Possibly one of the only characters in English literature both adored and reviled with equal intensity, Emily Bronte’s Heathcliff has become an icon of the romantic Byronichero-archetype. He’s coarse, he’s unrefined, he’s cruel and he’s vengeful. He’severything you would avoid in a man. And frankly, there’s nobody more attractive in the world of fiction.

It’s hard to define exactly what it is about Heathcliff that is so utterly desirable. He’s a despicable human being; he exploits children in order to take revenge, he revels in all forms of malice and is pigheaded and selfish to the last. Anybody with one iota of common sense would not blame Catherine for marrying the somewhat more manageable Linton in preference to the impetuous Heathcliff, but why do we as girls find ourselves reading and wishing heartily to be in her shoes? I know if I’d have been Catherine, I’d have ditched Linton in a heart beat, and would have been frolicking over the moors with Heathcliff in the same instant. But why?

I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he is the stereotypical handsome, mysterious stranger. Throughout Wuthering Heights, his side of the tale is shrouded in darkness. We don’t know where he comes from, and we don’t know where he goes. Natural human curiosity therefore magnetises us towards this enigma of a soul, but the more we learn of him, the less we know him. His violent volatility makes him unpredictable, and I think this is the base of the attraction. All the way through the book,thanks to a little dramatic irony, Heathcliff’s downfalls come from misunderstanding, and we can see it coming from page one. Perhaps something a little like maternal instinct wants to understand him, because once you understand a person, you can work around their faults and cure them of their ills. I guess there’s a wee bit of arrogance there too. All girls like to think that they can be the one to change a wild man, even if the very idea is completely absurd and unfeasible. And as far as Heathcliff is concerned, I’m noexception! Like females universally, I have what I like to call The Heathcliff Affliction, a self destructive addiction to bad boys. And there’s no one badder than Heathcliff, which is why I love him so much.

Oddly enough, he is endowedwith qualities that females have become infamous for: passion, moodiness, and a strong, all consuming capacity for love. In this way, I reckon we associate with him, and feel all the more sympathetic for his case. After all, who hasn’t been let down by somebody they love at some point in their life?

Heathcliff is what life has made him. Had it not been for Catherine’s betrayal, would he have turned out ashe did? He’s a victim of his own excessive emotions and of those around him. Heathcliff perfectly incarnates the destructive properties of love, and serves as an infinite reminder of just how merciless its powers can be. And it’s thatsame sense of victimisation that neutralizes his attempts at downright nastiness and makes us want to give him a great big hug, a bar of fruit and nut and Titanic on DVD to soothe his soul. After all, there’s not much we can doabout the choices other people make cause that us so many hopelessly desperatetears cried with a broken heart, but mercifully, there’s always Cadburys to fall back on.