as he chooses. “I could never rest in communication with strong, discreet, and refined minds, whether male or female”, she writes, as any leader-writer in a provincial journal might have written; but gathering fire and speed goes on in her own authentic voice “till I had passed the outworks of conventional reserve and crossed the threshold of confidence, and won a place by their hearts’ very hearthstone”. It is there that she takes he r seat; it is the red and fitful glow of the heart’s fire which illumines her page. In other words, we read Charlotte Brontė not for exquisite observation of character—her characters are vigorous and elementary; not for comedy—hers is grim and crude; not for a philosophic view of life—hers is that of a country parson’s daughter; but for her poetry. Probably that is so with all writers who have, as she has, an overpowering personality, so that, as we say in real life, they have only to open the door to make themselves felt. There is in them some untamed ferocity perpetually at war with the accepted order of things which makes them desire to create instantly rather than to observe patiently. This very ardour, rejecting half shades and other minor impediments, wings its way past the daily conduct of ordinary people and allies itself with their more inarticulate passions. It makes them poets, or, if they choose to write in prose, intolerant of its restrictions. Hence it is that both Emily and Charlotte are always invoking the help of nature. They both feel the need of some more powerful symbol of the vast and slumbering passions in human nature than words or actions can convey. It is with a description of a storm that Charlotte ends her finest novel Villette. “The skies hang full and dark—a wrack sails from the west; the clouds cast themselves into strange forms.” So she calls in nature to describe a state of mind which could not otherwise be expressed. But neither of the sisters observed nature accurately as Dorothy Wordsworth observed it, or painted it minutely as Tennyson painted it. They seized those aspects of the earth which were most akin to what they themselves felt or imputed to their characters, and so their storms, their moors, their lovely spaces of summer weather are not ornaments applied to decorate a dull page or display the writer’s powers of observation—they carry on the emotion and light up the meaning of the book.The meaning of a book, which lies so often apart from what happens and what is said and consists rather in some connection which things in themselves different have had for the writer, is necessarily hard to grasp. Especially this is so when, like the Brontės, the writer is poetic, and his meaning inseparable from his language, and itself rather a mood than a particular observation. Wuthering Heights is a more difficult book to understand than Jane Eyre, because Emily was a greater poet than Charlotte. When Charlotte wrote she said with eloquence and splendour and passion “I love”, “I hate”, “I suffer”. Her experience, though more intense, is on a level with our own. But there is no “I” in Wuthering Heights. There are no governesses. There are no employers. There is love, but it is not the love of menand women. Emily was inspired by some more general conception. The impulse which urged her to create was not her own suffering or her own injuries. She looked out upon a world cleft into gigantic disorder and felt within her the power to unite it in a book. That gigantic ambition is to be felt throughout the novel—a struggle, half thwarted but of superb conviction, to say something through the mouths of her characters which is not merely “I love” or “I hate”, but “we, the whole human race” and “you, the eternal powers . . .” the sentence remains unfinished. It is not strange that it should be so; rather it is astonishing that she can make us feel what she had it in her to say at all. It surges up in the half-articulate words of Catherine Earnshaw, “If all else perished and HE remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger; I should not seem part of it”. It breaks out again in the presence of the dead. “I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter—the eternity they have entered—where life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy and joy in its fulness.” It is this suggestion of power underlying the apparitions of human nature and lifting them up into the presence of greatness that gives the book its huge stature among other novels. But it was not enough for Emily Brontė to write a few lyrics, to utter a cry, to express a creed. In her poems she did this once and for all, and her poems will perhaps outlast her novel. But she was novelist as well as poet. She must take upon herself a more laborious and a more ungrateful task. She must face the fact of other existences, grapple with the mechanism of external things, build up, in recognisable shape, farms and houses and report the speeches of men and women who existed independently of herself. And so we reach these summits of emotion not by rant or rhapsody but by hearing a girl sing old songs to herself as she rocks in the branches of a tree; by watching the moor sheep crop the turf; by listening to the soft wind breathing through the grass. The life at the farm with all its absurdities and its improbability is laid open to us. We are given every opportunity of comparing Wuthering Heights with a real farm and Heathcliff with a real man. How, we are allowed to ask, can there be truth or insight or the finer shades of emotion in men and women who so little resemble what we have seen ourselves? But even as we ask it we see in Heathcliff the brother that a sister of genius might have seen; he is impossible we say, but nevertheless no boy in literature has a more vivid existence than his. So it is with the two Catherines; never could women feel as they do or act in their manner, we say. All the same, they are the most lovable women in English fiction. It is as if she could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognisable transparences with such a gust of life that they transcend reality. Hers, then, is the rarest of all powers. She could free life from its dependence on facts; with a few touches indicate the spirit of a face so that it needs no body; by speaking of the moor make the wind blow and the thunder roar.。
今天我的演讲内容是《呼啸山庄》的读书心得。
《呼啸山庄》的作者是艾米莉·勃朗特，她与《简·爱》的作者夏洛蒂，《艾格尼斯·格雷》的作者安妮是姐妹，于是被世人称为勃朗特三姐妹。
呼啸山庄作为一部英国古典文学名著，很多人会认为它会像十九世纪的文学作品一样，充满了温文尔雅的贵族气派，但是在呼啸山庄里，你看到的只有荒凉的原野，和因压迫而产生的刻骨仇恨，这就是呼啸山庄，阴郁中蕴含着激情，冷酷中包容着狂热。
《呼啸山庄》是一部完全不同于当时潮流的作品，他没有经过城市的熏陶和浸染，是完全用山乡荒原的自然协调绘成的。
故事的背景是一片狂风呼啸的山原，故事的人物保留着大自然的风貌和原始的本性：质朴，粗旷，刚强，感情奔放不羁，举止疯狂无度，不顾一切地爱，又不计后果的恨，这在当时温文尔雅的贵族文学作品中自然显得野蛮而奇特。
希斯克利夫，一个被恩肖收养的，没有来历的街边乞丐，在老主人去世后受到凯瑟琳兄长亨德利的长期虐待和压迫，希斯克里夫也曾经被恩肖家的老主人疼爱过，也曾和凯瑟琳一起平等的读书、学习，生活的很快乐。
可自从老主人去世后，他的生活权利就被完全剥夺了，他过着被亨德利仇视，被任意打骂的生活，唯一关心他的是凯瑟琳。
可是，凯瑟琳却在选择婚姻时，选择了自己不爱的林顿，理由很简单：林顿年轻、英俊、善良而且富有。
她喜欢林顿，但并不是真心爱他;她全心全意爱着希斯克里夫，但却无法降低身份忍受贫穷。
最后在那个夜晚，克里夫离开了这个伤心之地。
当三年后希斯克里夫气度不凡的回到呼啸山庄时，带着的是刻骨仇恨和处心积虑的复仇计划。
他不惜一切代价来抢夺财产，他想办法把小凯瑟琳与艾伦留在呼啸山庄，并且逼小凯瑟琳与他自幼体弱多病的儿子结婚，在林顿死后，希斯克利夫也想尽办法把画眉山庄据为己有，希斯克里夫终于完成了从人到魔鬼的蜕变，完成了人性的彻底扭曲和堕落，在寂寞与空虚中等待着死亡。
呼啸山庄，其实是一个成长的故事。
作者认为成长本身，就意味着放弃纯美的童年，和对成人世界的妥协。
《简·爱》与《呼啸山庄》异同之比较作者：聂风云来源：《青年时代》2018年第27期摘要：《简·爱》和《呼啸山庄》分别是19世纪英国现实主义女作家夏洛蒂·勃朗特和艾米莉·勃朗特的代表作。
作为两姐妹，她们创作上都融入了女性主义小说的特点，并在男主人公行为描写上有某些相同之处。
同时，两部作品又具有各自不同的特色，主要表现为主题思想、意象创造等几个方面的差异。
关键词：《简·爱》；《呼啸山庄》；异同比较在19世纪英国现实主义文学中，女性作家主要以夏洛蒂·勃朗特和艾米莉·勃朗特两姐妹最为出色。
她们的代表作《简·爱》和《呼啸山庄》使两姐妹跻身世界知名作家行列。
作为亲姐妹作家，她们的成长环境完全相同，因此《简·爱》和《呼啸山庄》这两部作品就有了许多相同之处，但因为两姐妹在性格上的一些差异也使两部作品呈现出许多不同的特点，在此，笔者就这两部作品的异同之处谈谈自己的理解与看法：一、《简·爱》与《呼啸山庄》的相同之处1.两部作品都表现了对男权主义的抗争《简·爱》主要揭示了女主人公对男权社会的反抗，追求男女平权的主题。
由于父母早亡，简·爱很小被寄养在舅舅家，舅舅去世后，她遭到舅妈和表兄的极度歧视，在这样的环境下，她通过顶撞舅妈，大胆回击表兄显示自己的反抗意识。
后来，在进入劳渥德寄宿学校后，由于学校环境的恶劣和校方对学生的各种非人虐待，简·爱没有屈服，依然进行了坚决的反抗，以保有自我的人格尊严，表现出强烈的女权意识。
《呼啸山庄》中的女主人公凯瑟琳也是一个反叛男权的女性形象，这种反叛集中的体现在她狂野与任性的性格中，不顾父亲的反对，依然与弃儿希刺克厉夫亲近玩耍，对来自仆人的劝阻也毫不顾忌，甚至背后买通他人充当自己与希刺克厉夫之间的信使。
在爸爸临终时，居然反问爸爸为何不能永远做一个好父亲。
除此以外，凯瑟琳还在日记中充满了对父权的怨恨和不满，这些都是她对男权主义反抗的表现。
