Wuthering Heights (Deluxe Hardbound Edition)

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. This books tells a lot about me and my small imagination of a perfect world. This book was just sitting on my shelf for a long time but when I finally picked it up to read I never regretted. Though, the writing style is a bit complex given the context of a bit western early english narratives.One of my favourite and I bet everyone's favourite quote from this book is 'Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same' ❤️ ✨️The book deals with a tragic love story and it inspires a kind of freedom, autonomy and a sense of living in the minds of readers. It is definitely a five star rating🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 book.

The novel on its own is ofcourse perfect! The story is captivating, haunting and yet the ending is beautiful!Absolutely adored Catherine (the daughter) and Hareton! The story as a cycle of abuse being discontinued by Cathy and Hareton and them choosing love and kindness over hatred!! It was absolutely beautiful to read.Now as for the copy of the book, it also of perfectly good quality. Worth every penny. The print is beautiful, clear and the cover is intact. A must buy!

Good but the paper quality looks cheap

Got into the book after reading After series. And this is a masterpiece!! Highly recommended!!Also, the delivery was so smooth and book was in great condition. Thank you Amazon!

I love this book. The passionate romance between Heathcliff and Cathy was way beyond its time.Bronte really had my heart when she said: Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

The book is good and the page quality is nice but the packaging is really bad....it came with no proper wrapping and thus the spine was damaged.

The plot of the book centres on Catherine and Heathcliff's twisted, dark, rebellious, and passionate love. With the complicated relationships between families, betrayal, jealousy, and retaliation are portrayed remarkably well.One of the best classics I have read to date and my current favourite. If you like reading classics, this is a must read.A few lines that made my heart skip a beat‘Oh, Nelly! you know she has not! You know as well as I do, that for every thought she spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me!’‘He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’‘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 on 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!’

I got this for 110 inr and for this price it's a rather good deal. The cover looks really good and we're also getting hardcover! The quality of pages is also pretty decent and they don't feel rough although the text of next page is slightly visible. But I don't mind it for the price I got it for. Book is around 18 cm long , 12 cm wide and 1.75 cm thick.Overall pretty happy with the quality of the book.Go for it if you're getting it for 110 inr!!

“It is a compound of vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors.”So wrote an American critic in 1848 upon publication of Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë’s first and only novel. He was not alone. Shock, disgust and bewilderment were the most common reactions, with one reviewer even suggesting the book should be burnt. Published under the pseudonym Ellis Bell, this dark, imaginative tale of the power of love to transcend the grave challenged almost every Victorian ideal of morality, justice, and heroic behaviour.Had readers known the author was a woman, the reaction would have been stronger. But by the time the truth was revealed, thanks to a second edition published in 1850, Emily Brontë was dead of tuberculosis at the age of 30. Two sisters and a brother had died before her, and another was quick to follow. Her older sister Charlotte, the author of Jane Eyre, was left to mourn her sisters, and retrieve their public reputations.While Charlotte believed her sister was a genius, she felt compelled to explain the book and its characters to outsiders – those readers who knew nothing of the author or the people who inhabited her part of the world. In a preface to the second edition she writes, “To all such people…’Wuthering Heights’ must appear a rude and strange production.”But her sister, she says, was not “rude and strange” – she was unworldly, reclusive, and shy:“My sister Emily was not a person of demonstrative character … [her] disposition was not naturally gregarious; circumstances favoured and fostered her tendency to seclusion; except to go to church or take a walk on the hills, she rarely crossed the threshold of home. Though her feeling for the people round was benevolent, intercourse with them she never sought; nor, with very few exceptions, ever experienced.”It was this very isolation that nurtured Emily’s romantic nature and gave birth to the wild, romantic and otherworldly tale set in the place she knew well – the bleak and beautiful Yorkshire moors.The story begins in November 1801 when Mr. Lockwood, a rather vain and pretentious gentleman, rents Thrushcross Grange, a large house situated on the edge of the remote moors of West Yorkshire. On arrival, he decides to pay a visit to his landlord, who lives four miles away in the ancient manor house known as Wuthering Heights. The visit is not a success; the landlord, known only as Heathcliff, is dark, surly and unfriendly, with a temper that verges on violence. He does not welcome visitors and only reluctantly calls his dogs off when they attack. In spite of this cool reception, Lockwood pays a second visit a few days later. This time he meets the other occupants of the house: Hareton Earnshaw, a good-looking but coarse, quick-tempered and illiterate young man; Catherine Linton, a beautiful but deeply unhappy young widow, and Joseph, an old servant who speaks with an almost indecipherable Yorkshire accent.A blizzard prevents Lockwood from making the trek back to the Grange – reluctantly, Heathcliff agrees to let him stay for the night, and he’s locked into a room that is never normally used. During the night he discovers a diary written years ago by Catherine Earnshaw, a young girl who seems to have a special relationship with the young Heathcliff. He falls into a troubled sleep and wakes to the sound of a tree branch brushing against the window. Still half asleep, he forces his hand through the glass, determined to remove the branch, and finds himself grasped by the cold, icy hand of a young woman, begging to be let in. In an effort to free himself, he rubs the ghostly hand against the broken glass till the blood runs onto the sheets. His terrified shouts finally alert his landlord, who enters the room, cursing him for the disturbance. But when Lockwood tells him the room is haunted, Heathcliff rushes to the window, calling out to Catherine, begging her to return. Lockwood decides that, storm or no storm, he’s had enough of Wuthering Heights for one night. Heathcliff escorts him back to the Grange, where the servants are delighted to see that Lockwood is alive, having assumed he was lost in the storm.Back in the safety of the Grange, Lockwood learns that his housekeeper, Nelly Dean, knows Wuthering Heights very well. She lived there as a child and grew up with the children of the house. He prevails on her to tell him the history of the manor and its strange inhabitants; she agrees to do so, and Lockwood writes the story from her recollections.As she tells it, Heathcliff – whose origins are unknown – is found abandoned on the streets of Liverpool and brought back to the Heights by the kindly Mr. Earnshaw. His own children, Hindley and Catherine, don’t take to the “gypsy” child but gradually Heathcliff and Cathy form an attachment – an attachment that grows to the point where they become inseparable. They spend their days playing out on the moors; the greatest punishment for either of them is to keep them apart. Mr. Earnshaw, too, loves the boy – more so than his own son, which fosters even greater resentment on Hindley’s part and strengthens the bond between Catherine and Heathcliff.The break between them comes when Catherine chooses respectability over passion. She marries Edgar Linton, whose father owns Thrushcross Grange and who, although weak and tiresome, loves her and will make a “good” husband. The marriage doesn’t last long: Catherine dies giving birth to a daughter – the Catherine Linton mentioned earlier – and Heathcliff is plunged into a dark well of despair verging on madness. Near the end of the book, he confesses to Lockwood that he is haunted by his lost love every minute of the day:“[H]er features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every tree – filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object, by day I am surrounded with her image!”In Catherine, Brontë created a heroine who was the embodiment of nature itself – tempestuous and pleasing by turns, afraid of nothing, living by her own rules. As Nelly describes her, “A wild, wick slip she was – but she had the bonniest eye, and sweetest smile, and lightest foot in the parish”. You could not help but love her.How different is this from the quiet, painfully shy author of the book – who lived within the bounds of a strictly religious household, the dutiful daughter of a parish curate? In her innermost heart I believe she nurtured a free-spirited creature – a child of nature unfettered by convention. Catherine was that creature.It’s telling, I think, that Brontë, the daughter of a curate, saves her most contemptuous descriptions for the character of Joseph, the old servant who sermonizes and preachifies at every turn. At one point she has Nelly Dean describe him thus: “He was, and is yet, most likely, the wearisomest, self-righteous pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself, and fling the curses on his neighbours.” As curates and other men of the church were their only suitable male companions, Brontë and her sisters likely knew them well. We can hope they were not all as “wearisome” as Joseph!But it’s the character of Heathcliff that fueled the moral and critical outrage over the book, and continued to do so for half a century. While he’s as handsome and tormented as befits a romantic hero in the Gothic tradition, he’s unremittingly cruel, sadistic and, quite frankly, evil. His behaviour is particularly hateful towards his son, Hareton, whom he’s raising as an illiterate farm hand in revenge for past wrongs. Right to the end Heathcliff is dark and unrepentant; there is something almost ghoulish – vampirish – in the way he looks forward to the time when he will be dead and buried, reunited with his love, Catherine. Strong stuff, this, even for modern readers.In her preface, Charlotte assures us that if Emily had lived longer “her mind would of itself have grown like a strong tree, loftier, straighter, wider-spreading” … in other words, she would have matured to become a better writer. Still, she concedes the “very real powers” of the novel:“Whether it is right or advisable to create beings like Heathcliff, I do not know; I scarcely think it is. But this I know; the writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master – something that at times strangely wills and works for itself.”It’s regrettable that Emily Brontë didn’t live to write other novels but I don’t believe she could have written anything better. Wuthering Heights contains within it that unnatural beauty of expression few writers ever achieve. I hold it dear to my heart.

It's exactly as it looks in the pictures, it's a great gift.

Readers either love or hate Wuthering Heights with a passion but under no circumstance are they indifferent and there is a reason for that. This book is a too powerful force of nature that devours the reader and does not let they leave. Many hate to be dragged like that. I'm among those who love it, and here are three reasons why:First, I was overwhelmed by the intricate structure of the narrative, which flashes back and forward and intertwines several layers of narrators, from the ostensive Lockwood, to the fantastic voice of Nelly Dean, and then in another layer to what Nelly heard and read from Heathcliff, Isabella and Zillah. Emily Brontë manages to transition from one voice to the next smoothly and seamlessly, while sustaining a cohesive and consistent narrative that, for the length of time it covers, moves really fast. Indeed, I was amazed with how well she cuts any 'shoe leather' (there is particularly one transition, from the moors to inside Heathcliff's house in Chapter 27 that made me wow.) Nelly is a formidable storyteller if not a film editor, not only for what she tells and comments but also for what she disregards or conveniently excludes altogether. Some people say there are unnecessary characters, Lockwood being the most notorious one. But to me, having Lockwood to open room for Nelly is as clever as using Ellis Bell as a pen name, because with that Emily Brontë not only circumvented the prejudice against women authors in the Victorian Society but managed to tell a story in which a housekeeper has a lot to say and do. And imho this device also serves the plot well, because Lockwood's interest on Catherine adds to his unreliability (while he seems to let Nelly's voice reverberate untouched) as much as Nelly's own subtle influence on the destinies of the Earnshaws and Lintons goes unnoticed.Second, there is a formidable storytelling that is both dark, cold and gloomy but also bright, warm, tender and beautiful, and this balance is so well put that readers can either see the novel as a romantic love story or a horror tale of violence and hatred. There are many duplicates and characters are also multifaceted. Most readers detest all characters because of their arrogant, selfish and even violent behavior but, in my view, they are tremendously rich of vulnerability and ambiguity. There is no one to clearly root for but at least to me it was difficult to hate them either. I may be a too indulgent kind of reader, but I felt WH was like Shyamalan's Servant where characters are mostly dislikeable but you just can't let them go. They are a too interesting pack of people to be forsaken. Virginia Woolf describes these characters as impossible in the real world, but yet captivating, which she attributes to Emily's rarest of all powers in a poet: "She could free life from its dependence on facts; with a few touches indicate the spirit of a face so that it needs no body." These characters are not real people, but they feel like people you know all the same.Third, there is the supernatural. From the first scene when Lockwood meets Heathcliff, it became clear that Emily Brontë was no Jane Austen. Indeed, I began WH imagining Heathcliff as a kind of Servant's Uncle George in his natural habitat, rude and rough but tough and disciplined. Then there is the dreamlike haunting scene in Catherine's room (what was that, Kate Bush?) and the creepy, supernatural atmosphere never leaves completely anymore. The second half of the book that covers the second generation was so suffocating that I kept asking myself, as indeed I did in Servant, "why didn't these people escape the evil influence of Heathcliff and go live their lives peacefully elsewhere?" Like Leanne Grayson in Servant, Heathcliff's ability to take control of people seems superhuman, it transcends. Some scholars even see Heathcliff as a demonic figure in the Miltonian tradition of Frankenstein.I didn't know before finishing WH that the Brontë Sisters were not from upper classes in England and wrote their books from their reclusive lives in the far lands of Yorkshire (that made me admire the power of Emily's ideas even more.) Inspiration certainly came from her readings, and I can see Hamlet and Macbeth in WH, while its creepy conclusion goes along with Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame (and now I think, Heathcliff a gypsy just like Esmeralda!). Harold Bloom recognizes Lord Byron, and other scholars explore the hidden parallels of WH with John Milton's Paradise Lost. Richard Ellman mentions that James Joyce once said to Eugene Jolas, while reading WH: "This woman had pure imagination; Kipling had it too, and certainly Yeats." That is more or less how I felt when finishing WH: Emily Brontë's imagination is powerful and irresistible as is her language and style, even when she goes over the top. WH is a force of nature that is futile to resist, it engulfs you with its hyperbolic style, cruel and violent characters, and bleaky and foggy atmosphere. In my case, it took me completely and does not seem to let me go anytime soon.

O livro é divino. Comprei para aprimorar a leitura na lingua inglesa e não me decepcionei. Entrega rápida.

No quiero ser exagerada, pero este libro me ha cambiado la vida