I went on a nineteenth-century novel binge a couple years ago, reading or re-reading a dozen or so of them in one go, and Wuthering Heights was by far the best. It was shockingly different from all the others. The characters all had deep and genuine flaws, not just "Mr. Darcy is a jerk, but he has a nice garden, so that makes it OK" flaws. For large sections of Wuthering Heights, I had the simple pleasure of sitting back, grabbing a drink, and watching horrible people be horrible to each other. And yet the characters definitely were not monsters: I felt a connection to them as people that I didn't feel in most of the other novels of its period. Yup, it's a great book.