When my book club picked Wuthering Heights, I had the vaguest of notions of what it was about. A romance in the moors, I thought. I recalled a movie trailer from the past, people standing in the rain, staring at each other with smoldering eyes; people standing in the fog, staring at each other with smoldering eyes; people staring at each other, staring, staring, staring.

Also a snippet of dialogue popped into my head, overwrought and purple, the twist of phrase that sends teenage lit nerds into paroxysms:

“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.”

My book club is composed of six guys. We started the book club because we were tired of our wives having all the fun and drinking all the wine at their own gatherings. After our second time cycling through the club, with each member picking a book, Adam’s wife pointed out that we’d yet to read a female author. Adam decided to remedy this by picking Wuthering Heights, which had struck some kind of chord with him in high school. Based on my recollections, as noted above, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. I believed in romance once, a long time and two kids ago, but it’s hard for me to get excited about notions of love resembling the eternal rocks.

Lucky for me, this isn’t anything like a typical love story.

Wuthering Heights is set in the bleak, chilly, forlorn Yorkshire moors. The story begins in needlessly-complicated fashion with the new tenant of Thrushcross Grange, a man named Lockwood – who narrates in the first person – going to meet his landlord Heathcliff, who lives at Wuthering Heights. Lockwood is taken aback at the odd characters he meets at the Heights: the rude, taciturn Heathcliff; a young woman; and a strange young man who appears to be a servant. There is a snowstorm and Lockwood is forced to spend an uncomfortable, nightmare-ridden night at Wuthering Heights.

When Lockwood returns to Thrushcross Grange, he asks his housekeeper, Nelly Dean, about the strange goings-on at the Heights. At this point, Nelly takes over the first-person narration to tell the bulk of the story. (In other words, this is a Conrad-esque nested narrative, where there are stories within stories within stories. Frankly, I find this literary technique irritating and confusing. Just use the third-person! It’s much more believable!)

Nelly’s sprawling tale begins as a love affair between Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw. It was Catherine’s father who came upon the homeless Heathcliff while on a trip to Liverpool. He brought Heathcliff back to Wuthering Heights to live with him, Catherine, and Catherine’s brother Hindley. Heathcliff and Hindley don’t like each other, but Catherine and Heathcliff do. A neighbor named Edgar Linton joins this crowd, wooing Catherine. At some point, Heathcliff runs off, Edgar marries Catherine, Heathcliff returns, and the melodrama begins!

At this point, I’m going to stop with the plot points. For one, I’m not SparkNotes, or CliffsNotes, if you’re of a certain age (and no, I won’t help you write your term paper). For another, I can’t keep the convolutions straight myself. This is a tangled book, filled with characters who are similarly named (Heathcliff and Hareton, Lindley and Linton, Catherine and Cathy). Suffice to say, there are EMOTIONS involved. Very strong emotions. As in character-in-a-Russian-novel strong. Wuthering Heights is one of those Romantic novels in which spiritual or emotional illness will manifest into a physical illness that can literally kill you.

My initial emotion, since we’re on the topic, was one of dislike. I didn't like Wuthering Heights. I did not like the long, tedious introductory chapters narrated by Lockwood. I did not like the characters who all – with the exception of the saintly Nelly Dean – came across as either cruel, stupid, or both. I hated the character of Joseph, an old coot with a religious bent who speaks in an indecipherable colloquial dialect. (At first, I used the annotations at the back of my Penguin edition to translate Joseph’s mutterings. Eventually, up against a book club deadline, I started skipping everything he said). I did not care for the hyper-passionate dialogue, or the occasionally murky prose.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I came to respect Wuthering Heights. It is exceptionally sinister, with long sections of the story an epic mind-f—k coordinated by a vengeful Heathcliff. It is psychologically dark, if not especially deep. It is a work of fiction that demands discussion, and explodes with dozens of meanings depending on who is doing the reading. No one will ever know what Emily Bronte intended when she wrote Wuthering Heights. She died shortly after publication, and due to her gender, and her famous sisters, it was sometimes hard to convince people she even wrote it. Regardless, it is a work of imaginative genius.

I’ve always loved reading but I’ve always hated being told what to read. It’s my only real authority issues. Even in book club I sometimes get sulky and resentful when certain titles are chosen. I trace this issue back to all my English classes, and all the turgid “classics” I’ve been assigned throughout the years. When I finally finished my last class in a pedagogical era that lasted twenty years, the first thought I had was I can read whatever I want! (True story: after I finished the bar exam, most of my classmates gathered for an epic drunk. I stayed home and fulfilled my dream of reading a book while eating Pizza Hut pizza).

Every once in awhile, I’d try to throw a classic into my reading list, mainly for that sense of intellectual superiority that comes with being highbrow, if only for a fleeting moment. The younger, mid-twenties version of myself still felt a residual resentment. I’d read something like Moby Dick and almost be angry at it. Angry at its difficulty; angry that people thought it was so good, and kept saying so, when it was self-evidently so ponderous and syntactically tortured.

Now I’m coming to realize the value in wrestling with a book. For the most part, I still value a certain level of clarity when I read, because reading is fundamentally about communication. But the older version of myself can appreciate that extracting the meaning of something is worthwhile in itself. So I fought with Wuthering Heights, and the battle ended as a draw. And unlike Moby Dick, Wuthering Heights did not end up in the fireplace.

Another re-read (readalong organized by Kim)
Re-read: still my favorite of all Brontë-novels.

Ah the classics. Everybody can read their own agenda in them. So, first a short plot guide for dinner conversations when one needs to fake acculturation, and then on to the critics’ view.
A woman [1:] is in love with her non-blood brother [2:] but marries her neighbor [3:] whose sister [4:] marries the non-blood brother [2:]; their [1,3:] daughter [5:] marries their [2,4:] son [6:]; meanwhile, their [1,2:] elder brother marries and has a son [7:]. Then everybody dies, 1 of bad temper, 4 of stupidity, 3 of a cold, 6 because he’s irritating, 2 because he’s mean and tried to rise above his station. 5 and 7 are the only ones left, so they marry. The women are all called Catherine, the men are mostly called Earnshaw, and through intermarriage everybody is a bit of a Heathcliff.

The Marxist critic: the oppressed and underprivileged [2:] revolts to improve his lot in life, but fails to make allies and loses everything, as always.
The Post-colonialist critic: once again the rich [1,3,4:] meddle with the lives of the poor [2:] under the pretense of improving them, in fact wrecking havoc.
The Feminist critic: if only the Catherines had read The Feminine Mystique…
The Freudian critic: repeated intermarriage and border-line incest make for such good stories!
The Shakespearean critic: Much Ado About Nothing
The Entertainment Weekly executive: stories told by sources close to the protagonists always sell well, because most people live vicariously. And dinnertime has always been the perfect slot for gossip.

“Sea cual sea la sustancia de la que están hechas nuestras almas, la suya y la mía son idénticas.”

El escritor H.P. Lovecraft en su famoso ensayo “El horror sobrenatural en la literatura” ubicaba a esta inmortal novela de Emily Brontë entre las mejores del género del terror.
Para él, el hecho de que Heathcliff profanara dos veces la tumba de Catherine era tremendo.
Debe haber sido verdaderamente shockeante para el editor Henri Colburn permitir publicar “Cumbres borrascosas” en 1847, luego del escozor que le habrá causado leer esta novela que Emily, bajo el seudónimo de Ellis Bell dio a luz en una época completamente vedada para las mujeres en todo aspecto. Y la literatura no era la excepción.
Su hermana Charlotte se transformó en Currer Bell y Anne en Acton Bell. Los editores pensaban que todos los Bell eran en realidad un solo escritor (hombre), pero se equivocaron completamente.
La vida de las tres hermanas Brontë y de su único hermano Branwell está signada por la tuberculosis y la muerte: en 1848, la malograda vida de Emily se apaga: muere de tuberculosis en diciembre. Su hermano Branwell había muerto tres meses antes y un año después su hermana Anne correría la misma suerte.
Charlotte duraría algunos años más y también moriría en 1855. Una verdadera desgracia se las llevó a todas estas autoras que habrían dejado más novelas inmortales además de “Jane Eyre”, “Agnes Grey”, “Villette” y esta obra de arte, “Cumbres borrascosas” en donde se nos ofrece la idea del punto sin retorno al que el amor puede arrastrar a algunas personas.
Esta historia tuvo características emblemáticas, poderosas y revolucionarias para la época en que se escribió, dado la violencia implícita en todos los órdenes en que Emily Brontë la escribió: desde el lugar donde transcurre toda la acción, que no es la cosmopolita Londres sino los desolados páramos de Yorkshire donde todo el tiempo el clima es horrible, el terreno es agreste, la vegetación espantosa y el viento no da tregua a nadie, a punto tal de que no está mejor puesto el nombre de la finca al llamarse “Cumbres borrascosas”
La violencia también está en el lenguaje, los personajes, tanto hombres como mujeres vociferan, insultan, gritan y se maltrata. Violencia en los gestos, en los constantes golpes entre los personajes, en las actitudes desafiantes y las continuas amenazas.
Es increíble comprender que toda esta novela fue escrita por una señorita de treinta años, educada en una familia de buena posición y que no sufrió ni hambre ni miserias aunque sí de una salud muy frágil.
Es más, su hermana Charlotte, promotora de la literatura de Emily y defensora a ultranza de alguna calumnia surgida por allí supo decir que su hermana era “más fuerte que un hombre, más simple que un niño y su naturaleza no tenía igual”. Brillante manera de describir a alguien, ¿verdad?
Todos los acontecimientos que rodean a la tormentosa historia de amor (para ponerle el adjetivo calificativo exacto) entre Heathcliff y Catherine –especialmente en la primera parte- se complementa de pasajes sobrenaturales, estados alterados, pasiones descontroladas y crueldad aterradora.
La novela se sale de canon del tradicional del romanticismo y del Romanticismo de tal manera que adquiere una entidad y características propias, dado que la autora maneja las atmósferas de tensión a la perfección y todo el conjunto de la relación tanto de los dos personajes principales como de los demás está ensamblada y sin fisuras.
Es importante destacar algo importante a la hora de leer “Cumbres Borrascosas” y es que será esencial contar con un árbol genealógico de las dos familias que se enfrentan (algo que no hice en mi primera lectura), ya que al igual que en “Cien años de soledad” los personajes se llaman igual o tienen el mismo apellido con la complicación de que algunos son primos y se casan entre sí y de este modo leeremos repetidas veces el nombre Catherine, el apellido Earnshaw, el apellido Linton (que también es un nombre).
Es tanta la confusión si el lector no está prevenido, que se encontrará a lo largo de la historia con Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Linton y Catherine Heathcliff. Mismo caso para los Linton a partir de que Heathcliff como despecho por el casamiento de Catherine con Hindley Linton se casará con Isabella, hermana de este que le dará un niño que se llamará Linton. Realmente complejo.
Volviendo a la novela y como explicara anteriormente, debido a la naturaleza de los personajes y las situaciones y de la violencia que los rodea a todos además del agreste lugar en el que viven, es muy difícil encontrar algo parecido en las otras novelas de su época.
Y diría que ni siquiera podemos trazar una similitud ni con “Jane Eyre” ni con “Agnes Grey” o “La inquilina de Wildfell Hall”, ya que la naturaleza de estas otras historias están caracterizadas principalmente por la lucha desventajosa de la mujer del siglo XIX por sobrevivir en un mundo de hombres quienes a su vez son los dueños de todo.
Aquí la cuestión es otra y pasa por la descontrolada y salvaje manera de zanjar las diferencias del corazón y de poseer (usualmente a la fuerza en el caso de Heathcliff) al otro.
Heathcliff es un personaje que a partir de que crece y se hace hombre se transforma en el típico villano que todo lo controla y que a la vez todo destruye y se nota el trabajo que Emily Brontë se tomó para delinear sus características, ya que no se encuadra en el típico arquetipo del caballero o gentleman inglés de su época. Suele ser violento, iracundo, despreciable, atemorizante y déspota. No existe ningún resquicio de bondad en él y probablemente nunca la haya tenido. Para muchos lectores es uno de los personajes odiosos de la literatura.
El amor y la pasión y el odio visceral entre Heathcliff y Catherine queda inmortalizada en frases como la que dice ella cuando admite que “mis mayores miserias en este mundo han sido las de Heathcliff, y desde el principio he observado y sentido cada una de ellas. Él es mi gran razón de existir. Si todo lo demás pereciera pero él quedara él, yo quedaría existiendo. Sí en cambio, quedara todo lo demás y él fuera aniquilado, el universo se me volvería totalmente extraño, no me parecería formar parte de él.”
Incluso va más allá: “Pero Heathcliff, me quedaré contigo. No quiero yacer allí yo sola. Aunque me entierren a cuatro metros de profundidad y me echen la iglesia entera encima no descansaré hasta que te reúnas conmigo… ¡No descansaré nunca!”
Él le responde: “Dos palabras abarcarían mi vida: muerte e infierno; porque mi vida, después de perderla a ella, sería un infierno” y termina rematando: “¿No le basta a tu egoísmo infernal con saber que cuando tú halles la paz yo estaré retorciéndome en los tormentos del infierno?”
Leer “Cumbres borrascosas” es dejarse llevar por todo tipo de sentimientos encontrados tanto como lector como ser humano y aunque Emily Brontë solamente escribió este libro, adquirió gloria eterna al relatarnos esta tormentosa e inolvidable historia de amor que pocos escritores (prácticamente ninguno) llegaron a igualar.

I approached this book expecting to read about a beautiful and tragic love story: instead, I came across an intensive hate story, a revenge tale - but love was nowhere to be found. Actually, let me state this better: there was love at first... but it was the mere beginning, the catalyst. Love was there only to encompass all the hatred, to imprison it. It was not love itself, but solely a small and transparent bottle with a beautiful "love" inscription engraved on it - in a lovely calligraphy with hearts and flowers decorating it -, and once love was thrown away and fell to the floor, it broke, and its content - hate itself - was set free like a dark red smoke spreading slowly but surely, like a poison or a curse, intoxicating those around who dared to breathe.

Emily Brontë was very masterful in her writing by using shifts in time - through flashbacks - and different and unreliable narrators to tell the story of the Earnshaws and Lintons. The book begins in 1801, when a man called Lockwood rents a house known as Thrushcross Grange from a weatlhy man named Heathcliff, who in turn lives in the Wuthering Heights. While paying his landlord a visit, Lockwood is forced to spend his first night there due to a snow storm and, while in his designated bedroom, his attention is grabbed by the name "Catherine" that's written in many books that are just sitting around. Too affected by her diary entries on those books and the whole dark atmosphere of the Wuthering Heights, he ends up having a nightmare with a girl named Catherine; waking up scared, he screams until Heathcliffe barges into the bedroom to see what the fuss is all about - and what follows is a very impressive scene. In the morning, Lockwood finally left to the Thrushcross Grange where he met Nelly Dean, the housekeeper who's been in the family for decades. Still not sure that what he saw was just a dream, he asks her about Catherine and Nelly starts to tell him her account of the events.

Back in 1771, Mr. Earnshaw (father of Hindley and Catherine) comes back from a trip bringing home Heathcliff - a "dark-skinned gypsy in aspect" - whom he decides to adopt. He then becomes Catherine's best friend over the years. Almost ten years later, Heathcliff overhears Catherine saying that it would be degrading to marry him and that she was going to marry neighbor Edgar Linton instead. Deciding to escape and run away, Heathcliff is absent for three years and comes back rich and powerful with a plan of a vengeance: to be the sole tormentor of both Earnshaw and Linton families not only for one, but for two generations.

It's known that Emily Brontë and her sisters started exercising their imagination as children by playing with some wooden soldiers for which they created stories. Wuthering Heights was written in her late twenties, but the novel still carried an atmosphere of little soldiers being toyed with inside of a small box. Like them, Emily's characters seemed to live isolated in a gloomy and dark box - almost like an experiment - where it was unlikely that they wouldn't become a product of that unsettling environment and impossible that their emotions and feelings wouldn't be taken to extremes making everything turn into matters of life and death.

Like Emma and Madame Bovary - novels from the same period - I had a hard time feeling sympathy for the story's protagonists, especially the main couple as Heathcliff was too bitter and hateful towards everyone, and Catherine as she chose another man to marry, not the one that she really loved - not that there's anything wrong with considering status and reputation while deciding on whom to marry but, as far as love stories go, it was difficult to care for both of them - well, not only for them: it seems not even one character was truly likeable. However, the young Catherine - Cathy Linton - is an amazing, vivid character. I kept expecting her to jump out of the pages - in this case, out of my Kindle - and start running around in my living room and flipping through the pages of my books.

It was precisely through the spirited Cathy - and Hareton, her cousin - that the author inserted some hope into her story. Destined to repeat the fate of the previous generation, they ended up breaking Heathcliff's revenge ties and found some comfort and love in each other when it seemed all matters were lost. Had the Brontë sister not died so soon after publishing her biggest accomplishment in writing, maybe then she would have written a true love story: that of Cathy and Hareton.

Rating: I was torn between 3 and 4 stars while deciding on my rating for this book. I ended up going with 4 as I enjoyed Emily's prose very much and I think she excelled in writing characters with such conflicting and interesting human's emotions, even though I wouldn't take them with me to my toys box.

There are some books that you either love of hate; there is not much middle ground. Like some types of food. Marmite or licorice come to mind. Wuthering Heights is one of those books. Since I started using GR I have read many conflicting reviews for this book and they made me increasingly curios to find out which side I would take. Unfortunately, I am more with the hate party.

I will not write a long review here as it was done thousands of times. I will only say that the book took all the joy of living from me and put me into a reading slump from which I hope to heal quickly. After I finished this last night I was considering what to read next and I realized I did not want to read anything for a while, I felt catatonic.

I believe I started the book on a wrong foot. I was expecting a love story, which in my opinion it is not. Instead, I think this is a very well done study of two sociopaths, pathologically obsessed with each other who manage to destroy the life of everyone they know for the fun of it. Their ability to hurt others and each other is so extraordinary that I might consider this book from the paranormal genre.

Yes, I appreciate that the novel is revolutionary for the period and so on but I did not enjoy it at all. Dear friends that love this novel, I am really sorry I did not like it more and I hope you will not take it personally.

Disclaimer: I read it in Romanian, the way I prefer to read all Victorian novels in order to avoid the archaic language. Maybe I was lost in translation.

n  n    “you said i killed you—haunt me, then! be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!”n  n

emily bronte had no right to make this book so good.

wuthering is not a romance (no matter how many times stephenie meyer tried to tell us otherwise in the twilight saga), but it is a love story, albeit a very distorted one. brontë's erudite demand of the english language shines through as she weaves poetry within her prose to create one of the most devastating, emotionally complex stories of all time.

this book should not be read as a romance, but rather a story of deeply complicated and unlikeable characters and their relationships. brontë uses them as vehicles to explore the boundaries and intersections between infatuation, love, and lust. unlike most classics and books, she does not shy away from thoroughly depicting some of the most monstrous characters in literature—what they love, what they hate, how they love, how they hate.

that in itself is a literary triumph and feat.

n  n    "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."n  n

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

n  mini reviewn
i originally had this at 3 stars when i read this almost ten years ago but i am bumping it up to 5.
i fear this may be the best brönte... so sorry charlotte.

Love, love, loved this book! I read this many yeas ago and the story still remains a favorite. I loved the original film as well, I watched many many times. The version with Mere Oberon and Laurence Olivier and David Novel (1939 ).

convincing you to read this book based on some of my favourite lines from it:

n  n    “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”n  n

n  n    “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.”n  n

n  n    “If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.”n  n

n  n    “I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.”n  n

n  n    “I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind."n  n

n  n    “I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.”n  n

n  n    “If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave.”n  n

n  n    “I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!”n  n

n  n    “It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?”n  n

n  n    “You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!”n  n

n  n    “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 Healthcliff! 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.”
n  n

And the one the ended up defining my entire being and makes me feel like i'm standing at the top of a mountain with wind blowing in my hair:

n  n    “I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.”n  n

And the one that breaks me every single time:

n  n    “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 the 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!”n  n

like??? EMILY BRONTE? MA'AM? WHO WRITES LIKE THIS?

¡Nunca antes me había sentido tan enojado en todas las páginas de un libro!
¡Es imposible tenerle aprecio a ningún personaje! Unos porque son odiosos, otros porque son egoístas, los hay malcriados y están también los que son muy estúpidos. No existe ese por el que sientes simpatía y pena, que también te hace llegar el dolor por sus infortunios, y la rabia por las injusticias que recibe. ¡No lo hay!
Entonces, ¿por qué me gustó tanto este libro si siempre prefiero buenos personajes a una buena historia? Muy fácil, la respuesta reside en la pregunta: porque sí son buenos personajes.
Siempre me he sentido atraído por los villanos, los protagonistas insoportables y/o los personajes tóxicos, únicamente cuando están bien construidos. Siento que es mucho más difícil plantar con éxito estas cualidades en un títere y que este se vea real, así como Gollum en El Señor de los Anillos, Cercei y Joffrey en la saga Canción de Hielo y Fuego, o, poniendo un ejemplo actual, todos los personajes de la excelente serie Euphoria. Pido que no me malentiendan, sé que estos personajes tiene algunas cosas en común, son peligrosos, por ejemplo, y eso no es nada bueno. Quería comentar esto ya que siempre me inclino por libros que tienen o están protagonizados por este tipo de personajes, simplemente porque son más complejos que los que todo el mundo ama, porque toman más trabajo realizar.

Regresando al libro, Heathcliff es el personaje mejor logrado, en mi opinión. Hubo ocasiones donde me sorprendía su hostilidad, pues, ¿quién le dice a su invitado que descanse si lo necesita o se largue si no? Desde la primera página empezamos a odiarlo por la forma en que recibe a su egocéntrico inquilino. Una nota de Charlotte sobre el libro de su hermana dice que, si no fuera porque Heathcliff trata de hijo a Harenton, podría considerarsele como un demonio. Créanme que Heathcliff es de los mejores personajes que he podido conocer, contaría un sinfín de cosas sobre él pero no quiero arruinarle la historia a quien no la haya leído. Sólo diré que puede ocupar el primer lugar en una lista de los personajes más despreciables de toda la literatura, y agregaré algo que él dijo:

"No he sido yo quien te ha roto el corazón, te lo has roto tú misma, y de paso me has roto el mío."

Estaría muy mal creer que este libro trata de un amor imposible, porque muchos de los personajes se pueden encasillar entre controlador o controlado. Sin embargo, tampoco podemos ignorar la gran cantidad de frases bonitas que, tristemente, e insisto, se usaron para controlar:

"Sea cual sea la sustancia de la que están hechas nuestras almas, la suya y la mía son idénticas..."

La escritura de Emily me pareció poderosa, esos saltos que hizo en la narración, no de tiempo, sino de narradores me parecieron increíbles. En un momento estaba narrado por Ellen, en primera persona, después pasaba a Lockwood, también en primera persona, y en ningún momento me dejó con la incógnita de ¿quién está narrando? Creo que es mejor que lo lean ustedes mismo, pues no me creo capaz de explicarlo como se debe.

Ahora bien, voy a contar el único aspecto que no me agradó del todo en este libro: la estructura. Me incómodo un poco que toda la historia fuera entre dos personas, una de ellas contándolo todo. El 90% del libro nos cuenta todo lo que pasó en Cumbres Borrascosas y alrededores, lo cual me molestó, puesto que siempre quise encontrarme con el Heathcliff del presente al del pasado, pero fue fácil acostumbrarme; el otro 10% se nos cuenta qué pasa en Cumbre Borrascosas, en el presente del libro.
No es hasta el final que me reencontré con el Heathcliff que quería, aunque, llegado a ese punto, extrañé al Heathcliff del pasado. Irónico.

Para terminar, no creo que sea necesario aclarar que no es un libro para todo el mundo, pues no todos tienden a preferir personajes odiosos como protagonistas. Empero, si eres de esos lectores que sienten una curiosa atracción por este tipo de personajes, el libro te encantará.

Actualización 2023: llevaba meses pensando en ponerle la quinta estrella, pues no fue justo haberle puesto cuatro a uno de mis libros favoritos de la vida.

First book for 2023, and it’s a classic, gothic fiction.
My first read by a Brontë sister since reading 'Jane Eyre'.
First and only novel by Emily Brontë.
Second buddy read with Marge Moen: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/2...
And I can't wait to read Marge's insights.
Emily is one of the three Brontë sisters who initially needed to publish their novels under male pseudonyms - I think that spells volumes about their writing on repression and societal norms of the time.

I can understand why people either love or hate ‘Wuthering Heights’, or are the very least perplexed by it. This is not an easy, pleasant read. And that's probably its appeal for me.

I sit firmly in the 'love' camp.

So much meanness, violence, ugliness. So many characters suffer from fragile health. Such contrast between strong (aggressive) and weak (sickly) characters.

Revenge is a major aspect of the apparent tortured love storyline. How else can it be described, but a kind of warped love story?

It is dark, broody and harsh, at times excruciatingly cruel.

How did Emily Brontë think up these characters and themes? Surely she drew from some of her own experiences? I must do some post-read research.

A few takeaways =

My expectations were met.

I also responded well to the symbolism:
‘Catherine’s face was just like the landscape - shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient…’

Ellen, the devoted, long term nanny, maid-come-servant endured so much. Too much.

The old religious-fanatic Joseph, another servant who also suffered through generations of the main characters, spoke in a Yorkshire dialect. Brontë was clever to capture this, but I couldn’t understand a lot of it. I fear I’ve missed some important plot details. Maybe there’s an edition with a translation as footnotes?

At times, I got a little confused who was who. Brontë invariably switches from Christian names to titles or surnames, and gives offspring the same names as their parents or relatives.

Ah, now I’m nitpicking, and I didn’t want to do that!

I was a little bewildered how Heathcliff, the male anti-hero, turned out so badly. I wanted to like him more. Then again, I’m glad Brontë didn’t give us stereotypical characters. Maybe I would have been critical if Heathcliff turned out to be all lovey-dovey?

See what this novel has done to me? I’m babbling.

Kate Bush’s hit by the same name makes a lot more sense to me now.

An expected 5-star rating just falls short, but that's not to say I didn't love it!
4.5 stars from me.
I thought about that trick of raising it to 5 stars, but then thought no, that doesn't paint the right picture.
Ah, still babbling thanks to Cathy and Heathcliff...

Having been unable to visit the Bronte Parsonage Museum recently, due to Covid-19, I thought a re-read of Wuthering Heights would be the next best thing, and it was - but oh how I long for a trip to Haworth, just to soak up that unique atmosphere!