According to a National Bureau of Economic Research working paper, by 1970, women still published only a third of the number of books men published each year in the U.S. Globally, too, Tonks and Molinard and Plath, who began publishing in the middle of the 20th century, were among the first generations of women writers who were not viewed primarily as exceptions to their gender—the way the Brontë sisters, Jane Austen, and Mary Shelley had been regarded. That a woman might be celebrated for her literary efforts, earn recognition and prizes, and enjoy a wide readership were relatively recent developments. (Naomi Huffman)

Remember the excitement of getting a new book for Christmas or your birthday? The mystery that you suspected lay hidden between the covers? The very scent of an adventure about to begin with those simple but resonant first sentences from Herman Melville’s "Moby Dick" or Charlotte Bronte’s "Jane Eyre" — “Call me Ishmael” or “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” The call of stories? The way a work of literature could tell us who we were and who we might become? For those hours in a given narrative we were Scout or Holden or Jo March. Their struggles were ours, and their experiences taught us how to live more authentically, or at least what questions we might ask ourselves. Those hours of reading were a fever dream, when we were drawn into a world both precise and impossible, something close to our everyday world, the one we suspected no one else could understand. And we woke up from that reading dream exhausted but cleansed. (Michael Pearson)

I've just returned from a week away while (or whilst if you are in the U.K. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿) I visited with my daughter who lives in Leeds, in the historic county of Yorkshire, England.

Called “God's own country,” the county is known for its rolling hills, stunning moors and beautiful cities and villages. It's just how I imagined the English countryside after reading about it in countless books written by some of my favorite authors including Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare and of course — the Brontë sisters. Lucky for me, the Brontë home where Charlotte and her sisters lived and penned their books is now a museum in West Yorkshire, about 45 minutes from my daughter's home.

One of the highlights of my trip was visiting the Brontë home located in a beautiful village in Haworth. It was like stepping back in time.

After a tour of the museum, where we even tried on some tall top hats and bonnets, I purchased two copies of my favorite book, "Jane Eyre" in the tiny gift shop. What's amazing is that Charlotte wrote the book in the dining room of this same home in 1847. It feels very special that 175 years later I purchased copies of the book in the same home where it was written. I gave one copy to my daughter. I hope she loves the novel as much as I do.

The first time I heard of "Jane Eyre" was from my Haledon Public School sixth-grade English teacher. As a treat to her students, she would spend the last 10 minutes of each class reading out loud. One of the books she read was "Jane Eyre." I hung on to every word about Jane, Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Fairfax and Bertha and looked forward to the next class. (Albina Sportelli)

1. "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë

This heart-wrenching classic written in the vein of the "lost love can turn a good man evil" trope, was Brontë’s first and only novel published in 1847 under the pseudonym "Ellis Bell."

This timeless love story takes us back to 1802, at a remote farmhouse in the Yorkshire moorlands dubbed Wuthering Heights. Our leading man, Heathcliff, grows to become best friends with his adopted sister, Catherine, who is also his life-long crush. But an offhand comment, overheard at the Heights, changes the course of both of their lives.

Romantic quote: “My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.”

Fun fact: The 1983 power ballad "Total Eclipse of the Heart", written by Jim Steinman and recorded by Bonnie Tyler, was inspired by "Wuthering Heights." (Nicole)