Books Similar To Wuthering Heights Novels & Stories

I struggled to choose what book to read to him, since it occurred to me, belatedly, that I have no idea what my Master reads for pleasure. I try to choose something classic instead, something appropriate; but ´Wuthering Heights´, with Cathy, Heathcliff and Edgar, and their doomed love triangle, isn´t right. Neither is ´Gone with the Wind´, with Scarlett, Rhett and Ashley. ´Pride and Prejudice´, ´Jane Eyre´, ´Anna Karenina´, all dwell on the failure of three lovers to make their situation work. In the end, I choose something very different, ´Time Enough for Love´, an old 1970´s Sci-fi novel, in which the characters make their polyamorous family work.

“This isn’t what I was expecting at all.” “What is it?” Everly asked, her stomach tightening into a coil. “Well, we all thought that she had taken the book because it contained some sort of a way for her to reverse what Jack had done to make you into a wolf shifter, but it doesn’t. At least, that’s not what she was looking at.” “What was she looking at then?” Everly asked, not sure she even wanted to know at this point. “She was looking at… the similarities between the werewolf hunts and the witch hunts, and the means by which the villagers back in the time that this book was written went about putting each of those groups to death. This page is all about what was useful against each group.”

He returned his attention to the bookshelf at the rear of his office, the one he’d been browsing when he’d first heard the strange sounds outside, only being made by the cats, after all. The top shelf held purely “literary works.” Poetry collections of Blake, Yeats, Robert Frost, and Shakespeare. Prose collections of Zora Neal Hurston, Hemingway, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Flannery O’Connor, and folktales collected by the Brothers Grimm. Novels, from The Man in the Iron Mask to Madame Bovary, to Villette and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, to A Passage to India by E. M. Forster.

I didn’t hesitate. I pulled Fifty Shades of Grey first (cliché, yes, but I needed an entry point), then The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice, Story of O, a slim volume called The New Topping Book just to balance it out, and two anthologies with titles like Bound Hearts and Surrender to Me. The stack felt heavy in my arms, like contraband. I carried them to the my corner and hid them under the table. I sat down, and opened the first book.

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

I feel another headache starting and get up from my bed; being stuck in this room was not helping my disposition. I went over to my bookshelf and grabbed my well-worn copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’ as well as a fluffy blanket from the edge of my bed, and headed downstairs to the conservatory. Noting the dark clouds looming over the glass ceiling, I knew it was a perfect day to spend with a Brontë sister. Yes, I know I am being completely transparent; a hopeless romantic trapped in a loveless marriage. However, I do find that reading distracts me from the duty of everyday life. I open the book to page 1 and find myself getting lost in the bittersweet love story yet again.

“This is ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s a love story that many women adore.” Jack took the book and examined the cover. “It looks interesting. What else would you recommend?” The sales assistant continued selecting books, giving a brief description for each one. “Oh, and we also have some romantic adventure books, like ‘Treasure Island’ by Robert Louis Stevenson, which focuses more on adventure and pirates.” Jack listened carefully and selected several books with the assistant’s guidance. “I think she’ll like these,” he said, smiling. The sales assistant smiled back, growing a bit curious about the lucky woman who had managed to tie down a confirmed bachelor like Jack Colt.

she asks. "No, I picked my favourite," I explain and she smiles more. "It's one of my favourites as well, after Wuthering Heights, that is," she explains. "I haven't read that one," I don't recognise the name, so I don't think I have. Sitting, we eat and I find out more about her. She is someone who cares. She doesn't do a lot for herself, but instead is always helping others. She's selfless, which is beautiful in it's own way.

He started to help her unpack her books, glancing at the spines as they started to shelve them in a tiny bookshelf that wouldn’t hold even half of her collection. Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Elizabeth Gaskell, John Keats, Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, Charles Dickens—so many books, most of which had clearly been read over and over again. Some were falling apart, barely glued together. When he took out a copy of Frankenstein, the cover fell off entirely. “Oh, poor guy. This one has been through a lot.” Rose took the book from him, smiling. That smile burst something inside him. Something hot, something dangerous. Something that felt exactly like longing. He caught his breath and forced hims

"I need something to occupy my mind, not sedate it, little bird. Something dramatic, passionate, maybe a classic tragedy." ​We paused in front of a section devoted to foreign literature. ​"How about Wuthering Heights?" I suggested, pulling the dense volume from the shelf. "All-consuming passion, deep obsession, and tragic consequences. A perfect distraction." ​He took the book from my hand as his fingers brushed mine. A contact that lasted a mere second but felt like an electric jolt. I immediately hid my hand behind me. He weighed the book in his hand, not looking at the title but at me.