If I were to summarize this book badly, I'd say that the world's worst landlord's life is retold by witnesses as a tale of sadistic torture on his tenants, as revenge for being related to the woman who was too well bred to live under his roof.
The more I reflect on this book, the more I get out of it, and that is a testament to Emily Bronte's brilliance. While at first I thought it was a cautionary tale warning of the dangers of marrying for money, I came to believe that it was more a biting indictment of the institution of marriage itself.
Certainly, there is a piece of me as a reader that wonders "What if Catherine had chosen Heathcliff?" Their union is an impossibility with the rules of Victorian England. What's more, Bronte seems to hint that their longing is part of what makes their story legendary and their attraction long-lasting. If they were legally married, would either of them take any pleasure in the union?
No, the main characters seem destined to enjoy their tortured existences, in sadistic journeys through life, where some seem to delight in the torment of others. Not incidentally, there seems to be a commentary on lustfulness itself. Perhaps Catherine and Heathcliff are drawn to one another precisely because they want what they cannot have. And here is where Bronte catches the reader in a trap: it is human nature to covet the forbidden. It is a tale as old as Adam and Eve. But what are we to make of the destruction that ensues in the text?
The title suggests that marriage is at best, a prison, and at worst, slavery. Wuthering Heights is the name of the Earnshaw family home, suggesting that marriage is about the transfer of property, and to a lesser extent wealth and status. Bronte seems to ask whether it is possible to mingle the joys of love with the bonds of marriage.
Indeed, when I try to pick apart the marriage vows, she seems most at odds with the promise "to have and to hold." Even in death, Catherine's ghost haunts Heathcliff (at his request) rather than let him go. In the most twisted perversion of marriage, Heathcliff accuses Isabella of enjoying his torture, saying "I've sometimes relented, from pure lack of invention, in my experiments of what she could endure, and still creep shamefully cringing back!" Talk about victim blaming.
In this novel, there is no torture worse than being alone in a relationship. In a well-meaning attempt to save his daughter from this fate, Edgar Linton says, "should Linton be unworthy--only a feeble tool to his father--I cannot abandon her to him! And, hard though it may be to crush her buoyant spirit, I must persevere in making her sad while I live, and leaving her solitary when I die. Darling! I'd rather resign her to God, and lay her in the earth before me." Thus Linton tries to save Cathy from his own fate, feeling unchosen and alone within the bonds of marriage.
If there is any solace in the text, I find it in metaphor. Should Wuthering Heights be a stand-in for the family legacy that we build over multiple generations, Bronte has a few words to say. One: that we will make mistakes, even grand ones, but the power of love is enough to keep the house standing through disrepair. Two: that treating one another like possessions is a damnable offense, which only puts the abuser in hell. And three: despite the turmoil of books one and two, there is hope to find love even in unlikely places. The relationship between Cathy and Hareton blossoms not because they are equals in social or intellectual terms, but because they are able to build mutual trust despite the fear of being demeaned: "both their minds tending to the same point--one loving and desiring to esteem; and the other loving and desiring to be esteemed--they contrived in the end to reach it." There is something powerful in capturing this universal desire, and perhaps that is why this terrifying book is worth reading.