Amalia Gkavea
‘’What will we do with this paper, sir? Why, we’ll write great books. We’ll grow up and never marry.’’
Emily Brontë wrote only one novel. Just one novel. One. This novel became the measure by which every book of the Gothic genre is rated. It became controversial due to the mistaken, feminist approach of the Meanads who declared Heathcliff “ a monster”. It is worshipped on the altar of the literary masterpieces by the lovers of literature who know HOW to read. Her novel became one of the best novels ever written. For me, it is THE best novel ever written.
And The Man in the Stone Cottage is undoubtedly the finest novel about the Brontë family.
The West Yorkshire setting reflects the emotional and thematic core of the novel, mirroring the solitude and elemental strength that define Emily Brontë. Emily remains faithful to the stones, the moonlight, and the cold winds—guardians of memory, bearing the voices of the dead. In contrast, Charlotte’s spirit longs to soar beyond the moors, drawn to the vitality of London and its intellectual allure. Yet, the novel continually returns us to Emily: her solitude, her mystery, her quiet defiance.
‘’Why don’t people leave me alone?’’
Many have wondered how Emily could portray such a powerful, dark, and intimate relationship without ever having known love herself. Stephanie Cowell imagines a Scottish shepherd who melts the frost around Emily’s heart and temporarily draws her away from the world she so fiercely clings to. Though Charlotte’s story occupies much of the narrative, it is Emily’s presence that dominates. She exists not only in her own story, but in her sister’s thoughts and ambitions. It is Emily’s feral, mystical energy that haunts the pages of this remarkable novel.
‘’Where did this story come from? She thought of leaves against a corner of the church, a homeless boy she had once seen wth huge, dark eyes. And there was than ancient book of poems, particularly the poem about a wanderer. He was exiled from all he loved and roamed the cold seas and walked the paths of exile, just like the man in the stone cottage who had aroused such strange feelings in her.’’
The writing is truly exquisite. We can hear the winds howling, the branches knocking on the windows, the church bells, the leaves under the boots. We can see the stone cottage, Haworth, the moss on the graves, the silence of the empty church. The dialogue is beautiful, rich and elegant, poetic and moving. When you are as familiar with Wuthering Heights as I am, you understand that Cowell’s work is full of subtle nods and literary echoes—Easter eggs that deepen the experience and draw a clearer emotional thread between the two works.
‘’Because,’’ she mumbled slowly, her fingers peeling the polished bannister, ‘’the poems are from the inside of me. What all of you see isn’t the real me; it’s a shadow. If I don’t hold on, what’s real will be taken from me. Who I really am would be thrown away.’’
I have the audacity to confess that I’ve always felt a deep connection with Emily. In her silence, I saw my own aversion to the empty exchanges and performative interactions that fill our daily lives. In her rage, I recognised my own frustration. In her fierce privacy, I saw my own unwillingness to expose the intimate details of my life, because it’s nobody’s business.
After reading Stephanie Cowell’s novel, that connection felt even more profound. I felt it in my core—as if, through these pages, Emily had shared her deepest secrets with me. And now, I love her even more. This little heathen who wrote wonders…
‘’Ancient drystone walls ran far into the distance on the Yorkshire moor, and now last autumn’s heather and grass were covered with a light frost. A red grouse cackled from a wall and leaped into the air.’’
Lyrical and melancholic, sacred and bittersweet, this beautiful novel is a treasure for anyone who adores Emily Brontë. And for those unfamiliar with the Brontë family, it may spark a deeper curiosity, prompting them to explore the sisters’ works and extraordinary lives. If I sound opinionated—or even elitist—it’s only because years of encountering misreadings and shallow commentary about Emily Brontë have made me unapologetic. I can’t wait to own a physical copy of this book and place it among my most treasured volumes.
‘’We have always been here, they murmured. We are more real than you are. We are more real than he is, your man in his stone cottage, and he is dangerously real.
Live for us alone.
I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always. Take any form, drive me mad, only do not leave me in this dark alone where I cannot find you. I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul.’’
Many thanks to Regal House Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘’What will we do with this paper, sir? Why, we’ll write great books. We’ll grow up and never marry.’’
Emily Brontë wrote only one novel. Just one novel. One. This novel became the measure by which every book of the Gothic genre is rated. It became controversial due to the mistaken, feminist approach of the Meanads who declared Heathcliff “ a monster”. It is worshipped on the altar of the literary masterpieces by the lovers of literature who know HOW to read. Her novel became one of the best novels ever written. For me, it is THE best novel ever written.
And The Man in the Stone Cottage is undoubtedly the finest novel about the Brontë family.
The West Yorkshire setting reflects the emotional and thematic core of the novel, mirroring the solitude and elemental strength that define Emily Brontë. Emily remains faithful to the stones, the moonlight, and the cold winds—guardians of memory, bearing the voices of the dead. In contrast, Charlotte’s spirit longs to soar beyond the moors, drawn to the vitality of London and its intellectual allure. Yet, the novel continually returns us to Emily: her solitude, her mystery, her quiet defiance.
‘’Why don’t people leave me alone?’’
Many have wondered how Emily could portray such a powerful, dark, and intimate relationship without ever having known love herself. Stephanie Cowell imagines a Scottish shepherd who melts the frost around Emily’s heart and temporarily draws her away from the world she so fiercely clings to. Though Charlotte’s story occupies much of the narrative, it is Emily’s presence that dominates. She exists not only in her own story, but in her sister’s thoughts and ambitions. It is Emily’s feral, mystical energy that haunts the pages of this remarkable novel.
‘’Where did this story come from? She thought of leaves against a corner of the church, a homeless boy she had once seen wth huge, dark eyes. And there was than ancient book of poems, particularly the poem about a wanderer. He was exiled from all he loved and roamed the cold seas and walked the paths of exile, just like the man in the stone cottage who had aroused such strange feelings in her.’’
The writing is truly exquisite. We can hear the winds howling, the branches knocking on the windows, the church bells, the leaves under the boots. We can see the stone cottage, Haworth, the moss on the graves, the silence of the empty church. The dialogue is beautiful, rich and elegant, poetic and moving. When you are as familiar with Wuthering Heights as I am, you understand that Cowell’s work is full of subtle nods and literary echoes—Easter eggs that deepen the experience and draw a clearer emotional thread between the two works.
‘’Because,’’ she mumbled slowly, her fingers peeling the polished bannister, ‘’the poems are from the inside of me. What all of you see isn’t the real me; it’s a shadow. If I don’t hold on, what’s real will be taken from me. Who I really am would be thrown away.’’
I have the audacity to confess that I’ve always felt a deep connection with Emily. In her silence, I saw my own aversion to the empty exchanges and performative interactions that fill our daily lives. In her rage, I recognised my own frustration. In her fierce privacy, I saw my own unwillingness to expose the intimate details of my life, because it’s nobody’s business.
After reading Stephanie Cowell’s novel, that connection felt even more profound. I felt it in my core—as if, through these pages, Emily had shared her deepest secrets with me. And now, I love her even more. This little heathen who wrote wonders…
‘’Ancient drystone walls ran far into the distance on the Yorkshire moor, and now last autumn’s heather and grass were covered with a light frost. A red grouse cackled from a wall and leaped into the air.’’
Lyrical and melancholic, sacred and bittersweet, this beautiful novel is a treasure for anyone who adores Emily Brontë. And for those unfamiliar with the Brontë family, it may spark a deeper curiosity, prompting them to explore the sisters’ works and extraordinary lives. If I sound opinionated—or even elitist—it’s only because years of encountering misreadings and shallow commentary about Emily Brontë have made me unapologetic. I can’t wait to own a physical copy of this book and place it among my most treasured volumes.
‘’We have always been here, they murmured. We are more real than you are. We are more real than he is, your man in his stone cottage, and he is dangerously real.
Live for us alone.
I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always. Take any form, drive me mad, only do not leave me in this dark alone where I cannot find you. I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul.’’
Many thanks to Regal House Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/