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Wuthering Heights: (Penguin Classics Deluxe…

Wuthering Heights: (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition) (original 1847; edition 2009)

by Emily Brontë, Ruben Toledo (Illustrator)

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34,46151319 (3.91)4 / 1586
Title:Wuthering Heights: (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)
Authors:Emily Brontë
Other authors:Ruben Toledo (Illustrator)
Info:Penguin Classics (2009), Edition: Deluxe ed, Paperback, 352 pages
Collections:Your library

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Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (1847)

  1. 422
    Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (roby72)
  2. 243
    Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (Bonzer)
  3. 142
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  4. 122
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  5. 122
    Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy (lesleymc)
  6. 156
    The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield (brightbel, coffee.is.yum)
  7. 102
    My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier (Bonzer)
  8. 50
    Persuasion by Jane Austen (sturlington)
    sturlington: Persuasion is the antidote to Wuthering Heights.
  9. 42
    The Woman In White by Wilkie Collins (ainsleytewce)
  10. 32
    Camille: The Lady of the Camellias by Alexandre Dumas (peleiades22)
  11. 22
    The White Earth by Andrew McGahan (Sassm)
    Sassm: This is an offbeat recommendation, but I believe it's a good one. The White Earth is another well written book in which the landscape is closely entwined in a rather gothic tale of human interaction.
  12. 22
    Manon Lescaut by Abbé Prévost (roby72)
  13. 12
    Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen (kara.shamy)
  14. 34
    Going Wrong by Ruth Rendell (WildMaggie)
    WildMaggie: Rendell tells a modern tale of obsessive love similar to Bronte's classic.
  15. 23
    Moonfleet by J. Meade Falkner (elizabeth.a.coates)
    elizabeth.a.coates: Both have very vivid settings that are well-described
  16. 78
    Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton (opf)
  17. 12
    Dina's Book by Herbjørg Wassmo (Eustrabirbeonne)
    Eustrabirbeonne: Lord David Cecil's classification for the characters in "Wuthering Heights" - children of calm and children of storm - may be applied to Herbjorg Wassmo's book, and especially the eponymous heroine. What a child of storm we find in the tall, dark, savage, sensual, ruthless figure of Dina!… (more)
  18. 13
    A Spell of Winter by Helen Dunmore (fannyprice)
  19. 13
    Drood by Dan Simmons (caittilynn)
  20. 24
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(see all 30 recommendations)

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This is a story of the Earnshaw and the Linton family who are quite isolated in their homes of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. The homes represent the opposition that exists throughout the novel. There is a lot of death in the book but there is also the hopeful happy ending. That being said, I did feel the ending was a little bit off for me. The sudden decline and death of Heathcliff didn't make sense as it was presented. I see the need for the author to kill him off, I just didn't feel that the way made any sense. The novel is also told through the voice of a stranger who takes up a temporary residence and observes this dysfunctional family and the servant who has lived since childhood with these children. ( )
  Kristelh | Mar 6, 2017 |
Seldom must a book have differed between its commonly held perception and its actuality, as much as Wuthering Heights. I came to this book from the camp of the former with some reservations about some doomed love affair on the Yorkshire moors. Perhaps the realisation of how far removed any preconceptions were added to the subsequent enjoyment of the story.

Wuthering Heights is a story of revenge fed by obsession crossing over the generations of two families. And it is much more gothic than romantic. The plot rolls along with the drama rising and falling. Ok, few if any of the characters elicit much sympathy but they are complex and so well drawn that it is difficult not to be drawn into their isolated world or to anticipate what happens next.

Ultimately it's all madness. Grave tampering madness. ( )
  Lord_Boris | Feb 21, 2017 |
I have the dumbest reason for picking up this book in the first place. I heard of it in Friends (when Phoebe takes literature lessons, it is the first book they read). I could not remember if I read this one in high school, so I picked it up. Also I want to read and own more classics in 2017 (one of my resolutions). I haven't got a big collection, but I am working on it.
So I read Wuthering Heights at the end of last year and I enjoyed it immensely. I own the Barnes and Noble Classics edition, which came with an introduction, a short biography and a preface by her sister, Charlotte Bronte. I decided to read all of them, since I did not remember much about the Bronte's from school. I am quite confident that reading the biography and a preface made all the difference for me while I was reading this book. Reading Charlotte's description of her sister's only book, how it was rejected by the publishers, her sudden illness and her short-lived life set the right tone for this novel.
This book is quite different from many that I have read, so I won't be using my usual template of reviewing, but will just share my thoughts instead.
If this book could talk for itself, it would be screaming its head off with anger. I am simply astonished at how a book about very dull lives of regular people can be so frightening to the reader. It took me a while to read it, because I could only read so many pages a day before I have had enough of madness that were the two main characters. You know when in a book you usually pick your favorite character and then your least favorite one? Well, how about a book in which ALL of the characters are your least favorite ones? Characters so horribly selfish, arrogant, cross, indignant and spiteful that it makes you want to throw the book out of the window.
Yet, you keep reading. If that isn't a sign of a great book then I don't know what is.
Structure of the story line was quite odd, but somehow it flew very nicely. I felt like reading a memoir of a family (a very messed up family) starting with the grandparents and finishing up with the youngest of kids all grown up. Illnesses and death were woven into the story like they were as natural as a morning breakfast (which goes to show the state of living in the early 1800). Also all of this "marrying your own cousins" ordeal shook me a little bit, but then again, different times. Come to think of it maybe that is why they all were so feeble and sickly, because they kept interbreeding with each other.
The only annoying thing in this book was the broken language at which one of the characters speaks, it was incredibly hard to read and follow, and it became very irritating, very quickly. Luckily, he wasn't that important in the book anyway. ( )
  bookandsword | Feb 20, 2017 |
I love classic literature, and finally decided to give this one a try. It was awful - such a terrible book! I couldn't even finish it. About halfway through I declared myself done with it. Clearly not all the Bronte sisters should have been writers. ( )
  Jaynee | Feb 17, 2017 |
Emily Brontë

Wuthering Heights

Penguin Popular Classics, Paperback [1994].

12mo. 279 pp. Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell [pp. 5-11] and Editor's Preface to the New Edition of "Wuthering Heights" by Currer Bell (Charlotte Brontë).

First published, 1847.


Wuthering Heights is unique. It is an awkward novel to read, because sometimes it so outrages probability that you are completely bewildered; but it is passionate and profoundly moving; it has the depth and power of a great poem. To read it is not like reading a work of fiction, in which, however absorbed, you can remind yourself, if need be, that it is only a story; it is to have a shattering experience in your own life.[1]

I can't say I was quite so overwhelmed by this novel. But I can see Maugham's point about its passionate and haunting quality. For all of its faults of construction and style, Wuthering Heights does have a character entirely its own, a sort of mental picture that stays permanently with the hapless reader who dares to read it. Whether one likes it or not matters little. One doesn’t easily forget it.

The narrative, as Maugham shrewdly observes, is awkward. Most of the story is told by Ellen Dean (Nelly), a maid and confidante always at the right place and in the right time, but other characters (Mr Lockwood, Isabella Linton) are sometimes called in to fill the gaps. The result is a badly paced hotchpotch. Sometimes brief incidents are described in intolerable detail, Emily apparently having discovered time dilation half a century before Einstein. At other places, weeks, months and even years are squeezed in a single paragraph. Oddly enough, the overall construction is perfectly fine. The novel opens in 1801 with a harrowing description of the unhappy residents of Wuthering Heights, then goes back to 1777-78 to relate the story of two families for two generations, and finally comes back to the beginning for a poignant coda.

Then there is the writing itself. To expect a Victorian novel to be well-written is to expect a little too much. To expect the first novel of a parson's daughter not yet thirty to be well-written is to expect a great deal too much. Somerset Maugham, in an essay dedicated entirely to Emily and her “powerful, passionate and terrible book”, has described the style better than anybody:

Emily Brontë seems to have been aware that she was putting in Mrs. Dean’s mouth words that it was unlikely she would have known, and, to explain it, makes her say that in the course of her service she has had the opportunity to read books, but, even at that, the pretentiousness of her discourse is appalling. She does not read a letter, she peruses an epistle; she doesn’t send a letter, but a missive. She does not leave a room, she quits a chamber. She calls her day’s work her diurnal occupation. She commences rather than begins. People don’t shout or yell, they vociferate; nor do they listen, they hearken. There is pathos in this parson’s daughter striving so hard to write in a lady-like way, only to succeed in being genteel.[2]

Yet Maugham is probably right that Wuthering Heights “would be none the better for being better written”. He compares it with the rugged quality of an early Flemish painting of the burial of Christ, all the more moving because “the anguished grimaces of the emaciated creatures concerned, their stiff, ungainly gestures, seem to add a greater horror, a matter-of-fact brutality, to the scene, which makes it more poignant, more tragic, than when the same event is pictured in beauty by Titian”. The bleak Yorkshire moors, “a perfect misanthropist’s heaven” as Mr Lockwood calls them, contribute to the oppressive atmosphere, but as always with books that have survived the brutal test of time it is the characters that matter.

Deryck Cooke, in a rather untypical essay for him[3], has argued that the characters are realistic. His only argument seems to be that they are unidealised and unlikeable. I don’t buy this. True enough, pretty much all characters are despicable. But that’s exactly why the book is, in Maugham’s apt phrase, “wildly romantic”. The characters are completely unrealistic because they are artificially devoid of almost any redeeming qualities, and so is the plot. The whole thing sometimes degenerates into lurid melodrama or even farce. But if you are willing to put up with all this, there are several scenes that do, indeed, have the power of poetry. They lay human nature bare as very few novels in prose (as opposed to novels in poetry, e.g. Moby-Dick) manage to do.

Wuthering Heights “is a love story, perhaps the strangest that was ever written, and not the least strange part of it is that the lovers remain chaste.” Maugham was again spot-on, but he did commit the usual mistake of reducing the novel to a single love story. In fact, there are no fewer than four of them here. They are completely different from one another and only one, the most famous by far, has the “lovers” chaste in the end. I don’t know if any of the four can pass for a romance, and a Gothic one if you like, but certainly all four are love stories. Readers who think otherwise must have very limited definition of love. Whatever the reasons might have been, Emily set out to present its dark side. And she did a fine job indeed!

Edgar–Cathy is a classic one-sided love story with a happy ending – sort of. Edgar Linton of Thrushcross Grange, even if I tend to disagree with Charlotte that he is “an example of constancy and tenderness”, is by far the most decent fellow in the whole book. Probably this is why he is the dullest one as well. Why he marries Cathy is clear enough: he is in love with her. Why she marries him is more open to discussion. Her reasons that he is kind, handsome and rich are quickly dismissed by the shrewd Ellen as lame excuses. Her final and best reason, that she’ll have enough money to help Heathcliff gain his independence, is rightly judged to be the worst of all reasons. Cathy marries Edgar, in fact, simply to escape from Heathcliff. More of that anon.

Heathcliff–Isabella is another one-sided love story, only the direction and the ending are different. It must be said that, contrary to what you might have seen in some movies, Heathcliff does nothing to seduce Isabella. She falls for him, no doubt seduced by his intense and mysterious character. No wonder the outcome is, to say the least, unpleasant. When Isabella becomes the narrator for some time (Ch. XVII), she delivers the finest definition of vindictiveness in fiction I know of. It is one of those moments in the novel, not too many but not too few either, in which the basest (but no less real for that) sides of human nature are illuminated with a bright white light that makes them all the more disturbing. No wonder Nelly is outraged, if for the wrong reasons:

‘Had it been another, I would have covered my face in the presence of such grief. In his case, I was gratified; and, ignoble as it seems to insult a fallen enemy, I couldn’t miss this chance of sticking in a dart: his weakness was the only time when I could taste the delight of paying wrong for wrong.’

‘Fie, fie, Miss!’ I interrupted. ‘One might suppose you had never opened a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that ought to suffice you. It is both mean and presumptuous to add your torture to his!’

‘In general I’ll allow that it would be, Ellen,’ she continued; ‘but what misery laid on Heathcliff could content me, unless I have a hand in it? I’d rather he suffered less, if I might cause his sufferings and he might know that I was the cause. Oh, I owe him so much. On only one condition can I hope to forgive him. It is, if I may take an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; for every wrench of agony return a wrench: reduce him to my level.

Linton and Catherine are the son and daughter of Heathcliff and Cathy, respectively. They are also first cousins because Edgar and Isabella are brother and sister. (It helps to keep a family tree while reading.) For my money, Linton is absolutely the most insufferable character of all. Sickly and spineless creature, his main occupation is emotional blackmail. But I must disagree with Maugham according to whom Catherine “is an unsatisfactory character” and “you cannot greatly pity her sufferings”. She doesn’t, of course, have her mother’s passionate, almost tragic intensity, and sometimes she is indeed “spoilt, silly, wilful, and ill-mannered” (Maugham again), but there is more to her than just a plot convention.

Heathcliff and Cathy doubtlessly steal the show, though not quite so completely as people who have watched the movies (but not read the book) would lead you believe. One of the major faults of the novel is that we see too little of the most memorable characters, including the roots of their love in childhood. A more experienced novelist than Emily would have fixed that. As a result, Cathy’s crucial scene with Nelly (Ch. IX) and her insanely melodramatic last meeting with Heathcliff (Ch. XV) come out of the blue. But they are still powerful scenes, especially the former which contains Cathy’s unforgettable statement that Heathcliff is “more myself than I am”. In a burst of rhetorical eloquence and vivid imagery, she compares her two loves in a particularly beautiful passage:

My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. – 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.

Interestingly enough, Mr Kenneth (a very minor character) at one place refers to Cathy as Heathcliff’s “better half”. He may or may not be right about the “better” part, but he is certainly correct about the “half”. Cathy and Heathcliff seem to be a single personality, or “soul” if you like, separated into two by some freak of nature. One must of course ask the obvious question. Why did Cathy escape, or at least try to, from her other half into a marriage with Edgar? And why did Heathcliff do more or less the same? There is not much in the book by way of answers.

Certainly, however, Maugham was very superficial when he wondered why these two people didn’t run away and become lovers. This, of course, would have solved nothing. The relationship between Heathcliff and Cathy, whatever meaningless label you care to attach to it, run far deeper than the carnal surface. It was a completely spiritual bond, all the more durable for that. Had they gone to bed together, the story would have ended quickly. Either their love would have grown into a lasting affection, a valuable thing in life but dull stuff on paper, or they would have drifted away from each other into the sea of indifference. Emily had a very different fish to fry.

My own theory, based on no more than gut feeling, is that the love between Cathy and Heathcliff has the same effect that great art has on very few (un)fortunate people. It presents them to themselves. It’s a long, tortuous and often painful process of self-discovery. Perhaps Cathy and Heathcliff are scared what they might discover deep inside themselves. Perhaps that’s why, once they are grown up, they cannot be together without torturing each other. Not because they like it or have any need for it, but simply because they are terrified of what they might see in that perfect mirror that the other presents of their darkest secrets. We never learn much about their love in childhood, how it sprang and how it developed, but it does seem to have been (despite the gloomy climate of the moors) rather sunnier then.

It is Heathcliff himself, “rough as a saw-edge and hard as whinstone”, much more so than his sadomasochistic relationship with Cathy, who usurps the novel from beginning to end. He storms into the cosy little world of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Crange, and he destroys it (almost) completely. He is invariably described with something much like terror. “His abode at the Heights was an oppression past explaining”, Nelly darkly observes. “I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked wanderings,” she continues even more ominously, “and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting his time to spring and destroy.” (Emily could write when she was in the mood, couldn’t she?) Isabella, who is very angry with herself for having succumbed to Heathcliff’s brooding gorgeousness, insists that he is “not a human being”. That is true, in a sense, but it doesn’t mean he is devoid of human traits, however unpleasant these may be.

Yet Heathcliff is far from being a sort of satanic spirit of negation. He is much more complex than “evil”, “fiend”, “monster” and other intellectually pusillanimous epithets may suggest. For one thing, much of his misery as an adult is due to his being terrorized by Hindley as a kid – yet another topic Emily could have expanded a little bit – and that makes his revenge more than justified. For another thing, Heathcliff is always honest, which is more that can be said for most of us. It’s hard to think what so heinous he does. Perhaps his verbal violence and blasphemy were shocking in 1847; but today they look rather tame. He never resorts to physical violence except in two cases of self-defence. In the end he is raised, if not to the status of a tragic hero you could cry about, at least to a wretched human being you could empathise with. It is left to Catherine, in one of the few moments when she does resemble her mother, to deliver the deadliest blow to Heathcliff:

‘I know he has a bad nature,’ said Catherine: ‘he’s your son. But I’m glad I’ve a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff you have nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery. You are miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him? Nobody loves you – nobody will cry for you when you die! I wouldn’t be you!

To be fair, there is love story No. 5 in the end, between Hareton and Catherine, but this is hardly substantial enough to deserve discussion. It seems to have been brought in merely to provide some sunshine and warmth on the moors. Never does it come alive at all. Neither does any of the minor characters. Nelly is perhaps the best of them, for she is callous and cynical is a rather pleasant way, but there is little difference when someone else takes up the narrative. There is potential in Joseph, but it is destroyed by his incomprehensible – and, alas, phonetically reproduced – speech. If you manage to tear down this wall, you might indeed find on the other side “the wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible”. Mr Lockwood is not a character at all, but he does have one bit of wisdom in his lines: “A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.”

It is rather unfortunate that Wuthering Heights is better known by its screen adaptations than by its original form. I have seen three of them[4]. All concentrate almost exclusively on the relationship between Heathcliff and Cathy – which is just half the novel, at most. None succeeds in conveying anything like the burning intensity they have on paper. Most Heathcliffs rely too much on sullen faces and physical violence, and the Cathies are even worse. Try the novel, I’d say. What’s more, the book is very readable and (I don’t know why this is not mentioned more often) remarkably short for a Victorian novel. The writing does get some time to get used to, but then it flows rather smoothly. And the whole thing stays with you after the last page. I might read it again in the distant future and get more out of it – which is a compliment I don’t pay to many novels.

[1] W. Somerset Maugham, Books and You, Doubleday, Doran & Co., 1940, p. 43.
[2] See Ten Novels and Their Authors, Heinemann, 1954, pp. 204-33. All Maugham quotes, unless otherwise noted, come from this essay.
[3] Deryck Cooke, Vindications: Essays on Romantic Music, Faber and Faber, 1982, pp. 181-93.
[4] 1939, with Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier, directed by William Wyler; 1970 with Anna-Calder Marshall and Timothy Dalton, directed by Robert Fuest; and 1992, with Juliette Binoche and Ralph Fiennes, directed by Peter Kosminsky. ( )
2 vote Waldstein | Feb 13, 2017 |
Showing 1-5 of 480 (next | show all)
So, after he changed – quite a sight in a loincloth, being gray-haired, jowly, pasty-skinned and potbellied – we went on stage and he told the sailors how no man has ever heard the hypnotic songs of the Sirens and lived to tell the tale but he, mighty Odysseus, would be the first. He instructed the sailors to tie him to the ship’s mast. They used one of the building’s pillars and when he cried out as the Sirens sang their song the sailors, who had wax in their ears, were to bind him to the mast even tighter.
"wild, confused; disjointed and improbable"
"In Wuthering Heights the reader is shocked, disgusted, almost sickened by details of cruelty, inhumanity, and the most diabolical hate and vengeance" ... "[it is] impossible to lay it aside afterwards and say nothing about it".
added by GYKM | editDouglas Jerrold's Weekly Newspaper
"How a human being could have attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before he had finished a dozen chapters, is a mystery. It is a compound of vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors."
added by GYKM | editGraham's Lady Magazine
"We know nothing in the whole range of our fictitious literature which presents such shocking pictures of the worst forms of humanity."
added by GYKM | editAtlas

» Add other authors (164 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Brontë, Emilyprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Becker, May LambertonIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Booker, NellIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Daiches, DavidEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Eichenberg, FritzIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Exell, FredCover designersecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Flosnik, AnneNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Forster, PeterIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Henderson, PhilipEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Jack, IanEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Kitchen, MichaelNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lane, MargaretIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Merkin, DaphneIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Nestor, PaulineEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Nicoll, HelenProducersecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Peters, DonadaNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Routledge, PatriciaNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Small, HelenIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Stoneman, PatsyIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Ward, CandaceEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed

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1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with.
...he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.
...my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and, if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. I should not seem a part of it. 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 -...
...for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every tree - filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object, by day I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men, and women - my own features - mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!
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This is the complete, unabridged work - Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë.  Please combine this ONLY with edition which are the complete, unabridged work.  Please do not combine this work with works about Wuthering Heights, abridged versions, adaptations, or (according to convention) the Norton Critical Editions.
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Amazon.com Product Description (ISBN 0553212583, Mass Market Paperback)

"My greatest thought in living is Heathcliff. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be... Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure... but as my own being." Wuthering Heights is the only novel of Emily Bronte, who died a year after its publication, at the age of thirty. A brooding Yorkshire tale of a love that is stronger than death, it is also a fierce vision of metaphysical passion, in which heaven and hell, nature and society, are powerfully juxtaposed. Unique, mystical, with a timeless appeal, it has become a classic of English literature.

(retrieved from Amazon Thu, 12 Mar 2015 18:16:31 -0400)

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In 19th century Yorkshire, the passionate attachment between a headstrong young girl and a foundling boy brought up by her father causes disaster for them and many others, even in the next generation.

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