Of Wanderings & Such

The Custom-House

When I took Literary Criticism with Dr. A last year, we learned how to challenge widespread concepts and attitudes about literature before moving on to serious literary theory. Part of the discussion involved trying to understand the "writerly" concept, i.e., evaluating how much of the writer is actually present in the text. What are the influences acting upon writers that push them over the edge into producing mammoth works of art? Is it their life? The people they meet? The circumstances they come across, and sometimes get buried under? In more romantic terms, was it the leaf lying just so, skimming the surface of a pond under moonlight that evoked overwhelming emotions? Or in other words, is every piece of literature a personal revelation, and in some ways, confession?

Turned out, it really didn't matter, as long as the work was getting done. Yet, the question never really left me. As a (semi) writer, I often bounce back and forth between revealing too many of my experiences or avoiding them altogether. And then came Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter and The Custom-House, in that order.

When I first started reading this part of the novel, I had a feeling that I was being set up for a dramatic revelation of the events that led up to the publication of The Scarlet Letter, and boy was I right. Hawthorne writes: "...the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him, better than most of his schoolmates and lifemates" (1).

In the very beginning, he tries to establish a relationship with his readers by making them feel as though they're being initiated into a very intimate and a very elite circle of friends. Incidently, I think that the best way to read Hawthorne is while sitting in a grotesquely overstuffed leather chair with a goblet of wine on one side and a bowl of chocolate on the other. Oh, and the feet need to be propped up on an ottoman because the candles will light up by themselves (how 'bout them enchanted castles, eh?). But that's just me.

It's interesting that so much of Hawthorne's initial discourse reflects the changing time of the era. "Such occasions might remind the elderly citizen of that period, before the last war with England, when Salem was a port by itself; not scorned, as she is now, by her own merchants and ship-owners, who permit her wharves to crumble to ruin..." (3). Even before the novel begins, we're warned of the economic and in some ways, moral, disintegration of Puritan life. So, by conjecture, the "so-called" classics that make it into that category are more or less semi-historical documents. Read: Gone With the Wind & To Kill a Mockingbird.

I have to admit that I've really enjoyed reading The Scarlet Letter, but the first time my knees melted was when Hawthorne talked about food. "A tenderloin of beef, a hind-quarter of veal, a spare-rib of pork, a particular chicken, or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey..." (12). Okay, so aside from the implications of sky-rocketing cholestrol levels, I was in heaven. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love food...my secret plan (well, not so much anymore) is to escape from the clutches of academia, run away to culinary school and set up my own Bed & Breakfast after retirement. Hah. Retirement. That's a whine for another day.

But really....I honestly believe that nothing brings people together like food. There's nothing like a table full of family and friends talking and laughing around mounds and mounda of food. Needless to say, I kinda jumped with joy to see Hawthorne agreeing with me.

If y'all haven't read The Custom-House section yet, I won't ruin it for you. But I promise there's a serious connection between the beginning of my post and the revelation at the end. My closing reaction? For a man who was ostensibly suffering from a writer's block, he sure could go on and on.

Posted by NehaBawa at September 21, 2005 09:26 PM | TrackBack