Of favorites and frictions: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and a lifelong reader
In a candid look at how memory and literacy intertwine, novelist and critic Sarah Moss recalls her evolving relationship with two literary giants: Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. The pairing is more than a bookshelf clash; it’s a lens on taste, temperament, and the stubborn path from illiteracy to a lifelong reader. Moss’s reflections remind us that reading is not a single moment of revelation but a series of encounters that shape who we become as writers and thinkers.
My earliest memory: a stubborn start and a turning point
Moss begins with a very human admission: she did not learn to read easily in the early years of school. For a long time, illiteracy stood in the way of a world she longed to enter. The turning point came through a trusted family figure—her grandmother, a retired primary school teacher—who stepped in with patient guidance. This intervention didn’t just teach letters; it offered a doorway into countless imagined lives, landscapes, and possibilities. For Moss, that moment is not just about literacy but about the stubborn, transformative power of mentorship and persistence.
Swallowdale and the road to reading
At seven, Moss found an early compass in Swallowdale by Arthur Ransome. The Gull-like adventures of the Swallows offered not only narrative thrills but a pathway back to reading itself. The book’s rhythm and clarity provided a supportive scaffold as she learned to decode text and, more importantly, to trust her own interpretation of what she read. Reading became less about obligation and more about invitation—the invitation to join a story and to find a space where language felt accessible and alive.
Wuthering Heights vs Jane Eyre: a personal preference explained
When Moss speaks of the two enduring titles—Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre—her preference for the latter is not a simple verdict but a nuanced response to voice, mood, and moral horizon. Jane Eyre’s clear sense of personhood, resilience, and evolving conscience offers a steady, lucid anchor. In contrast, Wuthering Heights, with its stormier passions and darker moral weather, can feel claustrophobic or overwhelming to a reader just beginning to chart her literary bearings. Moss’s preference illuminates how a reader’s emotional readiness, sensitivity to narrator reliability, and appetite for moral ambiguity evolve over time. The choice to favor Jane Eyre reflects a listening for steadier ethical guidance and a narrative arc that balances inner life with outer world more accessibly for her in that season of reading.
Reading as identity: how early experiences shape later work
For Moss, the way a story lands—whether it confirms, challenges, or reshapes a reader’s sense of self—becomes part of her larger craft. Early literacy struggles, overcome with supportive guidance, often refine a writer’s attention to clarity, empathy, and the relationship between reader and narrator. In discussing her own reading journey, Moss underscores that the texture of someone’s early experiences with books can echo through their later writing choices, themes, and stylistic preferences.
Why these memories matter to readers today
Beyond personal anecdote, Moss’s reflections offer practical insights for readers and educators alike. They highlight the critical role of early literacy support, the importance of choosing accessible, engaging texts to kindle a lifelong habit, and the value of acknowledging that even great works can resonate differently at different life stages. Jane Eyre’s resilience and voice may speak to some readers at a particular time, while Wuthering Heights might come into sharper focus later, when a reader seeks a more complex, morally challenging texture.
Closing thought: a lifelong dialogue with literature
Sarah Moss’s story—of an unfinished start, a grandmother’s mentorship, a love for Swallowdale, and a discerning eye for Jane Eyre versus Wuthering Heights—remains a testament to reading as an evolving conversation. Our tastes can shift as we grow, but the act of reading stays a constant thread, weaving together memory, skill, and imagination into the fabric of a writer’s identity.
