The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne is a bit of an odd bird. Loosely constructed around the central character of the house itself, it meanders through the plagued history of the Pyncheon family at their oppressive address, and constantly ponders the question of whether or not their misfortune stems from a supernatural consequence of their ancestor's greed or a simple and rational equation that we are all the sum total of our choices and actions.
The novel, or romance as Hawthorne chose to call it, opens with a quick history of the Pyncheon family and then turns to the aged and troubled Hepzibah Pyncheon as she prepares to lower herself in the world by opening a penny shop off the street side of the home. She is unexpectedly aided by the arrival of her young relation from the country, Phoebe Pyncheon, who brings light and promise into the dark and gloomy (and straitened) circumstances. Joined by Hepzibah's very fragile and just released from prison brother, Clifford, and a young daguerreotypist, Holgrave, who lives in another section of the house, this unusual grouping of people struggle through together to seek resolution or escape from the "curse" that has oppressed the family since they stole the land the house sits upon from a reputed wizard who was executed for his crimes of witchcraft.
Wow. Sounds like a lot of fun, right? But this is where the odd bird of a book observation kicks in. This is not particularly oppressive to read. Nor is it particularly frightening or threatening. Often described as an example of Gothic literature, the book does, at least on the surface, have that classic structure of spooky elements that reach rational explanation by story's end, but it is missing an even Gothic treatment of characters and injects readerly relief in the form of its themes of domesticity. And it is occasionally really funny. And I believe intentionally so.
Hawthorne complained in a letter to his publisher that while writing The Scarlet Letter, immediately preceding The House of the Seven Gables, he "found it impossible to relieve the shadows of the story with so much light as I would gladly have thrown in." He was determined to inject this next book with what he saw as the missing element in his first novel. In the Oxford World's Classics edition, Michael Davitt Bell states in the introduction that Hawthorne did just that, most literally in the oft included imagery of light and dark. But I also think that he offered up many sly and humorous send-ups of the Gothic form, in some cases reminiscent of Austen's treatment of the Gothic in Northanger Abbey. Almost as if to amuse himself as he hammered out this book in record time to both piggyback off the success of The Scarlet Letter and keep himself solvent. One of my favorite examples of this humor (albeit dark humor) includes the frequent references to Hepzibah's not-too-pleasing physical appearance and how her sensitive brother, while loving her deeply, could not bear to look upon that unpleasing visage.
"But the worst of all - the hardest stroke of fate for Hepzibah to endure, and perhaps for Clifford too - was his invincible distaste for her appearance. Her features, never the most agreeable, and now harsh with age and grief, and resentment against the world for his sake; her dress, and especially her turban; the queer and quaint manners, which had unconsciously grown upon her in solitude; - such being the poor gentlewoman's outward characteristics, it is no great marvel, although the mournfullest of pities, that the instinctive lover of the Beautiful was fain to turn away his eyes! There was no help for it. It would be the latest impulse to die within him. In his last extremity, the expiring breath stealing faintly through Clifford's lips, he would doubtless press Hepzibah's hand, in fervent recognition of all her lavished love, and close his eyes - but not so much to die, as to be constrained to look no longer on her face!"
I know. It seems mean. But the idea of intentional humor is reinforced by the frequency of the times Clifford must look away or Hepzibah must conceal herself in daylight hours or the one instance in which he accidentally looked upon her and his whole being instantly changes. I giggled. But I really appreciate the way in which Hepzibah's physical characteristics and this humorous treatment reinforces the overall theme that a softer or more benign truth is often hidden in threatening packages, packages not all are equipped to unwrap.
There is enough here to go on for a week, but these are some of the points that captured my interest in revisiting the novel after many years. I found Hawthorne's prose pleasing, his light handed constructions (the domestic) entertaining, and the hidden depths of the book an invitation for further deeper reading.
Many thanks to co-host Audrey and all you reading reading along for this shared read for RIP VI.