by Nathaniel Hawthorne
1851 (reprinted 1995) • Signet Classic
288 pages / 0451524365 (paperback)
I've always harbored suspicion for the literary canon of academia, but The House of the Seven Gables is the first novel to make me stare it in the face. While by no means a bad novel, Gables is one of those classics that is so lacking in certain areas that it really shouldn't be deemed a 'classic' at all; rather, it is a decent novel that happens to be written by one of America's great authors.
The novel was written in 1851, on the heels of Hawthorne's masterwork, The Scarlet Letter. Just one year out from Letter's publication, The House of the Seven Gables could not be expected to reach those heights so soon afterward and Hawthorne certainly doesn't. Gables is an uneven affair that looks to combine his familiar gothic themes with the emerging naturalistic school in which anything beyond common experience is stripped away. Hawthorne, as a member of the group trying to make this epistemological advancement (did I just say that?), at times looks stuck on old material. His technique also suffers a great deal; the narrative becomes disjointed and there are chapters that feel as if they've been written separately, perhaps for magazine publication or as an afterthought. And, to top it off, there is a ridiculously contrived 'happy' ending that brings the sugar to diabetic levels.
Using The Scarlet Letter's setting as an influence, Gables is a tale (Hawthorne calls it a romance) that combines 19th-century naturalism with supernatural elements found in stories like his Twice-Told Tales and Young Goodman Brown. It is a chronicle of the Pyncheons, a family of landowners who have boasted political and economic power in colonial Massachusetts. Hawthorne briefly takes us through the Pyncheons' rise to prominence, including their seizure of land from a commoner, Matthew Maule, who was eventually hanged on charges of witchcraft. The House of the Seven Gables, a shadowy gothic mansion, was built on the property where a curse was thought to have been cast by Maule and maintained by his descendants.After this account, the main story begins in then-modern days with the Pyncheon family split into two groups: its Gable residents and a remote branch living in another part of New England. The house has become a dark, dingy tomb occupied by Hepzibah, an elderly woman with an unremitting scowl, and her brother Clifford, who had been sentenced to prison for a vague crime but was released with help from their cousin Jaffrey, a judge with political connections. Its other tenant, the photographer and writer Holgrave, is an idealistic young man who quietly observes the family's plights. Gable's characterizations and setting reflect the decline of elite American families who have failed to keep up with modern trends; Hepzibah and Clifford are penniless hermits who have withered in a vault of social convention.
Hawthorne takes an increasingly materialistic approach as Gables passes through the years when superstition begins to wane. However, he seems to lack confidence with the subject matter since those dark forces that come into play early are what make Gables the romance Hawthorne wants it to be. On the one hand, Hawthorne needs to be consistent with his social commentary and writes off supernaturalism as mere imaginings that have led to moments like the Salem Witch Trials, those 17th-century proceedings in which John Hathorne, a Hawthorne ancestor, served as an unrepentant judge.
Yet on the other hand, Hawthorne wants the occult to play its part in this grim story. A spooky atmosphere is one of Hawthorne's great talents and he succeeds in giving the house a dark, forbidding texture that makes for true suspense. Hawthorne leans on the mysterious forces continuously, long after regarding them as a delusion. He seems in a dilemma similar to that of Melville and Emile Zola, who resort to faintly mystical references in order to give their work life.
Outside of the suspense, Hawthorne's finest point in Gables is his psychological insight; he has a knack for bringing out truths of our psyche that crop up in everyday life but we are loathe to acknowledge. Unfortunately, this insight is brought out at the expense of story. In describing the mental processes and reactions of characters, Hawthorne drags out moments in the plot that should be jogged through. Incidents that are only momentary can last for paragraphs in his verbose style. Hawthorne's novel bears his usual elegance but its structure is overwrought and often congested. Though Gables seems to last for a prolonged amount of time, its intimate setting, single plotline, and limited characters don't offer any type of wide scope. In other words, it feels much longer than it should.
Gables would perhaps be a success if Hawthorne kept to the supernatural element. While his social commentary would've suffered, the overlying moral - that sins will be unto thy sons and daughters - is inherent. Hawthorne, however, sought to move his gothic themes in a different direction and he is caught between two opposing poles. The Scarlet Letter, a work of superior focus and intent, was a difficult novel to follow up and Gables comes nowhere close to its height of achievement. But Gables continues to enjoy prestige and will remain on the list of essential classics, regardless of its obvious flaws.
While reading the plays of Shakespeare, I have wondered if quality is always the determining factor in giving a work classic status. Romeo and Juliet would certainly deserve it, but the flawed Hamlet and the self-mocking Antony and Cleopatra, in my opinion, would not. Yet all three are accepted by critics as unquestionably great. The House of the Seven Gables is another work of this type. It's on the list of 'masterpieces' for most of the critical establishment and a regular item of high school and college syllabi; but it only seems to have renown because Nathaniel Hawthorne had written it. And why go on about it? Gables will be forever flipped through by students and academics (who keep on looking for symbolisms that aren't really there) because the powers that be said so.
Signet Classic's paperback edition of Gables is 288 pages long and with a somewhat elucidative essay by Cathy Davidson of Duke University. Signet has a reputation for cramming lengthy novels into half their usual page counts, as if a book of this reading level isn't enough to grapple with. I bought the Signet Gables while in high school before finally breaking it out this year; although my eyes are still in fair working order for the small type, my patience as a decaying old man isn't. There are plenty of better-formatted editions available, such as from Barnes & Noble and Dover Publications. The Scarlet Letter should be first choice for anyone new to Hawthorne, but Gables is a half-worthy piece of interest for enthusiasts of American literature.
