by Raven Garabo

In the post below, Raven Garabo, coeditor of Widener University’s in-house literary journal, analyzes Susan Palwick’s “The Goddess of Not Enough,” a flash fiction published in the August 2026 issue of Lightspeed. If you’re looking for ways to enhance characterization in your own fiction, Raven’s post is worth a look.

Characters often find themselves moving within a story, whether they’re making a cup of tea or taking a walk in the forest. However, there is a difference between a character moving and character action, which results a turning point in the story. As Janet Burroway explains in Writing Fiction, “Every story is a pattern of change…in which small and large changes are made through decision and discovery” (69). This is presented in the flash “The Goddess of Not Enough” by Susan Palwick. Here, the main character finds herself at odds with her fairy godmother. Both characters make several intentional decisions that end up changing the story. With character action, Palwick uses the decisions from both characters to influence the trajectory of the story and allow the main character to discover her inner strength.

One of the very first actions that affect the outcome of the story occurs at the beginning. The fairy godmother, who has been helping the main character, decides that she has had enough working with the main character because she accidentally stepped on the prince’s foot. Palwick states, “Back in your father’s barn after the ball, the godmother shakes her head and tells you there will be no more dances, no more gown or glass slippers.” When the fairy godmother shakes her head and dismisses the main character, this action causes the girl to spiral. It may be a small change, but this inciting incident helps push the plot of the story forward, making the main character contemplate other ways her life might unravel. The fairy godmother rejecting the main character motivates her to want to change herself; she does not want to rely on magic to make people feel better but to help them herself.

After the fairy godmother rejects the main character, the next action the main character makes is to leave her life behind, becoming the “anti-godmother.” Palwick notes, “Running away is easy. You steal one stepsister’s satchel and two of the other’s dresses and set out on the road.” Deciding to leave shows the new discovery that the main character has in believing in herself. She is not as helpless as the fairy godmother has impressed on her and is determined to become something new. In running away to help other people, the main character’s inner courage is emphasized. It means that she is willing to take her life into her own hands and create something new with it, changing the outlook of the story.

One of the most important actions of the story is when the main character grows confident in herself as the anti-godmother. After centuries of helping people find happiness without magic, the main character is drawn to the “stench of shame to a payday loan shop in a decaying city.” While there, she finds the original fairy godmother dying and engages in conversation with her, although the fairy godmother does not recognize her at first. The choice to actively seek out and stay after realizing who needs her help shows that the main character has grown much wiser and comfortable in her powers. She is not the same young girl who was unsure of herself that she once was. She wants to help anyone who needs her, no matter who it is. The action of lingering and talking leads to the understanding that she is stronger than what the fairy godmother might think about her.

“The Goddess of Not Enough” has both small and large points of action. The most important ones to note advance the plot of the story, showing how Palwick builds the inner strength of the main character. At first, the main character is insecure and uncertain of herself. She believes what the fairy godmother has told her. However, as the story progresses, she beings to realizes she is a lot more than the what the fairy godmother told her. This revelation helps characterize the main character by illustrating how resilient and compassionate she is towards others. With each new action, the story changes and the reader finally recognizes—along with the main character—the discovery that she can help these people who were, once, just like her.

If you’d like to read the story for yourself, click on the link below:

https://www.lightspeedmagazine.com/fiction/the-goddess-of-not-enough/

by Katherine Abissi

With the opening of a new semester, I thought it would be appropriate to look at some famous opening lines. The opening line of a creative work is often seen as the hook. The hook, like a fishing rod, is cast as bait to convince readers to continue the story. First lines can range from short, flashy, complex, horrifying, etc. Not only is the first line meant to engage the reader, but it also can reflect the tone of the entire piece. Here are some of my favorites:

“A Long Time Ago In A Galaxy Far Far Away”

This opening line is recognizable to millions of people. George Lucas captures his Star Wars audience from the start with a simple statement that establishes the story’s setting. Immediately, the audience knows that the story being presented is unlike what they are familiar, which effectively draws them deeper into the world. The line (and the music that accompanies it) are now an iconic staple of science fiction and movies in general.

The novel The Secret History by Donna Tart opens with the line, “The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation” (Tart 1). In this opening, Tart provides a compelling introduction to the world of Richard Papen and artfully introduces the mysterious and sinister overtones of the dark academia novel as Richard navigates his unique college experience.

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen” (Orwell 1) is the famous opening line of the genre defining dystopian novel 1984 by George Orwell. This line draws the reader in by establishing a world that is both familiar and foreign. In one line, Orwell establishes the uncanny tone of the novel that reflects the dystopian genre and the protagonist’s own feeling of unease.

Alexandra Christo opens her novel To Kill a Kingdom with “I have a heart for every year I’ve been alive” (1). The line portrays the dark and vicious themes present in the novel with the protagonist, Lira, being a siren whose culture focuses on killing. In this young adult fantasy retelling of The Little Mermaid, morals are questioned and hearts are put on the line. The opening line compels the readers to dive into the complex and somewhat familiar world of Lira and Prince Elian.

“It took seven years to get the letter right” (Garber 1) is the opening line of the whimsical fantasy book Caraval by Stephanie Garber. The line establishes how the protagonist, Scarlett, has been waiting for something, which foreshadows the constant state of anticipation showcased throughout the novel. The letters also directly connect to the setting and main plot of the novel featuring a magical circus which has no rules save for one, to remember that it’s only a game.

As you can see, beginning lines can establish setting, reveal character, hint at theme, and more. Above all, though, the most important thing about an opening is that it must lure the reader in.

The Blue Route is once again open for submissions from undergraduate writers. Please send your best fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction for consideration. See our submission guidelines for details. The window closes on November 15.

On the banks of the Schuylkill River (Philadelphia, PA)

Issue 31 (Spring 2026) is officially live. The issue features work by undergraduate writers from Villanova University, Lipscomb University, the University of New Mexico, the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, Montclair State University, Columbia University, George Washington University, Dickinson College, and Emerson College. Interspersed throughout the issue are photographs by Widener University students.

Last week, at Widener University’s Humanities Division Awards Ceremony, Distinguished Graduating Senior (and Blue Route staff member) Phoebe Robbins gave a wonderful speech about the importance of the humanities. We thought readers of our literary journal would appreciate these sentiments.

Why do the humanities matter? Man, is that a hard question to answer. Because there isn’t just one.

I find that many of my science-minded peers are often looking for answers—clear answers, numerical answers, defined and rigid answers. No wiggle room. As an English major, I’ve heard, “And there’s no right answer, so throw anything out there” more times than I could possibly count.

Our brains, as members of the humanities, are wired to reject the easy answer and go searching for the possibilities that lie in the subtext. My friends and I can close-read the heck out of a single sentence, and we will all have different arguments by the end. For us, there’s a seemingly infinite amount of answers to any one question. So why do the humanities matter? The answer to that one can’t be found in some ancient text or a Virginia Woolf novel, much as I wish it could be. Although if you read closely enough, you’ll find clues everywhere.

If I had to summarize in one sentence why the humanities matter, I would say: they provide us with guidelines for understanding life. Because the humanities are not just about reading old books or looking at pre-Raphaelite paintings, they are about learning how to read the world. Our lives—our joys and our hardships—made bearable by books and art and a compassionate cognizance of all that exists around us. So as critical thinking dwindles and reading comprehension plummets, it’s up to us in this room to remain steadfast in our fields and champion our beliefs.

In a population that is increasingly susceptible to misguidance, the humanities are only becoming more and more crucial. Without the abilities that our fields provide—to read deeply, think critically, and interpret complex information—you get political discourse that collapses into slogans and logical fallacies instead of productive debates. You get people who are informed about their own representation only from their choice news network or, Heaven forbid, Facebook. You get people who scroll past headlines of war without understanding that the butterfly beat its wings to set things in motion long ago.

That’s not a coincidence. That’s a system at work.

Our lives are not politically neutral. If we no longer study the art of analysis, we’re left with a population who cannot understand their place within a political system hellbent on accumulating power, whatever the cost. When literacy declines, power concentrates. If you can’t parse a speech, you can be persuaded by it. If you can’t recognize bias, you can be manipulated by it. If you can’t contextualize a conflict, you can be convinced of the narrative those in power surround you with.

The humanities push directly against that. No easy answers, remember? We train ourselves to slow down, to interpret, to question. We do not blindly accept truths. We ask: who is telling this story, and who is missing from it?

Because of the humanities, in the battle over narratives, we are better equipped to win.

As a transfer student, I can’t speak to every department within the humanities. I do, however, believe I am qualified to speak on the English and Creative Writing departments. Most of my classes here at Widener have been in those fields. Each one has introduced me to new texts, new theories, and new intersections of identity I was previously unfamiliar with and in doing so, has trained me to see how stories are built—and how they can be challenged. I’ve learned that reading is never passive. No, reading is an active engagement. My classes have taught me how to sit in discomfort long enough to realize how much I don’t yet know. How to take language apart and put it back together again with the knowledge that every word carries weight. Influence that does not stay bogged down by the weight of the page but takes flight in the minds of readers and writers.

In a world that is constantly searching for the easiest truth, the humanities teach us to resist. To look closer and think longer. To care more. Our active minds and compassionate hearts may be just what the world needs.

By Sarah Lausi

Helen of Nowhere
Makenna Goodman
Coffee House Press (Sept. 9, 2025)
ISBN: 978-1566897358

Helen of Nowhere is a story that truly grabs you in such an interesting way. In between characters monologuing about the evangelical nature of plants or the various ways they have overlooked their wives, this surrealist novel is about a professor looking to buy a house in the middle of nowhere after losing his job and dignity. While the Realtor shows him around, she tells the professor about Helen, the home’s former owner. Slowly but surely, the professor becomes obsessed with his own idea of Helen and his own explicit interpretation of who she was.

With its monologue-like format, Goodman places readers straight into the characters’ minds; instead of the typical objective narration of how one person speaks to another, the curtain is fully pulled back, as we watch the story unfold through their eyes, hear their thoughts, their own biased perspectives of the world. This uncommon form of storytelling is truly engaging and works especially well for the complex characters that Goodman writes about. For example, seeing the professor’s unfiltered beliefs and how they affect his relationships with the others—his wife, the realtor, and of course, Helen,—is simultaneously a disgusting yet entertaining experience. Reading from the professor’s perspective is a twisted form of torture, to put it lightly; there are countless times throughout the novel that I had to either physically put the book down or show the excerpts of text to companions that were reading beside me. One such excerpt is: “My wife and I tried to do something about the chasm between us. We saw a therapist. A pathetic waste of time. We went to a tantric sex workshop in Iceland. It was cold. Everything, my wife said, was about me finding pleasure. No, I said, everything was about the dog” (25). Knowing that the professor’s wife was his former student makes me feel so genuinely uncomfortable in my own skin. This isn’t exactly a negative point in the story, however; I much prefer the seething hatred I feel for this man, rather than feeling nothing. Still, this does not excuse the fact that there is so much wrong with the professor, from his superiority complex to his hallucinogenic relationship with an elderly woman; I want to put him in a jar and shake him around until he is thoroughly concussed.

Beyond the characters themselves, there are a couple interesting themes that Helen of Nowhere explores, the most prominent one being self-perception and ego. One way this theme is presented throughout the text is via the idea of doers and takers. The professor introduces this idea early on in the first chapter, “Man,” where he explains that a doer is “a person who takes positive action to benefit others” (16), while a taker “thinks about how much they need, not about how their need’s fulfillment might affect others” (16). Despite everyone else in the professor’s life labeling him as a taker, the professor is convinced that he is a doer being overlooked and abused by everyone else. Because of how the professor’s self perception does not align with how others perceive him, the reader is given a couple different ideas about the state of his ego. Immediately, I assumed that he was just extremely disconnected from others, that he was just an egomaniac who believed he was better than everyone else. While this interpretation has sufficient evidence to back it up, I eventually came to the second conclusion that perhaps the professor’s ego is so fragile, that he cannot fathom the idea of being perceived in any way other than “a man so kind, so plant-loving, so mild-mannered” (19).

The other prominent theme in the novel is how gender tends to play a part within power dynamics. Like doers and takers, the idea of gender and power is described as anchors and kites. Wife explains the concept to the professor in the chapter “Helen and Man.” While the professor acted as a kite, able to live his life freely and without consequence, wife acted as an anchor to keep him grounded in reality. While this dynamic is not inherently harmful, “[wife] realized that while an anchor’s main purpose was to hold a ship in place, it wasn’t meant to solely anchor—it had every right, and in fact demanded to be pulled up from time to time to rest on deck and enjoy the feeling of the open air. This didn’t mean the kite had to stop flying, but at times it would have been nice for her to lay coiled on the deck without having to work so hard” (91). Here, wife is realizing just how much she has given up for the professor, having quit her research and dreams of becoming a professor herself just to stabilize his own projects. This experience is not unique to wife, as many women end up altering or sacrificing their own dreams so that they can settle down and begin a family. Meanwhile, the man may feel he has less household or familial responsibilities, allowing him the freedom to roam and continue exploring the joys life has to give. This fact gives the line “She was ready to be a kite, too, in fact” (91) so much more power, as wife attempts to regain her freedom by rejecting the role of an anchor and divorcing the professor.

Overall, Helen of Nowhere is an entrancing novel that allows us to explore complex themes through the perspective of four wildly different characters. The unique format combined with the eccentric characters and surreal story make it stand out against other books I’ve read in the past.

By Maura O’Brien

Body Memory
Meriwether Clarke
Unsolicited Press (Oct. 7, 2025)
978-1-963115-62-8

Body Memory, poet Meriwether Clarke’s first full-length publication, does a stellar job not only in its execution, but in its portrayal of the lives of women and what many of them must endure every day. The book consists of a number of poems, all divided into three distinct parts. These three parts detail not only the harmful effects of misogyny and the dehumanization that it causes but also the act of overcoming such things and seeking out connection and identity despite everything else. Above all, this collection focuses on remembrance. It is about looking into the past and doing your best to acknowledge how it shapes you but not letting it entirely define you.

These poems are especially effective because despite taking place across different timelines, they can easily be connected to each other through not only a common theme, but also the shared voice of womanhood. They could all be from the perspective of one person’s life, or they could each be separate, self-contained stories about different people. This effect unites the poems and still allows them to shine individually. It is up to the reader to decide how they want to read this collection.

Another common thread is the focus on the natural and the man-made world. Alongside the allusions to the bodies of women and what they are constantly subjected to, there exists imagery of orange trees and mountains and cities and their sidewalks. In “Oranges,” the second poem, the title fruit brings the speaker back to their childhood and the orange tree that was in Mimi’s (another name for a grandmother) backyard. They loved picking the fruits and smelling orange on their hands but hated actually having to eat the fruit that they picked. This poem is like a bittersweet snapshot into childhood. It is a reminder of simpler times, where the only thing you had to worry about were oranges. Even amid this sweet imagery, the speaker still feels the need to point out that her “chest still looked flat.” This implies that while it may be irrelevant at this moment, it will become important later on. Although this is a time of innocence, there is still this consciousness of the body.

This kind of wonder makes the poems that come after, like “Rug Burn,” even more tragic and disgusting. The speaker is only thirteen here when an older man dangles his hands near her breasts while she is reading in a bookstore basement. The most powerful part about this poem is that it is gross, plain and simple. The visceral disgust that comes from this poem is palpable. As an adult, the stranger should not be taking advantage of the situation, but he does anyway. The speaker’s breasts and clothes were still hers, and the creep should have minded his business and left her alone. In the end, the speaker is the only one who suffers from the consequences of his actions.

Another phenomenal poem for its portrayal of this collection’s message is “Body Memory,” the title poem, which does not appear until much later in the book. In this phenomenal piece, the speaker is lying in bed, but instead of the speaker as they are now it is the version of themselves before puberty and before “men started honking.” The speaker is emotional about this visual. To them, it is a reminder of what she once was, and how she mourns the loss of this version of herself she now realizes is precious. She is quite literally remembering her body in a way she couldn’t have when she was that young girl. She did not realize before how lovely she had been in her youth until that loveliness and innocence were gone, which speaks volumes about the way society views women and girls today. It demands that girls grow up too fast and then have the audacity to mourn what once was. This time, however, the mourning has meaning because it is the speaker’s grief, not someone else looking in on her life and feeling sad about it.

Overall, the poems of Body Memory masterfully tell of the horrors of being a woman and how that ever-present fear affects women all throughout their lives. There is innocence, then a loss of innocence over the course of these poems. However, the speaker or speakers show time and time again that through it all they are survivors. Despite everything, you must persist. Despite everything, you must remember so that you can move forward. If you do not persist, the men who put that fear in you win.

By Phoebe Robbins

The Barefoot Followers of Sweet Potato Grace
Megan Okonsky
Lanternfish Press (Aug 19, 2025)
978-1-941360-89-7

Megan Okonsky’s The Barefoot Followers of Sweet Potato Grace follows a young woman balancing her desire for freedom with her need to please her family, friends, and the “Tombstonians” of Tombstone, Texas, all while dealing with the devastating loss of her beloved cat, Sweet Potato Grace. And did I mention she’s gay?

Okonsky’s novel is a sweet tale (tail?) of found family as main character Pinky Swear confronts grief and contends with her sexuality. This book is driven by Pinky’s wonderfully sheltered yet hopeful outlook on life, and I found myself saying “one more chapter” because of her. I kept reading because I care what Pinky has to say, and I care about who she becomes on her search for belonging. She finds kinship in a queer (in both senses of the word) group of adventurers who look straight out of the 70s in their orange VW van that “parted the Red Sea of boring, sticky air that hung over Tombstone” as it drove into town. While these rad travelers are intriguing, it is Pinky who makes this story the inviting page-turner that it is.

Pinky’s often comedic explanations of the world lend a naivete to the prose that allow readers a glimpse into the small town life she leads, doomed to a seemingly inescapable life of taking over Swear-Itz, her family’s general store. Her description of Sweet Potato Grace as “a mean old bitch” sure makes her a “riot,” as one of her new groovy friends says. As she navigates her closeted sexuality, she develops a crush on one the adventurers, a woman named Mars. The tentative, gentle bond that these two form throughout the novel is a beautiful example of queer joy and acceptance, and it was truly a delight to read.

In the middle of my journey through this book, my family and I discovered that my dog is dying. The vet said his best guess is 4-6 weeks. She’s only 8. I put off my reading for days after Sookie was diagnosed because I wanted nothing to do with a story about a girl grieving her dead cat. But when I picked the book back up, I found myself relating to the sadness that pervades this moment in Pinky’s life, finding comfort in her attempts at honoring Sweet Potato Grace. First, of course, with the inciting incident: Sweet Potato’s funeral service and the eulogy that the gaggle of groovy gadabouts crashed. But in other ways, too, throughout the book, by sharing Sweet Potato Grace’s story with her new friends and painting pictures of her and toasting to her in joyous moments.

And as she struggles to hold on to her best friend’s memory, she muses on grief: “I found myself thinking how happy I truly was in that moment—until I remembered why I hadn’t been so high in the clouds for the past few weeks. Sweet Potato Grace. My kitty, whom I’d failed. Grief hides like that, doesn’t it?” I think we all feel this way about lost pets—wondering if we should have taken them to the vet sooner, if we should’ve noticed something was off. Through Pinky, Okonsky reminds us to give ourselves grace in grief. It comes creeping back up right when you’re finally feeling alright and because you’re feeling alright, the guilt you feel makes the grief all the more powerful. But Pinky, through Okonsky’s honest and emotional writing, allows readers to see that process from the outside, and come closer to understanding the ineffable complexities of loss and love.

Overall, I enjoyed this book immensely! I have already recommended it to both my mother and sister, and we all enjoy very different stories, so I think that is a testament to the lovability of this book. It truly has something for everyone, and I promise, Pinky Swear will capture your heart the way she captured mine!

By Faith Grasso

I have read 7 out of the 10 books published under the name Morgan Matson, so I’d say I’m somewhat of an expert on most things Matson. Her books usually have the same setting or eventually end up in the same setting, which adds to the coming of age and romcom charm her work. Matson typically sets up her stories in a fictional town called Stanwich located in Connecticut. The town is small but charming—the kind of place you’d visit for vacation. Imagine a girl next door, Dawson’s Creek, Mystic Pizza vibe, and you’ll be in Stanwich. For The Ballad of Darcy and Russell, the setting changes to Jesse, Nevada and as much as I love a change in scenery, I missed Stanwich.

Darcy and Russell meet at a bus station, phones dead and no cash, and that is where their meet cute happens. Darcy is a hopeless romantic who believes in love at first sight and taking chances. Russell is quiet and struggles to separate himself from his father’s light. He yearns to be seen for himself and not the familial ties attached to his name. We are taken through a series of events that unfold between walking around a somewhat empty town, to finding tacos, football fields with confessions and kisses, breaking into pools. In typical Matson fashion, she adds in strained family dynamics and (of course) romance.

I wouldn’t say The Ballad of Darcy and Russell is one of my favorites I’ve read from Matson. However, the overall story line with its twists and turns did keep me turning the pages, such as when we find out Russell’s dad is a famous singer and he’s been hiding that little detail from Darcy. I do also think some elements of the story felt unrealistic, which I was not a fan of. Russell’s father being a famous singer is largely something that turned the book from great to just good. As much as I love a dramatic and unexpected reveal, that sort of made the book feel less realistic. One of the reasons I love Matson’s writing so much is because I feel like she writes scenarios I would realistically experience. In her book Save the Date, we are thrown into a Father of the Bride moment where everything goes wrong, from alarms not going off to wedding planners gone missing. In Amy and Rodgers Epic Detour,  we’re taken into what I’d say is arguably one of the best road trip novels out there. There’s really nothing better than a cross-country adventure with a cute boy. Both books among others all convey that sense of familiarity. The scenarios presented are things I could picture myself doing. Now let’s be honest, how many of us are going to meet a cute boy who happens to have a super famous and rich father? I’m going to say not many.

I’m not saying this book wasn’t good because it does have some enjoyable moments. I enjoyed the emotionally and physically  intimate scenes shared between Darcy and Russell. Matson doesn’t often go too deep when it comes to the physicality of her characters’ relationships, and I was pleasantly surprised when she added a few more scandalous scenes into The Ballad of Darcy and Russell. Getting to watch the family dynamics between Russell and his family was quite enjoyable and made me yearn for a big family like that. The ending of the book where they both vow to meet at the bus station in Jesse, Nevada if they still felt the same way they did in the moment gave total Serendipity vibes. But the best part of all Morgan Matson books is that they are not just love stories. Within the romcom, the characters are also figuring out who they are and who they want to be. They have to fight through past traumas and learn to forgive those who’ve hurt them. We always see the value of family and mending relationships that have been broken. Those sentiments are what truly make a Morgan Matson book as enjoyable and they are and why I will always recommend a Matson book to anyone who asks.

By Abigail Grossman

    Once again, Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights has hit the big screen with a new adaptation from director Emerald Fennell. Although this adaptation is different from Brontë’s 1847 novel, it captivates fans and critics alike. From the controversial castings to the disturbingly beautiful sets to the historically inaccurate yet sophisticated gowns, everyone is talking about the uniqueness of the film. Recently, I went to the theater to witness it not once but twice, and both viewings left me craving more of the moors.

    During the fall of 2025, I came across some online discussions about an upcoming film starring Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi. I had never heard of Wuthering Heights, but I became increasingly interested as teasers and trailers came out for the film. As a lover of literature, I was devoted to reading the book before seeing the movie. Luckily, I received a copy of the novel as a Christmas gift, giving me enough time to finish before the release of the film. After I finished, I understood why the movie was controversial and wondered how it would compare to the book.

    Nevertheless, I decided to enter the theater with an open mind and fully immerse myself in Fennell’s vision. My boyfriend took me to see it on Valentine’s Day, as I had not stopped talking about its release since receiving the book. To my surprise, we both left the theater speechless and wanting to see it again. It was as if we were too stunned to speak, unable to process the roller coaster of emotions we had just witnessed.

    After a few days passed, I found myself thinking about the movie nonstop. The film has a haunting effect similar to that of the book, in which it refuses to leave your head. It is like a ghost at your window, tapping on the glass, luring you to come back and see it again. Luckily for me, my grandma is a huge Jacob Elordi fan, so I asked her to go with me, knowing she would happily say yes. We turned it into a family event as my mom, dad, and sister decided to come as well. To be honest, the movie is not exactly one you would like to see with your family. However, I wanted to know what they would think of it, so I set the awkwardness aside.

    For a second time, the credits began to roll, and I turned to my family members to see their reactions. My sister and dad, bored out of their minds, quickly rose from their seats, ready to go home. On the other hand, my grandma, mom, and I sobbed ceaselessly while clapping our hands in tearful delight. “Well, what did you think?” I asked them. To which they replied with big smiles, “That was excellent!” Seeing the film for the second time with my family made for a lovely bonding moment, which solidified my love for it.

    If you’re considering seeing the movie but are unsure whether you will like it, I say go for it anyway! It is true, this adaptation is different from the novel. There are missing characters, scenes, and story arcs, but that does not take away from the beauty of cinema itself. Keep in mind that the director did not direct the film, wanting it to be exactly like the book. Her unique interpretation demonstrates art’s ability to transcend time. Brontë’s 19th-century novel is so impactful that it continues to be adapted today.

    Regardless of how you feel about the film, it is definitely worth seeing. In an age where entertainment is at our fingertips, it is easy to take going to the movie theater for granted. This is why my favorite thing about this film was that I got to see it with my loved ones. I will always cherish this Valentine’s Day because I went on the perfect movie date. I will never forget being the only family brave enough to see the movie together. I suggest seeing Wuthering Heights with those you love the most, regardless of your thoughts on it or how awkward it gets, because it makes for a great memory.