Emily Bronte’s novel Wuthering Heights has been compared in its greatness to works by Shakespeare and Beethoven. In representing, perhaps, the greatest love-story ever imagined, it may be seen as literature’s equivalent to the Taj Mahal. The stages in a love so absolute are traced from the childhood of Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff until their deaths and beyond. The present work of literary criticism focuses on details which make their relationship so singular and seismic. When forced apart they suffer hellish agony, only relieved by their being again in each other’s presence. Since their happiness derives from being in a world that remains their sole compass, having their story told by conventional voices needs to be approached with some caution. Yet Emily Bronte’s conception of such a love represents its unique quality, its bedrock being as binding and elemental as “the eternal rocks beneath”.