And here it is – the first book on this medium that I haven’t finished and won’t finish.

Similar to Wuthering Heights, English was a challenge. But here, I soon began to feel like nothing was happening. To save myself the effort, I switched to Czech. The feeling quickly returned. And perhaps the fact that I now understood everything perfectly made it even stronger.

What did I notice?

Right from the start, I was almost amazed that the text didn’t describe the environment at all. There’s almost nothing physical. Nothing that would capture life outside the main scene. I couldn’t feel the atmosphere, nature, weather, or energy of the place. The narrator only sees people, and I only listened to them talking.

Furthermore, there’s a kind of almost obsession with female beauty, which is always put first. The story seems to develop through gossip or even slander. People just keep talking and talking about other people.

I knew before reading that the author was only in her twenties when she wrote the first draft of the novel. I would say that the text reflects that.

Sometimes there are glimmers of hope, but the book is really long and I was starting to worry if I would be able to endure it. But Emily Brontё taught me something about reading, so I told myself to be patient.

In the end, however, I still had to admit that although I understood perfectly well what was being said, I didn’t understand why at all, and therefore the whole thing was starting to seem like nonsense. I was bored.

If at least the people were talking about something interesting, I would have been able to distinguish them in the crowd, but as it was, I didn’t even know who was actually talking.

It was time to gather the courage and give up. I felt instantly relieved. And then even more so when I went to read the one-star reviews on Goodreads.

I finished at about page 120. But I learned something again. Now I truly understand that every single book has its fans and its critics. So when someone criticizes mine one day, I hope I won’t break down.