The Crucibleby Arthur Miller
The place is Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692, an enclave of rigid piety huddled on the edge of a wilderness. Its inhabitants believe unquestioningly in their own sanctity. But in Arthur Miller's edgy masterpiece, that very belief will have poisonous consequences when a vengeful teenager accuses a rival of witchcraftand then when those accusations multiply to… See more details below
The place is Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692, an enclave of rigid piety huddled on the edge of a wilderness. Its inhabitants believe unquestioningly in their own sanctity. But in Arthur Miller's edgy masterpiece, that very belief will have poisonous consequences when a vengeful teenager accuses a rival of witchcraftand then when those accusations multiply to consume the entire village.
First produced in 1953, at a time when America was convulsed by a new epidemic of witchhunting, The Crucible brilliantly explores the threshold between individual guilt and mass hysteria, personal spite and collective evil. It is a play that is not only relentlessly suspenseful and vastly moving but that compels readers to fathom their hearts and consciences in ways that only the greatest theater ever can.
"A drama of emotional power and impact" New York Post
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ARTHUR MILLER was born in New York City in 1915 and studied at the University of Michigan. His plays include All My Sons (1947), Death of a Salesman (1949), The Crucible (1953), A View from the Bridge and A Memory of Two Mondays (1955), After the Fall (1964), Incident at Vichy (1965), The Price (1968), The Creation of the World and Other Business (1972), and The American Clock (1980). He has also written two novels, Focus (1945) and The Misfits, which was filmed in 1960, and the text for In Russia (1969), In the Country (1977), and Chinese Encounters (1979), three books of photographs by Inge Morath. His most recent works include a memoir, Timebends (1987), the plays The Ride Down Mt. Morgan (1991), The Last Yankee (1993), Broken Glass (1994), and Mr. Peters’ Connections (1999), Echoes Down the Corridor: Collected Essays, 1944-2000, and On Politics and the Art of Acting (2001). He has twice won the New York Drama Critics Circle Award, and in 1949 he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize.
CHRISTOPHER BIGSBY has published more than twenty books on British and American culture. His works include studies of African-American writing, American theater, English drama, and popular culture. He is the author of two novels, Hester and Pearl, and he has written plays for radio and television. He is also a regular broadcaster for the BBC. He is currently professor of American Studies at the University of East Anglia, in Norwich, England.
BY ARTHUR MILLER
The Golden Years
The Man Who Had All the Luck
All My Sons
Death of a Salesman
An Enemy of the People (adaptation of a play by Ibsen)
A View from the Bridge
After the Fall
Incident at Vichy
The American Clock
The Creation of the World and Other Business
The Archbishop’s Ceiling
The Ride Down Mt. Morgan
Mr. Peters’ Connections
A View from the Bridge, one act version, with A Memory of Two Mondays
Elegy for a Lady (in Two-Way Mirror)
Some Kind of Love Story (in Two-Way Mirror)
I Can’t Remember Anything (in Danger: Memory!)
Clara (in Danger: Memory!)
The Last Yankee
The Misfits (a cinema novel)
Focus (a novel)
I Don’t Need You Anymore (short stories)
In the Country (reportage with Inge Morath photographs)
Chinese Encounters (reportage with Inge Morath photographs)
In Russia (reportage with Inge Morath photographs)
Salesman in Beijing (a memoir)
Homely Girl, A Life (novella)
Echoes Down the Corridor (essays)
On Politics and the Art of Acting
Arthur Miller’s Collected Plays (Volumes I and II)
The Portable Arthur Miller
The Theater Essays of Arthur Miller (Robert Marin, editor)
VIKING CRITICAL LIBRARY EDITIONS
Death of a Salesman (edited by Gerald Weales)
The Crucible (edited by Gerald Weales)
Playing for Time
Table of Contents
About the Authors
Also by Arthur Miller
A Note on the Historical Accuracy of This Play
ACT ONE - (AN OVERTURE)
ECHOES DOWN THE CORRIDOR
APPENDIX - ACT Two, SCENE 2
In 1692 nineteen men and women and two dogs were convicted and hanged for witchcraft in a small village in eastern Massachusetts. By the standards of our own time, if not of that, it was a minor event, a spasm of judicial violence that was concluded within a matter of months. The bodies were buried in shallow graves or not at all, as a further indication that the convicted had not only forfeited participation in the community of man in this life, but in the community of saints in the next. Just how shallow those graves were, however, is evident from the fact that the people buried there were not eradicated from history: their names remain with us to this day, not least because of Arthur Miller, for whom past events and present realities have always been pressed together by a moral logic. In his hands the ghosts of those who died have proved real enough even if the witches they were presumed to be were little more than fantasies conjured by a mixture of fear, ambition, frustration, jealousy, and perverted pride.
In 1957 the Massachusetts General Court passed a resolution stating that “No disgrace or cause for distress” attached itself to the descendants of those indicted, tried, and sentenced. Declaring the proceedings to be “the result of popular hysterical fear of the Devil,” the resolution noted that “more civilized laws” had superseded those under which the accused had been tried. It did not, however, include by name all those who had suffered, and it was not until 1992 that the omissions were rectified in a further resolution of the court. It had taken exactly three hundred years for the state to acknowledge its responsibility for all those who died.
This was the long-delayed end of a story whose beginnings lay in the woods that surrounded the village of Salem when, in 1692, a number of young girls were discovered, with a West Indian slave called Tituba, dancing and playing at conjuring. To deflect punishment from themselves they accused others, and those who listened, themselves insecure in their authority, acquiesced, partly because it served their interests to do so and partly because they inhabited a world in which witchcraft formed a part of their cosmology. Their universe was absolute, lacking in ambivalence. There was only one text to consult, and that text reserved only one fate for witches.
Why should it have taken so long to acknowledge error? More significantly, why offer apology at all for an event so long in the past? Perhaps because the needs of justice and the necessity for sustaining the authority of the court have not always been coincident and because there will always be those who defend the latter, believing that by doing so they sustain the possibility of the former. Perhaps because there are those who believe that authority is all of a piece and that to challenge it anywhere is to threaten it everywhere.
It was not the first such apology. In 1711 the governor of Massachusetts, acting on behalf of the general court of the province, set his hand to a reversal of attainder that offered restitution for this miscarriage of justice. In particular he granted one hundred and fifty pounds damages to John and Elizabeth Proctor. Elizabeth had survived, by virtue of the child she carried. Her husband was not so lucky; he was executed on August 19, 1692. His accusers were young girls, barely on the verge of puberty. Perversely, damages were paid not only to the victims but also to such people as William Good, who was his wife’s accuser, and Abigail Hobbs, a “confessed witch” who became a hostile witness. The affair, it seemed, was to be treated as a general calamity from which all suffered and in which the state was essentially innocent. Indeed the incident was ascribed to “The Influence and Energy of the Evil Spirits so great at that time,” a time that, despite the declared purpose of the document, was described as being “Infested with a horrible Witchcraft.”
Arthur Miller first encountered the story of Salem and its witches while a student at the University of Michigan. It stayed in his mind, but only as one of those mysterious incidents from a past separated from us by more than time: “It never occurred to me that I would ever deal with it ... because I had never formulated an aesthetic idea of this tragedy.” Then, in 1949, he came upon a new book about the trials, by Marion Starkey, called The Devil in Massachusetts.
Not the least fascinating aspect of the book lay in the fact that the author recognized the dramatic potential of the events. Claiming to have tried to “uncover the classic dramatic form of the story itself” Starkey insisted that “here is real Greek tragedy,” with “a beginning, a middle and an end.” Interestingly, in the notebook Arthur Miller started at this time, he noted that “It must be ‘tragic’” and, when The Crucible opened in New York, in 1953, he remarked, “Salem is one of the few dramas in history with a beginning, a middle and an end.”
Starkey recognized, too, a truth that has always lain at the center of Miller’s own approach to theater and the public world it shadows:
The human reality of what happens to millions is only for God to grasp; but what happens to individuals is another matter and within the range of mortal understanding. The Salem story has the virtue of being a highly individualized affair. Witches in the abstract were not hanged in Salem; but one by one were brought to the gallows such diverse personalities as a decent grandmother grown too hard of hearing to understand a crucial question from the jurors, a rakish, pipe-smoking female tramp, a plain farmer who thought only to save his wife from molestation, a lame old man whose toothless gums did not deny expression to a very salty vocabulary.... And after you have studied their lives faithfully, a remarkable thing happens; you discover that if you really know the few, you are on your way to understanding the millions. By grasping the local, the parochial even, it is possible to make a beginning at understanding the universal.
Starkey also acknowledged the wider implications of Salem, implications Miller would choose to amplify. For the witch hunt was scarcely a product only of the distant past. “It has been revived,” Starkey insisted, “on a colossal scale by replacing the medieval idea of malefic witchcraft by a pseudo-scientific concept like ‘race,’ ‘nationality’ and by substituting for theological dissension a whole complex of warring ideologies. Accordingly the story of 1692 is of far more than antiquarian interest; it is an allegory of our times.”
It was as an allegory of our times that Miller seized upon it, and though it was to be the McCarthyite witch-hunts of the House Un-American Activities Committee that seemed to offer the most direct parallel, he, like Starkey, recognized other parallels, in a war then only four years behind them, for the Nazis, too, had their demons and deployed a systematic pseudo-science to identify those they regarded as tainted and impure.
But for the moment it was the domestic danger that commanded Miller’s imagination. It was “the maturation of the hysteria at the time which pulled the trigger; without the latter I’d never have launched.” As he remarked at the time, to his friend and colleague Elia Kazan, director of All My Sons and Death of a Salesman, the Salem trials offered a persuasive parallel: “It’s all here... every scene.” And certainly Miller’s own account suggests that what had once struck him as an impenetrable mystery had now begun to make psychological and social sense. As he has explained in his autobiography,
At first I rejected the idea of a play on the subject.... But gradually, over weeks, a living connection between myself and Salem, and between Salem and Washington, was made in my mind—for whatever else they might be, I saw that the hearings in Washington were profoundly and even avowedly ritualistic. ... The main point of the hearings, precisely as in seventeenth-century Salem, was that the accused make public confession, damn his confederates as well as his Devil master, and guarantee his sterling new allegiance by breaking disgusting old vows-whereupon he was let loose to rejoin the society of extremely decent people. In other words, the same spiritual nugget lay folded within both procedures-an act of contrition done not in solemn privacy but out in the public air.
Molly Kazan objected, feeling that the parallel was a false one, since witches manifestly did not exist, but Communists did. It was an objection later echoed by others, but not one accepted by Miller. For, as he has pointed out, not only was Tituba in all probability practicing voodoo on that night in 1692, but witchcraft was accepted as a fact by virtually every secular and religious authority. To that end he quotes the eighteenth-century British jurist Sir William Blackstone as insisting that it “is a truth to which every nation in the world hath in its turn borne testimony,” and John Wesley, founder of Methodism, as stating, “The giving up of witchcraft is, in effect, giving up the Bible.” Indeed, by the end of the seventeenth century an estimated two hundred thousand people worldwide had been executed as witches. The question is not the reality of witches but the power of authority to define the nature of the real, and the desire, on the part of individuals and the state, to identify those whose purging will relieve a sense of anxiety and guilt. What lay behind the procedures of both witch trial and political hearing was a familiar American need to assert a recoverable innocence even if the only guarantee of such innocence lay in the displacement of guilt onto others. To sustain the integrity of their own names, the accused were invited to offer the names of others, even though to do so would be to make them complicit in procedures they despised and hence to damage their sense of themselves. And here is the root of a theme that connects virtually all of Miller’s plays: betrayal, of the self no less than of others.
Nor was the parallel a product of Miller’s fanciful imagination. In 1948 Congressman George A. Dondero, in the House debate on the Mundt-Nixon bill, to “protect the United States against Un-American and subversive activities,” observed that “the world is dividing into two camps, freedom versus Communism, Christian civilization versus paganism.” More directly Judge Irving Kaufman, who presided over the Rosenberg espionage trial in 1951, accused those before him of “diabolical conspiracy” and “denial of God.” Interestingly, on the night the Rosenbergs were executed, the cast and audience of The Crucible stood in silence as a gesture of respect.
The past had attractions for Miller because a rational analysis and dramatic presentation of the political realities of early-fifties America presented problems. He has said,
The reason I think that I moved in that direction was that it was simply impossible any longer to discuss what was happening to us in contemporary terms. There had to be some distance, given the phenomena. We were all going slightly crazy trying to be honest and trying to see straight and trying to be safe. Sometimes there are conflicts in these three urges. I had known this story since my college years and I’d never understood why it was so attractive to me. Now it suddenly made sense. It seemed to me that the hysteria in Salem had a certain inner procedure or several which we were duplicating once again, and that perhaps by revealing the nature of that procedure some light could be thrown on what we were doing to ourselves. And that’s how that play came to be.
The hostility of the Kazans toward the project came from Elia Kazan’s decision to be a cooperative witness before the Committee and thus to identify by name those who, in his judgment, had been members of the Communist party in the 1930s. By a strange irony Miller was returning from Salem, where he had been researching the play, when he heard on his car radio news of Kazan’s testimony before the Committee. Kazan had offered names: Harry Elion, John Bonn, Alice Evans, Anne Howe. He was the first of a number of Miller’s colleagues and friends to capitulate to the Committee’s demands and blandishments. The following month Miller’s role model, the radical playwright Clifford Odets, also named names; in June of the following year, six months after The Crucible opened, so did Lee J. Cobb, who originated the role of Willy Loman on Broadway. They did so partly out of fear for their careers—uncooperative witnesses would almost inevitably find themselves dismissed from their jobs-and partly because they genuinely felt guilty about the naïveté of their earlier commitments. The Committee thus offered what religion offers: the opportunity for confession and the grace of redemption.
The irony lay not only in the fact that in doing so they replicated the processes of the 1692 trials, where the children cried out against Sarah Good, Bridget Bishop, George Jacobs, Martha Bellows, Alice Barrow, but that in Miller’s plays there usually comes a moment when the central character cries out his own name, determined to invest it with meaning and integrity. Almost invariably this moment occurs when he is on the point of betraying himself and others. A climactic scene in The Crucible comes when John Proctor, on the point of trading his integrity for his life, finally refuses to pay the price, which is to offer the names of others to buy his life. “I like not to spoil their names. ... I speak my own sins; I cannot judge another. I have no tongue for it.” He thus recovers his own name by refusing to name others: “... now I do think I see some shred of goodness in John Proctor.” Three years later, Miller himself was called before the Committee. His reply, when asked to betray others, was a virtual paraphrase of the one offered by Proctor. He announced, “I am trying to, and I will, protect my sense of myself. I could not use the name of another person and bring trouble on him.” Asked to comment on this, thirty years later, he replied, “Well, there’s only one thing to say to them. You don’t have much choice.”
Salem in 1692 was in turmoil. The Royal Charter had been revoked. Original land titles had been canceled and others not yet secured. Neighbor accordingly looked on neighbor with some suspicion, for fear that land might be reassigned. It was also a community riven with schisms, which centered on the person of the Reverend Parris, whose materialism and self-concern were more than many could stomach, including a landowner and inn-keeper called John Proctor.
Miller observed in his notebook, “It is Shakespearean. Parties and counter-parties. There must be a counter-party. Proctor and others.” John Proctor quickly emerged as the center of the story Miller wished to tell, though not of the trials, where he was one among many. But to Miller, as he wrote in the notebook, “It has got to be basically Proctor’s story. The important thing-the process whereby a man, feeling guilt for A, sees himself as guilty of B and thus belies himself,—accommodates his credo to believe in what he knows is not true.” Before this could become a tragedy for the community it had to be a tragedy for an individual : “A difficulty. This hanging must be ‘tragic‘-i.e. must [be] result of an opportunity not grasped when it should have been, due to ‘flaw.’ ”
That flaw, as so often in Miller’s work, was to be sexual, not least because there seemed a sexual flavor to the language of those who confessed to possession by the devil and who were accused of dancing naked in a community in which both dancing and nakedness were themselves seen as signs of corruption. But that hardly seemed possible when Abigail Williams and John Proctor, who were to become the central characters in Miller’s drama, were eleven and sixty, respectively. Accordingly, at Miller’s bidding she becomes seventeen and he thirty-five, and so they begin to move toward each other, the gap narrowing until a sexual flame is lit. Elizabeth Proctor, who had managed an inn, now becomes a solitary farmer’s wife, cut off from communion not only with her errant husband, who has strayed from her side, but also in some degree from the society of Salem.
Other changes are made. Giles Corey, a cantankerous old man who carelessly damns his wife by commenting on her fondness for books, was killed, pressed to death by stones, on September 19, 1692, a month after Proctor’s death. Miller brings that death forward so that it can prove exemplary. By the same token John Hale’s growing conversion to skepticism did not come to its climax with Proctor’s death, but only later, when his own wife was accused. The event is advanced in order to keep Proctor as the focus. At the same time the playwright resisted an aspect of the story that would have damaged the parallel to fifties America, though it would have struck a chord with people in many other countries who were later to seize on The Crucible as an account of their own situation. For the fact is that John Proctor’s son was tortured. Proctor wrote in a petition, “My son William Proctor, when he was examin’d, because he would not confess that he was Guilty, when he was Innocent, they tied him Neck and Heels till the Blood gushed out of his Nose.” The effect on the play of including this detail would have been to transform Proctor’s motivation and diminish the significance of the sexual guilt that disables him.
Historically, John Proctor did not immediately intervene on learning of the trials and does not do so in the play. The historical account offers no explanation. In the notebooks Miller searched for one: “Proctor—guilt stays his hand (against what action?).” The guilt derives from his adultery; the action becomes his decision to expose Abigail.
In his original plan Miller toyed with making Proctor a leader of the anti-Parris faction, who backtracks on that role and equivocates in his dealings with Hale. He toyed, too, with the notion that Proctor should half wish his wife dead. He abandoned both ideas. If Proctor emerges as a leader, it is inadvertently as he fights to defend the wife he has wronged and whose life he has placed in jeopardy because of his affair with Abigail.
What is at stake in The Crucible is the survival of Salem-which is to say, the survival of a sense of community. On a literal level the village ceased to operate. The trials took precedence over all other activities. They took the farmer from his field and his wife from the milk shed. In the screenplay for the film version Miller has the camera observe the depredations of the countryside: unharvested crops, untended animals, houses in disrepair. But, more fundamentally than this, Miller is concerned with the breaking of the social contract that binds a community together, as love and mutual respect bind individuals. What took him to Salem was not, finally, an obsession with McCarthyism nor even a concern with a bizarre and, at the time, obscure historical incident, but a fascination with “the most common experience of humanity, the shifts of interest that turned loving husbands and wives into stony enemies, loving parents into indifferent supervisors or even exploiters of their children ... what they called the breaking of charity with one another.” There was evidence for all of these in seventeenth-century Salem but, as Miller implies, the breaking of charity was scarcely restricted to a small New England settlement in a time distant from our own. For him the parallel between Salem in 1692 and America in 1953 was clear:
People were being torn apart, their loyalty to one another crushed and ... common human decency was going down the drain. It’s indescribable, really, because you’d get the feeling that nothing was going to be sacred anymore. The situations were so exact it was quite amazing. The ritual was the same. What they were demanding of Proctor was that he expose this conspiracy of witches whose aim was to bring down the rule of the Church, of Christianity. If he gave them a couple of names he could go home. And if he didn’t he was going to hang for it. It was quite the same excepting we weren’t hanged, but the ritual was exactly the same. You told them anyone you knew had been a left-winger or a Communist and you went home. But I wasn’t going to do that.
Neither was John Proctor.
One dictionary definition of a crucible is a place of extreme heat, “a severe test.” John Proctor and the others summoned before the court in Salem discovered the meaning of that. Yet such tests, less formal, less judicial, less public, are the small change of daily life. Betrayal, denial, rash judgment, self-justification are remote neither in time nor place.
The Crucible, then, is not finally concerned with reanimating history or even merely with implying contemporary analogies for past crimes. It is Arthur Miller’s most frequently produced play not, I think, because it addresses affairs of state nor even because it offers us the tragic sight of a man who dies to save his conception of himself and the world, but because audiences understand all too well that the breaking of charity is no less a truth of their own lives than it is an account of historical process.
There is, thus, more than one mystery here. Beyond the question of witchcraft lies the more fundamental question of human nature, for which betrayal seems an ever-present possibility. The Crucible reminds us how fragile is our grasp on those shared values that are the foundation of any society. It is a play written not only at a time when America seemed to sanction the abandonment of the normal decencies and legalities of civilized life but in the shadow of a still greater darkness, for Miller has acknowledged that the fact of the Holocaust was in his mind, as it had been in the mind of Marion Starkey.
What replaces the sense of natural community in The Crucible, as perhaps in Nazi Germany and, on a different scale, 1950s America, is a sense of participating in a ritual, of conformity to a ruling orthodoxy and hence a hostility to those who threaten it. The purity of one’s religious principles is confirmed by collaborating, at least by proxy, in the punishment of those who reject them. Racial identity is reinforced by eliminating those who might “contaminate” it, as one’s Americanness is underscored by identifying those who could be said to be un-American. In the film version of his play, Miller, free now to expand and deepen the social context of the drama, chose to emphasize the illusory sense of community: “The CROWD’s urging rises to angry crescendo. HANGMAN pulls a crude lever and the trap drops and the two fall. THE CROWD is delirious with joyful, gratifying unity.”
Alexis de Tocqueville identified the pressure toward conformity even in the early years of the Republic. It was a pressure acknowledged equally by Hawthorne, Melville, Emerson, and Thoreau. When Sinclair Lewis’s Babbitt abandons his momentary rebellion to return to his conformist society, he is described as being “almost tearful with joy.” Miller’s alarm, then, is not his alone, nor is his sense of the potentially tyrannical power of shared myths that appear to offer absolution to those who accept them. If his faith in individual conscience as a corrective is also not unique, it is, perhaps, harder to sustain in the second half of a century that has seen collective myths exercising a coercive power, in America and Europe.
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I had to read this book for my Honors english class, and at first it was a bit weird, like I kind of didn't understand what was happening. But as I read on, it became a wonderful book that I recommend to any High School student, looking for a good read.
Since I was a little girl I've been interested in witch stories and everything related. Not in the Harry Potter kind of way, but in the more realistic; the witch hunts in medieval time Europe, the people hanged and burnt at the stake and the Salem Witch Trials. Because I was a little girl who loved to watch TV documentaries, my knowledge in those subjects was fed by channels like Discovery and later History. I'd never read before an actual book about this, like I've done with other historic matters of my interest, until some weeks ago, all the information I wanted to know was looked up in the internet. One day I was looking up for books at Amazon.com like I usually do, when I came up with this play, a classic of American Literature by Arthur Miller (may he rest in peace), based in the Salem Witch Trials of 1962. As I normally do, I did research on the book and thought about it. It wasn't until some weeks ago I finally acquired it. I just finished reading The Crucible some days ago and I absolutely adored it. I think Mr. Miller did an excellent job bringing the characters and the story back to live. The historical accuracy of the play is not precise, for he fused some characters into one, increased and decreased the characters' ages, reduced the number of girls involved and developed the characters' personalities to relate among others. Above all this, he made of the play a masterpiece, just like he did with the 1996 screenplay for the film version starring Daniel Day-Lewis and , one of my favorite actresses, Winona Ryder, who I must admit did an excellent job portraying her first antagonist role, Abigail Williams. It's a shame the box-office numbers didn't match the great critics the film received. Back on praising the play, one of the things it fascinated me the most was the language used, which was taken out of the King James Bible. I absolutely loved how the dialogues showed in a beautiful way the relationships between the characters, whether they were lovers, family or enemies. Through all the play, I was in Abigail Williams' side. I don't know if it was because Winona did an excellent job in the role, or I just had fun with the way she "sported", to say it in her words, with everyone, and how she controlled the rest of the people. Historically speaking, Abby was a twelve year old orphan that accused town people of witchcraft, contrary to the seventeen year old girl of the play. Miller increased Abigail's age to allow the plot device of the relationship with John Proctor, whose age was decreased from 60 to 30. The story begins with the girls doing some kind of "ritual" in the woods. (this part is just mentioned in the play, but it is shown in the film)The Reverend finds them. Rumors of witchcraft start to fly, when some girls can't wake up. The presence of the Devil in Salem is feared. From there the plot keeps developing, accusations start and town people are arrested. Along the story a lot of people turn their backs at each other to save themselves. At the end of the play the accused citizens remaining are hanged. Even though I absolutely enjoyed reading The Crucible, I wouldn't recommend this to somebody that likes reading teenage love stories or is looking for a light, short book, for it is very dark and complex. If someone wants to read this, I think he or she should read about the subject first or watch some documentary to get familiar with the subject. Watching the film is a great visual help.
I read this book in fourth grade, and I recently read it again. I forogt how interesting it was. I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to read a realistic story about a major event that occured during the 17th century.
The Crucible by Arthur Miller was a tale of the the witchcraft trials in Salem, Massachusetts during the late 17th century. It was an interesting way to learn about the witchcraft trials without having the feel of reading a textbook. I feel that this was a wonderfully written piece, and that it wasn't difficult to read like other books about this time period. I would reccommend this to anyone looking for something about the witchcraft trials, or anyone who just wanted a good read.
Arthur Miller's The Crucible is just about as classic and timeless as American literature gets. It has withstood the test of time and proved itself to be relevant to all times and peoples. Miller's play achieves this great importance through its universal theme of persecution, one of humanity's great, unending problems. The Crucible is set in Salem, Massachusetts, in the year 1692. The Puritan religion rules the people, and Puritan law, believed to be the will of God, is the law of the land. The story centers around a group of young girls in the town who claim to have seen other townspeople with the Devil, which would mean those people are witches. Led by Abigail Williams, the girls convince the paranoid Christian courts that many innocent townspeople are really witches bound to the Devil. The protagonist, John Proctor, is a farmer in Salem. Abigail used to serve him and his wife, and Proctor had an affair with her. Yet, he regrets his unfaithfulness to his wife Elizabeth and is trying to live respectably. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that Abigail's driving force is her bitter love for John and her spite for Elizabeth. Thus, when Elizabeth is arrested on accusations of witchcraft, John Proctor leads a battle against Abigail and the courts in order to save his wife and his friends from being hanged on charges that are completely false. This battle, however, becomes more challenging when Proctor himself is accused of witchcraft and undergoes an inner battle over his own goodness. With The Crucible, Arthur Miller masterfully captures the mindlessness of persecution. The mass hysteria in Salem makes the senseless murders of many innocent people seem righteous to numerous citizens of the town. Miller connected the events in his play with a modern day witch hunt in his time, led by Joe McCarthy, who accused innumerable innocent Americans of being communist spies in the Red Scare of the 1950s. In 2009, the genocide in Darfur and ongoing racial discrimination in the South are just two examples of this same kind of persecution. We may not see it on a large scale every day, but persecution is a part of each of our lives. Arthur Miller teaches us why John Proctor fights against it and why we must fight against it. Thus, The Crucible is not just relevant to Puritans or Americans in the 1950s but to all people.
I found this play to be quite exciting and simply fun to read through. I would read it again in a heartbeat!
When reading the Crucible by Arthur Miller, I found that it was rather interesting to read. Even though that it was not my favorite book, there came a yearning to follow through with the book, to read till the end. The Crucible is a fictional play, based upon the witchcraft which had taken place during the Salem Witch Trials. This is always intriguing when an author takes past events and creates a fictional masterpiece. I was rather pleased with this play, but I will not be reading it any time soon, but it is worth the money to keep in the book case for later use.
You could have just bought it on the nook #WhatEver
My daughter read this book for a summer reading project and she was impressed with the book and enjoyed the read.
Really enjoyed this book. Captures the true wickedness of the Salem Witchfraft Trials. Overall, it is a fantastic read. Would recommend to ages 12 and up. Some parts are a bit violent and intense. xx
Let it be known that I enjoy reading before I go into why this is quite possibly my most hated book ever. In my AP English class, we were forced to read this along with two other books, but we mainly focused on this one, and it was the worst of the bunch. The characters are a bunch of gullible idiots who will believe anything that the antagonist tells them for no adequately explained reason, the only characters I can relate with are unceremoniously killed off, and I don't buy the supposed slow downward spiral into chaos that it seems Miller was going for. Rather than a steady decline, it is more of a plummet, leaving me wondering 'Why did that happen?' and 'How can anyone be so easily deceived?' There is no steady decline of people's morals as the tension grows, but everyone seems to start pointing fingers at the drop of a hat, which is one of my main complaints. The play had so much potential. It could have shown how paranoia and distrust can slowly seep into the fabric of society and eat away at our morals until little remains, but it comes of as clumsy, and the characters' motivations as contrived. I was looking forward to reading this book, and was massively disappointed. Although maybe it's because I'm an atheist, who knows?
I have enjoyed teaching this text for many years to my high school English classes.
Everyone should read this play at least once.
A very good interpretation to an event that's changed dramatically over time. It is NOT a factual piece so if you are reading this for the sake of knowing what happened in the Salem Witch Trials this is not the book you want to start off with. It's still enjoyable if you are looking for a roller coaster ride that brings imagination to 1692 Salem.
This book was intense and weird. It dealt with injustice within a political system and the power of accusations. I personally did not enjoy this book as much as others but at times it was intriguing. The best scene was when they were at trial and everyone went crazy. I felt this book was boring at times with the long speech and I did not particularly like the setting. Overall if you enjoy books that are dated to later centuries and has "witches" then you will enjoy this book
Let me say that this book is not 100% accurate in everyway but, the premise is indeed correct. Well-written for the most part and entertaing for established readers. Not a light read in any fashion. Heavy subject matter dealing with on of the many dark times in the world.
Im not even done with it but i love it and cant wait to see the movie...the only thing there is, is that it is kinda hard to follow if you do not pay attention to what you are reading...but other than that it is a really great book