Review: Emily Brontë’s ‘Wuthering Heights’

★★★★★

What a novel! For years I felt that I should have read Wuthering Heights (1847) already, but in hindsight I am glad it took me a while to get here. To be real, I have strong suspicions that a younger me would have dismissed this Gothic classic without understanding it or recognising its true nature.

Wuthering Heights is extremely misrepresented in popular culture. I am firmly of the opinion that its reputation as a bodice-ripping romance is owed to film and TV adaptions which shy away from the darker themes of the narrative. The book does portray the famous Cathy Earnshaw and Heathcliff as soulmates of a sort, but also as cursed, ailing souls whose own natures condemn them to unhappiness. On the page, their obvious codependency is far from romantic. Also, whilst Cathy and Heathcliff’s relationship is an integral part of the story, it is not actually the main substance of the novel. The overall narrative takes place over several decades, and is far more invested in the toxic cycle through which abuse perpetuates itself than the characters’ individual relationships.

An intergenerational saga of violence and hatred, Wuthering Heights powerfully depicts the circle of devastation that radiates outwards from child abuse, including the appalling transition that leads some abused children to become abusers themselves in adulthood. This is a Romantic novel, but note the capitalisation – I mean it only in the literary sense. With its cast of highly flawed, self-destructive characters, this tale of possessiveness and vengeance speaks less of love than of obsession, cruelty and chronic mental illness.

Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight you – they’ll damn you. You loved me – what right had you to leave me?

Wuthering Heights was Emily Brontë’s only novel. Both she and her younger sister, Anne, died young, succumbing to tuberculosis within a few months of each other. Emily was 30. Unfortunately, the literary legacies of both were somewhat dampened by Charlotte, the eldest Brontë sister, who survived them by several years. Though this has been readdressed in recent decades, it is fair to say that Wuthering Heights became a classic against unfavourable odds.

Even today, some readers dispute this book’s worth, but I think this is generally owed to false assumptions about the type of book it is. Wuthering Heights is not a sexy love story, and it was never intended to be. Set in the desolate Yorkshire moors, this is a haunting, atmospheric novel, deeply psychological and eerie. To rate Wuthering Heights as a romance is to ignore the fey, witchy quality of the author’s writing, and the sharp teeth of her subject matter. In short, it misses the point.

It is true that Cathy and Heathcliff (especially Heathcliff) are walking red flags. However, appreciating this novel necessitates understanding that the characters’ unpleasant personalities are written that way on purpose. The mutual obsession that defines Cathy and Heathcliff’s relationship is obviously unhealthy, but the complexity of their bond, halfway between devoted siblings and incompatible lovers, and its corrosive impact on everyone around them, is precisely what makes this novel so compelling.

Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.

It is easy to understand why Wuthering Heights was considered highly provocative in its time. Dark, and full of violent, disturbing scenes – not to mention the incestuous overtones – this novel makes for a genuinely unsettling read. Emily Brontë’s understanding of the human psyche was obviously profound; however, her writing shows little interest in healthy minds. The characters in this novel all but cry out for psychiatric care. The narrative brims with complex PTSD, and it is easy to justify the speculation that Cathy is bipolar. When it comes to Heathcliff, his narcissistic personality and antisocial behaviour heavily imply psychopathy.

What we know of her short life suggests that Emily Brontë herself struggled with mental health issues – her agoraphobia is well-documented, as well as her tendency towards outbursts of anger and anxiety – but this novel reveals her as a visionary genius. Her deep understanding of the withering psychological damage that commonly stems from unstable upbringings and child abuse makes this novel one of the most convincing depictions of mental illness and generational trauma ever written. The fact that Wuthering Heights was published before psychology even existed as a discipline simply blows my mind.

Overall, I can easily say that this is my favourite Brontë novel to date. The central characters may be awful, problematic people, but this book dives fathoms deep into their complex, damaged psychology, striking a balance that allows us to understand them without suggesting that we should condone their depravities. Personally, I think Emily Brontë was decades ahead of her time. Characterised by its dark poison, and by the author’s searing intelligence and radical insight, Wuthering Heights is one of the best classics I’ve ever read.