{"product_id":"wuthering-heights-isbn-9780593244036","title":"Wuthering Heights","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe classic tale of tormented love and the inexorable pull of the past, from one of history’s greatest literary talents—the inspiration for the film \u003ci\u003eWuthering Heights, \u003c\/i\u003edirected by Emerald Fennell and starring Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eFeatures an introduction by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eMexican Gothic \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWhen young orphan Heathcliff is adopted by a wealthy gentleman, he quickly forms a close bond with his benefactor’s daughter, Cathy. But over the years, their childhood friendship morphs into a desperate, twisted, possessive love, as they wrestle with the violent and tyrannical rule of Cathy’s brother and the confines of social class that keep them apart. What follows is an ingenious and darkly captivating narrative of frustrated passion and tortured heartbreak reverberating through the generations, wrought with all the brutality, power, and wildness of the Yorkshire moors. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith striking force, Emily Brontë’s mesmerizing prose claws at the nature of human folly, defying the gender, religious, and social mores of its day. \u003ci\u003eWuthering Heights \u003c\/i\u003eis a transcendent, mystifying masterpiece that examines the cruelty of love, and the ways in which the past, scratching at a windowpane with ghostly fingers, never lets us go. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Modern Library Torchbearers series features women who wrote on their own terms, with boldness, creativity, and a spirit of resistance. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eEmily Brontë (1818–1848) \u003c\/b\u003ewas the second-youngest child of the Brontë family, who held the parsonage of the town of Haworth, England. Together with her siblings, Charlotte, Branwell, and Anne, Brontë wrote fantastical stories and poems. The three sisters published poems and novels under the names Currer, Acton, and Ellis Bell. \u003ci\u003eWuthering Heights \u003c\/i\u003ewas published in 1847; Brontë died a year later of tuberculosis, and the true authorship of \u003ci\u003eWuthering Heights \u003c\/i\u003ewas not revealed until the publication of the second edition in 1850.\u003cb\u003eCHAPTER 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary  neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In  all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely  removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist's Heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff  and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow!  He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw  so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves,  with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'Mr. Heathcliff?' I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A nod was the answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant,  sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express  the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the  occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts—'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing. 'I should not allow  any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it—walk in!'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The 'walk in' was uttered  with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, 'Go to the Deuce': even the gate  over which he leant manifested no sympathizing movement to the words; and I think  that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a  man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When he saw my horse's breast  fairly pushing the barrier, he did pull out his hand to unchain it, and then suddenly  preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court,—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'Joseph, take Mr.  Lockwood's horse; and bring up some wine.'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'Here we have the whole establishment  of domestics, I suppose,' was the reflection, suggested by this compound order. 'No  wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while  relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably  conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation  had no reference to my unexpected advent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's  dwelling. 'Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the  atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing  ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power  of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted  firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their  limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight  to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners  defended with large jutting stones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire  a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the  principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless  little boys, I detected the date '1500,' and the name 'Hareton Earnshaw.' I would  have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly  owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete  departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting  the penetralium.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One step brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory  lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house' pre-eminently. It includes kitchen  and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced  to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of  tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs  of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fire-place; nor any glitter of copper  saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly  both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver  jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof.  The latter had never been underdrawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring  eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef,  mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villanous old guns,  and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily painted canisters  disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed,  primitive structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade.  In an arch under the dresser, reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded  by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The apartment  and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern  farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches  and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his armchair, his mug of ale frothing on  the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among  these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a  singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in  aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a  country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence,  because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. Possibly, some people  might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within  that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know by instinct, his reserve springs  from an aversion to showy displays of feeling—to manifestations of mutual kindliness.  He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence  to be loved or hated again. No. I'm running on too fast: I bestow my own attributes  over liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping  his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be acquaintance, to those which actuate  me. Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say I  should never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectly  unworthy of one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e While enjoying a month of fine weather at the seacoast, I was thrown  into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my eyes, as long  as she took no notice of me. I 'never told my love' vocally; still, if looks have  language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears: she understood  me at last, and looked a return—the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did  I do? I confess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance  retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own  senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma  to decamp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate  heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I took a seat at the end  of the hearthstone opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up  an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her  nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and  her white teeth watering for a snatch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 'You'd better let the dog alone,' growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer  demonstrations with a punch of his foot. 'She's not accustomed to be spoiled—not  kept for a pet.'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again—'Joseph!'—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Joseph  mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending;  so his master dived down to him, leaving me vis-a-vis the ruffianly bitch and a pair  of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my  movements.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining  they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking  and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam,  that she suddenly broke into a fury, and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and  hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding roused the whole hive.  Half-a-dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens  to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects of assault;  and, parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker,  I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in re-establishing  peace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm:  I don't think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute  tempest of worrying and yelping.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more  dispatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks,  rushed into the midst of us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her  tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained,  heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene.Modern Library Torchbearers","brand":"Modern Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300146237669,"sku":"NP9780593244036","price":10.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593244036.jpg?v=1767744625","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/wuthering-heights-isbn-9780593244036","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}