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Wuthering Heights (AmazonClassics Edition) by [Emily Brontë]

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Emily Brontë

Diane Long Hoeveler

Wuthering Heights (AmazonClassics Edition) Kindle Edition

by Emily Brontë (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

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Raised together on the Yorkshire moors, Heathcliff and Catherine become lovers and soul mates so utterly inseparable that their destiny seems inevitable. But when Catherine’s desire for social status results in her marriage to Heathcliff’s wealthy rival, Heathcliff is consumed by revenge. And no one in his path will be spared.

Admired for its stark originality and condemned for its fiendish affront to the senses, Wuthering Heights polarized critics. For generations of readers since, its themes of gender inequality, religious hypocrisy, social climbing, and the violent extremes of romantic obsession resonate to this day.

Revised edition: Previously published as Wuthering Heights, this edition of Wuthering Heights (AmazonClassics Edition) includes editorial revisions.

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Customer suggested age: 13 years and up
Print length

142 pages
Language

English
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AmazonClassics
Publication date

18 July 2017
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978-1542047654
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Popular Highlights in this book

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My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.
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I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
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Product description

About the Author

Poet, teacher, and novelist Emily Brontë (1818–1848) was raised near the moors in the English village of Haworth, which became the setting for Wuthering Heights, her only novel. It is there that Emily developed her youthful fantasies and love of writing.

Due to a more guarded upbringing, less is known of the enigmatic Emily Brontë than of her sisters, Charlotte and Anne, both of whom were also published pseudonymously. Written under the pen name “Ellis Bell,” Wuthering Heights was published in 1847, alternately appalling and beguiling readers—some of whom even questioned the author’s sanity. Emily’s legacy proved so troubling that, after her death from tuberculosis, Charlotte took it upon herself to revise her sister’s poems and soften her standing among critics. Though Charlotte hoped to invent a reputation for Emily more fitting for the standards of the time, the fierce originality of Wuthering Heights endures.

Adapted for stage and screen, ballets, operas, and even anime, the story features beloved characters Heathcliff and Catherine, who are—next to Romeo and Juliet—perhaps the most famous doomed lovers in all of English literature.

Book Description

'May you not rest, as long as I am living. You said I killed you - haunt me, then' Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From AudioFile

Search no further. A masterful vocal talent has found a masterpiece of world literature to perform. Michael Kitchen brilliantly portrays Nelly Dean, the novel's main storyteller, as she, in her clipped Yorkshire dialect, loquaciously divulges to a fascinated Mr. Lockwood the turbulent saga of three generations of Earnshaws and Lintons during their systematic torment by the revenge-sodden and love-ruined Heathcliff. Kitchen's intoxicatingly rich voice is the perfect medium for Bronte's romantic lyricism. Since most of the novel is conversational in nature, much depends on how things are said. Cathy's self-centered impulsiveness, Edgar's resigned acceptance of bitter truths, Heathcliff's damnable obsessions, Hareton's brave attempts to rise above his fate, all and more are revealed by Kitchen's fine characterizations. His interpretation is so precise and intelligent that it's hard not to feel pity for the possessed Heathcliff. Michael Kitchen has given a long-awaited voice to a timeless classic. P.W. An AUDIOFILE Earphones Award winner. (c)AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Author

Emily Brontë was born in 1818, the daughter of a curate and sister to fellow novelists Charlotte and Anne. She was the most enigmatic of the three famous siblings but found life away from the Haworth parsonage that they called home extremely hard. After some time as a teacher at a school near Halifax, homesickness drew her back to the moors and the life of a reclusive author. It was there, in 1848, that she died of tuberculosis just months after her brother Branwell. Hardly any of her papers survive and her reputation is based on a few surviving poems and one novel, Wuthering Heights. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

CHAPTER 1

1801--I have just returned from a visit to my landlord--the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist's Heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.

'Mr. Heathcliff?' I said.

A nod was the answer.

'Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts--'

'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing. 'I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it--walk in!'

The 'walk in' was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, 'Go to the Deuce': even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathizing movement to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.

When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did pull out his hand to unchain it, and then suddenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court,--

'Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; and bring up some wine.'

'Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,' was the reflection, suggested by this compound order. 'No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.'

Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy.

'The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.

Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. 'Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.

Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date '1500,' and the name 'Hareton Earnshaw.' I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.

One step brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house' pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fire-place; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been underdrawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villanous old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser, reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.

The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his armchair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of feeling--to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again. No. I'm running on too fast: I bestow my own attributes over liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one.

While enjoying a month of fine weather at the seacoast, I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I 'never told my love' vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return--the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame--shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp.

By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.

I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch.

My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.

'You'd better let the dog alone,' growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. 'She's not accustomed to be spoiled--not kept for a pet.'

Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again--'Joseph!'--

Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me vis-a-vis the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements.

Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury, and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding roused the whole hive. Half-a-dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects of assault; and, parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in re-establishing peace.

Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm: I don't think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping.

Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more dispatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene.

'What the devil is the matter?' he asked, eyeing me in a manner I could ill endure after this inhospitable treatment.

'What the devil, indeed!' I muttered. 'The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!'

'They won't meddle with persons who touch nothing,' he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table. 'The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine?'

'No, thank you.'

'Not bitten, are you?'

'If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter.'

Heathcliff's countenance relaxed into a grin.

'Come, come,' he said, 'you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir!'

I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs: besides, I felt loath to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his humour took that turn.

He--probably swayed by prudential considerations of the folly of offending a good tenant--relaxed a little in the laconic style of chipping off1 his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to me,--a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of retirement.

I found him very intelligent on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit to-morrow.

He evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him.

CHAPTER 2

Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights.

On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.--I dine between twelve and one o'clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five.) On mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees, surrounded by brushes, and coal-scuttles; and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a four miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower.

On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged cause-way bordered with straggling gooseberry bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled, and the dogs howled.

'Wretched inmates!' I ejaculated, mentally, 'you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in the day-time. I don't care--I will get in!'

So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn.

'Whet are ye for?' he shouted. 'T' maister's dahn i' t' fowld. Goa rahnd by th' end ut' laith, if yah went tuh spake tull him.'2

'Is there nobody inside to open the door?' I hallooed, responsively.

'They's nobbut t' missis; and shoo'll nut oppen 't an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght.'3

'Why? cannot you tell her who I am, eh, Joseph?'

'Nor-ne me! Aw'll hae noa hend wi't,' muttered the head, vanishing.4

The snow had began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cote, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment, where I was formerly received.

It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the 'missis,' an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected.

I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute.

'Rough weather!' I remarked. 'I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door5 must bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance: I had hard work to make them hear me!'

She never opened her mouth. I stared--she stared also. At any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.

'Sit down,' said the young man, gruffly. 'He'll be in soon.'

I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance.

'A beautiful animal!' I commenced again. 'Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?'

'They are not mine,' said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Review

"She looked out upon a world cleft into gigantic disorder and felt within her the power to unite it in a book . . . She could free life from its dependence on facts; with a few touches indicate the spirit of a face so that it needs no body; by speaking of the moor make the wind blow and the thunder roar." - Virginia Woolf

"As I crouched in a corner with a copy of Wuthering Heights, I had the sensation that it was not the torch that was lighting up this intimate space, but the book itself. The book was radiant, the words shone." - Jeanette Winterson

"A masterpiece . . . I still get shivers down my spine whenever I read the words of Cathy: ‘I am Heathcliff!’" - Bonnie Greer

--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Inside Flap

Wuthering Heights, first published in 1847, the year before the author's death at the age of thirty, endures today as perhaps the most powerful and intensely original novel in the English language. "Only Emily Brontë," V. S. Pritchett said about the author and her contemporaries, "exposes her imagination to the dark spirit." And Virginia Woolf wrote, "It is as if she could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognisable transparencies with such a gust of life that they transcend reality. Hers, then, is the rarest of all powers. She could free life from its dependence on facts, with a few touches indicate the spirit of a face so that it needs no body; by speaking of the moor make the wind blow and the thunder roar."
----This Modern Library edition contains a biographical note and preface by the author's sister Charlotte Brontë, and an Introduction by Diane Johnson. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Book Description

Cambridge Literature is a series of literary texts edited for study by students aged 14–18 in English-speaking classrooms. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte is edited by Richard Hoyes, Head of English and Media Studies, Farnham College, Surrey. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Publisher

This book is perfect for AP classes and is often selected for inclusion on the AP exam. The notes, reading pointers, and vocabulary in this addition will also help students at a lower reading level get the most out of these classics. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Back Cover

'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same' --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Review

"[Flosnik] masterfully alters her voice for each character.... Without being overly dramatic, Flosnik inserts passion into the dialogue and vividly conveys Bronte's imagery." ---AudioFile" --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B073QM98F5
Publisher ‏ : ‎ AmazonClassics (18 July 2017)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 1761 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Print length ‏ : ‎ 142 pages
Page numbers source ISBN ‏ : ‎ B0B9QS48GX

Best Sellers Rank: #569 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #5 in CBSE (Kindle Store)
- #9 in Classic Fiction (Kindle Store)
- #99 in Classic Fiction (Books)

Customer Reviews:
4.5 25,830 ratings

About the authors

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Emily Brontë
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Emily Jane Brontë (/ˈbrɒnti/, commonly /ˈbrɒnteɪ/; 30 July 1818 - 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. Emily was the third eldest of the four surviving Brontë siblings, between the youngest Anne and her brother Branwell. She wrote under the pen name Ellis Bell.
Bio from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Photo by Patrick Branwell Brontë (http://www.abm-enterprises.net/emily.htm) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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Diane Long Hoeveler
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Diane Long Hoeveler was born in Chicago, IL and educated at the University of Illinois-Urbana. She is a Professor of English at Marquette University in Milwaukee, WI, where she has taught since 1987. She publishes on gothic, romantic, and women's literatures.
Her most recent book, "The Gothic Ideology: Religious Hysteria and Anti-Catholicism in British Popular Fiction, 1780-1880," examines the representations of nuns, monks, the Inquisition, and ruined abbeys in dozens of British gothic texts. Her other books are "Gothic Riffs" (2010), "Gothic Feminism" (1998), and "Romantic Androgyny" (1990). She has coauthored "Charlotte Bronte," and edited/coedited another 15 books.
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Maisha Books
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Rachel Firth
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Customer reviews

4.5 out of 5

25,830 global ratings

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Divya

Just wow!!!

Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on 30 March 2023

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The plot of the book centres on Catherine and Heathcliff's twisted, dark, rebellious, and passionate love. With the complicated relationships between families, betrayal, jealousy, and retaliation are portrayed remarkably well.

One of the best classics I have read to date and my current favourite. If you like reading classics, this is a must read.

A few lines that made my heart skip a beat

‘Oh, Nelly! you know she has not! You know as well as I do, that for every thought she spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me!’

‘He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’

‘Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. 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 abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’

4 people found this helpful

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PRANJALI SETU

Awesome

Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on 20 May 2023

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Awesome

Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on 29 March 2023

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The font size is small, difficult to read continuously without feeling strain.

Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on 19 April 2019

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This is my favorite book. I do not say that lightly - I've read quite a lot from all different genres - but this is my favorite book. Of all time. Ever. The ladies over at The Readventurer kindly allowed me to get my feelings of utter adoration for Wuthering Heights off my chest in their "Year of the Classics" feature, but I now realize it's time I posted a little something in this blank review space. I mean, come on, it's my favorite book so it deserves better than empty nothingness.

So, what do I love so much about Wuthering Heights? Everything. Okay, maybe not. That wouldn't really be saying it strongly enough.

What I love about this novel is the setting; the wilderness. This is not a story about niceties and upper class propriety. This is the tale of people who aren't so socially acceptable, who live away from the strict rules of civilization - it's almost as if they're not quite from the world we know. The isolation of the setting out on the Yorkshire moors between the fictional dwellings of The Heights and Thrushcross Grange emphasizes how far removed these characters are from social norms, how unconventional they are, and how lonely they are.

This is a novel for readers who can appreciate unlikeable characters; readers who don't have to like someone to achieve a certain level of understanding of them and their circumstances. People are not born evil... so what makes them that way? What torments a man so much that he refuses to believe he has any worth? What kind of person digs up the grave of their loved one so they can see them once again? Heathcliff was not created to be liked or to earn your forgiveness. Emily Brontë simply tells his story from the abusive and unloved childhood he endured, to his obsession with the only person alive who showed him any real kindness, to his adulthood as an angry, violent man who beats his wife and imprisons the younger Cathy in order to make her marry his son.

It would be so easy to hate Heathcliff, and I don't feel that he is some dark, sexy hero like others often do. But I appreciate what Emily Brontë attempts to teach us about the cycle of violence and aggression. Heathcliff eventually becomes little more than the man he hates. By being brought up with beatings and anger he in turn unleashes it on everyone else. And Cathy is no delicate flower either. What hope did Heathcliff have when the only person he ever loved was so selfish and vindictive? But I love Emily Brontë for creating such imperfect, screwed-up characters.

This is a dark novel that deals with some very complicated people, but I think in the end we are offered the possibility of peace and happiness through Cathy (younger) and Hareton's relationship, and the suggestion that Cathy (older) and Heathcliff were reunited in the afterlife. I had an English teacher in high school that said Cathy and Heathcliff's personalities and their relationship were too much for this world and that peace was only possible for them in the next. I have no idea if this was something Ms Bronte intended, but the romantic in me likes to imagine that it's true.

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4 stars

Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on 4 November 2018

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Certain novels come to you with pre-packaged expectations. They just seem to be part of literature's collective unconscious, even if they are completely outside of your own cultural referents. I, for instance, who have no particular knowledge of--or great love for--romantic, Anglo-Gothic fiction, came to Wuthering Heights with the assumption that I was picking up a melancholy ghost story of thwarted, passionate love and eternal obsession. Obsession turned out to be only accurate part of this presumption.

Having an image of Heathcliff and Cathy embracing Gone with the Wind -style on a windy moor ironed in my mind, I was almost completely unprepared for the hermetic, moribund, bleak, vengeful, perverse, and yes--obsessive--novel that this really is. Don Quixote is not about windmills and Wuthering Heights is not really a love story. Heathcliff and Cathy's love affair (if it can be called that) is a narcissistic ("I am Heathcliff!" Cathy exclaims at one point), possessive, and imminently cruel relationship predicated on self-denial and an obsessiveness that relies not on passion, but rather borders on hatred. They are selfish, violent, and contriving people who have borne their fair share of abuses (mostly Heathcliff in this respect) and in turn, feel no compunction about raining similar abuses on those who they find beneath them.

Given this dynamic, it seems perhaps inevitable that these two characters would make not only themselves miserable, but everyone around them miserable--even after death. This is particularly easy to accomplish mainly because there are--with the exception of Mr. Lockwood, the tenant who rents a home from Heathcliff--no outside characters. Everyone in the novel (including the servants) is isolated, trapped between the same two homes, with the same two families, and have truly no chance of escaping any of the events and repercussions that occur.(One character makes a temporary escape, only to suffer all the more for it later.)

More important, however, is the fact that Heathcliff and Cathy don't even need be present (although they usually are in some fashion) for their influences to be felt by the other characters. The sins of the father, are literally, inherited and distributed among the next generation. The children of Wuthering Heights are not only physical doubles of their parents (At least 3 characters look like Cathy, and one resembles Heathcliff), but they are also spiritual stand-ins. They must suffer for past transgressions, and they must find a way to make amends for them. All, I might add, without the particular benefit of ever having the full story, the context that might be necessary to actually change their circumstances. Misery, it seems, is inevitable.

There is, of course, much more to be said about this novel. One could spend quite some time dissecting all the various repetitions and doublings, the narrative structure (the story is told by the housekeeper to the lodger who then writes it down as a diary entry), or the archetypal analogies and semi-biblical symbolism that seems to be implicit to every part of this story.

The point being, I suppose, that while Wuthering Heights may not be the wistful romance one (or maybe just I) expected to be, it is a particularly satisfying one for all of its dark and layered surprises.

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Martin Gilar

Good quality printing only the font is little small.

Reviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 10 September 2022

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The font is little small but overall it is a good quality book.

simone mighall

Great Book

Reviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 19 February 2021

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Nice quality.

One person found this helpful

Gerard Ilott

Heavy going, but what characters!

Reviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 26 April 2019

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How did an unworldly girl living on the edge of the moors create such vivid characters? Mind you, the almost incestuous marriages are creepy (very Game of Thrones).

Aly Watson

Print rubs off

Reviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 11 September 2020

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I was really looking forward to this but unfortunately all the print is rubbing off. Does anyone else have this problem?? After a week, most of the print on the spine is gone.

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Lilimip

Ódio e obsessão com grande talento

Reviewed in Brazil 🇧🇷 on 12 February 2021

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Comprei Wuthering Heights no idioma original com o objetivo de melhorar a leitura em língua inglesa. Apesar de usar bastante o dicionário, não tive dificuldade em assimilar a força da obra. Somente o dialeto falado pelo servo Joseph foi obstáculo para meu propósito. Para outros propósitos didáticos, a história também é perfeita: a construção da narrativa, do ambiente sombrio e da complexidade dos personagens.
Os personagens se movem dentro de duas casas da Inglaterra rural, isolados do ambiente exterior. Wuthering Heights é uma delas. Até mesmo os casamentos ocorrem entre os moradores das charnecas. A história é apresentada através de três camadas. Alguém fora da casa inicia o relato. É Lockwood, o inquilino temporário.
O relato continua através de Nelly, a governanta, que narra ao inquilino os vinte anos de convívio com os moradores da charneca. Ela é contada em duas fases, a conversa chega ao final duas vezes.
Os diálogos descritos por Nelly completam a terceira camada. Nelly, por sinal, é um personagem tão importante quanto os demais. Onipresente. É interessante que a escritora tenha escolhido uma serviçal para transmitir as ações e sentimentos dos outros personagens com tamanha intensidade, profundidade e detalhes. Nelly é inteligente e tem ótima memória. O valor atribuído a ela talvez pode funcionar como uma das diversas percepções críticas de Bronte na Inglaterra do século 19. Além de tudo, ela é o contraponto de generosidade no meio das relações cada vez mais egocêntricas que vão sendo expressas com o desenrolar da narrativa. Nelly representa “o bem”.
O livro é considerado um dos clássicos da literatura inglesa e descreve a intensa e destrutiva paixão entre Heathcliff e Catherine. Heathcliff é filho adotivo de Earnshaw, o patriarca de bons sentimentos e índole fraca. Ele trouxe o menino das ruas de Londres, que têm origem cigana e pele escura. Foi bastante maltratado, e o tratamento abusivo continuou em Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff e Catherine, filha de Earnshaw, cresceram como irmãos, brincando pelos pântanos. Mas a paixão explode entre eles, embora Catherine rejeite Heathcliff como marido. Ele então deixa a morada, mas volta rico anos depois. Aqui há um ponto fraco: a autora não explica como Heathcliff ficou rico. Mas tudo o que acontece fora de Wuthering não tem importância.
Como um homem atormentado pela rejeição, Heathcliff volta para se vingar de tudo e de todos. Mas a vingança não é sua redenção. Seu comportamento abusivo vai sendo introjetado nos outros moradores, que se tornam abusivos também. O ódio de Heathcliff e o egoísmo de Catherine é refletido nas crianças, nos animais, nas gerações. O abuso e os ciclos de abuso permeiam toda a trama. O isolamento a que os personagens estão submetidos aumenta a intensidade e a repercussão dos eventos, assim como a falta de compaixão.
A força com que Bronte humaniza/desumaniza seus personagens é impactante. Os atributos do lado B dos humanos estão bem representados neste clássico: alcoolismo, abuso de crianças, abuso de animais, sadismo, crueldade, violência, humilhação, autodestruição, incesto, visões fantasmagóricas, alucinações. Sem a roupagem de época, “O morro dos ventos uivantes” é um perfeito conto de terror moderno.

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