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I loved the book. Heathcliff is impossible to approve of or really like as a person, but I was deeply touched and haunted by his passion for Catherine. The scene in which he calls for her through a broken window, in the midst of a snowstorm, years after she died, stays in my memory forever. That's why I love the book---it's unparalleled in its depiction of strong emotion. I've never read any other book that even approaches it in that regard. And when one sees Heathcliff's behavior in light of the fact that it springs from his heartbreak and frustration at the loss of the object of his devotion, he becomes a little more sympathetic. A little.

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And to think that this sprung from the pen of a virginal spinster who never had a romantic attachment in her life and was miserable if she strayed more than a mile from her home on a lonely, desolate moor makes it even more fascinating. From where was she able to pull this emotion?

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And another sad case of an author never knowing that he or she had written a masterpiece, just like F. Scott Fitzgerald and "The Great Gatsby" and John Kennedy Toole and "A Confederacy of Dunces."

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I hope you don't mind the digression, it's just that I've stated on the Lounge that "Wuthering Heights" is my favorite classic novel, but I realize that I've never said why, so I took this opportunity.