I somehow escaped having to read this thirty years ago. That's probably a good thing, since I would not have appreciated it then. I'm not sure I do now. There is a depressing lack of action on the part of all the family members suppressed and tormented by Heathcliff. I just want to slap them into action, any action. I suppose the book is true to its era, though. Powerless women. Weak, frail gentry. Servants that aid and abet wicked behavior. Such a cheerful time!
The narration is similar to another novel I don't really care for - Absalom, Absalom! Wuthering Heights is entirely told by Ellen Dean, a servant who just happens to be around when anything interesting happens. She is relating most of it years after it has happened to a stranger who is interested (of course) in what occured. That makes for a cold telling, in my opinion. The stilted language of the day doesn't help much.
Even more tragic is the life of the author and her sisters. Thank God for modern medicine and doctors!
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