It's been too long since you rambled on the moors, longed for a dead lover, and locked someone in a room for days without food. I hadn't read this Bronte since college and found myself sighing anew, over and over, at the emotional nuances I was too naive to pick up on back then, and her brilliant use of landscape, and her perfect prose. Take this out in the rain and get pneumonia while you read it, then blame your uncle. He deserves to suffer.— Sarah G.
Bronte's writing burns like Emily Dickinson's, with a brutal awareness of suffering and desire. Her phrasing is inelegant, unrefined, isolated from the trends of her time. Her skill is so innate, it's frightening. I can't believe I've only just read this.— Carly