Wuthering Heights

“I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

I’m not ashamed to say that I was moved to finally read Wuthering Heights in large part because of its (incredibly camp) movie tie-in cover. But it’s what was inside that kept me. Emily Brontë’s only novel is an enduring gothic melodrama of love and cruelty. Of man-made monsters and cycles of abuse. The characters are enormous, their lives play like theater tragedies contained on the small stage of the moors from Thrushcross Grange to Wuthering Heights, and among it all is possibly the greatest literary villain yet written. And while I feel (somewhat strongly) that the (miscast) Elordi and Robbie’s love-locked visage is a reading-experience enhancer, I’m sure any edition will do just fine.