It is hard to overstate the importance of Wuthering Heights. The extent to which it features in public consciousness (a new film is being released this year), and the perception of Cathy and Heathcliff as archetypes of romance. I was intrigued to reread the novel after probably my first encounter with it some thirty years prior. Perhaps because of the hype around Wuthering Heights, it is only reasonable to feel somewhat let down when reading. Almost all critics seem to recognise that it is a ‘difficult’ or ‘challenging’ piece of prose. Neither Cathy nor Heathcliff are nice people. The former is selfish and capricious, while the latter seems hell-bent on revenge at all costs. Then there is the issue of unreliability of narration. We learn of events through Nelly Dean's account to the incidental Mr Lockwood. Everything that is described occurred in the past and so will have been distorted by both time and memory. However, even if these changes are valid, there remains something highly compelling and engrossing about Wuthering Heights. It is like watching a car crash in slow motion. The reader already knows (or likely knows) that both Cathy and Heathcliff perish. Part of the compulsion of Wuthering Heights is its claustrophobic atmosphere—so claustrophobic that I found myself dreaming about the novel. All the action occurs at both the eponymous Heights and neighbouring Thrushcross. External influences (Lockwood and Heathcliff) are treated with suspicion. The ‘real world’ seems remote. This backdrop allows for the Gothic to play a clear role. Lockwood sees Cathy's ghost early on. Heathcliff wants to bury himself by Cathy. The abnormal is normalised. At the same time, all the characters seem concerned about possession: monetary and treating partners as de facto assets. In the final analysis, the appeal of Wuthering Heights lies in the fact that it is endlessly analysable. More time would allow for lengthier commentary, even here. Although not ‘modern’ in the sense that women lack significant independence and autonomy (unlike in Jane Eyre or The Tenant of Wildfell Hall), the core elements of this novel allow for broadly universal appeal.
By Emily Brontë