Month: July 2026

There are some books where the first pages draw me in instantly, and others where it takes time before I am immersed in a story. I’ve always wondered about this: the best approach of how to begin a story. Is it the dialogue? The descriptions? Or is it a witty remark or clever a saying that piques my interest quicker than others?

In my case, I often find that it’s about clarity more than anything else. If it takes me a while to figure out what’s going on, or to distinguish who is saying what, I feel more disconnected from the story than if I know what’s going on and who is saying what. Lengthy descriptions can hinder my interest as well, or if the sentences read awkwardly or don’t have a natural flow.

I don’t think there is one right way to begin the first pages of a story, as before I begin a book, the subject matter or gist has to interest me first. And if the subject matter and gist do pique my interest, then it’s up to the author’s writing to keep me invested reading from cover to cover, but that usually starts with the first pages.

Whenever I read books with illustrations in them, they can provide an invitation to the story that can enhance the reading experience. The illustrations can vary, as when they are small, such as when they introduce a new chapter (above the text), or they can be on a separate page–interspersed throughout the novel. Sometimes they can leave you wondering if what you imagined matches the visuals that were described, though this can depend on the artist’s interpretation.

Comic books (or graphic novels) tell the story through visuals and the text rather supplements them, as there can be pages without texts. But with novels, in which there are tens of thousands of words, the visuals tend to complement the story, like providing cues for the descriptions, as when films have music that provides cues in certain scenes.

Not that stories must have illustrations, but they’re like extras, as when non-fiction books have artifact-like photographs of historical places or people. Whether the book illustrations are detailed like paintings, or as simple as small sketches, they can enhance the experience, or leave you wondering if what you imagined matched what was described.

Wuthering Heights, written by Emily Bronte, published in 1847, is an engrossing novel about revenge and passion, which explores how these can not only cause great turmoil, but tarnish the very soul of the person who cannot let go of the past. The story begins with a man named Mr. Lockwood, who visits Wuthering Heights, and meets the residences there. As he dines with the family, he is taken aback by how solemn everyone is. Later, he returns to where he stayed, and learns their family history, as recounted by a servant named Ellen Dean, who had been with the family for decades and seen all that had transpired hitherto.

We learn that Mr. Earnshaw had adopted a boy, who he named Heathcliff, and the father has two children of his own: Hindley and Catherine. Nearby, there is an estate called the Grange (Thrushcross Grange), where therein lives two siblings: Isabella and Edgar. After Mr. Earnshaw passes away, Hindley becomes the heir of the estate, and therein sets a rivalry between him and Heathcliff, in which the latter tends to the manual labor of the estate while Hindley lives as the head of the estate. Catherine later marries Edgar Linton (who lives at the Grange), and when Heathcliff returns to Wuthering Heights after being away . . . let’s just say ruin comes upon them all.

The first half of the book gives us an introduction to the lives of these characters and their personalities and goals. As Ellen Dean recounts what happened, she often tells the events in segments, since Mr. Lockwood becomes all the more fascinated as he hears more. The second half of the book picks up with Hindley’s son, Hareton Earnshaw, Isabella’s son, Linton, and Catherine’s daughter, Catherine. With Heathcliff now in charge of Wuthering Heights, he schemes to ruin them all and take control of the Grange–all in pursuit of revenge due to the past and he he felt wronged.

I won’t go into details of the third act, as it’s unavoidable to tell what happens without revealing spoilers, but suffice it to say that there are a lot of twists and turns, especially at the end, where we learn the fate of the characters and how things worked themselves out. There are a number of gripping scenes throughout the novel that held my attention, and the characters are really well done, taking on a life of their own. It’s a novel that explores the longings of the human heart, and how it can either lead to redemption or one’s downfall.

One thing I really enjoy about reading the classics is that you really get a sense of what life was like in a different era, and the things that they were concerned with at the time. Let’s not forget the immense array of vocabulary you come across such as “hitherto” or “presentiment,” words which we don’t see often today, which can sound erudite, as well as the way they use words in painterly, expressive ways.

I’ve reviewed several classics already, including The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and The Brothers Karamazov, which feel like they are set in different worlds. With all the digital technology at our disposal, I can only imagine how the events would’ve in those stories would’ve changed if the characters could correspond via email or cellphones, and not through letters, notes, or by word of mouth. But these limitations forced the characters to either wonder or reflect what someone else was thinking, and what course of action they should take next.

But aside from the technological aspect, it’s the themes that feel universal in classic works. Themes about the human condition, including happiness, the soul, good and evil, and the consequences of certain modes of thinking. Not only do the authors give us insights into the minds and attitudes of the characters, but their longings, and how their past affected them. In The Picture of Dorian Gray, it showed what happens when someone rejects their moral conscience; in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, it showed what it feels like to be an outcast in society; and in The Brothers Karamazov, it showed different beliefs and value systems, and their implications on the characters’ lives.

Although I do enjoy reading modern literature, especially science fiction books, there is something about the books written one hundred plus years ago that wow differently. They’re not only a time capsule of the attitudes and beliefs of the people of that time, but they carry messages that still resonate with us today: all the challenges and obstacles, tragedies and misfortunes, lest I forget joys and triumphs, of being alive.