The House of the Seven Gables

( 40 )

Overview

Though perhaps best known for his work The Picture of Dorian Gray, Wilde also wrote fairy tales for children that are still popular today. A House of Pomegranates contains four of these works. His writings reflect his wit and way with words.

A cartoon version of the misfortunes that plague a prominent New England family because of greed and a two-hundred-year-old curse.

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House of the Seven Gables

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Overview

Though perhaps best known for his work The Picture of Dorian Gray, Wilde also wrote fairy tales for children that are still popular today. A House of Pomegranates contains four of these works. His writings reflect his wit and way with words.

A cartoon version of the misfortunes that plague a prominent New England family because of greed and a two-hundred-year-old curse.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"A large and generous production, pervaded with that vague hum, that indefinable echo, of the whole multitudinous life of man, which is the real sign of a great work of fiction."
—Henry James
School Library Journal
Gr 9 UpHawthorne's tale about the brooding hold of the past over the present is a complex one, twisting and turning its way back through many generations of a venerable New England family, one of whose members was accused of witchcraft in 17th century Salem. More than 200 years later, we meet the family in its decaying, gabled mansion, still haunted by the presence of dead ancestors: Hepzibah, an elderly gentlewoman fallen on had times; her ineffectual brother, Clifford; and young Phoebe, a country maiden who cheerfully takes it upon herself to care for her two doddering relations. There's also Holgrave, a free-spirited daguerreotypist, who makes a surprising transformation into conventional respectability at the story's end. These people seem to be symbols for Hawthorne's theme more than full-bodied characters in their own right. As such, it can only be difficult for today's young adults to identify with them, especially since they are so caught up in a past that is all but unknown to present day sensibilities. Talented Joan Allen, twice nominated for Academy Awards, reads the tale in a clear, luminous voice. Because she has chosen not to do voices, however, it is sometimes difficult to tell which character is speaking. Still, she is more than equal to the task of handling Hawthorne's stately prose in a presentation that will be a good curriculum support for students of Hawthorne or those seeking special insight into this work of fiction.Carol Katz, Harrison Library, NY
From the Publisher
"A large and generous production, pervaded with that vague hum, that indefinable echo, of the whole multitudinous life of man, which is the real sign of a great work of fiction."
—Henry James
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780553212709
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 3/28/1981
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: Reissue
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 288
  • Sales rank: 1,368,911
  • Product dimensions: 4.20 (w) x 6.87 (h) x 0.64 (d)

Meet the Author

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) was born in Salem, Massachusetts, and made his ambition to be a writer while still a teenager. He graduated from Bowdoin College in Maine, where the poet Longfellow was also a student, and spent several years travelling in New England and writing short stories before his best-known novel The Scarlet Letter was published in 1850. His writing was not at first financially rewarding and he worked as measurer and surveyor in the Boston and Salem Custom Houses. In 1853 he was sent to Liverpool as American consul and then lived in Italy before returning to the US in 1860, where he died in his sleep four years later.

Biography

Nathaniel Hathorne, Jr., was born into an established New England puritan family on Independence Day, 1804, in Salem, Massachusetts. After the sudden death of his father, he and his mother and sisters moved in with his mother's family in Salem. Nathaniel's early education was informal; he was home-schooled by tutors until he enrolled in Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine.

Uninterested in conventional professions such as law, medicine, or the ministry, Nathaniel chose instead to rely "for support upon my pen." After graduation, he returned to his hometown, wrote short stories and sketches, and chanced the spelling of his surname to "Hawthorne." Hawthorne's coterie consisted of transcendentalist thinkers, including Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. Although he did not subscribe entirely to the group's philosophy, he lived for six months at Brook Farm, a cooperative living community the transcendentalists established in West Roxbury, Massachusetts.

On July 9, 1942, Hawthorne married a follower of Emerson, Sophia Peabody, with whom he had a daughter, Una, and a son, Julian. The couple purchased a mansion in Concord, Massachusetts, that previously had been occupied by author Louisa May Alcott. Frequently in financial difficulty, Hawthorne worked at the custom houses in Salem and Boston to support his family and his writing. His peaceful life was interrupted when his college friend, Franklin Pierce, now president of the United States, appointed him U.S. consul at Liverpool, England, where he served for four years.

The publication of The Scarlet Letter in 1850 changed the way society viewed Puritanism. Considered his masterpiece, the novel focuses on Hawthorne's recurrent themes of sin, guilt, and punishment. Some critics have attributed his sense of guilt to his ancestors' connection with the persecution of Quakers in seventeenth-century New England and their prominent role in the Salem witchcraft trials in the 1690s.

On May 19, 1864, Hawthorne died in Plymouth, New Hampshire, leaving behind several unfinished novels that were published posthumously. He is buried at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Massachusetts.

Author biography from the Barnes & Noble Classics edition of The Scarlet Letter.

Good To Know

Hawthorne's birth name was actually Nathaniel Hathorne. It's rumored that he added a "w" to avoid being associated with his Puritan grandfather, Judge Hathorne -- who presided over the Salem Witch Trials.

Among Hawthorne's peers at Maine's Bowdoin College: author Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Franklin Pierce, who would later become the country's 14th president.

In its first week of publication, The Scarlet Letter sold 4,000 copies.

Hawthorne died on May 19, 1864, at the Pemigewasset House in Plymouth, New Hampshire. Ironically, former president Franklin Pierce had advised him to go there for his health.

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    1. Date of Birth:
      July 4, 1804
    2. Place of Birth:
      Salem, Massachusetts
    1. Date of Death:
      May 19, 1864
    2. Place of Death:
      Plymouth, New Hampshire
    1. Education:
      Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine, 1824

Read an Excerpt

Chaptetr One

The Old Pyncheon Family


HALFWAY DOWN a bystreet of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every townborn child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm. On my occasional visits to the town aforesaid, I seldom failed to turn down Pyncheon Street, for the sake of passing through the shadow of these two antiquities–the great elm tree and the weather-beaten edifice.

The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affected me like a human countenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm and sunshine, but expressive, also, of the long lapse of mortal life, and accompanying vicissitudes that have passed within. Were these to be worthily recounted, they would form a narrative of no small interest and instruction, and possessing, moreover, a certain remarkable unity, which might almost seem the result of artistic arrangement. But the story would include a chain of events extending over the better part of two centuries, and, written out with reasonable amplitude, would fill a bigger folio volume, or a longer series of duodecimos, than could prudently be appropriated to the annals of all New England during a similar period. It consequently becomes imperative to make short work with most of the traditionary lore of which the old Pyncheon House, otherwise known as the House of the Seven Gables, has been the theme. With a brief sketch, therefore, of the circumstances amid which the foundation of the house was laid, and a rapid glimpse at its quaint exterior, as it grew black in the prevalent east wind–pointing, too, here and there, at some spot of more verdant mossiness on its roof and walls–we shall commence the real action of our tale at an epoch not very remote from the present day. Still, there will be a connection with the long past–a reference to forgotten events and personages, and to manners, feelings, and opinions, almost or wholly obsolete–which, if adequately translated to the reader, would serve to illustrate how much of old material goes to make up the freshest novelty of human life. Hence, too, might be drawn a weighty lesson from the little-regarded truth that the act of the passing generation is the germ which may and must produce good or evil fruit in a far-distant time; that together with the seed of the merely temporary crop, which mortals term expediency, they inevitably sow the acorns of a more enduring growth, which may darkly overshadow their posterity.

The House of the Seven Gables, antique as it now looks, was not the first habitation erected by civilized man on precisely the same spot of ground. Pyncheon Street formerly bore the humbler appellation of Maule's Lane, from the name of the original occupant of the soil, before whose cottage door it was a cowpath. A natural spring of soft and pleasant water–a rare treasure on the sea-girt peninsula, where the Puritan settlement was made–had early induced Matthew Maule to build a hut, shaggy with thatch, at this point, although somewhat too remote from what was then the center of the village. In the growth of the town, however, after some thirty or forty years, the site covered by this rude hovel had become exceedingly desirable in the eyes of a prominent and powerful personage, who asserted plausible claims to the proprietorship of this, and a large adjacent tract of land, on the strength of a grant from the legislature. Colonel Pyncheon, the claimant, as we gather from whatever traits of him are preserved, was characterized by an iron energy of purpose. Matthew Maule, on the other hand, though an obscure man, was stubborn in the defense of what he considered his right; and, for several years, he succeeded in protecting the acre or two of earth which, with his own toil, he had hewn out of the primeval forest, to be his garden ground and homestead. No written record of this dispute is known to be in existence. Our acquaintance with the whole subject is derived chiefly from tradition. It would be bold, therefore, and possibly unjust, to venture a decisive opinion as to its merits; although it appears to have been at least a matter of doubt whether Colonel Pyncheon's claim were not unduly stretched, in order to make it cover the small metes and bounds of Matthew Maule. What greatly strengthens such a suspicion is the fact that this controversy between two ill-matched antagonists–at a period, moreover, laud it as we may, when personal influence had far more weight than now–remained for years undecided, and came to a close only with the death of the party occupying the disputed soil. The mode of his death, too, affects the mind differently, in our day, from what it did a century and a half ago. It was a death that blasted with strange horror the humble name of the dweller in the cottage, and made it seem almost a religious act to drive the plow over the little area of his habitation, and obliterate his place and memory from among men.

Old Matthew Maule, in a word, was executed for the crime of witchcraft. He was one of the martyrs to that terrible delusion, which should teach us, among its other morals, that the influential classes, and those who take upon themselves to be leaders of the people, are fully liable to all the passionate error that has ever characterized the maddest mob. Clergymen, judges, statesmen–the wisest, calmest, holiest persons of their day–stood in the inner circle round about the gallows, loudest to applaud the work of blood, latest to confess themselves miserably deceived. If any one part of their proceedings can be said to deserve less blame than another, it was the singular indiscrimination with which they persecuted not merely the poor and aged, as in former judicial massacres, but people of all ranks; their own equals, brethren, and wives. Amid the disorder of such various ruin, it is not strange that a man of inconsiderable note, like Maule, should have trodden the martyr's path to the hill of execution almost unremarked in the throng of his fellow sufferers. But, in after days, when the frenzy of that hideous epoch had subsided, it was remembered how loudly Colonel Pyncheon had joined in the general cry, to purge the land from witchcraft; nor did it fail to be whispered that there was an invidious acrimony in the zeal with which he had sought the condemnation of Matthew Maule. It was well known that the victim had recognized the bitterness of personal enmity in his prosecutor's conduct towards him, and that he declared himself hunted to death for his spoil. At the moment of execution–with the halter about his neck, and while Colonel Pyncheon sat on horseback, grimly gazing at the scene–Maule had addressed him from the scaffold, and uttered a prophecy, of which history, as well as fireside tradition, has preserved the very words. "God," said the dying man, pointing his finger, with a ghastly look, at the undismayed countenance of his enemy, "God will give him blood to drink!"

After the reputed wizard's death, his humble homestead had fallen an easy spoil into Colonel Pyncheon's grasp. When it was understood, however, that the Colonel intended to erect a family mansion–spacious, ponderously framed of oaken timber, and calculated to endure for many generations of his posterity–over the spot first covered by the log-built hut of Matthew Maule, there was much shaking of the head among the village gossips. Without absolutely expressing a doubt whether the stalwart Puritan had acted as a man of conscience and integrity throughout the proceedings which have been sketched, they, nevertheless, hinted that he was about to build his house over an unquiet grave. His home would include the home of the dead and buried wizard, and would thus afford the ghost of the latter a kind of privilege to haunt its new apartments, and the chambers into which future bridegrooms were to lead their brides, and where children of the Pyncheon blood were to be born. The terror and ugliness of Maule's crime, and the wretchedness of his punishment, would darken the freshly plastered walls, and infect them early with the scent of an old and melancholy house. Why, then–while so much of the soil around him was bestrewn with the virgin forest leaves–why should Colonel Pyncheon prefer a site that had already been accursed?

But the Puritan soldier and magistrate was not a man to be turned aside from his well-considered scheme, either by dread of the wizard's ghost or by flimsy sentimentalities of any kind, however specious. Had he been told of a bad air, it might have moved him somewhat; but he was ready to encounter an evil spirit on his own ground. Endowed with common sense, as massive and hard as blocks of granite, fastened together by stern rigidity of purpose, as with iron clamps, he followed out his original design, probably without so much as imagining an objection to it. On the score of delicacy, or any scrupulousness which a finer sensibility might have taught him, the Colonel, like most of his breed and generation, was impenetrable. He, therefore, dug his cellar, and laid the deep foundations of his mansion, on the square of earth whence Matthew Maule, forty years before, had first swept away the fallen leaves. It was a curious and, as some people thought, an ominous fact that, very soon after the workmen began their operations, the spring of water, above mentioned, entirely lost the deliciousness of its pristine quality. Whether its sources were disturbed by the depth of the new cellar, or whatever subtler cause might lurk at the bottom, it is certain that the water of Maule's Well, as it continued to be called, grew hard and brackish. Even such we find it now; and any old woman of the neighborhood will certify that it is productive of intestinal mischief to those who quench their thirst there.

The reader may deem it singular that the head carpenter of the new edifice was no other than the son of the very man from whose dead gripe the property of the soil had been wrested. Not improbably he was the best workman of his time; or, perhaps, the Colonel thought it expedient, or was impelled by some better feeling, thus openly to cast aside all animosity against the race of his fallen antagonist. Nor was it out of keeping with the general coarseness and matter-of-fact character of the age that the son should be willing to earn an honest penny, or, rather, a weighty amount of sterling pounds, from the purse of his father's deadly enemy. At all events, Thomas Maule became the architect of the House of the Seven Gables, and performed his duty so faithfully that the timber framework fastened by his hands still holds together.

Thus the great house was built. Familiar as it stands in the writer's recollection–for it has been an object of curiosity with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of the best and stateliest architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the scene of events more full of human interest, perhaps, than those of a gray feudal castle–familiar as it stands, in its rusty old age, it is therefore only the more difficult to imagine the bright novelty with which it first caught the sunshine. The impression of its actual state, at this distance of a hundred and sixty years, darkens inevitably through the picture which we would fain give of its appearance on the morning when the Puritan magnate bade all the town to be his guests. A ceremony of consecration, festive as well as religious, was now to be performed. A prayer and discourse from the Rev. Mr. Higginson, and the outpouring of a psalm from the general throat of the community, was to be made acceptable to the grosser sense by ale, cider, wine, and brandy, in copious effusion, and, as some authorities aver, by an ox, roasted whole, or, at least, by the weight and substance of an ox, in more manageable joints and sirloins. The carcass of a deer, shot within twenty miles, had supplied material for the vast circumference of a pasty. A codfish of sixty pounds, caught in the bay, had been dissolved into the rich liquid of a chowder. The chimney of the new house, in short, belching forth its kitchen smoke, impregnated the whole air with the scent of meats, fowls, and fishes, spicily concocted with odoriferous herbs, and onions in abundance. The mere smell of such festivity, making its way to everybody's nostrils, was at once an invitation and an appetite.

Maule's Lane, or Pyncheon Street, as it were now more decorous to call it, was thronged, at the appointed hour, as with a congregation on its way to church. All, as they approached, looked upward at the imposing edifice, which was henceforth to assume its rank among the habitations of mankind. There it rose, a little withdrawn from the line of the street, but in pride, not modesty. Its whole visible exterior was ornamented with quaint figures, conceived in the grotesqueness of a Gothic fancy, and drawn or stamped in the glittering plaster, composed of lime, pebbles, and bits of glass, with which the woodwork of the walls was overspread. On every side the seven gables pointed sharply towards the sky, and presented the aspect of a whole sisterhood of edifices, breathing through the spiracles of one great chimney. The many lattices, with their small, diamond-shaped panes, admitted the sunlight into hall and chamber, while, nevertheless, the second story, projecting far over the base, and itself retiring beneath the third, threw a shadowy and thoughtful gloom into the lower rooms. Carved gloves of wood were affixed under the jutting stories. Little spiral rods of iron beautified each of the seven peaks. On the triangular portion of the gable that fronted next the street was a dial, put up that very morning, and on which the sun was still marking the passage of the first bright hour in a history that was not destined to be all so bright. All around were scattered shavings, chips, shingles, and broken halves of bricks; these, together with the lately turned earth, on which the grass had not begun to grow, contributed to the impression of strangeness and novelty proper to a house that had yet its place to make among men's daily interests.

The principal entrance, which had almost the breadth of a church door, was in the angle between the two front gables, and was covered by an open porch, with benches beneath its shelter. Under this arched doorway, scraping their feet on the unworn threshold, now trod the clergymen, the elders, the magistrates, the deacons, and whatever of aristocracy there was in town or county. Thither, too, thronged the plebeian classes as freely as their betters, and in larger number. Just within the entrance, however, stood two servingmen, pointing some of the guests to the neighborhood of the kitchen, and ushering others into the statelier rooms–hospitable alike to all, but still with a scrutinizing regard to the high or low degree of each. Velvet garments, somber but rich, stiffly plaited ruffs and bands, embroidered gloves, venerable beards, the mien and countenance of authority, made it easy to distinguish the gentleman of worship, at that period, from the tradesman, with his plodding air, or the laborer, in his leathern jerkin, stealing awe-stricken into the house which he had perhaps helped to build.

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Table of Contents

Introduction Denis Donoghue Donoghue, Denis

Note on the Text

Chronology of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Life

The House of the Seven Gables

Selected Bibliography

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Reading Group Guide

1. Hawthorne considered this novel to be a romance, which in literary terms refers to a narrative, allegorical treatment of heroic, fantastic, or supernatural events. Do you think this term accurately describes the book? Why or why not?

2. What do you make of the relationship between interior consciousness and external appearance in the novel? How does this conflict, as experienced by each of the central characters, inform the novel? And how does the house serve as a metaphor for this struggle?

3. Discuss the theme of class and social structure in the novel. What do you think Hawthorne intends in his depiction of Hepzibah's and Clifford's slow decline, and the curse on the Pyncheons' house? Are these related in any way? What about the role of the Maules?

4. Is the house a kingdom or a prison? Neither, or both? What is the curse that afflicts the Pyncheons? Discuss.

5. Discuss the role played by Holgrave in the novel. How does his nomadic, rootless existence stand in contrast to the Pyncheons? How does his marriage to Phoebe complicate this?

6. Discuss the scene in which Clifford attempts to join the procession. How does this illuminate the fundamental struggle of the Pyncheon family?

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 40 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(12)

4 Star

(9)

3 Star

(5)

2 Star

(6)

1 Star

(8)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 40 Customer Reviews
  • Posted July 21, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    A Really Great Book

    I thought this book was great and did give off certain eerie vibes. It's true that there were many passages that were long, but if truly taken in they were filled with such depth that would truly make us question our own morals and way of thinking. I would recommend this book to not just any extreme literature buff, but to anyone looking to engross themselves in history and who dare to look into their own hearts and break the binds of society.

    5 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted February 5, 2012

    My favorite Hawthorne story

    I fell in love with Hawthorne after reading The Scarlet Letter in high school, so I decided to check out this book. I must say, I love it. You definitely do need an understanding of the time period to tolerate the writing as has been said by other reviewers. I don't mind his long-winded descriptions at all, and I think a lot of people that complain about it just don't know how to read anything that isn't modern. Anyways, great story, and it made me that much more excited when I actually got to travel and see the real house. Must read!

    4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 23, 2006

    THIS BOOK HAS A SOUL

    Hawthorne combines 3 centuries of American history and 2 families misfortune in one of the greatest novels ever written by one of the greatest American writers ever known. If you like history, mystery, irony and think for yourself you will love this book.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 16, 2012

    Crap

    This copy is practically illegible, the editing is so bad.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 14, 2013

    Brad

    Looked at Jade"u ok?"

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 14, 2013

    A person

    My mind raced, trying to get a way out of the situation. I looked at him, then at Jade. "Another time," I said seethingly. I disappated into mist.

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 15, 2013

    Cole

    He left.

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 15, 2013

    Jade

    Jade looked at where the kidnapper had disappeared. She sighed and left.

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 8, 2013

    a cloud

    *a dark cloud appears over head*

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 6, 2013

    Fallen Angel

    I stand at the entrance my treehouse, a platform wrapping around the trunk of an extremely thick Joshua tree, the inside hollow.

    1 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2013

    Hzsjhd

    Nnsjjddfffn

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 4, 2012

    Batu

    Silently leaves

    1 out of 10 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 4, 2012

    Assassin

    An eagle swoops down lands on his shoulder and caws quietly and i run quickly to SL

    1 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 11, 2009

    Demolish the house, gable by gable. I couldn't care less.

    To begin with, while I have not read any of Hawthorne's other works, I do enjoy reading the "classics," which is one of the reasons I decided to read this book. It was approaching Halloween and I was in the mood for a classic horror/ghost story in the old Gothic style of literature. However, after struggling through the book page-by-page and inch-by-inch, I cannot recommend this novel to anyone but the most extreme literature buffs. Where it wasn't boring, it was long winded. Where it wasn't long winded it was repetitive. It wasn't scary at all, and I understand that it has been a while since the book was written, but it just didn't give off any scary vibes at all. The atmosphere was instead just dreary and depressing. And worst of all, by the end, I honestly did not care what happened to any of the characters. I did not feel engaged or empathetic to their plight in the least, and this is perhaps Hawthorne's greatest failure. He failed to get his reader to want to finish his story.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 29, 2006

    Seven Gables Shut And Barred To View

    This piece of is a gothic romance cloaked in the history of Salem Massachusetts written by prolific Nathaniel Hawthorne whose writings, by chance, are considered by many in literary circles to be required reading because they are considered to be 'classics'. The trouble here is defining 'classic'. I chanced to do this once, just prior to graduating with a BA in literature from a private college of a professor from the literary department and received the much expected and equally disappointing answer 'you just know'. By correlation 'you just know' when a book is a bad read and such is the case here. Slow, methodical and plodding, little of interest takes place within or without the walls of the famed 'House of Seven Gables' that captures a readers interest. This is one books whose pages, much like the doors and windows of the house central to this novel, should remain shut and barred to the outside world.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 5, 2004

    Take a trip

    Before you read the House of 7 Gables, fly to Salem and go to the actual house! Seeing the house and walking down the dark corridors while smelling the musty, old odor of the home makes reading the book 150 times easier and better. The book follows a family and a house for about 300 years. The majority of the book is focused on the last (?) generation, but it begins with the acquiring of the land and the building of the house. The Wealthy Colonel Pyncheon covets the carpenter Mathew Maule¿s land. A few years later during the witch hysteria in Salem Matthew Maule is brought before a judge on witchcraft charges. Maule is sentenced to death by hanging. Before he was hung, Maule curses the Pyncheon family. The Colonel is undaunted and continues to buy the land and build an extravagant house on Maule¿s property. When the house is finished and the Colonel throws a huge house warming party. Just before the party started the Colonel was found dead and a deed to a large amount of property is missing. Generations search in vain for that piece of parchment. Hawthorne then fast forwards to the current Generation. You meet Hephzibah Pyncheon; an old maid who is one of the last Pyncheon¿s and lives in the old mansion. The great fortune is gone and the poor woman is forced to open a store to survive. She is not very good at tending shop and is delighted when her young cousin, phoebe comes into town from the country and helps her with the shop. Later Hephzibah¿s brother Clifford returns from Prison, where he has spent the better part of his life. Phoebe helps bring some sunlight into their dreary lives but their other cousin, Judge Pyncheon drains what the house doesn¿t with his visits. I can¿t say anymore because I¿ll tell you too much and you won¿t need to read the book. Oh one more word of advice make sure you get a good copy with a glossary because many of Hawthorne¿s words were outdated and confusing in his time.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 12, 2014

    Bore

    This is good but im not interested in this book but thats me even if i dont like it you still need to skim it and if you like what it says in there then u should read it and i dont like it because it dont got a cover i only got it because of the title see you should try it just likei did.

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  • Posted September 30, 2011

    OMG

    NOW I KNOW WHY I HATED THIS BOOK 45 YEARS AGO, IT WAS REALLY STINKING THEN AND HAS NOT IMPROVED WITH AGE. KATHERINE HOWE'S FOREWORD READ LIKE A COLLEGE SNOB'S BOOK REPORT. I KNOW, I KNOW I DON'T APPRECIATE GREAT LITERATURE, I ACTUALLY DO BUT THIS READ WAS A STEAMING PILE OF... ENOUGH SAID.

    0 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 26, 2007

    A reviewer

    It did last a bit long, and the old English was somewhat hard to follow, but overall was good. It's not, however, Hawthorne's finest. The Scarlet Letter is one of the most amazing books I've ever read, and perhaps that's why I was slightly disappointed with this.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 30, 2006

    What a snooze

    I read this book for an english book report and it put me to sleep everytime i started to read it! The author seems to have never ending chapters about absolutely nothing. I don't recommend this novel to anyone who doesn't want to bore themselves to death. Speaking of death that is the only interesting part of the book!

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