It's very easy to see that the book abounds in all sorts of secrets: Mary is kept a secret from her parents' associates; Colin is kept a secret by both his father and himself. Misselthwaite is full of hundreds of locked rooms; its servants are forbidden to speak of its history or of its inhabitants. Colin keeps the portrait of his mother a secret from everybody. The most pivotal secret is the fact that everyone hides from their awful disease: being miserable and unloved. This thing turns out to be really deadly. Mary can't eat and is histerical, Colin talks about death and all sort of horrid things and cries blue murder, Mr. Craven runs away from his past into foreign countries but he cannot run from himself etc.
There's a Poe imagery depicted here, sort of. The surroundings and even the house are very dim and gloomy. The light is forbidden for it blinds and burns the white diseased skin of Colin. The wuthering wind sounds like a cry, which is a lie told by the servants in order to keep Colin hidden. You have the feeling that this is a horror book about shadows and ghosts. Mary, the unwanted ugly girl, is not scared of those things, for she is like them. She tries to find, bit by bit, the greatest secret which hides behind the curtain. Along with her we learn that there's nothing wrong actually: the illness, the infirmity, the malady, the alienation, the sickness is only in the minds of those who deny everything. So there's no disability here, only emotional disorder.
Dikon is the sound of nature, is the voice which calls the "infirms" out in the opening where fresh air fills the spongious lungs and clear the sick minds. You feel like the scales fell from their eyes and they can see clearly what childhood is all about. "[Mary] Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for someone."
The garden is nothing more than their self image. Rotten, full of weeds, abandoned. And it's not dead, only uncared-for. They make it blossom again and along with her they come to life too and all the hidious manor. "Oh! The things which happened in that garden! If you have never had a garden you cannot understand, and if you have had a garden you will know that it would take a whole book to describe all that came to pass there. At first it seemed that green things would never cease pushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the walls. Then the green things began to show buds and the buds began to unfurl and show colour, every shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In its happy days flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner... Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass in sheaves, and the green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines or campanulas."
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