Introduction

Unlike the last two books I summarized, this is a book that I have actually read before, though I read it back in high school, which is more than half my lifetime ago at this point. The only thing I really remember about it is the surprise ending, which I will not reveal here, lest my captive audience be unawares. Spoilers yo. Back in yesteryear when I read it for the first time, I remember that when our English teacher handed them out to us, she said “I really hate that the edition they gave us spoils the ending in their summary, so make sure you don’t read the back cover.” It was a wise move to make sure the big reveal was not ruined, because telling someone NOT to do something is definitely the best way to make sure it never happens. Especially teenagers. Thus the big reveal was not a surprise even during my first reading.

I was underwhelmed by the book in high school, but my vocabulistics (yes, it’s a word…I think) and appreciation for literature has grown quite a lot since then, even if my maturity level has not. A good friend of mine generously donated the funds to get this site hosted for the first year, so in return I offered to let her choose the next book I would read, and she chose this. Considering the last two were from ye olde British authors, jumping across the pond to a ye olde American one is a change of pace. I also imagine I will get more out of it as an adult than I did as a child. As a bonus this edition also includes a thirty page short story titled “The Custom-House” that serves as a sort of prologue to how the book came to be.

I learned my lesson from Tale of Two Cities that it would probably be a good idea to get an understanding of where the author was coming from, and what audience he was writing to. The first thing I did before reading was to look up the author, Nathaniel Hawthorne, to get the deets of where he was coming from with writing this. His great-great-great-grandfather, William Hathorne (note the spelling difference), was an early immigrant (1630s) and a justice and magistrate of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. As you probably know, the early immigrants to New England were Puritans who bravely stood up against the Church of England and moved to the new world where they could have the freedom to force everyone who came there to be Puritans just like them. Right from the get-go they showed everyone how wrong it was for the Church of England to force their beliefs on people by punishing Quakers for not being Puritans. Nathaniel Hawthorne’s great-great-great gandpappy William was a model Puritan and gained a reputation for handing down extra harsh sentences. His son, John, carried on this noble family tradition by being one of the judges for the Salem witch trials. Basically Nathaniel came from a fine upstanding family.

Our author was born in 1804 in, you guessed it, Salem. His dad died when he was young and his uncles helped take care of him, his siblings, and his mother. They insisted he go to university, which he really didn’t want to do, and was quoted as saying:

I was educated (as the phrase is) at Bowdoin College. I was an idle student, negligent of college rules and the Procrustean details of academic life, rather choosing to nurse my own fancies than to dig into Greek roots and be numbered among the learned Thebans.¹

His first job out of college was as editor for the American Magazine of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge, which I think we can all agree is a pretty great title. So far dude is pretty solid in my book. He changed his name from Hathorne to Hawthorne in an attempt to distance himself from his totally crappy ancestors, and he was not a fan of Puritanism. Despite being super anti-Puritan, pretty much all of his literary works were set in Puritan New England and dealt with the inherent sin and wickedness of mankind, and the requisite punishment. Dude clearly had some issues he had to work out.

He had the hots for Sophia Peabody, who lived in a Transcendentalist commune. Transcendentalism was a movement that focused on the inherent goodness of people and how even mundane, everyday experiences could be spiritual. Did he believe any of that? No. Since he had the hots for Sophia though he did the most reasonable thing and pretended to be a Transcendentalist. He made a generous donation to the movement, moved into the commune so he could “get to know” Sophia, and live on the cheap so he could save money to marry her. Seemed to work out for both of them though since according to Wikipedia, the fount of all knowledge:

He referred to her as his “Dove” and wrote that she “is, in the strictest sense, my sole companion; and I need no other—there is no vacancy in my mind, any more than in my heart … Thank God that I suffice for her boundless heart!” Sophia greatly admired her husband’s work. She wrote in one of her journals:

I am always so dazzled and bewildered with the richness, the depth, the … jewels of beauty in his productions that I am always looking forward to a second reading where I can ponder and muse and fully take in the miraculous wealth of thoughts.

Seems kind of shifty to slide into a commune like that, but hey, it worked out I guess. Especially since he later sued the commune to get his donation back. All in all it looks like it was a pretty great marriage, and they were happy together.

Hawthorne published a lot of short stories. In fact, along with his buddy Edgar Allen Poe he is credited with creating the whole idea of a short story. He never made a ton of money from his writing, so he sort of did it as a side gig while he worked doing boring adult things.

In summary, Hawthorne was a dude who didn’t like academic life, wanted to do his own thing, and apparently had some major Puritan issues he needed to work out. With that, I begin my second dive into The Scarlet Letter.

¹https://landhscarletletter.weebly.com/nathaniel-hawthorne.html

The Custom-House: A short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Hawthorne always struggled making a living as a writer, and often had to resort to working actual jobs and keep writing as a side gig. One of these jobs was at a Custom-House in Salem, MA. This is the place where taxes and dues are assigned and collected on imported goods. At the start of the first edition of the Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne penned a thirty-page short story about the three years he spent working there. In a stroke of creative genius, he named it The Custom-House. It is an apocryphal tale of his inspiration for the book. This story is actually pretty funny all by itself, so my retelling is more or less a truncated version of his humor. It might have some larger than usual vocabulary, but trust me, it is nothing compared to the original.

The Custom-House
or
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Getting Fired

In the once thriving, but now forlorn port town of Salem, MA, dilapidated boats pepper the dilapidated pier plying their dilapidated wares on the all around dilapidated setting. Things are so run down they can’t even afford a wider variety of adjectives to describe it. Amid this picture of health sits a red brick custom-house. Adorning the archway at the entrance rests an eagle, clutching thunderbolts and lightning, and looking very, very frightening. It looks like it is just waiting for an excuse to peck out your eyes. Naturally, everyone looks to it with admiration while they pass under its warm, inviting scowl.

Outside the building are overgrown weeds, and inside the building are overgrown cobwebs and dust bunnies. One decrepit office was once the abode of our humble narrator, who until recently, was the local surveyor. This means he calculated the dues and taxes on all imported goods coming into the port. Sadly, he was dismissed due to changing political climates and a change of the local administration. He now wiles away his time writing a satirical review of his former place of employment.

At this point in the narrative I will switch to the first person without warning and relate how I am fond of this place for no discernable reason other than the fact my family has lived her a long time. In this case “I” refers to Nathaniel Hawthorne and not that hack, Jim Brewster, and will do so for the remainder of my narrative. I will switch between first person and third person without warning, because, as author, I do what I want want.

My ancestors are counted among the first settlers, and were known for persecuting Quakers. I am happy to report, however, that their many sins are punished in this day and age by having an idle, disgraceful teller of stories such as myself as an heir. They would be appalled by my sense of humor and amiable personality, and we can all take great comfort in their shame.

This town of Salem is actually all around depressing, dreary, and dying, but as my family have lived and died here for generations, I am inextricably tied to it. I have made sure to move elsewhere for just long enough for my children have been born elsewhere, so that they are not tied to this Puritanical hellscape as I have been. Then I moved back because, again, i do what I want, and my Puritanical heritage requires that I be as miserable as possible.

Upon my appointment as surveyor of the Customs House, I discovered the place to be staffed entirely by elderly retired sea captains. Some of these old salts were so infirm and bedridden that they did not make an appearance at their place of employment outside of June and July, when the weather warmed enough to draw them from their hibernation. I did them a great favor by relieving them of official duties so they had sufficient time to repent of any evil practices they may have fallen into before journeying to everlasting shores.

The entirety of the office were of the Whig party and much affrighted of the appointment of a Democrat such as myself, lest I fire them all. I should point out that in this time, the Democratic party was very different than it is in your day, dear reader, and probably more akin to the current Republican party in many ways. Andrew Jackson was a democrat, for example. The opposing party, the Whigs, were, from what I can tell, more similar to the current Democratic party, but someone who knows more than me would likely disagree, as this knowledge comes from an exhaustive cursory skim on Wikipedia.

In any event, even though I am a proud Democrat, my dismissals were purely related to the total lack of any actual work being done by the employees than for political motivations. Had I been politically motivated I certainly would have fired everyone, but I had not the heart to do so. Instead I merely set out to write this satirical piece mocking them in every possible way. Upon learning I was not out for blood, they happily returned to mostly sleeping at their desks and being all around terrible at their jobs. Whenever they missed smuggled contraband, which was often, they did a marvelous job of feeling badly about it and making a great show of overreacting to trivial matters in recompense.

I tend to find the good in people, and while lazy and incompetent, my coworkers had many admirable qualities. In general though, I could not be faulted “if I characterize them generally as a set of wearisome old souls, who had gathered nothing worth preservation from their varied experience of life. They seem to have flung away all the golden grain of practical wisdom, which they had enjoyed so many opportunities of harvesting, and most carefully to have stored their memories with the husks.”

The man in charge of all custom-houses was a gentleman of eighty-five who was a “rare perfection of…animal nature, the moderate proportion of intellect, and the very trifling admixture of moral and spiritual ingredients; these latter qualities, indeed, being in barely enough measure to keep the old gentleman from walking on all-fours.”

One advantage he had over his four-legged kin was his ability to recollect and describe, in detail, the many gourmet meals he had enjoyed in his life. As he had no other virtues that could possibly be diminished by his voracious appetite, it was with great delight that I listened to him describe his every meal, knowing that I could think no less of him for doing so. He was, in short, the absolute model of perfection for a custom-house master. The mind-numbing tedium of such a job could have no affect on him, and he could continue to enjoy his meals without the detrimental effects of intelligent thought.

I could expound on the single virtue of our dear leader, but I would be remiss not to describe the other inhabitants of the decrepit old custom-house. I turn your attention now to our gallant collector of revenue. A retired General of seventy, so feeble as to require a servant and liberal use of a guardrail to ascend the steps of the guardhouse, and yet still quite obviously not dead. Though he often had a vacant stare, when roused to speak or to listen (which was difficult for him) it was immediately apparent that the dim light inside him still flickered.

It was easy to perceive that light, however dim, of being the glow of an iron forge in his youth as he bravely soldiered into battle. Though he had undoubtedly slain his enemies with a steadfast resolve, he was, at his core, a gentle soul. His aged countenance delighted in the sight and smell of flowers, and his humor and kindness engendered an easy fondness. Though he did nothing useful, he did an admirable job of taking up space. I did my utmost to not interact with him in any way.

Next we have a man of business who was so entirely able to manage affairs of the office that he was the very embodiment of the custom-house. He no doubt saw the rest of us as dimwits but was very gentle about. This is likely the only person thus far that has been described without tongue-in-cheek sarcasm.

In short, it was an esoteric bunch that comprised my new companionship. Before this I had populated my entire social sphere with writers and philosophers. It does one good, I think, to surround oneself to individuals entirely different than ones self. It was also a lesson much needed that my imagined fame as a writer did not extend outside my circle of fellow writers. With these new surroundings I set aside my love of books and writing for my time at the custom-house, but on occasion it was revived.

One such occasion was in the second story of the dilapidated edifice. At one time Salem was imagined to become an important center of shipping, but was overtaken by Boston, and fell into obscurity. On the second story stood a large, unfinished room with exposed beams and unfinished walls. It was likely to be used for the never-realized industrial scale of the Salem sea port. Fow ahat, exacttly, I am not sure. Inside the room sat barrels full of forgotten old customs papers that made up the livelihood of their creators back in yesteryear. Scattered about the floor were equally forgotten writings and poems that made no profit for their creators whatsoever.

One rainy and idle day, as I was pawing through these old relics, I chanced upon a small, yellowed package. I opened this to discover the writings of a past surveyor from the early parts of the 18th century. Among these were a natural history of the town, and a well worn scrap of red cloth with the remnants of the letter A embroidered in golden thread. As I began pondering the possible meanings of the scrap of red cloth, I placed it on my chest on a whim and felt scalding heat as of iron fresh from a forge. As I flung it down I noticed a scroll of papers around which the scarlet letter had been wrapped. I examined these and discovered a reasonable explanation of the letter drawn from first hand accounts recorded by our long forgotten surveyor.

The letter in question was worn by one Hester Prynne, a woman of some note, it appeared, at the close of the 17th century. It struck me that if I faithfully embellished these half dozen or so pages, and added totally fictitious details that I would make up and tack on haphazardly, I would be able to make a fabulously inaccurate and fanciful story that kind of, sort of resembled the original story. I further reasoned that if my story was good enough, it could be further fictionalized and adapted into a movie fit for a younger, edgier audience. In that movie, all of the explosions and fistfights that never occurred in the original account could be accurately recreated, and all the characters would be portrayed by absurdly attractive models. As this was clearly the objective of the old surveyor, I set out to bring the heroic tale of Hester Prynne to the wide world. I found it difficult to do so at the custom-house, though I did my utmost to annoy my coworkers by incessantly pacing around the creaky floorboards pondering about it while they attempted to nap. My imaginations were constantly interrupted by actual work or by tales of past banquets from our corpulent master.

Instead of writing in the office, I attempted to do so at home. Pondering about things at night, in the moonlight, tinged by weak coal fire light, while looking in a mirror, is, of course, the best way to write, as everyone knows. The moonlight gives a ghostly quality to everyday objects and allows one to see a ghost hanging out in a corner. The coal light gives a fleshy tone that makes them real, and the mirror separates it from reality enough to let the imagination flow. This is, of course, old news to you, dear reader.

Even this obvious solution did not avail itself to me, as the tedium of my day job followed me home. I ceased to be a mediocre writer and instead became a mediocre surveyor of customs. I also noticed a gradual diminishing of self. You see, those who are reliant on Uncle Sam’s employ or charity of his pocket for too long gradually lose the will to struggle for one’s freely earned existence and instead depend fully on external support. As I began ruminating on how to avoid such a fate, I had the good fortune to be fired before the atrophy fully set in. A changing of the political climate led to a good old fashioned purge. Even though I describe this as a good thing, I am clearly trying to convince myself of it as I spend the next two pages describing in detail what an injustice it was. I will use such metaphors as being a man contemplating suicide but having the good fortune to be murdered instead, and likening my dismissal to the guillotine. I will even go so far as to suggest this story along with several others should be titled “POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF A DECAPITATED SURVEYOR” in all caps to emphasize my thinly veiled bitterness.

The tale of the Scarlet Letter, though entirely and faithfully retold with extreme embellishment, as I mentioned, was written under such a bitter pall, and is perhaps less cheery than it might otherwise have been as a result.

Preface to the Second Edition of The Scarlet Letter

This part is so great I am just copying it word for word below:

MUCH to the author’s surprise, and (if he may say so without additional offence) considerably to his amusement, he finds that his sketch of official life, introductory to The Scarlet Letter, has created an unprecedented excitement in the respectable community immediately around him. It could hardly have been more violent, indeed, had he burned down the Custom-House, and quenched its last smoking ember in the blood of a certain venerable personage, against whom he is supposed to cherish a peculiar malevolence. As the public disapprobation would weigh very heavily on him, were he conscious of deserving it, the author begs leave to say, that he has carefully read over the introductory pages, with a purpose to alter or expunge whatever might be found amiss, and to make the best reparation in his power for the atrocities of which he has been adjudged guilty. But it appears to him, that the only remarkable features of the sketch are its frank and genuine good-humor, and the general accuracy with which he has conveyed his sincere impressions of the characters therein described. As to enmity, or ill-feeling of any kind, personal or political, he utterly disclaims such motives. The sketch might, perhaps, have been wholly omitted, without loss to the public, or detriment to the book; but, having undertaken to write it, he conceives that it could not have been done in a better or a kindlier spirit, nor, so far as his abilities availed, with a livelier effect of truth.

The author is constrained, therefore, to republish his introductory sketch without the change of a word.

SALEM, March 30, 1850.

The Scarlet Letter

I

The Prison-Door

Ah New England. Untouched by white people. Every time a new land is settled, it is seen as a pristine utopia, and as such, needs a prison. One cannot have paradise, of course, unless one regularly culls those who do not conform. Boston was no different, and within twenty years of settlement, the prison had shown more use than any other building, and far less cheer. This is saying something considering how Puritans love to make things as dreary as humanly possible.

Outside this wooden prison stood a wild rosebush, whose blossoms welcomed prisoners on their arrival, and gave their sweet scent to the condemned on their way to the gallows. One notable prisoner you may have heard of was Ann Hutchison, who preached that faith brought one closer to God than good works. The righteous among the town showed her how wrong she was by doing the good work of declaring her a heretic and banishing her to the wilderness, where she later died. Faith – 0, Good works – …also 0.

On the plus side, she got to smell the roses on her way out. We offer you now, dear reader, a tantalizing whiff of these roses in an obvious attempt at foreshadowing.

II

The Market-Place

In the year of our Lord 1642, the townsfolk of Boston stand in front of the prison. Their grizzled physiognomies might be mistaken for scowls, but in this time and place it was just your typical RPF (Resting Puritan Face) looking grumpy like God intended. Also, did you have to look up physiognomies? I did. It means the human face. Not even a particular kind of face. Just plain old face. Seriously Hawthorne? Did they pay you by the letter? You couldn’t just say face?

Anyway, we are about to meet one Hester Prynne, an adulteress who had been sentenced by the town magistrates to wear a red piece of cloth with the letter A embroidered in gold on her chest. The pHySiOgNoMiEs of the men in the crowd might look stern and cruel, but the women are downright terrifying, and equipped with dagger stares. Picture a bunch of Incredible Hulks in cowls and petticoats, only paler. Because British. While awaiting her appearance, the group of scowling scary women stand around saying how she was let off easy. All she has to do is stand on stage for a few hours in the town square so everyone can throw shade, and then spend the rest of her life as a miserable outcast. To ensure that she gets perpetually scorned, she is sentenced to wear a Letter A for Adulteress on her chest from now on. Talk about a light punishment. Should have been put to death, or at the very least have a hot iron pressed on her forehead. That would be the compassionate thing to do after all. Instead they’ll have to settle for judging her with their judgy judginess.

The prison doors open and out comes Hester Prynne. She is so beautiful and well dressed that she is immediately enveloped in slow motion with soft lighting and a fan blowing to wave her hair behind her. She might be forced to wear a scarlet letter, but she does it in style. It is done in fancy golden embroidery. All the scary women get super jelly and start proclaiming that she has no right to be pretty and should look all haggard and frumpy like them. They see her rollin’, they hatin’. They patrollin’ staring at her scarlet letter. A few were even able to make out the small inscription reading ” ^ My eyes are up here ^ “

She is walked to the pillory at the center of town, and even though she is not forced to be locked into it, she has to stand there while everyone stares at her in RPF. In some other society it might have been an opportunity for jest or mockery, but no one remembered to bring their sense of humor with them when they left England and they have been awaiting a fresh shipment ever since. She had prepared herself for laughter and scorn, but the silently judgmental pHySiOgNoMiEs (gotta get my money’s worth from that five ~~dollar~~ shilling word) are far worse. She wishes it wasn’t real and her mind wanders to yesteryear and her home back in England. She especially dwells on an unnamed old man with a deformed shoulder hunched over papers in a dimly lit office. The author interrupts her reverie to remind her that she has 160 more pages to go, so it’s time to wrap up the trip down memory lane and get on with the next chapter.

III

The Recognition

A white guy at the edge of the scene stands wearing a mismatched outfit of tattered clothes and animal hide that is basically the 17th century version of a Mad Max costume. Hester notices that the he has a slightly deformed shoulder and she is clearly terrified of him. The old man from her reverie? I’m guessing he was involved in some past trauma. The man makes a shushing motion to her then turns to a villager standing next to him. Village person doesn’t get a name, so I am assuming he is listed as village person #1 in the credits:

Mad Max: Who’s the woman on stage?

Village Person #1: You must be a stranger here if you don’t know Hester Prynne. She made the cover of Puritan Weekly three months in a row for her shenanigans.

MM: Yep, stranger all right. Ran into some mishap on my travels. So much misfortune I could write a country song. My truck left me, my dog ran off with my best friend, and I got captured by hostile Native Americans. I was finally brought to this town to be with my fellow white people.

VP1: Well you’re lucky to find yourself in the land of oppression where we spend most of our time minding other people’s business like God intended. As to the woman on stage, Miss Pryne was married back in Amsterdam, came over ahead of her husband, but he never showed. Must have popped out to 7-11 for lotto tickets and smokes, because he hasn’t been heard from since. Meanwhile Hester got herself knocked up. Word is she did the horizontal shuffle in the church no less!

MM: Oh my. Who’s the baby daddy?

VP1: No one knows and she refuses to name him. All us merciful townsfolk wish she had been sentenced to death but NoOoOoO, the elders all think that she’s too pretty to die.

MM: Nah, this is better. This way she is a walking version of one of those billboards you find in the Midwest every few miles that say “Do you want to burn in hellfire? Because this is how you burn in hellfire.”

They wander off into the crowd and the scene switches back to Hester’s POV. She has been fixating on Mad Max in horror and is suddenly glad of the protection of the crowd. She is so focused on him that she hardly notices the bellowing from senior clergyman John Wilson. He is calling for her from the balcony of the meeting house overlooking the town square.

Wilson: Yo , Hester! Been trying to convince your pastor here, Reverend Dimmsdale, to tell you how awful you are and convince you to rat out your baby daddy, but it seems he is too kind-hearted. Dimmsdale, you gonna agree to be spiteful like the rest of us?

Governor Bellingham: Yeah Dimmsdale, it really would be for the best if you convinced her to tell us who he is so we can punish him too.

The author then describes how Dimmsdale is super timid and shy, so I bet he is loving the spotlight.

Dimmsdale: [gulp] Right, so Hester, here’s the thing. If you think it’ll give you peace, you should totes rat him out. I mean, could be that he is too timid and cowardly to do it himself, so you could, um, help him to not be a hypocrite by manning up and just doing it for him.

Hester: Gonna go with no.

Wilson: Look, rat him out and we might consider letting you take off the A.

Hester: Nah its super cute and the fanciness of it is making all the RPF harpies over there super mad, so gonna keep it.

Village Person #1: Just tell us! Let your baby have a father.

Hester: You mean a father like one of you crappy ppl? Nah, gonna stick with a Heavenly Father for my BAE.

Dimmsdale: “Wonderous strength and generosity of a woman’s heart! She will not speak!” (actual quote)

Wilson: Well in that case it’s sermon time. I have a few very catchy ones prepared. Sin and Hellfire. One has lepers.

He proceeds to play his greatest hits on adultery, then they lead Hester back to the prison to think about what she did.

IV

The Interview

Hester is all in a tizzy, and threats of further punishment until her morale improves do not help. She is having a pretty rough time of things in her cell, and the baby is all freaked out too, so they call the doctor. Guess who the doctor is? Mad Max! He’s staying at the prison too till they figure out a place for him to live.

When he enters the room, a definite chill follows that leaves Hester cold. We learn the Mad Max’s actual name is Roger Chillingworth. Really? The guy who gives Hester the chills is called Chillingworth? That’s up there with Darth Plagueis and General Grievous for most obvious bad guy name ever. Who’s next? Darth Sidious?

For those not familiar with Star Wars, those are all actual names of villains from the brilliant mind of George Lucas.

Darth Chillingworth is left alone with Hester. In a shocking twist that I am sure none of us saw coming, it turns out HE is the missing husband of Hester! Dunn Dunn dunnnnnnn!!!!

He first makes some medicine for the crying baby and asks her to give it to the child. She is super sus of Darth Chillingworth’s intentions and refuses, so he administers it instead. It turns out to be actual medicine and not poison, and he next offers her some medicine.

Hester: Oh, you gonna poison me now and get your revenge?

Darth Chillingworth: Nah, gonna get revenge by making sure you live, so you can sport them nifty threads you have and get shamed non stop.

She drinks her medicine and they both sit.

C: Look, I’m not gonna ask how you wound up doing the dirty. I figure I should have seen it coming. I’m way too old for you and probably should never have married you in the first place but I was lonely. I deluded myself into thinking that being a super smart doctor would make up for being super old and deformed.

Hester: I told you up front I had no feelings for you.

C: True, but I figured I could play on your pity.

H: Well, you thought wrong.

C: True dat. So not that I am bitter or anything, but who’s the baby daddy? I just want to know for….reasons. Definitely not because I am planning revenge. Just, you know, for reasons.

H: His name is Nunya.

C: Nunya who?

H: Nunya Business! Ooooohhhhhh!!!! Burn!!!! You got any ointment in that medicine bag old man?

C: Well, rest assured, Ima found out who Nunya really is! I’ve watched enough Scooby-Doo to know those secrets never stay hidden.

H: Well, good luck with that.

C: Oh Ima find out. Also, don’t tell anyone who I really am. Don’t want your sin tainting the pretend name I am using here.

H: Why not expose yourself now and distance yourself from me?

C: I have my reasons that are totally not evil. Also, if you tell anyone, I will expose your baby daddy when I find out who he is. Which I will. [Smiles in sinister]

H: Okay deal.

C: So Hester, how’s it feel to be all judged and scorned? Bad, huh?

H: Well, it’s not great.

C: [sinister smile widens]

V

Hester at Her Needle

Hester is released from prison, and walking out the doors without anyone paying attention to her is in some ways worse than being the object of scorn. At least she knew that was temporary, and she just had to suck it up for a single day. Now she knows she will have to carry her shame day in and day out, with no end in sight. It’s like the hobbit meal schedule, but for shame. Shame for breakfast, shame for second breakfast, shame for elevensies. Oh look, more shame! It’s like never-ending Thanksgiving leftovers of shame.

She is free to travel anywhere she wants. Like, literally anywhere. Like, somewhere she doesn’t have to wear the scarlet letter. She doesn’t though because Hawthorne seems to think it is a rule of humanity that people must stay where horrible events in their life have occurred. I haven’t found that to be the case in my life, but then again, he seemed to have a pretty dim view of Salem yet still came back to live, so I guess you do you Hawthorne.

Hawthorne also suggests that Hester stays cuz she has convinced herself she must stay in penance. Also, that’s where the book takes place and she is constrained by the whims of the author. Thus it was that instead of traveling elsewhere, she finds an old abandoned cabin in an isolated patch of fallow ground and claims it for her she-shed. As has been established, she can do fancy needlework, and since fancy needlework is forbidden by Puritans along with anything else fun, it is naturally highly sought after by the rich. Turns out she can make a pretty good living selling ceremonial clothes for the governor and judges who punished her in the first place. That seems kind of hypocritical but oh well. She is so good at it that her work becomes all the rage in town, except for bridal veils, cuz they gotta draw the line somewhere I guess. Love the sin, hate the sinner and all.

Hawthorne states “Women derive a pleasure, incomprehensible to the other sex, from the delicate toil of the needle.” That line is fairly amusing to me since embroidery is one of my hobbies. This piece that I made for my sister last fall seems especially fitting:

Hester quickly gains the reputation as the neighborhood crazy cat lady as well as maker of top notch gloves. I assume they are for slapping someone in order to challenge them to a duel. This has to be done in style, of course. In her spare time she makes clothes for the poor, who do a good job of reviling her in thanks for her efforts.

Children gawk at her, customers go all passive aggressive Karen on her, clergyman go out of their way to ask her to send them a postcard from Hell when she gets there. The usual forgiving attitude that the time is known for pervades. She seems to have developed a supernatural sense for the unseen scarlet letters worn by others. Sudden sense of malice? Looks up to find an old clergyman. Sense of shame? Notices a kindred maiden shyly glancing and blushing. She starts to believe they are all as guilty as her, just more secret about it. They all rest easy knowing there is someone more guilty than themselves, and as we all know, seeing someone else’s suffering gives us all a glowing sense of satisfaction, like God intended. Or something.

VI

Pearl

Here we meet the infant, name Pearl. As an old woman Pearl described her childhood:

Mama spent every last penny we had

To buy me a dancin’ dress

Mama washed and combed and curled my hair

And she painted my eyes and lips

Then I stepped into a satin dancin’ dress

That had a split from the side clean up to my hip

It was red, velvet trimmin’ and it fit me good

Standin’ back from the lookin’ glass

There stood a woman where

A half grown kid had stood

Wait, that’s a Reba McEntire song. But it basically fits. Hester does make her super fancy clothes, and she is described as a beautiful child. Also, she is a wild child. The other children in the village are mean to Pearl because they know she is an outcast, even if they don’t know why, and she retaliates by throwing rocks at them. When not fighting tiny pint-sized Puritans, she has imaginary Puritans in the trees and weeds and whatnot and attacks them with ferocity. It’s like having imaginary friends, only the opposite of that.

Pearl revels in torturing those around her, even her mother. The first thing Pearl noticed as a baby was the scarlet letter on her mother’s chest, and Hester keeps noticing a flash of devil smile and evil intent in her eyes. If this book was a comic, it would be called Adulteress and the Devil Child. I would totally buy that comic.

VII

The Governor’s Hall

Then, as now, trivial matters tend to take the forefront of public interest and political debate. Such is the case regarding the guardianship of Pearl. There is a considerable portion of the government of the opinion that if Pearl really is a demon child, she is a stumbling block to Hester’s redemption, and if she isn’t, she deserves more indoctrination than Hester can provide. Either way, she should be removed from Hester’s care.

Governor Bellingham is especially of this opinion, though this does not stop him from ordering some custom slapping gloves from Hester. One must challenge others to duels with style, after all. Thus, Adulteress and the Demon Child head on over to deliver the gloves and convince him to let Hester keep her daughter. In preparation, Hester makes a dress of red fabric with elaborate gold trim for Pearl. All the fancy golden needlework basically makes her the living embodiment of the Scarlet Letter. What better way to convince an extra pious judge that you are not sinful than by reminding them of the very sin you are guilty of, right?

Along the way some children see the mother and daughter. Unlike the Demon Child, they have been raised in proper Puritan homes, and thus know instinctively that the best thing to do is fling mud at the pair. Before they can though, Pearl flies at them in a rage and they run away peeing themselves. At last Adulteress and the Demon Child arrive at the governor’s mansion and we get a description of the humble abode. The outer walls are plaster embedded with bits of colored glass so the whole thing glitters like jewels in the sun. An arched doorway with intricate stained glass opens to a columnated hall decorated in portraits of grumpy looking Bellingham ancestors. Along one wall stands a suit of shiny shiny armor that Bellingham wore while nobly slaughtering the Native population for daring to exist. Pearl is fascinated by this so Hester distracts her by pointing out the garden.

Governor Bellingham had attempted to make a proper English garden, and spectacularly failed in the attempt. All we see now are some pumpkins, cabbages, wild rosebushes, and apple trees. Hester speculates the roses and apple trees to be descended from the first ones planted by Reverend Blackstone.

According to the book’s footnotes, Blackstone was a founding settler of Boston, but left to get away from all the Puritans. Can’t imagine why.

Enough of this reverie though because here comes Bellingham and his crew. I am sure the Demon Child dressed as the embodiment of sin will be on her best behavior and everything will work out well.

VIII

The Elf-Child and the Minister

Bellingham strolls in along with Reverend Wilson (who gave us that cheery lecture on sin and hellfire a few chapters ago), Reverend Dimmsdale (whose health has been poor the last few years due to extra strength sermoning) and Darth Chillingworth. I guess characters are in short supply since we haven’t met anyone new. They open the door to the hall and find Pearl.

Bellingham: Who do we have here? Looks like a tiny imp decorated in garish red fluff. What’s your name tiny elf?

Pearl: Demon Ch….er…I mean Pearl.

Bellingham: Pearl, more like Ruby, amirite? And who is your mother?

Pearl: Mother is my mother.

Bellingham: [notices Hester] Oh we were just talking about how you’re a terrible mother and we should take your child.

Hester: Actually I’m a great mom because I am continually learning how to guard her against crappy Puritans like you.

Bellingham: That’s MISTER Crappy Puritan to YOU and we’ll be the judge of that. Reverend Wilson, go quiz her on how bad she should feel about killing Jesus!

Wilson: Right-o. Tell me Pearl, do you know who made you?

Now, Pearl knew perfectly well all about her heavenly father and could have aced any catechism quiz, but as that was the expected answer, she dutifully did not give it. Instead she said that no one made her and she was plucked from a rose bush.

Wilson: Ooooo, wrong answer. Time to get taken away.

Hester: [clutches Pearl to her] Oh thems fightin’ words. Dimmsdale, tell him how that’s not gonna happen. Heavenly Father gave me this child. Are you saying God was wrong? You were my pastor so you know what’s what.

Dimmadale: [gulp] Yeah, she has a point. I mean, God knew all about the hanky panky that happened with Hester and….someone, yet saw fit to give her this child. Kiddo is clearly a blessing and a curse, what with her wacky antics. She is basically a living scarlet letter. Just look at how she’s dressed!

Wilson: Oh I thought that was just to mock us.

Dimmsdale: Nah she knows what she is doing. Pearl is the only thing keeping her from falling into deeper sin, and she knows that she serves as a cautionary tale to her daughter. If Hester raises her right and brings her to heaven, she knows it means her lesson is well learned and she maybe gets a get out of Hell free card, so kind of a win-win.

Bellingham: Fine, she can keep the child, but she has to go to school and church and whatnot when she is old enough. And eat her Wheaties. Which are totally a thing at this time and not an anachronism.

IX

The Leech

We are now treated to a retelling of Roger Chillingworth’s introduction to the story from his point of view:

He stumbles out of the forest, travel worn and hopeful of finding a loving home with his wife, only to find her on the pillory soaking up shame. A soon as he found out why from the random village person, he knew that there would be plenty of leftover shame for everyone related to her, and probably an extra portion for him if he revealed himself. So what motivation did he have to say who he really was? None. The only reasonable thing to do in a case like this is to seek revenge against the woman who is clearly already having a pretty bad time of things.

Thus he donned the moniker of Darth Chillingworth and joined the noble ranks of community healers. Current healthcare staff for the community consists of an aged deacon, a kindly yet inept apothecary, and a surgeon who spends most of his time as a barber and was only vaguely aware that organs are a thing that people have.

What Darth Chillingworth lacks in empathy he makes up for in medical skillz. That’s skillz with a z, by the way, which means it’s double plus good skill. His time among the natives taught him the medicinal properties of local plants, and he is able to brew healing potions, which is definitely not seen as witchcraft. His lack of empathy also makes him an exemplary member of the church. The author refers to him affectionately as “The Leech.”

He chooses Master Dimmsdale to be his spiritual guide, which works out, because right around the time of Chillingworth’s arrival, Dimmsdale’s health starts to fade for reasons unfathomable to the reader, but clearly fathomable to the townsfolk as being the result of overexerting himself being righteous. Lots of fasting and prayer and self deprecation and whatnot takes its toll, and if he dies its only because the world is unworthy of his holiness.

The arrival of such an emanate physician seemingly out of nowhere at the same time as the declining health of our holiest of holies seems to most as being divinely inspired. Some even claim he was was whisked away from a university in Germany and carried through the air to their backwater. Others realize that such a flamboyant miracle is preposterous and instead insist that it is just a regular strength miracle. No one seems to make the connection that both of these events coincide with the expulsion of Adulteress and the Demon Child.

Dimmsdale resists medical help, saying he is unworthy, but the other reverends tell him it is a sin to refuse, so there we are. Chillingworth takes a great interest in trying to understand him, so the two form an intimate bromance. They literally take long walks on the beach together. “For the sake of the minister’s health, and to enable the leech to gather plants with healing balm in them, they took long walks on the sea-shore, or in the forest, mingling various talk with the plash and murmur of the waves, and the solemn wind-anthem among the tree-tops.” See? bromance.

They take their bromance to the next level and move in together. Their landlady puts Dimmsdale in a small apartment with the walls covered in a tapestry depicting David and Bathsheba¹, cuz that’s not foreshadowing. Not at all. Also it is next to a graveyard. Great for his health, I’m sure.

Back to the story. Most people ship Dimmsdale and Chillingworth’s bromance. As time goes on and Dimmesdale’s health continues to decline though, some people think Chillingworth is an agent of the devil who learned the black arts from the “savages” and is using it to poison Dimmsdale. Guess we’ll see.

¹For those not familiar with this particularly heartwarming Biblical tale: King David is a peeping Tom and sees Bathsheba bathing one day. He gets all lusty and does the horizontal shuffle with her even though she is married to a soldier. She gets pregnant, so David orders the husband to the front lines of the fiercest battle. He dies, and David marries her.

X

The Leech and His Patient

Darth Chillingworth is totes sus that Dimmsdale is hiding something and he is determined to find out what in order to “help” him. Except, of course, for the fact that his probes into Dimmsdale’s psyche is described as a thief trying not to creak floorboards. He is convinced Dimmsdale has some dark secret but makes sure that he looks totally innocent whenever Dimmsdale looks his way. Dimmsdale, for his part, is oblivious because he is distrustful of everyone all the time, so his danger sense is…dim. One day they chat while Chillingworth is examining some weeds he gathered.

Dimmsdale: Watcha got there? They look sickly.

Chillingworth: Found them growing on an unmarked grave. Probably grew out of the sinful heart of the deceased. That would explain the sickly appearance. Should have confessed when he could I guess.

D: Maybe he wanted to but couldn’t.

C: Why not? What would stop him?

D: Could be he wanted to be able to still do good and he knew that if he confessed, no one would trust him anymore and his good works would be at an end. People will know he is not as righteous as he pretends and stop respecting him.

C: That sounds oddly specific, and also self-deluding.

D: Well not like we are talking about me or anything. Oh look! Is that Hester and Pearl walking outside? Let’s go take a look!

Surely enough, the fortuitous distraction is indeed Pearl laughing and dancing in the graveyard. I am sure that is scoring her huge points in the “Is she is a Demon Child?” department. Then she notices the two men and throws burrs at them. She runs aways to warn her mom not to be caught by the old man’s witchcraft as the minister so clearly has. Again, big points.

C: Well, I’ll say this for her, at least she doesn’t have any hidden sin like that sinful corpse (who is definitely not you) that you were talking about.

D: Yeah, sucks to be that guy, that’s for sure.

C: Sure would. Speaking of which, want a run down on your diagnosis?

D: Totally.

C: Right, well, still got nothing. Are you sure you’ve told me everything?

D: Of course.

C: Are you sure you’re sure? Cuz I can’t help you if you won’t help me.

D: Totes sure.

C: Well, in that case, I’m guessing it’s a malady of the spirit. Maybe telling someone the cause of the the spiritual trouble might help.

D: [suddenly shocked] Nope, I’m not telling! [Runs away]

Chillingworth sits and muses with his fingers pursed all evil villain style about reestablishing relations with his victim…er…friend. He figures it will be fairly easy since Dimmsdale is so malleable, and this is proven on the very next page, and not only that, but to reëstablish, which is even cooler because umlauts make everything cooler. Yes, Hawthorne spells it with an umlaut.

Dimmsdale soon feels guilty about his outburst, since a good Puritan must feel guilty about just about everything except judging the sins of other Puritans, and apologizes. Darth Chillingworth resumes his ministrations. One day he finds Dimmsdale fast asleep, so he creeps up and looks under the vestments covering the minister’s chest and is filled with the evil joy of evil and let’s out a silent MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. It doesn’t say what he finds, but I am guessing a scarlet letter of Dimmsdale’s own.

XI

The Interior of a Heart

With his newfound knowledge, Darth Chillingworth plots ways to mentally torture Dimmsdale. Dimmsdale suspects something is up, but as we established earlier, he is rather dim, so he chalks all his mental anguish up to reading too much into things Chillingworth says due to his own guilty conscience. In an ironic twist, he makes up for his perceived unjust view of Chillingworth by opening himself up even further. Is that actually irony? I’m not sure. I’ve always been a little hazy on the exact definition of irony. Anyway, Dimmsdale opens up about everything except exposing his secret, thinking it IS still a secret. Chillingworth is in turn delighted for the bountiful opportunities to be awful. Fate has placed him as the confidant of the very object of his revenge. And by fate I mean the author. And by the author I mean the person who willingly lived in a town he disliked because…reasons? I guess? Kind of feel like Hawthorne has a thing for willingly putting themselves in the way of torment.

The constant, visible turmoil of Dimmsdale makes him super famous because he is basically Puritan Gandhi – wasting away and suffering for the greater good of his flock. He tries to tell everyone how super wicked he is, but since he never spells out his exact sin, they just think he is super pious. The worse he feels, the more famous he gets, It is a feedback loop that nets the exact opposite reaction of what he wants. As an added bonus all the accolades give him imposter syndrome, which makes him feel even worse. So what does he do? Continues to make himself feel awful, naturally. As we all know, if there is anything Puritans love more than suffering, it is seeing other people suffer, so it’s a win-win for both him and the congregation. And Darth Chillingworth. It is the best of times by being simultaneously the worst of times for everyone involved.

Dimmsdale decides to pick up a hobby, so he gets a scourge (barbed whip) and whips himself for funsies. To complete the Gandhi suffering look he also starves himself. He suffers to the point he hallucinates people shunning him. I wonder what could possibly be causing his health to decline. One night after a fun filled “whip yourself till you pass out” party, a thought occurs to him of a new and exciting way to find peace. And by peace he probably means extra masochism, but I guess we shall see. He puts on his coat and walks out into the night towards the next chapter.

XII

The Minister’s Vigil

The minister walks to the scaffold where Hester once stood, and throws himself a midnight pity party. He invites his friends Remorse and Cowardice, who he personifies as sisters playing tug of war with him. One pushes him to admit his guilt while the other pulls him back just shy of actually doing so.

He lets out a cry of anguish so loud he is sure it will waken the whole town. After a moment only Governor Bellingham and the governor’s sister poke their heads out, look around, assume it was a witch flying with the devil, and go back to bed. It is common knowledge that such witch cries in the night are commonplace. Dimmsdale realizes it was probably much louder in his head. A minute later he sees a lone figure slowly making his way towards him, holding a lamp. Who could it be? Why it’s Reverend Wilson! He remembers that Governor Winthrop, who preceded Governor Bellingham, had come down with a bad case of being really old, and was nigh on death. The reverend must have been watching over him while he breathed his last. The light of the lantern makes him look as though he is bathed in a radiant halo.

This is a very important plot point and I am glad Hawthorne included it because at this point in our story, literally nothing interesting happens. Wilson doesn’t notice him and continues walking. Dimmsdale continues to sit in silence. I am really glad that Hawthorne included this totally important detail. So poetic.

Dimmsdale imagines standing there on the scaffold until morning. The early risers would see him and raise an alarm that a ghost was in the town square. Everyone would rush out to see who the ghostly visage was at first light and be horrified to find it was him. They would all know his evil deed instinctively. The horror of that fantasy makes him laugh maniacally. He comes back to himself and hears a child’s laugh in response. Oh the sweet sound of children’s laughter. At night. In a deserted town square.

Dimmsdale: Pearl, is that you?

Pearl: Yeppers

D: Is your mother with you?

P: Right again.

D: What are you doing here?

Hester: Taking measurements for Governor Winthrop’s death robes.

D: Oh, fun. Come join me.

[They join him on the scaffold]

P: Will you stand with us here tomorrow?

D: Oh heavens no. That would take actual courage, of which I definitely have none. I would much rather watch you two get shunned. I will stand with you and your mother at judgement day, but not in this life.

Just then a meteor blazes through the sky with such brightness that it illuminates the entire street. Dimmsdale imagines that he sees a fiery A trailing after it. Pearl laughs and points to it, or so he thinks, but then realizes that she is pointing to a man standing on the edge of the courtyard. Dimmsdale cries out in terror and implores Hester and Pearl to tell him who it is. Pearl offers to tell him and gestures for him to bend down so she can whisper it. When he does she blows a raspberry in his ear. Demon Child FTW!!!

He discerns it is Darth Chillingworth, who is practicing his lurking skills while grinning in a pretty creepy kind of way.

D: [To Chillingworth] Wha..what are you doing here?

C: I was tending to Winthrop along with pretty much every other main character in the book. Looks like you’ve been sleepwalking. Let me take you home.

Next morning is Sabbath and Dimmsdale gives a super duper sermon because the holiness of his sermons is directly proportional to how awful he feels. After last night he feels extra awful, so extra double bonus points for him! After the meeting the sexton (church groundskeeper) approaches him.

Sexton: Yo Dimmsdale, found one of your gloves on the scaffold this morning. Satan must have put it there.

D: Yeah, Satan for sure. We all know how fond he is of stealing random gloves. For…reasons.

S: Right you are. Did you see that meteor last night? Big old fiery A. A for angel, of course, signifying Winthrop’s new status as either a winged human or a flying sphere covered in eyes, depending on which scriptures of the Bible you choose.

XIII

Another View of Hester

Hester muses about how Dimmsdale looks way worse than the last time she saw him. She feels partly to blame and knows that Chillingworth has played a part in making him extra pathetic. Since Dimmsdale has an instinctual fear of him, but is unable to do anything about it, she resolves to aid the poor minister.

By now she is less the object of scorn and more like the village oddball that everyone just kind of takes for granted.

In my hometown of Flagstaff, Arizona, it was a lady who walked around in a Victorian dress with a parasol, and a dude who wore a thick winter coat year round. I bet your town has one or two as well. Odd, but harmless.

In fact, her continual generosity to the poor and needy has earned her some respect. Admiration even. She provides for herself and her daughter through her own labor, and she never causes trouble. Some even start to think the A stands for Able. The letter gains the status of a holy icon, akin to a nun’s cross. All who see it bow in deference to her goodness. Legend has it that she once defeated Chuck Norris with her scarlet letter.

As her inner beauty grows, her outer appearance does the opposite, and becomes ever more crone-like. The living purgatory she is relegated to forces her to become callous, cold, and covered in prison tats. She even has a set of knuckle tattoos that spell out “ADULTERY” when she holds her fists together, because she is hardcore like that.

It’s actually a good thing the patriarchy let her keep the Demon Child whether they realize it or not. If they hadn’t, she would probably devote her extra spicy personality to overthrowing the church. Or the patriarchy. Or people who say “literally” when what they are in fact using figurative hyperbole. Any of these would have earned her the death sentence in this dystopia. Instead she has to focus all her efforts on Pearl, so, that’s a silver lining I guess.

After her encounter with Dimmsdale at the pillory the night of the ominous fiery A in the sky, and his reaction to seeing Darth Chillingworth, she realizes that he has had a hand in the minister’s suffering. Her purgatory has gained her more than enough grit to deal with Pearl, so she decides to use her excess energy to take down Darth Chillingworth. Her rise in society has made her at an equal moral level to an old man who has stooped to revenge, so it’s game on.

XIV

Hester and the Physician

Adulteress soon has her chance to confront Darth Chillingworth one day while walking on the beach. He is near the bordering forest path collecting roots and herbs in a basket. She sends Pearl off to play on the beach so she can have words with the old man.

Hester: We need to talk.

Chillingworth: Oh do we now? There has been much talk concerning you, you know. All your good deeds have inspired the council to consider letting you take the scarlet letter off.

H: Nah, think I’ll keep it.

C: Fine by me. You do you.

Hester stares at him and realizes that his countenance has utterly changed from a wizened, tired old man to an eager, devilish grin. His eyes have even turned red with a blazing fire of revenge burning within. Her continued stares prompt him to ask:

C: Do I have something on my face?

H: Only an evil that would make me weep were I so inclined. But that’s beside the point. I’m here to talk about our mutual friend the miserable minister.

C: Oooh! My favorite topic!

H: When I made that vow to you to keep your identity secret I felt I had no choice, but now I think I made a mistake. You cause him untold misery and make him die a living death every day.

C: You’re right, you didn’t have a choice. I told you I would discover the identity of your baby daddy and rat him out. I have discovered it, yet I am true to my word. In fact, were not for my doctor skillz he would have died from shame within a couple of years even if he had never been found out. He’s only alive due to my aid, so what harm have I done really?

H: Would have been better to die than live the existence you have relegated him to.

C: True dat. But this way I get to poison my own soul by poisoning his. It is literally the entire purpose of my existence in this book. Don’t I look all super evil? Like, way more evil than when you married me? I will now ramble about how all this revenge is actually his fault using logical arguments that are full of fallacies. The short version of my ramble is that I am incapable of taking any responsibility for any of this.

H: Can’t fault that sound logic. Your desire for revenge was definitely his choice. Hasn’t he suffered enough though?

C: Nope, he owes me extra for vaguely defined reasons that the narrator will not explain more fully. I am your stereotypical villain at this point: very little backstory explaining my motivation, yet singularly defined by my evil goal of evil.

H: In that case I’m gonna reveal the truth of this whole thing to him, thus negating your purpose.

C: [smirks in smug satisfaction] Do what you gotta do.

H: Ugh, could you just not? You’re making everyone, including yourself, miserable. Maybe just stop and redeem yourself.

C: Nope, no can do, my continued evil actions are not my choice. It’s fate. Like I said, I am incapable of accepting responsibility.

XV

Hester and Pearl

As Darth Chillingworth walks away, Hester looks for any sign of wilting vegetation in his passage. Surely the earth would wither anywhere he touched it. She tries not to hate him, but it’s hard when he is just the absolute worst. Enough of that, though. She goes down to the shore in search of her Demon Child.

The Demon Child has been busy torturing small animals, as all good demon children are wont to do. By the time Heater arrives, she has fashioned a letter A out of seaweed on her chest.

Hester: Ooo fancy. Do you know why your mother wears that A on her bosom?

Pearl: For the same reason the minister puts his hand on his chest all the time.

H: And what reason is that?

P: I have no idea, but I have a feeling that Darth Chillingworth knows.

She suddenly wonders how much this tiny tot knows or comprehends. Is she trying to express sympathy in some way? She muses over that for the next couple of pages. The narrator ends the chapter by informing us that Pearl’s new favorite question is: What does the scarlet letter mean?

Pearl: Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom. What does it mean?

H: Oh hush now.

P: Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom. What does it mean?

H: Look, don’t worry about it, okay.

P: [Deep intake of breath] But MoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOmm!!!!!!!!!

Oh the joys of motherhood.

XVI

A Forest Walk

Hester looks for an opportunity to catch Dimmsdale while he is away from the prying eyes of Darth Chillingworth. Perhaps while he is walking in the woods or seashore. She gets her chance one cloudy day when she hears that he has gone off to visit a fellow minister serving as a missionary to the Native tribes. She arranges to be on the path when he gets back.

Pearl: Mom! Look, the sun peaked it’s head out over there! It is probably running away from your scarlet letter so I’d better go catch it. I don’t have my own letter yet, so I can sneak up on it.

Hester: Let’s hope you never have a letter.

P: Why? Won’t I get one when I’m older.

H: I would rather not answer that, so instead I will distract you. Oh look, the sun is running away! Better go catch it!

Pearl, being easily distracted, runs off to catch it and, surprisingly, succeeds! She stands in a pool of sunshine. But as soon as Hester reaches her hand into the light it disappears in ominous foreshadowing.

H: Le sigh. Why don’t we sit and rest.

P: I’m not tired, but I’ll sit with you if you tell me a story.

H: Okay, what do you want to hear a story about?

Actual quote from Pearl: “O, a story about the Black Man!” answered Pearl, taking hold of her mother’s gown, and looking up, half earnestly, half mischievously, into her mother’s face. “How he haunts the forest, and carries a book with him, – a big, heavy book, with iron clasps; and how this ugly Black Man offers his book and an iron pen to every body that meets him here among the trees; and they are to write their names with their own blood. And then he sets his mark on their bosoms! Didst thou ever meet the Black Man mother?”

She claims that an old lady told her the Scarlet Letter was the mark of the Black Man and that Hester signed her name in his book. Of course Hester denies it, but it would explain how Demon Child became the Demon Child, so it’s actually the most scientifically plausible explanation.

After that they sit and listen to the babbling of a little brook that sounds super sad, and the chat about the sad little brook and its sad little story. The narrator goes into great detail about how the babbling of the brook is actual the brook repeating the many sad stories it has heard over the years. The word sad is used a lot. In fact I am not surprised that Mr. Physiognomy hasn’t used bigger synonyms like melancholy, or forlorn, or chagrin, or some other word that he can charge the publisher for. In any case, it’s an all around sad scene. After a time they see the minister so Hester tells Pearl to run along and play while she talks to him, but to come back at her call.

Dimmsdale looks super melancholy and forlorn as he walks. As if he has no desire left to live. The only remarkable thing about him is how he keeps his hand on his chest.

XVII

The Pastor and His Parishioner

They see each other with shock. In such a strange setting, neither is entirely sure the other is real and not some forest sprite. In a classic narrative trope they ask each other something only the real Hester and Dimmsdale would know. They realize they actually are who they claim to be, and go together to sit by the brook.

Hester: So….this weather eh?

Dimmsdale: Yep, it’s weather alright.

Hester: Sure is.

D: …….

H: ……..

D: …………….

H: ………………….

D: So, uh, you find any peace in this life?

H: Have you?

D: Yes but actually no.

H: But think of all the good you do for the townsfolk! Doesn’t that cheer you up?

D: Nope, makes me feel even worse. See previous chapters for details. I wish I had even one friend, or even an enemy. Someone who knew my true nature and could ridicule me every night, then I wouldn’t have to do it myself.

H: Well, now that you mention it, have a bit of a good news bad news situation for you! Good news is that you actually do have an enemy! Bad news is that he has been living under your roof.

D: [recoils in horror] Wait, what?!? That can’t be true!!

H: Yeah, our buddy Chillingworth? That was my husband.

D: [Recoils in extra horror] I should have known! In fact, I did know! Why didn’t I listen to my gut!?!?

H: Yeah, that’s my bad. I was trying to spare you pain, but that kind of backfired.

D: Although cars won’t be invented for another couple of centuries I would be inclined to agree that your plan did indeed backfire. I can’t forgive you.

H: Nah, you can, let God judge me. You shouldn’t let hatred taint you any further.

They hug, he finally gets over it.

D: Okay, fine. Plus, what Darth Chillingworth has done is worse than either of us.

H: That’s the spirit!

D: Right! Now that I am over the shock, what should I do? I don’t want to keep living with a dark lord vengeance who is a actively tormenting me. I’m pretty dim, as you know, so you tell me what my plan should be.

H: No one is forcing you to stay here. You could go literally anywhere else and start anew.

D: You mean like you had the option of doing and didn’t?

H: That’s beside the point.

D: Haven’t you been paying attention? It is now well established that everyone in this book is required to stay where they are most miserable because of vaguely defined reasons!

H: What reasons?

D: Can’t get bogged down in the details like that Hester. I’m staying, cuz that’s what the author wants, and that’s that.

H: Even though that is what I chose to do, I am going to spend a full page lecturing you about why you shouldn’t.

D: Look at me. See how scraggly I am? I don’t have the strength to face the wide world alone.

H: So don’t face it alone then.

XVIII

A Flood of Sunshine

The past seven years have been very different for Hester and Dimmsdale. Outlawed by society, Hester has basically been allowed to be a free range human, doing whatever she wanted, all the time. Having already committed the worst possible crime, no one expected anything else of her.

Dimmsdale, on the other hand, had been kept reined in by society and held under the constant watchful gaze of all he led. He was expected to be a model citizen at all times. As his fame and mythos of being a holy man grew, so did the expectation that he be an extra super duper model citizen. A vicious cycle of being liked by a society with impossible standards I suppose.

Given the choice between exposure and execution in a town that has brought him nothing but misery, Dimmsdale and Hester decide to go against the author’s wishes and abscond to parts unknown. I have a feeling that the author will not let that happen though. In the meantime it’s high fives and unicorns all around! Dimmsdale suddenly feels invigorated. Hester takes off the scarlet letter and flings it aside. She lets her hair out from under her cap and they both feel pretty all around pleased with themselves. Even the forest is delighted at the big ‘ol FU to the Puritans they both give and suddenly sunshine bursts forth all around!

XIX

The Child at the Brook-Side

Fairies: myth or reality? I’m David Attenborough and in today’s chapter I’ll be your guide as we observe the strange greeting ritual of the emotionally stunted Puritans.

Our scene opens with a juvenile Puritan playing in the woods. Although she is a member of a species traditionally feared by nature, she has developed a unique symbiosis with her surroundings. She quietly stalks through the underbrush gathering flowers, leaves, and other adornments. These she uses to disguise herself as a forest nymph. The clever ruse works and the scene turns to a Snow White musical number: flowers sing to her, foxes hop up for head pats, and birds fly around with streamers. No mention is made of an earlier scene in which she was torturing small animals on the beach. The juvenile is truly a master of disguise.

She hears her mother calling to her but she has is with an adult male Puritan with unknown intentions. She is also disconcerted from her mother’s loose hair and lack of the traditional scarlet letter. She had observed the mating ritual known as “conversation” occur between them while she was gathering her forest decorations, but the outcome of the ritual is uncertain. Is he friend or foe? She refuses to cross the small brook to join them.

The mother attempts to draw her near, but the juvenile simply stands pointing at the place the scarlet letter once rested. Attempts at reassurance are met with primal wails of anger. The mother responds by retrieving the letter and fastening it in the traditional place. She tucks her hair back under a cap, and at last the juvenile is mollified. The mother attempts to introduce her to the newest pack member, but this unwelcome rival is not accepted by the juvenile. This may happen in time, but for now the reluctant trio move on to continue foraging. They must be ever watchful of rival herds marking their own territory. Now that the pack has the addition of a supremely timid male, their chances for survival are significantly diminished.

This has been David Attenborough, signing off.

XX

The Minister in a Maze

The minister continues on his forest journey back to town and begins to make plans for their departure. Hester is to secure passage for them on a Spanish vessel that is currently in the harbor. It is set to depart for Bristol in four days time. The minister finds this timing quite fortuitous as he is to give an election sermon¹ in three days time, and is satisfied that he can leave the town having competed his duties.

Anticipation for a new life puts a new spring in his step and instead of the weary shamble he had before, he straight up Tarzans through the woods to home, swinging on branches. He bursts into the town square and it takes every ounce of self restraint not to be all “Howdy losers! There’s a new Dimmsdale in town!” He is so done with this town and its bullshit that he wants to whisper horrible things to everyone he meets until he runs into Mistress Hibbins.

I realize I may not have adequately explained Mistress Hibbins, as she has only played a minor role thus far. She is based on a real, historical figure who was suspected of being a literal, actual witch who practices sorcery and worships the devil in the woods. She is also the sister of Governor Hibbins, which is probably the only reason she has not been hanged yet. I say yet because in real life she did get hanged for witchcraft after the events of this book. All good spells come to an end I suppose.

Hibbins: Yo Dimmsdale! I see you were hanging out in the woods. You should bring me along next time and I can give you a proper introduction to the devil!

Dimmsdale: Nah, I’m good. No devil worship today, just came back from seeing my buddy Eliot who was out taming the savages and all that. As we definitely embody righteousness and not judgmental vengeance we are definitely the best suited for that role.

Hibbins: Riiiiggghhht. Well next time you need to go “tame the savages” [wink wink] let me know.

She walks off chuckling while he wonders if he has sold his soul to the devil and that’s why he has all these nasty thoughts. He rushes home and enters his room with a sigh of relief. After a few moments his rest is interrupted by a knock on the door and old Chillingworth strolls in.

Chillingworth: Welcome back! You’re looking sickly as usual. Want some help from your old buddy to nurse you back to health for your sermon.

Dimmsdale: Nah, actually I’m doing pretty good. The fresh air and seeing the tamed savages did me good. I don’t think I need your help anymore actually.

They have a stare off. Chillingworth realizes that Dimmsdale knows they are enemies. Dimmsdale realizes that Chillingworth knows that he knows they are enemies. The narrator realizes that Dimmsdale knows that Chillingworth knows that Dimmsdale knows. The reader realizes that the narrator knows that Dimmsdale Knows that Chillingworth knows that Dimmsdale knows.

Of course one of the rules of a melodrama like this is that no one is allowed to let on to the fact that everyone is fully aware of where everyone else stands. Thus the play continues.

Chillingworth: Sure you don’t need some help? Need to be big and strong for your election sermon you know. Wouldn’t want the townsfolk to think you won’t be here come this time next year.

Dimmsdale: Oh I will totes be gone. To a better world I hope. But for right now I am fine, thank you.

Chillingworth: Good to hear! Perhaps all my ministrations have taken effect and now I can take all the credit for curing you!

Dimmsdale: Right, let’s hope so.

Darth Chillingworth leaves, and Dimmsdale writes a big long sermon. What it includes is yet to be seen.

1. According to this article, an election sermon was basically a come to Jesus lecture about how America and freedom were delivered to them by God and it was their duty to be worthy of such gifts.

XXI

The New England Holiday

People have come from far and wide for the election sermon. The new governor is to be appointed after the death of the old one. In proper pious fashion he is throwing a parade for himself. Hester wears all grey and hides in the background. She inwardly smirks about the fact it is the last anyone will see of her. The close observer might notice her muttering “You’ll see. You’ll ALL see,” but no one is paying that much attention.

Demon Child is excited by all the commotion.

Pearl: What’s all the hubbub about? Is it a play day for everyone? Look, the blacksmith is all cleaned up and wearing his Sunday clothes. He looks like he would be having fun if only someone would show him how.

Hester: There will be a big parade for the governor and ministers and all the important people. That way everyone can admire how humble they are.

Pearl: Will Dimmsdale greet us?

Hester: No, not now, and we can’t greet him either.

Pearl: What a sad, strange little man. He greets us in the dead of night and has us stand on the scaffold with him. He welcomes us in the forest when we are all alone, but here in broad daylight he ignores us. So strange.

Hester: Never you mind about that. Let me distract you by pointing out how happy everyone is! Or at least attempting to be, since being happy is a very foreign concept for them.

And indeed they are happy! Well, less miserable at least. As Hawthorne explains it: “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.”

See? Not happy as much as just miserable instead of extra miserable. Moderation in all things of course. Juggling and singing are too much like witchcraft, after all. Still though, it was more fun than the next few generations had, since they still had a dim memory of people being actually happy at festivals back in England. The next couple of generations were about as fun as a witch trial. Literally.

It’s a different story off to one side, where a group of Spanish sailors have come ashore to watch the spectacle. They are described as straight up pirates, who work part time at Pirates of the Caribbean in Disneyland, so it’s said. One of the flashiest pirates, with an eye patch and matching parrot, strolls into view talking with Darth Chillingworth. They finish talking and the pirate, who is the captain, strolls up to Hester to inform her that Darth Chillingworth will be joining them in their voyage!

In utter shock, she turns to look at Chillingworth, who grins back at her with his signature lack of decency. Well that’s a plot twist that neither Hester nor I saw coming!

XXII

The Procession

Before Hester has a chance to gather her thoughts about this disturbing turn of events, the parade starts. First are the soldiers, but considering that they don’t have an actual army, it’s basically just a bunch of veterans from various foreign wars in hodgepodge armor.

Next come the magistrates. In those times, as in pretty much every other time, important people in government and religion are instantly recognizable by their ornate hats. The bigger the hat, the more important the person. You might be an idiot, but if your hat is big enough, that makes you important. Let me tell you, the hats the magistrates are wearing are nothing to scoff at. They are impervious to scoffing. They are unscoffable.

After that comes Dimmsdale. He’s all full of afterglow from the forest meeting and looking all energized and excitable. It’s a totally different man than they saw in the forest. So much different that Heater and Pearl wonder if it is Dimmsdale at all and not an imposter from the evil twin universe. At this point, Mistress Hibbins, the actual witch, strolls up to Hester.

Hibbins: Look at Dimmsdale! So lively after his meeting with you in the woods.

Hester: No idea what you’re talking about.

Hibbins: Pfffttt, please. You can’t play a player. I know all about hidden evil. You wear yours on your chest but we both know that Dimmsdale has a secret of his own. Ever wonder what he is hiding with his hand on his chest all the time?

Pearl: I do! What is it?

Hibbins: Come broom riding with me some night and you’ll find out. We’ll visit your father and then you’ll know.

She walks off cackling as the sermon begins. The church is jam packed so they stand by the pillory. They are too far away to make out the words, so they just get the general tone of voice, which is full of remorse and regret. This is met with resounding success since the audience’s favorite past time is suffering, and they are eating it up.

While all of this is going on The Demon Child is prancing about the courtyard like the forest nymph she is. She stops by the pirates to gawk. They are so smitten that the pirate leader tosses her a gold chain that really ties her outfit together. He asks Pearl to tell her mother that Darth Chillingworth will be escorting the minister aboard, so they needn’t worry about him.

That dire message will have to wait until the next chapter though. While Pearl has been prancing about, Hester has become a circus attraction for all the people who have heard of the Scarlet Letter but not seen it themselves. Some of the pirates come along too because it is an excuse to stare at her bosom.

XXIII

The Revelation of the Scarlet Letter

The sermon comes to a close and everyone filters out and starts to talk about how awe inspiring it was. No one can do justice in describing the ineffable wonder they felt. The best they can do is give it a 5 star review on Ye Olde Yelp. They also mention the sad undertone they all felt in his words, and that he ended the sermon with a prophecy of his own imminent departure from this world.

The ministers and soldiers and all the important people begin their procession from the chapel to the town hall for an end-of-day feast. Feeling self righteous is hungry work, you know. The minister joins them but is in pretty bad shape. He used up all his energy sermoning. Sermonizing? Acting sermoniously? He is trailing the procession but starts to stumble towards the pillory like a drunken monkey. Reverend Wilson and others reach out to help him but he pushes them away.

Dimmsdale: Hester! Pearl! Come help me up the scaffold to the pillory.

[Rushes up to help him]

Chillingworth: [realizing Dimmsdale is about to confess and ruin his fun] Slow motion noooooooo!!!!

Dimmsdale [to Hester]: Isn’t this a way better idea than our original plan?

Hester: Not really.

Chillingworth: Don’t do it! You’ll die having spoiled both your name, and my ability to torture you more!

Dimmsdale: Yep, that’s the plan. Now I will address the people:

Yo, listen up here’s a story

About a little guy

That lives in a Puritan world

And all day and all night

And everything he sees is just sin

Like him inside and outside

Sin in heart

With a Scarlet little letter

And a secret inside

And everything is sin for him

And himself and everybody around

Cause he ain’t got nobody to listen

With that he rips open his shirt Superman style and reveals his own scarlet letter etched in scar tissue on his chest. Darth Chillingworth yells in anguish because Dimmsdale ruined all his fun. Dimmsdale asks Pearl for a kiss, then tells Hester goodbye.

Hester: But won’t we see each other in eternity?

Dimmsdale: Pffft. God’s #1 mission in our theology is to make sure everyone feels super guilty all the time, even in the afterlife.

Hester: Fair point. Guess I’ll just keep suffering.

Dimmsdale: That’s the spirit! With that, I shall die dramatically. [Exaggerated death sigh]

Meanwhile the audience looks on in shock and awe.

XXIV

The Conclusion

Among the townsfolk the prevailing theories for the origin of Dimmsdale’s scarlet letter are:

1) Self inflicted as a means of penance.

2) Applied by Roger Chillingworth through magic and poison, as it is now quite obvious that he is a necromancer.

3) Ever present remorse literally gnawed it out of his heart.

4) There was no mark whatsoever on his chest, and his dying words were his attempt to demonstrate one last time how we are all sinners and even those we view as righteous are really the worst.

I should point out these are all actually in the book. Even the necromancer one. I especially like number four. It is such a cheerful thought.

Since revenge was the only thing keeping Darth Chillingworth alive, upon Dimmsdale’s death he immediately shriveled up and died himself within the year. In an interesting turn of events he bequeathed the majority of his estate to Pearl, making her quite wealthy. Suddenly the Puritans no longer thought of her as the Demon Child and all wanted to be her friend. Weird how that happens. Sucks to be them though since Hester and Pearl dipped out that same year. Their story grew to legend, and no reliable reports of their whereabouts were ever received.

Years later Hester returns, again for vaguely explained reasons, to spend the rest of her years in the sad lonely she-shed. Remember, of course, that everyone has to live in the place that makes them the most miserable, because Hawthorne says so. Pearl is never seen again, though letters with fancy seals and expensive gifts arrive periodically. When Hester finally dies, she is buried next to the minister.

The End

Reflections on The Scarlet Letter

The edition of the Scarlet Letter that I read (Barnes & Noble Classics) included a forward by Nancy Stade that was more of an analysis of the book than a foreword, so I saved it for last. In many ways it solidified the thoughts I already had on the book, and added a few additional details I had not considered. All of this is of course my opinion, and I will try to indicate where my thoughts were influenced by Stade.

As I stated several times in my summaries, I think the book was heavily influenced by Hawthorne’s own perspective and his inner thoughts on sin, punishment, and the curse of one’s family lineage. Granted, you find this with any author, but in this book I felt the narrator was literally Hawthorne, and not an anonymous omniscient force. It was not relating objective fact as much as Hawthorne’s opinion of events. He consistently refers to the act that brought Hester to jail as a sin, rather than a crime. He finds it to be moral failing rather than a legal matter, and no matter how little he may think of Puritan culture, he seems to agree with their views on Hester’s actions. Stade also mentions that Hawthorne was very close with his sister, and some scholars believe they might have had an incestuous relationship. Whether true or not, it is clear that his views on Puritans, his ancestors, and sin are complicated, to say the least. He seems to find an affinity with them while at the same time reviling them. In The Custom-House he mentioned the tendency for one to stay where they are from regardless of how miserable they are. I have not found this to be true in my own life, and it does not ring true to the characters. Hester is fiery and independent, and it does not seem in character to me that she would willingly stay in a place that shuns her and reviles her very existence. Why would she want to raise her child in such an environment? The only reasonable explanation to me of why she stays is that is what Hawthorne would do. He stated that he stayed where he was miserable, perhaps as penance for his own perceived sins, or those of his ancestors.

For a book that spans seven years, very little action actually takes place, so the majority of the book explores the inner world of the characters. There are very few main characters, and they can be seen more as a personification of the emotions that drive them more than actual characters. Dimmsdale is obsessed with shame, Chillingworth’s only focus in life is on revenge and punishment, Hester is preoccupied with guilt and the consequences of one’s actions, and Pearl is angry at the whole situation. They could be substituted for Shame, Revenge, Guilt, and Anger.

By the way, there is an important distinction between guilt and shame: Guilt is paying for a crime once, shame is paying for it over and over. Guilt is good – it keeps us from repeating mistakes and expresses a desire for recompense. Shame is unproductive and ultimately hurtful. While Hester had guilt over her actions, she moved on with it and learned to live with the consequences as best she could. Dimmsdale, on the other hand, embodies shame that eats at him and ultimately brings him to an early grave.

The crime itself we are all led to believe is adultery, but the book never explicitly states that is what took place. It is inferred by the presence of Pearl and the magistrate’s demands that the name of father be revealed, but Stade points out that in reality it is actually left to the reader to decide what it is. The townspeople interpret the fiery A in the sky to be “Angel”, and they also interpret Hester’s letter to stand for “Able” after she demonstrates her character.

Stade also explains that one of Hawthorne’s New England ancestors was tried and convicted for incest with her brother, and was the precedent for passing a law that required those guilty of incest to wear a Letter I. She explains that A is likely a stand-in for I, and coupled with the fact that the exact meaning of A is never clarified, Hester’s punishment, and subsequent emotions and actions are a stand-in for sin in general.

The fact that there are few characters, very little action, and a biased narrator lead me to think that this book is essentially Hawthorne wrestling with his own inner demons by personifying his views on sin: guilt, shame, anger, and punishment. There is an interesting quotation in the last chapter of the book that is a good example of his own philosophical musings:

It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at the bottom. Each, in it’s utmost development, suppose a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his object. Philosophically considered, therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow.

Whether you agree or not, it is an interesting thought to ponder, and is perhaps a way for him to reconcile his own mixed feelings on the subject of his ancestry and predilections.

Lastly, an inquiring reader emailed me this thoughtful message I thought I would share:

Do you ever read or listen to a book and hear something and think “that’s not right”? Today as I listened to chapter when Hester, Dimmsdale and Pearl are all in the forest they mention something about Pearl – can’t remember the exact reference but they said some like like “as beautiful as pearls, diamonds….”

When I worked at The Flint Institute of Art we had a portrait of what Cleopatra was supposed to look like. She was adorned in strands of pearls. The curator told us that was because diamonds weren’t popular yet and pearls were the most valuable gems at the time.

I looked up when The Scarlet Letter took place and it was the mid 1600’s before the time of when diamonds would have been popular or considered valuable. Here is what I found when I googled “when did diamonds first become popular”

” Diamonds were discovered in India in the 4th century BC and they became a valuable product in the 1800s in Europe as a women’s ornament during the most elegant social events. In 1870 the first South African deposits were found inside a farm owned by the De Beer family and it is here that the history of diamonds begins.”

I’m not saying the book is wrong and I’m right but things like that drive me crazy. And if I am right I’m sure more would have been made of the mistake. What say you?

Well dear reader, The book was published in 1850, by which time diamonds were commonly known. As I established earlier, the narrator is likely Hawthorne, not some anonymous overseer. Thus the narrator can be seen as a 19th century observer of 17th century events, using the metaphors of his day. Another explanation might be that Hawthorne was unaware of this anachronism, in which case I suggest we retroactively brand him with a Scarlet U for Unaware.

What are your thoughts on the book? Let me know in the comments below.

The Scarlet Letter: The Complete Summary