The Scarlet Letter

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

The classic novel set in Salem, Mass., at the end of the 17th century. According to Wikipedia: "Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804 –1864) was an American novelist and short story writer... Much of Hawthorne's writing centers around New England and many feature moral allegories with a Puritan inspiration. His fiction works are considered part of the Romantic movement and, more specifically, dark romanticism. His themes often center on the inherent evil and sin of humanity and his works often have moral messages and deep psychological complexity. His published works include novels, short stories, and a biography of his friend Franklin Pierce."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seltzer Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781455389124

Nathaniel Hawthorne

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804–1864) was an American novelist, short-story writer, and biographer. His work centres on his New England home and often features moral allegories with Puritan inspiration, with themes revolving around inherent good and evil. His fiction works are considered part of the Romantic movement and, more specifically, Dark romanticism.

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THE SCARLET LETTER BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

published by Samizdat Express, Orange, CT, USA

established in 1974, offering over 14,000 books

Novels by Nathaniel Hawthorne --

Fanshawe (1828)

The Scarlet Letter (1850)

The House of the Seven Gables (1851)

The Blithedale Romance (1852)

The Marble Faun (1860)

Septimius Felton or the Elixir of Life (1872)

Doctor Grimshawe's Secret (1882)

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EDITOR'S NOTE

INTRODUCTORY.THE CUSTOM-HOUSE

CHAPTER I.  THE PRISON-DOOR

CHAPTER II. THE MARKET-PLACE

CHAPTER III. THE RECOGNITION

CHAPTER IV. THE INTERVIEW

CHAPTER V.  HESTER AT HER NEEDLE

CHAPTER VI.  PEARL

CHAPTER VII.  THE GOVERNOR'S HALL

CHAPTER VIII.  THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER

CHAPTER IX.  THE LEECH

CHAPTER X.  THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT

CHAPTER XI.  THE INTERIOR OF A HEART

CHAPTER XII.   THE MINISTER'S VIGIL

CHAPTER XIII.   ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER

CHAPTER XIV.   HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN

CHAPTER XV.   HESTER AND PEARL

CHAPTER XVI.   A FOREST WALK

CHAPTER XVII.   THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER

CHAPTER XVIII.   A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE

CHAPTER XIX.  THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE

CHAPTER XX.  THE MINISTER IN A MAZE

CHAPTER XXI.  THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY

CHAPTER XXII.   THE PROCESSION

CHAPTER XXIII.  THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER

CHAPTER XXIV.   CONCLUSION

______________

EDITOR'S NOTE

Nathaniel Hawthorne was already a man of forty-six, and a talewriter of some twenty-four years' standing, when The ScarletLetter appeared. He was born at Salem, Mass., on July 4th, 1804,son of a sea-captain. He led there a shy and rather sombre life;of few artistic encouragements, yet not wholly uncongenial, hismoody, intensely meditative temperament being considered. Itscolours and shadows are marvelously reflected in his Twice-ToldTales and other short stories, the product of his first literaryperiod. Even his college days at Bowdoin did not quite breakthrough his acquired and inherited reserve; but beneath it all,his faculty of divining men and women was exercised with almostuncanny prescience and subtlety. The Scarlet Letter, whichexplains as much of this unique imaginative art, as is to begathered from reading his highest single achievement, yet needsto be ranged with his other writings, early and late, to have itslast effect. In the year that saw it published, he began TheHouse of the Seven Gables, a later romance or prose-tragedy ofthe Puritan-American community as he had himself known it -defrauded of art and the joy of life, starving for symbols asEmerson has it. Nathaniel Hawthorne died at Plymouth, NewHampshire, on May 18th, 1864.

The following is the table of his romances,stories, and other works:

Fanshawe, published anonymously, 1826; Twice-Told Tales, 1stSeries, 1837; 2nd Series, 1842; Grandfather's Chair, a historyfor youth, 1845: Famous Old People (Grandfather's Chair), 1841Liberty Tree: with the last words of Grandfather's Chair, 1842;Biographical Stories for Children, 1842; Mosses from an OldManse, 1846; The Scarlet Letter, 1850; The House of the SevenGables, 1851: True Stories from History and Biography (the wholeHistory of Grandfather's Chair), 1851 A Wonder Book for Girls andBoys, 1851; The Snow Image and other Tales, 1851: The BlithedaleRomance, 1852; Life of Franklin Pierce, 1852; Tanglewood Tales(2nd Series of the Wonder Book), 1853; A Rill from the Town-Pump,with remarks, by Telba, 1857; The Marble Faun; or, The Romance ofMonte Beni (4 EDITOR'S NOTE) (published in England under thetitle of Transformation), 1860, Our Old Home, 1863; DolliverRomance (1st Part in Atlantic Monthly), 1864; in 3 Parts, 1876;Pansie, a fragment, Hawthorne' last literary effort, 1864;American Note-Books, 1868; English Note Books, edited by SophiaHawthorne, 1870; French and Italian Note Books, 1871; SeptimiusFelton; or, the Elixir of Life (from the Atlantic Monthly),1872; Doctor Grimshawe's Secret, with Preface and Notes byJulian Hawthorne, 1882.

Tales of the White Hills, Legends of New England, Legends of theProvince House, 1877, contain tales which had already beenprinted in book form in Twice-Told Tales and the MossesSketched and Studies, 1883.

Hawthorne's contributions to magazines were numerous, and most ofhis tales appeared first in periodicals, chiefly in The Token,1831-1838, New England Magazine, 1834,1835; Knickerbocker,1837-1839; Democratic Review, 1838-1846; Atlantic Monthly,1860-1872 (scenes from the Dolliver Romance, Septimius Felton,and passages from Hawthorne's Note-Books).

Works: in 24 volumes, 1879; in 12 volumes, with introductorynotes by Lathrop, Riverside Edition, 1883.

Biography, etc. ; A. H. Japp (pseud. H. A. Page), Memoir of N.Hawthorne, 1872; J. T. Field's Yesterdays with Authors, 1873 G.P. Lathrop, A Study of Hawthorne, 1876; Henry James English Menof Letters, 1879; Julian Hawthorne, Nathaniel Hawthorne and hiswife, 1885; Moncure D. Conway, Life of Nathaniel Hawthorne,1891; Analytical Index of Hawthorne's Works, by E. M. O'Connor1882.

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE,  INTRODUCTORY TO THE SCARLET LETTER

It is a little remarkable, that--though disinclined to talkovermuch of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to mypersonal friends--an autobiographical impulse should twice inmy life have taken possession of me, in addressing the public.The first time was three or four years since, when I favoured thereader--inexcusably, and for no earthly reason that either theindulgent reader or the intrusive author could imagine--with adescription of my way of life in the deep quietude of an OldManse.  And now--because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enoughto find a listener or two on the former occasion--I again seizethe public by the button, and talk of my three years' experiencein a Custom-House.  The example of the famous P. P. , Clerk ofthis Parish, was never more faithfully followed.  The truthseems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth uponthe wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling asidehis volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understandhim better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates.  Someauthors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves insuch confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly beaddressed only and exclusively to the one heart andmind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at largeon the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segmentof the writer's own nature, and complete his circle of existenceby bringing him into communion with it.  It is scarcely decorous,however, to speak all, even where we speak impersonally.  But, asthoughts are frozen and utterance benumbed, unless the speakerstand in some true relation with his audience, it may bepardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and apprehensive,though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk; andthen, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness,we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even ofourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil.  To thisextent, and within these limits, an author, methinks, may beautobiographical, without violating either the reader's rights orhis own.

It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom-House sketch has acertain propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, asexplaining how a large portion of the following pages came intomy possession, and as offering proofs of the authenticity of anarrative therein contained.  This, in fact--a desire to putmyself in my true position as editor, or very little more, of themost prolix among the tales that make up my volume--this, andno other, is my true reason for assuming a personal relation withthe public.  In accomplishing the main purpose, it has appearedallowable, by a few extra touches, to give a faint representationof a mode of life not heretofore described, together with some ofthe characters that move in it, among whom the author happened tomake one.

In my native town of Salem, at the head of what, half a centuryago, in the days of old King Derby, was a bustling wharf--butwhich is now burdened with decayed wooden warehouses, andexhibits few or no symptoms of commercial life; except, perhaps,a bark or brig, half-way down its melancholy length, discharginghides; or, nearer at hand, a Nova Scotia schooner, pitching outher cargo of firewood--at the head, I say, of this dilapidatedwharf, which the tide often overflows, and along which, at thebase and in the rear of the row of buildings, the track of manylanguid years is seen in a border of unthrifty grass--here,with a view from its front windows adown this not very enliveningprospect, and thence across the harbour, stands a spaciousedifice of brick.  From the loftiest point of its roof, duringprecisely three and a half hours of each forenoon, floats ordroops, in breeze or calm, the banner of the republic; but withthe thirteen stripes turned vertically, instead of horizontally,and thus indicating that a civil, and not a military, post ofUncle Sam's government is here established.  Its front isornamented with a portico of half-a-dozen wooden pillars,supporting a balcony, beneath which a flight of wide granitesteps descends towards the street Over the entrance hovers anenormous specimen of the American eagle, with outspread wings, ashield before her breast, and, if I recollect aright, a bunch ofintermingled thunder- bolts and barbed arrows in each claw.  Withthe customary infirmity of temper that characterizes this unhappyfowl, she appears by the fierceness of her beak and eye, and thegeneral truculency of her attitude, to threaten mischief to theinoffensive community; and especially to warn all citizens careful of theirsafety against intruding on the premises which she overshadowswith her wings.  Nevertheless, vixenly as she looks, many peopleare seeking at this very moment to shelter themselves under thewing of the federal eagle; imagining, I presume, that her bosomhas all the softness and snugness of an eiderdown pillow.  Butshe has no great tenderness even in her best of moods, and,sooner or later--oftener soon than late--is apt to fling offher nestlings with a scratch of her claw, a dab of her beak, or arankling wound from her barbed arrows.

The pavement round about the above-described edifice--which wemay as well name at once as the Custom-House of the port--hasgrass enough growing in its chinks to show that it has not, oflate days, been worn by any multitudinous resort of business.  Insome months of the year, however, there often chances a forenoonwhen affairs move onward with a livelier tread.  Such occasionsmight remind the elderly citizen of that period, before the lastwar with England, when Salem was a port by itself; not scorned,as she is now, by her own merchants and ship-owners, who permither wharves to crumble to ruin while their ventures go to swell,needlessly and imperceptibly, the mighty flood of commerce at NewYork or Boston.  On some such morning, when three or four vesselshappen to have arrived at once usually from Africa or SouthAmerica--or to be on the verge of their departure thitherward,there is a sound of frequent feet passing briskly up and down thegranite steps.  Here, before his own wife has greeted him, youmay greet the sea-flushed ship-master, just in port, with hisvessel's papers under his arm in atarnished tin box.  Here, too, comes his owner, cheerful, sombre,gracious or in the sulks, accordingly as his scheme of the nowaccomplished voyage has been realized in merchandise that willreadily be turned to gold, or has buried him under a bulk ofincommodities such as nobody will care to rid him of.  Here,likewise--the germ of the wrinkle-browed, grizzly-bearded,careworn merchant--we have the smart young clerk, who gets thetaste of traffic as a wolf-cub does of blood, and already sendsadventures in his master's ships, when he had better be sailingmimic boats upon a mill-pond.  Another figure in the scene is theoutward-bound sailor, in quest of a protection; or the recentlyarrived one, pale and feeble, seeking a passport to the hospital.Nor must we forget the captains of the rusty little schoonersthat bring firewood from the British provinces; a rough-lookingset of tarpaulins, without the alertness of the Yankee aspect,but contributing an item of no slight importance to our decayingtrade.

Cluster all these individuals together, as they sometimes were,with other miscellaneous ones to diversify the group, and, forthe time being, it made the Custom-House a stirring scene.  Morefrequently, however, on ascending the steps, you would discern --in the entry if it were summer time, or in their appropriaterooms if wintry or inclement weathers row of venerable figures,sitting in old-fashioned chairs, which were tipped on their hindlegs back against the wall.  Oftentimes they were asleep, butoccasionally might be heard talking together, illvoices between a speech and a snore, and with that lack of energythat distinguishes the occupants of alms-houses, and all otherhuman beings who depend for subsistence on charity, onmonopolized labour, or anything else but their own independentexertions.  These old gentlemen--seated, like Matthew at thereceipt of custom, but not very liable to be summoned thence,like him, for apostolic errands--were Custom-House officers.

Furthermore, on the left hand as you enter the front door, is acertain room or office, about fifteen feet square, and of a loftyheight, with two of its arched windows commanding a view of theaforesaid dilapidated wharf, and the third looking across anarrow lane, and along a portion of Derby Street.  All three giveglimpses of the shops of grocers, block-makers, slop-sellers, andship-chandlers, around the doors of which are generally to beseen, laughing and gossiping, clusters of old salts, and suchother wharf-rats as haunt the Wapping of a seaport.  The roomitself is cobwebbed, and dingy with old paint; its floor isstrewn with grey sand, in a fashion that has elsewhere falleninto long disuse; and it is easy to conclude, from the generalslovenliness of the place, that this is a sanctuary into whichwomankind, with her tools of magic, the broom and mop, has veryinfrequent access.  In the way of furniture, there is a stovewith a voluminous funnel; an old pine desk with a three-leggedstool beside it; two or three wooden-bottom chairs, exceedinglydecrepit and infirm; and--not to forget the library--on someshelves, a score or two of volumes of the Acts of Congress, and abulky Digest of the Revenue laws.  Atin pipe ascends through the ceiling, and forms a medium of vocalcommunication with other parts of be edifice.  And here, some sixmonths ago--pacing from corner to corner, or lounging on thelong-legged tool, with his elbow on the desk, and his eyeswandering up and down the columns of the morning newspaper--youmight have recognised, honoured reader, the same individual whowelcomed you into his cheery little study, where the sunshineglimmered so pleasantly through the willow branches on thewestern side of the Old Manse.  But now, should you go thither toseek him, you would inquire in vain for the Locofoco Surveyor.The besom of reform hath swept him out of office, and a worthiersuccessor wears his dignity and pockets his emoluments.

This old town of Salem--my native place, though I have dweltmuch away from it both in boyhood and maturer years--possesses,or did possess, a hold on my affection, the force of which I havenever realized during my seasons of actual residence here.Indeed, so far as its physical aspect is concerned, with itsflat, unvaried surface, covered chiefly with wooden houses, fewor none of which pretend to architectural beauty--itsirregularity, which is neither picturesque nor quaint, but onlytame--its long and lazy street, lounging wearisomely throughthe whole extent of be peninsula, with Gallows Hill and NewGuinea at one end, and a view of the alms-house at the other--suchbeing the features of my native town, it would be quite asreasonable to form a sentimental attachment to a disarrangedchecker-board.  And yet, though invariably happiest elsewhere,there is within me a feeling for Old Salem, which, in lack of abetter phrase, I must be content to call affection.  The sentiment isprobably assignable to the deep and aged roots which my familyhas stuck into the soil.  It is now nearly two centuries and aquarter since the original Briton, the earliest emigrant of myname, made his appearance in the wild and forest--borderedsettlement which has since become a city.  And here hisdescendants have been born and died, and have mingled theirearthly substance with the soil, until no small portion of itmust necessarily be akin to the mortal frame wherewith, for alittle while, I walk the streets.  In part, therefore, theattachment which I speak of is the mere sensuous sympathy of dustfor dust.  Few of my countrymen can know what it is; nor, asfrequent transplantation is perhaps better for the stock, needthey consider it desirable to know.

But the sentiment has likewise its moral quality.  The figure ofthat first ancestor, invested by family tradition with a dim anddusky grandeur, was present to my boyish imagination as far backas I can remember.  It still haunts me, and induces a sort ofhome-feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in referenceto the present phase of the town.  I seem to have a strongerclaim to a residence here on account of this grave, bearded,

sable-cloaked, and steeple-crowned progenitor-who came so early,with his Bible and his sword, and trode the unworn street withsuch a stately port, and made so large a figure, as a man of warand peace--a stronger claim than for myself, whose name is

seldom heard and my face hardly known.  He was a soldier,legislator, judge; he was a ruler in the Church; he had all thePuritanic traits, both good and evil.  He waslikewise a bitter persecutor; as witness the Quakers, who haveremembered him in their histories, and relate an incident of hishard severity towards a woman of their sect, which will lastlonger, it is to be feared, than any record of his better deeds,although these were many.  His son, too, inherited thepersecuting spirit, and made himself so conspicuous in themartyrdom of the witches, that their blood may fairly be said tohave left a stain upon him.  So deep a stain, indeed, that hisdry old bones, in the Charter-street burial-ground, must stillretain it, if they have not crumbled utterly to dust I know notwhether these ancestors of mine bethought themselves to repent,and ask pardon of Heaven for their cruelties; or whether they arenow groaning under the heavy consequences of them in anotherstate of being.  At all events, I, the present writer, as theirrepresentative, hereby take shame upon myself for their sakes,and pray that any curse incurred by them--as I have heard, andas the dreary and unprosperous condition of the race, for many along year back, would argue to exist--may be now and henceforthremoved.

Doubtless, however, either of these stern and black-browedPuritans would have thought it quite a sufficient retribution forhis sins that, after so long a lapse of years, the old trunk ofthe family tree, with so much venerable moss upon it, should haveborne, as its topmost bough, an idler like myself.  No aim that Ihave ever cherished would they recognise as laudable; no successof mine--if my life, beyond its domestic scope, had ever beenbrightened by success--would they deem otherwisethan worthless, if not positively disgraceful.  What is he?murmurs one grey shadow of my forefathers to the other.  Awriter of story books! What kind of business in life--what modeof glorifying God, or being serviceable to mankind in his day andgeneration--may that be?  Why, the degenerate fellow might aswell have been a fiddler! Such are the compliments bandiedbetween my great grandsires and myself, across the gulf of timeAnd yet, let them scorn me as they will, strong traits of theirnature have intertwined themselves with mine.

Planted deep, in the town's earliest infancy and childhood, bythese two earnest and energetic men, the race has ever sincesubsisted here; always, too, in respectability; never, so far asI have known, disgraced by a single unworthy member; but seldomor never, on the other hand, after the first two generations,performing any memorable deed, or so much as putting forward aclaim to public notice.  Gradually, they have sunk almost out ofsight; as old houses, here and there about the streets, getcovered half-way to the eaves by the accumulation of new soil.From father to son, for above a hundred years, they followed thesea; a grey-headed shipmaster, in each generation, retiring fromthe quarter-deck to the homestead, while a boy of fourteen tookthe hereditary place before the mast, confronting the salt sprayand the gale which had blustered against his sire and grandsire.The boy, also in due time, passed from the forecastle to thecabin, spent a tempestuous manhood, and returned from hisworld-wanderings, to grow old, and die, and mingle his dust withthe natal earth.  This long connexion of afamily with one spot, as its place of birth and burial, creates akindred between the human being and the locality, quiteindependent of any charm in the scenery or moral circumstancesthat surround him.  It is not love but instinct.  The newinhabitant--who came himself from a foreign land, or whose

father or grandfather came--has little claim to be called aSalemite; he has no conception of the oyster--like tenacitywith which an old settler, over whom his third century iscreeping, clings to the spot where his successive generationshave been embedded.  It is no matter that the place is joylessfor him; that he is weary of the old wooden houses, the mud anddust, the dead level of site and sentiment, the chill east wind,and the chillest of social atmospheres;--all these, andwhatever faults besides he may see or imagine, are nothing to thepurpose.  The spell survives, and just as powerfully as if thenatal spot were an earthly paradise.  So has it been in my case.I felt it almost as a destiny to make Salem my home; so that themould of features and cast of character which had all along beenfamiliar here--ever, as one representative of the race lay downin the grave, another assuming, as it were, his sentry-marchalong the main street--might still in my little day be seen andrecognised in the old town.  Nevertheless, this very sentiment isan evidence that the connexion, which has become an unhealthyone, should at least be severed.  Human nature will not flourish,any more than a potato, if it be planted and re-planted, for too

long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil.  Mychildren have had other birth-places, and, so far as theirfortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots intoaccustomed earth.

On emerging from the Old Manse, it was chiefly this strange,indolent, unjoyous attachment for my native town that brought meto fill a place in Uncle Sam's brick edifice, when I might aswell, or better, have gone somewhere else.  My doom was on me, Itwas not the first time, nor the second, that I had gone away--as itseemed, permanently--but yet returned, like the badhalfpenny, or as if Salem were for me the inevitable centre ofthe universe.  So, one fine morning I ascended the flight ofgranite steps, with the President's commission in my pocket, andwas introduced to the corps of gentlemen who were to aid me in myweighty responsibility as chief executive officer of theCustom-House.

I doubt greatly--or, rather, I do not doubt at all--whetherany public functionary of the United States, either in the civilor military line, has ever had such a patriarchal body ofveterans under his orders as myself.  The whereabouts of theOldest Inhabitant was at once settled when I looked at them.  Forupwards of twenty years before this epoch, the independentposition of the Collector had kept the Salem Custom-House out ofthe whirlpool of political vicissitude, which makes the tenure ofoffice generally so fragile.  A soldier--New England's mostdistinguished soldier--he stood firmly on the pedestal of hisgallant services; and, himself secure in the wise liberality ofthe successive administrations through which he had held office,he had been the safety of his subordinates in many an hour ofdanger and heart-quake General Miller was radically conservative;a man over whose kindly nature habit had no slightinfluence; attaching himself strongly to familiar faces, and withdifficulty moved to change, even when

Reviews for The Scarlet Letter

[stipe168 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

yawwwn, shutup hester. not hester.. shutup nathaniel.

[schmal06 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is one of the most beautifully and intelligently written works I have ever come across. It's just brilliant.

[jenniferrobb · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was required reading for English class. Now that I think about it--it does seem odd that a school would have us reading about a woman being punished for adultery--well, the adultery part in a school book seems odd--though if they were going to have us read about adultery, I don't find it so odd that they would have it be this book. I remember our teacher saying "if you're reading the Cliff Notes, you already know who the baby's father is"--and it was true! The Cliff Notes did reveal the baby's father long before the book did. (But I won't reveal who it was here to avoid any spoilers.)

[thursbest · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

One of the best classic books I've read.This book seriously got me thinking about the terms of sexism and feminism. The story was very easy to follow, and just overall a great read.

[deusxmachina-1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

No fan of this classic. I get why it's considered a masterpiece, but it also seems to me as if the biggest fans judge from a position where the moral of a story is more important than the story itself.Over the course of this novel, we sadly get to know nothing of the inner workings and conditions of the characters, nothing but what the few, very reduced and stilted lines of dialogue reveal of which each additionally gets commented on by the narrator. This narrator is so far detached from the events and the persons who were involved that the whole thing reads like a historical report, with the additional effect that the characters have no nuances or real personalities. Everyone, men and women alike (though apart from Hester, women don't play any important part anyway) are Puritans and nothing else - only concerned with their soul's salvation, their morals and most of all the morals of others, with nothing distinguishing them from each other or giving them individuality. Hester herself is obviously different, but even with her we get to know nothing about her motivations and development, the reasons why she acts like she acts. The only character who breaks the mould is Pearl, and only because she's consistently described as different and weird.These shortcomings are actually a real pity, because I really liked the story itself, as a thought experiment and insight into a society that is . The theme of shame, stigma and the way how a society is held together by common morals give the frame for a tale that is, with the view of a modern reader, unbelievably full of bigotry, mercilessness, sexism, self-pity and factitiousness. Unfortunately, the way Hawthorne handles it, it's more like a sermon to be preached from a pulpit than a story to be told at a campfire. Cautionary and lecturing instead of entertaining, and no effort was made to combine both.On the topic of style, I guess Hawthorne really loved to hear himself talk. The introductory "Custom House" sketch took 1,5 hours in the audio version and nearly caused a dnf tag. There was no substance, nothing with any tangible insight, just rambling and digressing and going off on tangents that ultimately went nowhere, preferrably in run-on sentences that put half a dozen ideas into a single paragraph.Yes, I know, it's the style of the time and I can't expect modern efficiency in storytelling in a novel from 1850. Actually, I don't even want to. And still, it's so far over the top that it becomes tedious very fast. Pride and Prejudice is from 1813, and stylistically it's so much more varied and interesting, with real dialogue where not every line gets a comment and real characters the reader can understand and relate to.

[john257hopper · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This mid 19th century American classic novel is very much set within the ethos and mores of the Puritan community in New England in the mid 17th century. A young woman Hester Prynne with a baby (Pearl) is humiliated by the community and marked with the eponymous letter A for adultery (though the word is never used in the book). The story is about her relationship with her daughter, with an old doctor who is revealed to be her ex-husband, and with the clergyman who is Pearl's father. The story is told within a framework narrative, with an over-long introduction describing the author's personal experiences working in a custom house, where he purported to have found old documents describing Hester's story. Hawthorne is clearly sceptical of the grim joylessness of extreme Puritanism, when he describes one of their rare festive events thus: "Into this festal season of the year ............the Puritans compressed whatever mirth and public joy they deemed allowable to human infirmity; thereby so far dispelling the customary cloud, that, for the space of a single holiday, they appeared scarcely more grave than most other communities at a period of general affliction." The novel is very well written and needs to be read in relatively small doses truly to appreciate the language, though it is short at only 138 pages.

[kellyholmes-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is one of the best books I "had" to read in high school. I think it had something to do with teaching me how wrong it is to judge others.

[cyderry · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I'm not a big Classics fan but I do try to read a few each year. This time my Book Club chose A Scarlet Letter because of the Puritan connection and Thanksgiving time-frame. I had never read this book even in high school though I thought I knew the basics. There were aspects of the story to which I was unaware and it added a bit to the story IMO. However, the treatment of anyone - man, woman, or child - in manner, saddened me so I think that it did give me a greater reason to be thankful for the blessings I have.

[rsubber · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I put my hands on the beating hearts of Arthur Dimmesdale and Hester Prynne, they came close to escaping their time. Characters trump plot, but here the story line is viciously inescapable.

[bell7_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hester Prynne commits adultery in the Puritan town of Salem, where the community punishes her with wearing a letter "A" and with ostracism.Hawthorne's classic is, of course, one of those books that doesn't really need a summary, as most American high school students have to read it sometime in their academic careers. Its archaic language and long-winded intrusive narrator make it difficult to read for fun and pleasure. Its themes of guilt, punishment, ostracism, and false piety make it rich when a good teacher can tease out the narrative. When I reread The Scarlet Letter alongside a high school student, I found myself ready to highlight passages and delve back into the investigative, analytical mode of an English major. While not one of the classics I would return to again and again for just the sheer pleasure of the story, I can see why it's become a staple of the classroom, even as I pity the poor high school students that have to struggle through it.

[benuathanasia · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I don't see why Chillingworth is presented as a "villain." He does nothing heinous that I've seen. He's merely getting revenge on his wife for being a cheating whore (I have zero sympathy for adulterers) and her lover. If she had shown any repentance or turned aside from her lover when he returned, I might be able to see him in a more negative light. However, she continued to protect his identity throughout the story and even goes back to him in the end. I enjoyed the story, but would have much preferred is Hester was not the focus and Chillingworth's quest for revenge (justice) had been.

[tanya8dogearedcopy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Why should we read the Classics? One reason is for the history not only of the time and place; but for the ideas that have found expression through the writer. Roughly 4500 years ago, some scribe marked up The Epic of Gilgamesh into clay tablets. We have an intriguing glimpse into the time and place and some action points to string a story together; but we don't have a sense of what the characters were really thinking or what sensibility guided their thought processes. What was it like to live in a world where you perceived time as circular and cyclical, not linearly? How did the concepts of civilization, a major shift from the nomadic and animistic lifestyle change their worldview? How did the oral tradition and sense of history transmute their own sense of culture? Unfortunately, it is unlikely that we will ever know because the story contains no explanation. It is no more than a historic artifact celebrated for being the oldest written story. The Classics, however, tell us more. The Classics provide a sense of "interior history," ideas that had currency when they were written and still inform our culture today.

But why should you read The Scarlet Letter? The events that make up the main body of the work were not contemporary to the writer so how could he posit a credible story that reflects a mindset of a society that he could not have possibly have experienced? But the thing is, he did. No, Hawthorne did not live in the 17th century; but he did live in a small town with a strong cultural legacy to that time and; family ties bound him to the history of which he wrote. He was living with the effects a Puritanical society that embedded itself into the political consciousness of his day and, actually still lives with us even now (Don't fool yourself that because we don't put people in stocks or force them to wear a scarlet "A" upon their breasts, that we don't excoriate adulterers, especially if they happen to be public figures.) Hawthorne builds the first bridge between the events of 1650 and 1850 by creating prologue in which he discovers the documents that purportedly contain the events of the main body of the story. The second bridge is the one created by the reader's connection to the text. The second bridge is a meta-literary experience that elevates the text from being an artifact to being historically relevant, something from which, like all history, we can extricate meaning to our current lives.

The Scarlet Letter is an exposition of how religious and political thought cohered to create an inheritance of our American culture: a paradox of sex and sexuality, religious freedom that incarcerates and the punishment that frees. Hester Prynne falls in love with a man and gets pregnant by him; but does not enjoy the benefits of marriage which apparently include not being shoved into a jail cell, being publicly called out for her sin, reminding everyone else of her indiscretion by wearing a red "A" upon her chest and, being pretty much excluded from town life. Had she been married to the man, this would not have happened. So, falling in love and having sex with the man is a sin when the sanctity of marriage is not conferred by the town-church; but falling in love and having sex with a man becomes the consecration of life affirming values when you add in the public endorsement of marriage. It's a fine line between hypocrisy and relative morality. Hester Prynne is punished for her transgression; but her moment in the the town square (wherein she is brought out before all the townspeople) is meant to be an occasion for her not only to renounce her sin; but to give up the name of her lover as well so that he too may be free of guilt. Only through renunciation can the opportunity exist for forgiveness. There is an celebratory atmosphere to the denunciation of Hester Prynne. A zealful, but compassionless event in which Hester Prynne's pride is sacrificed to the self-righteous crowd. Except that Hester doesn't renounce her sin, give up her lover's name and, the public does not forgive or even really seem inclined to do so (after all the punishment begins before the possibility of her renouncement.) Ironically, Hester Prynne's punishment actually does free her: Her isolation forms her into a woman of independent thought, devoid of the hobbling dictates of the Puritan community.

The Scarlet Letter offers a lot in terms of ideas as to who we were, who we are and through the second bridge, who we can be.

Redacted from the original blog review at dog eared copy, The Scarlet Letter; 01/03/2012.

[tboonstra_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just re-read this at age 64. The previous time was for American Lit class in high school. This was a totally different experience and a good one. I know I didn't appreciate the high school experience and I doubt that I entered into the characters much then. I struggled then with having to account for my reading. I should have had the dictionary by my side now too, but needed to keep reading and did quite well with context clues, I think.

[brakketh-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Fascination story of punishment and the different ways that people can deal with it.

[enockpioulle · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It's a great historical reconstruction of the Puritan world in early New England, apart from its literary qualities which are also plenty. However, its fame owes a lot to the strong cultural lobby the ever powerful America carries over the world - for the same period there are hundreds of far more important and interesting authors in Europe.
If high schoolers and obviously, American literature graduates, will be forcefed it, nineteenth century literature is maybe the quintessential era of writing.

[jewel.barnett · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I read this book in high school. I should probably read more of N.H.'s books. This is a captivating read and rings so true even today.
Great book!

[maggie_rum · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A classic!

[lhlogan1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Frustrating story, but worth the read. Frustrating from a "why don't you just tell them!" standpoint.

[aprilaasheim · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Loved this book even as I agonized over the fate of our protagonist.

[6boysandme · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Summary: The harsh puritan world of the 17th century introduces us to Hester Prynne a woman who commits adultery and must wear the scarlet letter A to set her apart while her cowardly lover and her vengeful husband are the ones who truly are marked.

[teresaom-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A book that shows the great strength of one woman against the unfair opinions of the populace and the bias of that socity of men verus women.

[schmerguls · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

On Nov 20, 1946, said: "Reading in The Scarlet Letter, which is pretty good." On Nov. 21 I said: "Finished Scarlet Letter." But no other comment! I remember I was reading the book when I saw at the Public Library Eric Savereid's book Not So Wild a Dream, which had just come out. I assumed that the title came from The Scarlet Letter, since that phrase I knew was therein. When I finally read the Savereid book, on Sep 14, 1988, I learned the title did not come from The Scarlet Letter, but from Norman Corwin, who probably did not know the words had been written by Hawthorne long before and put in the mouth of the sinner concerning his feeling for the girl he seduced..

[page.fault · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

The characters in The Scarlet Letter raise as much sympathy in me as do characters in a badly- filmed and overdramatic soap opera. Dimmesdale, the "hero" of the piece, is a spineless worm that deserves to be squashed. It is impossible to imagine this cringing, crawling invertebrate ever playing the part of a passionate lover. Chillingworth, the villain of the piece, has about as much depth and creativity as his name. He could have been an interestingly twisted character, but is instead reduced to a plot device to keep the action going. He has about as much depth as a villain in a silent movie who laughs maniacally and twirls his mustache as he ties the heroine to a railroad track--not that he would need to actually tie down Hester, the heroine. If told to stand on the racetrack, she would probably do it. The "humble narrator" (yes, he calls himself this) idolizes Hester for her return to domesticity, self-flagelation, and protection of the man who should at least share her punishment. Yet she then flips implausibly back and forth from meek and apologetic to fiery and passionate. Hawthorne has no excuse for such poor writing. Other authors of the time, such as Jane Austen, write with sparkle and interest, with tangibly lifelike characters. Hawthorne’s book is at the same level of flamboyantly unreal drama as Alcott’s The Inheritance or The Long, Fatal Love Chase.

[fuzzi_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I finally read this classic, and despised everyone in it. I did read it to the end, but am not impressed enough to read anything else by this author!

[darzzled · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Despite its age, the Scarlet Letter is an excellent exploration of morality, religion and hypocrisy in a setting that's obsessed with morals. If you're not the kind of person who likes the sometimes over-written style of 19th century novels, you'll probably lose Hawthorne's message in the language but it's well worth the read and shows surprisingly modern thinking for such an old book.

[crashmyparty · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I feel like the best way to understand another time and place, one that may be so foreign to us now, is through storytelling, through novels. Instantly I am transported somewhere else to observe a world so far removed from my own. It can be frustrating - a lot of the time I wanted to shake various characters for their small mindedness, but then I had to remind myself that this world is all that they know, like mine is all I know. What is acceptable, or maybe frowned upon but not punished in the same way, today was a crime back then. The Scarlet Letter is a fascinating look into a world where God's word was Law, but what happens when you go against it?  

[kathleen586 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just re-read this book for school and I'm re-rating it. I think I was too young to appreciate it when I read it the first time. The three-star rating is changing to five stars because The Scarlet Letter is pretty amazing.

I'm also changing the read date because I don't think I read "The Custom-House" and a few other parts of the book before.

[soireb · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Read it as a class requirement, I like the imagery, but that is about it, not really crazy about the story, sorry. I feel like this being one of the great classics I should be doing backflips for it, but the truth is that the story just wasn't for me.

[walterqchocobo · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Ugh, this was really tough to get through, even in audiobook form. The only reason that I finished it is because it was one of those "classics" that I thought I should read. I wish that I wasn't regularly disappointed with these classic books/books on the 1001 books to read before you die list.

I know that Hawthorne was trying to talk about guilt and sin but man, could it be a little more interesting? Please?

[speedy74_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I honestly feel cheated that I was never required to read this novel in either high school or college. While I found the first chapter about how the author came upon the story of Hester Prynne while working at the custom's house terribly dull, I absolutely loved the novel that followed. The Scarlet Letter is a beautiful pairing of contrasts. While Hester is marked as an adulterer--a sinner, she gives freely of her time and talents to her community. While she is forced to wear the drab attire of the Puritans, her A for adulterer is beautifully crafted. While she is well known for her sin, she seems to hold the sins of others in a secret place in her heart. While she married for stability, she feel victim to her passions. All of these elements work to make a beautifully complex character the reader cannot help but empathize with. One of the themes of the novel I most identified with is the hypocrisy of the townspeople. While many of them have committed a similar sin they are happy to point their fingers at Hester and judge her. The only exception to this rule is the young woman who waits with others outside the jailhouse door as Hester appears before the public. She symbolizes the minority thought in the beginning and in the end of the novel. Her willingness to look at the world from a different perspective provides a window into Hawthorne's analysis of society. There are so many layers to this novel, that I wish I had taken more notes, but I was too swept up in the narrative to catalog all the depth that The Scarlet Letter provides. Definitely worth more than one read!