The Marble Faun

by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Murray Krieger (Afterword)

This novel tells the story of Donarells, an Italian Count bearing an uncanny resemblance to the faun of Praxiteles, the sculptor Kenyon and two young art students, Miriam and Hilda. The author also wrote "Scarlet Letter".

Genres: Classics, Fiction, American, 19th Century, Literature, Italy, Historical Fiction

346 pages, Mass Market Paperback

First published January 1, 1860

About the author

Nathaniel Hawthorne was a 19th century American novelist and short story writer. He is seen as a key figure in the development of American literature for his tales of the nation's colonial history.

Shortly after graduating from Bowdoin College, Hathorne changed his name to Hawthorne. Hawthorne anonymously published his first work, a novel titled Fanshawe, in 1828. In 1837, he published Twice-Told Tales and became engaged to painter and illustrator Sophia Peabody the next year. He worked at a Custom House and joined a Transcendentalist Utopian community, before marrying Peabody in 1842. The couple moved to The Old Manse in Concord, Massachusetts, later moving to Salem, the Berkshires, then to The Wayside in Concord. The Scarlet Letter was published in 1850, followed by a succession of other novels. A political appointment took Hawthorne and family to Europe before returning to The Wayside in 1860. Hawthorne died on May 19, 1864, leaving behind his wife and their three children.

Much of Hawthorne's writing centers around New England and many feature moral allegories with a Puritan inspiration. His work is considered part of the Romantic movement and includes novels, short stories, and a biography of his friend, the United States President Franklin Pierce.

Reviews

[Lorna]

I've just, finally, finished reading "The Marble Faun" by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and I now have some conception of what it feels like to have run a marathon dressed in full deep-sea diving gear. Zeus, what a tedious, turgid, overblown book. I chose it because it was listed in a book called "1001 books to read before you die" - but perhaps I misread the title and it was actually "1001 books that are only marginally better than actually being dead".

The style is thick and clotted, the plot lacking in momentum, and the characters unreal and uncongenial. The most bizarre thing about the book, however, was the series of parallels with Donna Tartt's "The Secret History". In the first half of "The Secret History" a group of reclusive students studying Greek in New England, including one who is at the edge of the group and not quite accepted by them, commit a murder in a fit of Bacchanalian madness by throwing a man off a cliff; and in the second half the aftermath affects their relationships and their mental health. In the first half of "The Marble Faun", a group of New England artists practising their studies in Rome, along with a rural Italian count who appears half man and half faun, commit a murder of someone who has been following one of their number by throwing him off the Tarpeian Rock; and in the second half the aftermath affects their relationships and their mental health.

The book doesn't have a clear conclusion - so much so, in fact, that the author was compelled to add a four page postscript explaining some of the elements of the book that were left uncertain. It's all totally unsatisfying: and if it weren't for my dogged, never-say-die approach to reading books I'd never have completed it.

Still, as the Calvinist said after he'd fallen down the stairs, at least that's over.

[Julie · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Marble Faun was an exhausting read, as emblematic perhaps as the weighty themes within the novel itself: an exploration of nature versus artifice, good versus evil, Old World Dogma versus New World Morality, Roman Catholicism versus New England Puritanism. Each thesis is explored closely, minutely, intimately: and each becomes a hand-to-hand combat for supremacy over the reader's soul. I'm not convinced that Hawthorne offered resolution to the topics addressed, but participating in the argument was the beginning of a cleansing fire.

Everything is thrown at the reader under the guise of a gothic romance, which, in the end is its weakest motif. It rests behind the larger questions like a wallpaper, moving in tandem with the characters and the themes, but blending in the background like nondescript decor. It is such a weak presence, in fact, that Hawthorne even "forgets" to bring resolution to it and offers it, in an epilogue, a bit too neatly, all tied in a pretty ribbon. Had this been done by a lesser author, it would have failed miserably; in Hawthorne, it is easily forgiven, as if the reader too has determined that it's the least important of all the themes. Who really cares about the murder and The Model, in the end, when one is being offered spiritual illumination? (A glib analysis, perhaps, but arguably that was his intent when he penned this book, for finding a "healhty" spirituality had haunted Hawthorne like a bugbear all his life, and his works are laden with it.)

These themes, these questions are as old as man himself. And, in every generation, the prophets, the wizards, the magi, the visionaries, the soothsayers, the philosophers ... rise up and debate the questions again -- as if those questions were all newly hatched. Sometimes it's a sham; and sometimes, as in this case, it's a privilege to dance in the mind of a long-dead philosopher and explore his own version of the songs of innocence and experience, for The Marble Faun is as close as one can come, in prose, to exploring the "mind forg'd manacles" that Blake drew out in rhyme.

[Evripidis Gousiaris · Rating 5 out of 5]

Σε μια Ρώμη όπου η πραγματικότητα και ο μύθος απέχουν ελάχιστα μεταξύ τους, και με έντονη γοτθική ατμόσφαιρα ο Hawthorne ξεναγεί τον αναγνώστη στα σημαντικότερα ιστορικά μνημεία της πόλης, ενώ παράλληλα παρουσιάζει μερικά από τα σημαντικότερα έργα τέχνης που βρίσκονται σε αυτή.

Ο συγγραφέας περιγράφει με ιδιαίτερο τρόπο κάθε πίνακα και άγαλμα όπου θα συναντήσει κανείς στο βιβλίο, δίνοντας το μάλιστα μια διαφορετική χροιά μέσα από την μοναδικότητα της γραφής του. Ο αναγνώστης καλείται να αναζητήσει και ο ίδιος τα σπουδαία έργα τέχνης που αναφέρονται σε αυτό για να μάθει την ιστορία τους και τον συμβολισμό που κρύβει κάθε έργο. Ο λόγος εξηγείται παρακάτω…

Βασικοί πρωταγωνιστές είναι μια παρέα τεσσάρων νεαρών (δύο αγόρια και δύο κορίτσια) όπου ένα μοιραίο γεγονός θα ενώσει και θα αναστατώσει τις ζωές τους. (Δεν αναφέρομαι παραπάνω στην πλοκή καθώς δεν θέλω να την αποκαλύψω)
Ιδιαίτερη εντύπωση προκαλεί η σκιαγράφηση των συγκεκριμένων χαρακτήρων... Εκτός από την εξέλιξη της πλοκής όπου θα μάθει κανείς τα χαρακτηριστικά τους, ο αναγνώστης καλείται να ανακαλύψει την ψυχοσύνθεση τους, το παρελθόν τους και ίσως το μέλλον τους με έναν ιδιαίτερο τρόπο. Σε διάφορα σημεία του βιβλίου, κάθε ήρωας θα παρομοιάζεται με ένα έργο τέχνης. Επομένως, καθώς ο αναγνώστης μαθαίνει την ιστορία και τι συμβολίζει κάθε έργο, ταυτόχρονα ανακαλύπτει και στοιχεία για τους πρωταγωνιστές.
Μια μέθοδος όπου προσωπικά πρώτη φορά συνάντησα σε τόσο έντονο βαθμό και απογείωσε την εμπειρία μου με το βιβλίο. Με ώθησε στο να μάθω περισσότερα για όλους του πίνακες, αγάλματα και μνημεία όπου υπάρχουν στο βιβλίο (συνολικά 122) καθώς εξυπηρετούσαν και στην βαθύτερη κατανόηση των χαρακτήρων εκτός από εγκυκλοπαιδικές γνώσεις.

Για άλλη μια φορά οι εκδόσεις Gutenberg έχουν κάνει άριστη δουλειά. Στο τέλος του βιβλίου υπάρχουν εικόνες με όλα τα έργα όπου θα συναντήσεις αλλά και διάφορα σχόλια-πληροφορίες σχετικά με αυτά.

(4,5 αστεράκια για την ακρίβεια)
Ιδιαίτερο και αρκετά ευχάριστο βιβλίο όπου οι λάτρεις της τέχνης και της Ρώμης θα εκτιμήσουν αρκετά :)

[Werner · Rating 5 out of 5]

The only one of Hawthorne's four major novels not set in his native Massachusetts, The Marble Faun takes place instead in Italy (though three of the four major characters are expatriate American artists). His tenure as American consul in Liverpool, England from 1853-57 had brought him and his family to Europe; and when his diplomatic position ended with the advent of a new U.S. Presidential administration, rather than returning home immediately, the Hawthornes spent much of 1858-59 traveling in Italy. That sojourn provides the background of this novel, and its specific inspiration came from the author's visit to the Capitoline Museum in Rome, where he saw the marble statue of a faun carved by the ancient Greek sculptor Praxiteles. Donatello, the young Italian nobleman who is the real protagonist of the novel, is said to strikingly resemble this statue and to be thought by some superstitious souls to be descended from the faun who supposedly served as the model for it; and Hawthorne deliberately stresses the point that the character's ears aren't ever displayed to view, and so can't definitely be said to be either rounded or pointed and furry. (In the second edition of the novel, which is the one I read, the author's short Conclusion notes, among other things, that the intentional ambiguity about this point is to endow the character with an aura of mystery which would be destroyed by telling the answer.)

But though the novel's setting is atypical for Hawthorne, its theme(s) are not. This is at its core a tale of moral innocence lost; of sin, guilt and remorse; and of spiritual growth and Christian redemption, themes that were central to Hawthorne's fiction throughout his writing career. The author's last and most mature novel, it's perhaps also the one that's most explicitly Christian, with numerous direct references to the saving work of Christ. In a very real way, the naive and unworldly Donatello and his mysterious love interest Miriam re-enact the fall of Adam and Eve. But Hawthorne has faith that God's grace can triumph over the fall. Although they're very different novels, with a different flavor, this book has a thematic affinity to Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment (which I haven't read, but did read part of in junior high school and list as “to read,” and which I know the plot of from secondary reading). He also grapples with the question –although some of his characters shrink from and decry it; but the author is guessing that at least some readers will address it-- of whether (echoing St. Augustine), in God's providence, even our sin can ultimately be made use of to serve a morally and spiritually educational purpose in our lives. (That's not the same thing as saying that God “wills” sin or causes humans to do it; but rather that He lets it happen because He can work for good through it, albeit in a way that wouldn't have been necessary without it.)

As the foregoing comments suggest, this is a novel that gets into philosophically and theologically deep waters; but it doesn't do so at the expense of story. On the contrary, there is a strong narrative drive here, with mystery, suspense, dramatic tension, and clean romance. (As is characteristic of the Romantic style, there is an appeal to the reader's emotions.) My interest didn't flag at any point. All four of the main characters are well-developed, IMO (though Kenyon the least so), and I never had any problem with the 19th-century diction. Hawthorne does include a good deal of description of Italian scenes, which were of course fresh in his mind (the novel was written in its final form in England in 1859-60, just before he returned to America) and would have been unfamiliar to most American readers, but I didn't find this boring; it helped to create a sense of place. (This aspect of the novel made it popular with English-speaking tourists in Italy during the late 19th century, as they found it useful as a guidebook.) Although the villain of the tale is a very corrupt Capuchin monk (who lives up to none of the ideals of his order), unlike much 19th-century fiction written by Protestants, the novel is actually not an anti-Catholic screed as such; Brother Antonio isn't villainous because he's Catholic –or, at least, professes to be-- but because he personally embraces the evil side of his human nature. (We sense that he'd use religion as a cloak for his malevolence no matter what denomination he'd been raised in.) No other Catholic character is portrayed as a villain; and while Hawthorne, as a Protestant, views Italy's Catholic religious culture from the outside, I felt that he treats it in a fair and balanced way.

Note: I read this in the 1901 printing by Houghton Mifflin, which is part of their complete set of Hawthorne's works. Like all volumes of this set, this one has a short (four pages, in this case) “Introductory Note” by George Parsons Lathrop, whose qualifications aren't stated. It doesn't contain spoilers, concentrating mostly on describing the circumstances of the actual writing of the book.

[Teresa · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

I recently reread The House of the Seven Gables, so I couldn’t help comparing it and The Marble Faun. In both novels Hawthorne makes full use of his settings with a strong, tactile sense of place, though the latter's, fittingly, is not claustrophobic as is the former's. I felt as if I were back in Rome, that without realizing it I'd followed the footsteps of the four main characters through the city, including a visit to catacombs and a nighttime walk past the Colosseum (they, however, were allowed inside it at night). In both novels Hawthorne is obsessed with “decaying generations”; inherited curses; ancestral and collective guilt; and the perhaps necessary destruction (“purification by fire, or of decay, within each half-century”) of “unwholesome” inheritable habitations.

From the first, though, I was struck by how different the two are in style and tone, and was even prepared for The Marble Faun to be the better book. But, nearing the end, after we’ve returned to Rome from a brief sojourn in Tuscany, Hawthorne’s digressions had become a bit repetitive and intrusive. Even worse, while reading all these pages, I became invested in discovering a character’s big secret and Hawthorne, evidently, was not interested in revealing it.

Yet, there was much to hold my interest and to tease out: the expatriate art community in relation to the locals; what each of the four characters might represent morally and philosophically; the idea of National art; the nature of Sin; the long, complicated political history of Italy; and the perhaps inevitable mingling of Nature with existing Art. I also followed a trail of bound hands: bound by flowers once and every other time by metaphorical chains, iron, “strong cord” or serpent-like “inextricable links”—until the hands are, arguably, held freely.

At the start of the last chapter Hawthorne admits he has lost some threads of his plot and begs the reader not to pull on them, as doing so would not allow us to see the forest for the trees (he doesn't mix his metaphors; the latter is mine). The tangled threads must’ve prompted an outcry, because a rather clumsy epilogue was tacked on at a later date to explain some elements he’d originally chosen not to explain. I was fine with all of the not-knowing except for the aforementioned secret. Hawthorne hints at political intrigue, but without further illumination the beginning, in retrospect, loses much of its power. I am very happy, though, that Hawthorne chose to not clear up one other mystery: I don’t want, or need, to see Donatello’s ears.

*

Hawthorne ends his story on Carnival and I end my review the day before. (Happy Mardi Gras, y'all.)

[Lobstergirl · Rating 3 out of 5]

Miriam is an artist, half Italian half English, with a dark, molten, Hebraic beauty. Donatello is the faun, an aristocrat in love with Miriam, made stupid and pathetic by Hawthorne because of his animalistic Italianness. Kenyon is an American sculptor, haplessly in love with the innocent, virginal Hilda (literally a Puritan), who lives in a tower dovecote and dresses only in white, irksomely "purify[ing] the objects of her regard by the mere act of turning such spotless eyes upon them."

Miriam is haunted by a deep, dark secret from her past, and stalked by a terrifying hooded figure as the quartet traipses through Rome's historical hot-spots. Inspired by a look in Miriam's eyes, Donatello commits a crime trying to protect her - a crime so horrifying it sends the Puritan Hilda to a Catholic confessional to unload the guilt she feels even being associated with Miriam.

With Hawthorne the writing is stiff, stilted, weighted down with flowery encrustations. A stream can't just be a stream; it has to be "this shy rivulet." Lichen and moss are "these kindly productions." This is the kind of language that Walter Scott puts in the mouth of one of his characters and then has the others stare at him in incomprehension, or roll their eyes. (See The Monastery.)

I can't help thinking writing in the New World ought to be cleaner and sparer than in the Old, but so far my experience reading the 19th century has been the opposite.

[Dusty · Rating 2 out of 5]

In middle school you were probably assigned some kind of descriptive composition. You know, the kind where you pick a Classroom Object -- a pencil, a wad of gum, your English teacher's unconvincing toupee -- and you write about it for a couple hundred words, sparing no meticulous detail. You turn the composition in to your teacher, who underlines words that could be even more thoroughly expounded. Maybe you are told you need to incorporate all five senses: How does this Object smell? may have been scribbled at the bottom of the page in your teacher's perfect cursive.

Eventually you exhaust every angle from which your object can be described. You have written a perfect descriptive composition. But now what? Do you toss your hard work into the waste can? Do you let its corners yellow at the bottom of some desk drawer?

Of course not! You turn your description into a novel!

You travel to Italy, where you tour the country's bevy of cathedrals and chapels, and you write about these edifices (and each of the artworks contained therein) as fastidiously as you had described your Classroom Object. When you've finished about two hundred and fifty of these, you lay them out as paragraphs. Between every two or three of these you add a paragraph about a person, maybe a handful of people, and you give the whole project a sense of unity by linking the descriptions to the characters and the characters to a murder. Then Buona fortuna! You have a classic novel, the kind that will be canonized and read for centuries to come. Why not? It worked for Nathaniel Hawthorne.

The Marble Faun: An excellent hundred-page story shackled by two-hundred and fifty pages of amateur artistic criticism and tiring and tedious descriptions.

[Nimue Brown · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Marble Faun is a gothic romance from the period when ‘romance’ meant ‘not as serious as a proper novel’. It’s a strange, moody tale with a lot of loose ends and uncertainty, which I think many modern readers would find difficult. However, I know I’m not the only one who enjoys that sort of thing.

It wasn’t written with an eye to posterity, which means a lot of checking foot notes is called for (get an edition with footnotes if you can, some commentary is helpful) as Hawthorn assumes you’ll get his askance references to artists and poets of the day. That can be a touch frustrating. At times it’s a bit like a tourist handbook to Rome, or Italy, but it’s a time traveller’s guide of course, and a long way out of date. It made me want to know how modern Rome compares to this description of it, though. Not knowing the politics of the time is also a disadvantage. It’s never clearly stated that the characters are in a corrupt State and that does have plot implications.

This is a very interesting jam on the tension between urban decay and rural renewal that authors like Thomas Hardy would later come to obsess about. It’s also an interesting reflection of the relationship between New England and the Old World, too, and has a lot to say about art, and sin, and humanity. I’m fascinated by Hawthorn’s troubled relationship with his female characters, he obviously has Puritan sensibilities around sex, nudity and purity, but at the same time he’s always pushing against the restrictions of the angel/whore polarity that so dominated thinking of the time. You can also see that Puritanism struggling with the good bits of Catholicism, as he sees them, and coming out confused, and there’s something pleasingly human about the lack of clarity this engenders.

I was acutely aware that no modern author would be allowed to write like this. Editors would rip out the long reflections on the state of art and sculpture, the passive sections, and would demand a faster paced plot, and more explanations. You could not get a book like this published any more, and in many ways we are the poorer for that development.

If you are willing to slow down, not have wild drama from the first page, take on some understated romance and mysteries that will never be laid bare for you, read this, because it is a beautiful book and it will reward you.

[Donna · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved this slow summer sojourn – a classic novel that unfolded gradually and beautifully. The Marble Faun is full of rich, atmospheric description that transports the reader instantly into the streets, the churches, the galleries, and the classical architecture of 19th-century Rome. Hawthorne is a masterful writer indeed. What could be more wholly Italian than a full paragraph devoted to a single sip of wine?

“Sipping, the guest longed to sip again; but the wine demanded so deliberate a pause, in order to detect the hidden peculiarities and subtle exquisiteness of its flavour, that to drink it was really more a moral than a physical enjoyment. There was a deliciousness in it that eluded analysis, and – like whatever else is superlatively good – was perhaps better appreciated in the memory than by present consciousness.” [p. 754]

Hawthorne deftly tackles a wide range of topics – art and artistry, religion and myth, secrecy and sin – through the experiences of only four main characters. We are first introduced to three American expatriates – Miriam, a painter; Hilda, who has a special talent for copying the masters; and Kenyon, a skilled sculptor.

“As these busts in the block of marble,” thought Miriam, “so does our individual fate exist in the limestone of time. We fancy that we carve it out; but its ultimate shape is prior to all our action.” [p. 379]

The fourth character, Donatello, an Italian native, bears a distinct resemblance to the dancing, carefree faun of Greek mythology, yet carries heavy secrets deep within:

“The entire system of man’s affairs, as at present established, is built up purposely to exclude the careless and happy soul.” [p. 806]

Hawthorne’s characters are among the most fully realized that I have ever encountered. It is as though, God-like, he created them from the air, breathed life into them, and then observed how they would react in times of despair, times of celebration, times of pensiveness, and times of love. And then he described them to us. Billed as a “romance,” The Marble Faun also provides a fascinating commentary on Old World vs New, art vs fakery, and religion vs secularism. Throughout the story, he expertly weaves in social critique – almost lost in the narrative, yet it is the foundation upon which the tale is told. Ultimately, The Marble Faun is an allegory of the fall of Man, beautifully written and effectively conveyed.

“Is sin, then, -- which we deem such a dreadful blackness in the universe, -- is it, like sorrow, merely an element of human education, through which we struggle to a higher and purer state than we could otherwise have attained? Did Adam fall, that we might ultimately rise to a far loftier paradise than his?” [p. 1515]

When I began writing this review, I had no idea I had so much to say. Clearly this book made quite an impact. Highly recommended.

[Elizabeth]

One of the oddest novels I’ve ever read. 😂 Loved discussing it with Susan. We had a lot to talk about. Hope to write more!

[Czarny Pies · Rating 2 out of 5]

One of the four protagonists in “The Marble Faun” is an Italian count named Donatello after the famous teenage Mutant Ninja turtle which I find quite distressing. Even an American living in the 1850’s should have known that Italian parents would not give the name Donatello to any of their children. For boys they invariably use the name of one of the Evangelists (Marco, Matteo, Giovanni, Luca) or one the Apostles (Paolo, Pietro, Giacomo, etc.) with Joseph and Tony (Giuseppe, Antonio) also being permitted. One simply never encounters a Donnie (Donatello).
Even more peculiar for a book set in Rome during the 1850s there is no mention made of the Risorgimento (i.e., the unification of Italy) a topic which was certainly of great interest to numerous writers of the era (e.g. George Eliot, Robert Browning, Elisabeth Barrett Browning, Margaret Fuller, Alexandre Dumas, etc. ).
Not only is Hawthorne strangely disconnected from the dominant issue of the era, he is also extremely nasty towards Italians describing them as being chronic liars: “In short, they (the Italians) lie so much like truth and speak truth so much as if they were telling a lie, that their auditor suspects himself in the wrong, whether he believes or disbelieves them; it being one thing certain, that falsehood is seldom an intolerable burden to the tenderest of Italian consciences.”
It should also be noted that Hawthorne heaps abuse upon the Catholic Church at every turn. He states that priests “are placed in an unnatural relation with woman, and thereby lost the healthy, human conscience that pertains to other human beings, who own the sweet household ties connecting them with wife and daughter.” He attacks intercessory prayers and the sacrament of confession both place intermediaries between the believer and God. While savagely attacking the Roman Catholic Church Hawthorne appears unaware that as he was writing, Italy was in armed revolt against the Holy See and within three months of the publication of “The Marble Faun” the Papacy would lose two-thirds of its territory in Italy.
Moreover, in Hawthorne's eyes Rome itself is physically and morally squalid. At the end the hero (a sculptor) and heroine (a copyist) both virtuous Christians return to their native New England in order to preserve their purity as artists.
While primarily a reflection on the artistic process, ''The Marble Faun" is at the same time a ripping good horror story that reminds the reader of Ann Radcliffe’s “Mysteries of Udolpho” or Edgar Allen Poe’s “Cask of Amontillado' that is considerably enhanced by Hawthorne's flamboyant purple prose

[Ellen · Rating 4 out of 5]

What can I say? I love Hawthorne.
Ellie NYC

[John · Rating 2 out of 5]

Zounds, what a boring book! And I usually like Hawthorne, but... Perhaps only a brilliant writer could craft a novel this dull and unsatisfying. Page after page of monotonous, pretentious pontificating ensue, as characters stand around doing nothing except complementing each other on their brilliance and/or beauty, or complaining endlessly about things that most normal people generally take in stride. All the intriguing aspects of the story are left unexplained in the end (except in a silly postscript), and the intended moral of the story is altogether mixed-up and confusing. Which is better? Blind, care-free innocence, or hard-earned knowledge and experience culled from dealing with adversity and sin? Spoiler Alert: Hawthorne apparently doesn't know either. Other technical aspects of the book are just as shoddy: none of the dialog in the novel seems even remotely authentic, and the female characters change from being independent and ambitious to helpless and overly-dependent seemingly at the drop of a hat. Of course, Hawthorne attempts to give us some justification for this, but none of it really makes sense. In the end, there is nothing in this novel really worth latching onto. Is Donatello actually an honest-to-God faun, or does he merely bear a striking resemblance to one? Sorry, Hawthorne, but either way, the idea sucks. Actually, there are some really good insights scattered throughout this tome, but God help you if you intend to try to sort them out from among the endless descriptions of Italian architecture and the many passages in which characters seem to be intentionally trying to prevent their own happiness by behaving in the stupidest ways imaginable. This is the kind of book that, if someone were forced to read it in high school, would probably put them off reading forever.

[Arukiyomi · Rating 1 out of 5]

This was a grind. I really don’t have much time for Hawthorne and this was a bad Hawthorne.

On the surface, this is about a group of USAnian young people who spend time in Italy doing everything but being realistic. Their wealth obviously enables them to avoid the banalaties that the rest of us have to deal with, like cooking, cleaning, and generally earning a living. Thus, they can afford to prance around in art galleries, pursue their belief that the art they do is important somehow and, unfortunately for the reader, spend hours in lofty discourse on love, art, friendship, philosophy, and a whole host of subjects that the rest of us will have time to discuss once we’ve finished the dishes.

Their wealth also gives them, as it does for all of us, a falsely romantic notion of rustic poverty and their own importance to society. I could go on to describe what happens to them through the course of the novel, but I simply can’t be bothered. Despite there being a sort of plot, it meandered and ultimately vanished in the sands of the characters’ flowery prose. I wanted to slowly and very deliberately put them all to death.

Hawthorne hasn’t here written a novel where this is only the surface. Unfortunately, I think that, deep down, the novel is pretty much about the same thing i.e. an excuse to philosophise on stuff that will all be very well once we’ve sorted out the Zica virus, the tide of Syrian refugees and why the spare room is in such a state.

For me then, this was the worst form of writing: pointless navel-gazing that lacked reality and therefore relevance. In fact, it was as if he was channeling a deluded character from his previous novel, The Blithedale Romance! I fully understand why Ralph Waldo Emerson described it as “mush.”

Thus ends my reading of Nathaniel Hawthorne. I started with The Scarlet Letter. I should have stopped there, too.

[Bryn · Rating 5 out of 5]

I first came to Hawthorne through 'The Scarlet Letter' but this is undoubtedly my favourite of his. While most of his stories are set in America, this one follows a group of arty, bohemian types in Europe, sas they struggle along, fall in love with each other and generally get into difficulty. It's got a fabulously gothic sort of atmosphere, there's mystery, dark histories and a supernatural possibility that I loved. (Won't say to much, no spoilers). It's a gorgeous, darkly romantic and strange story. If gothic and bohemian speaks to you, it's a must read.

[Mireya · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amazing travel companion when visiting Rome!

[BAM doesn’t answer to her real name · Rating 3 out of 5]

Catching up with the classics # 15

3.5 stars

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

Free download available at Project Gutenberg.

An astonished masterpiece written on the eve of the American Civil War.

From Wiki:
This Romance focuses on four main characters: Miriam, Hilda, Kenyon, and Donatello.

Miriam is a beautiful painter with an unknown past. Throughout the novel, she is compared to many other women including Eve, Beatrice Cenci, Judith, and Cleopatra. Miriam is pursued by a mysterious, threatening man who is her “evil genius” through life. Hilda is an innocent copyist. She is compared to the Virgin Mary and the white dove. Her simple, unbendable moral principles can make her severe in spite of her tender heart. Miriam and Hilda are often contrasted.

Kenyon is a sculptor who represents rationalist humanism. He cherishes a romantic affection towards Hilda. Donatello, the Count of Monte Beni, is often compared to Adam and is in love with Miriam. Donatello amazingly resembles the marble Faun of Praxiteles, and the novel plays with the characters’ belief that the Count may be a descendant of the antique Faun. Hawthorne, however, withholds a definite statement even in the novel’s concluding chapters and postscript.

There are at least 7 versions of the statue "Resting Satyr":
Capitoline Museums;
Roman artwork sculpted in marble between 150 and 175 CE, in Prado Museum, Spain.
Resting Satyr. Roman copy after the mid-4th century B.C, marble, height 168 cm, in Hermitage Museum, Russia.
Resting Satyr (Satyrus anapauomenos). Roman copy of the 2nd century CE, in Hermitage Museum, Russia. Inv. No. Гр. 3058 / A.154.
Resting Satyr, 2nd century AD, Royal Castle, Warsaw, Poland.
Resting Satyr, Roman copy of the 2nd century, marble, height 180 cm, in Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen, Denmark. Inv. No. 474.
Resting Satyr, Roman copy, first half of the 2nd cent. Carrara marble, height (without pedestal) 1.78 m, width of the statue 0.76 m, height of the pedestal 0.08 m., Santa Maria Capua Vetere, Archaeological Museum of ancient Capua, Italy.


Capitoline Faun, exemplar from the Capitoline Museums, c. 130 AD (inv. 739)


5* The Scarlet Letter
4* Rappaccini's Daughter
3* Wakefield ; Ethan Brand
3* The Ambitious Guest
3* The Blithedale Romance
3* The House of the Seven Gables
3* Twice-Told Tales
3* Wakefield
4* The Marble Faun, Vol 1
4* The Marble Faun, Vol 2
TR The Wives of the dead
TR Fanshawe
TR Ethan Brand
TR Feathertop
TR The Haunted Mind

[Wanda · Rating 3 out of 5]

12 DEC 2015 - spied on Laura's updates. Free download/s at Project Gutenberg:

Volume 1 - http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2181

Volume 2 - http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2182

[S Ram · Rating 4 out of 5]

4 STARS (****)
A GREAT AND COMPASSIONATE 'RELIGIOUS MYSTERY' --
I first attempted to read this classic novel in school in my hometown in India at age 14 in the year 1992, and was too young to understand it or even finish it. Ever since, it has haunted my subconscious as 'something strange, something special' but it only called out to me to read it on February 7th, 2017.
So I 'answered the call' and began to read it as the 'project gutenberg ebook' on my android phone, and just liked it so much rightaway! It was a fast, smooth and exciting read, partly because I am 37 years now and an experienced reader (though not at all very familiar with 19th century literature!) -- but the greatness of the book actually lies in its wonderful accessibility for any serious person who knows and understands that this is not a modern novel, and is prepared accordingly while approaching this reading.
I strongly recommend 'less confident' readers to read "the marble faun" as an ebook on android phones, because the small screen allows us to 'concentrate' on a paragraph at a time, and the pages move faster without giving an oppressive sense of the bulk and size of the work. Once you get accustomed to the richly ornamented, stately cadences of the19th century prose style, with charmingly archaic usage of phrases like "methinks", the writing draws you into its 'kind shadow' -- indeed it becomes so natural, crisp and elegantly lucid that you feel like the author is here, talking to you in confidence and giving you a bird's eye view of his beautiful city and his beloved people.
"The marble faun" starts off with a flourish, seeming at first a lovely and whimsical romance, but darkens and picks up pace in the second quarter, as idyllic elements are succeeded by sinister gothic unease, culminating in a shocking act of violence. "As compelling as any modern thriller, and MUCH more interesting, besides!" is what I wrote in my reading notes at this point.
The third quarter meanders through separation, misery and remorse before the 'guilty lovers' are reunited 'under the benevolent gaze of an august personage' -- but in the fourth quarter, a maiden disappears, a lover reels in anguish, and all is resolved after a frantic search amidst Carnival -- making for all the elements of a real suspenseful mystery!
Volume 2 (or, the second half) is slower paced than volume 1, but the whole is well-balanced, a joy to read, and full of major moral, religious and philosophical themes, meditations on Art and life, as also wonderfully atmospheric descriptions of Italy and especially of Rome, the Eternal City.
Mr. HAWTHORNE's heavy emphasis on religion, 'purity', sin, guilt, 'fall from grace' and penitence might appear slightly strange to the modern reader, living in this frank, 'liberated' and permissive age, but we must take care to understand the novel, as well as the author and his themes, within the social, religious and moral contexts of the historical period in which it was written, which was the middle of the 19th century. Moreover, the author's love and compassion for all his characters and their predicaments, as also his manifest love for the sublime spirit and antiquity of the Eternal City, make it an emotionally rich and heart-touching work.
Note 1: Readers are encouraged to read "the marble faun" first and then read a few scholarly articles online about its historical context, the literary background of the author, and also reviews from various quarters, to better appreciate the motifs and themes of this complex allegory. All of that plus writing this review brought me closer to this excellent novel.
Note 2: The cover picture used for at least one edition depicts a painting of the unfortunate and tragic Beatrice Cenci, (a 'shadow character' in "the marble faun") whose real-life horror forms a chilling, yet sorrowful counterpoint to this gothic work.

SUMMARY:
Nathaniel Hawthorne is one of the greatest of American novelists, and "The marble faun" is a wonderful and compassionate "religious mystery".

[Philippos Zournatjis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Η αμαρτία, η πτώση του ανθρώπου και η προσπάθεια να ξανά-σηκωθεί, να «μεταμορφωθεί», αλλά κυρίως η αμαρτία: το κύριο (ίσως και μοναδικό) θέμα του Χορθορν.
Ο Προτεσταντισμός σε όλη του την έκταση δίνεται σε αυτό το απολαυστικό μυθιστόρημα: ποιος ο αμαρτωλός, πως παλεύω με την αμαρτία μου, πως ξανά σηκώνομαι στα πόδια μου.
Το θέμα προσφιλές στο νου κ την καρδιά ενός καλβινιστή, απόλυτα ξένο σε μένα προσωπικά, πλην όμως απολαυστικοτατα ιδιοφυές το στήσιμο της ιστορίας (και αρκετά κινηματογραφικό).

[Scott · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Marble Faun was a delightful read. Hawthorne's last published novel finds him at the zenith of his skill as a writer. One can tell that this is Hawthorne honed by decades of refining his craft. He is able to communicate with depth, and yet with a clarity that does not imprison you in a mire of verbose minutiae. Compare this with the dry reading of his collegiate venture, Fanshawe (which he later disowned), and his maturing process as a writer is clear. Having read the ponderous, solemn works, The Scarlet Letter and The House of the Seven Gables earlier in my life, I was pleasantly surprised by the way Hawthorne had by this time learned to intersperse great solemnity with periods of hope and light.

The themes of The Marble Faun are quite numerous, and surprisingly well developed for all of that. Just to name a few: what is great art? What is it about art that imparts life to it and makes it speak to the soul? The figure of the "faun," Donatello, is a metaphor of simple, unencumbered happiness. Throughout the book Hawthorne wonders whether there is any more room for simple joy in this old world, wearied down by time, sin and cynicism. Additionally, the pure, righteous, puritanical (yet quite likeable) figure of Hilda, played off against the worldly, jaded-but-well-meaning figure of Miriam is ripe for deep thinking about the value of uncompromising righteousness (Hilda) that walls itself off against any taint of sin--particularly when the light of Hilda's friendship could have gone so far in attracting Miriam toward light and wholeness. As a clergyman, this interplay between righteousness/judgment and forgiveness/grace resonates quite powerfully to me.

But above those deep issues, I was quite impressed how Hawthorne could tackle deep themes, and yet couch them in a mystery/romance that was a wonder to read. Those who insist on no loose ends might be a bit impatient with this book, as Hawthorne purposely leaves certain details mysterious. Thus the book takes on the air of a myth which ignites the imagination. The very fact that not all is concluded neatly leaves the mind spinning and wondering long after the book is closed. And that is a good thing.

[Linda · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nathaniel Hawthorne and his family lived for several years in Italy, and his experiences there inspired him to write The Marble Faun, or the Romance of Monte Beni. Published in 1860, it became his best selling novel, but few readers today have ever heard of it, much less read it. The book opens in 19th century Rome, where a group of friends, three American artistic types and one Italian, are enjoying an idyllic summer in each other's company. Donatello is a young Italian count, who very much resembles Praxiteles' faun statue, and he falls hard for the enigmatic Miriam, who harbors an unhappy secret. The sculptor, Kenyon, loves Hilda, an ethereal copyist who, like a medieval princess, resides in an ancient tower, where she keeps the light burning at the Virgin's shrine, surrounded by doves. One beautiful evening, a very personal murder occurs, and the foursome's idyll is shattered. They separate, each one grappling with the sense of guilt that destroys their happiness and their innocence.

As the title suggests, The Marble Faun is a romance, but, typical of Hawthorne, a dark and brooding one. Being a product of his times and his religious upbringing, Hawthorne could resist inserting a tedious amount of philosophical contemplation, perhaps to highlight the moral symbolism that permeates the story. More pleasing is the time he devoted to describing the landscapes, monuments, art, and street life of Rome and the Tuscan countryside. There are even a few magical elements as well, such as the wine that is made on Donatello's estate that cannot fail to impart happiness to the drinker. While this region has undoubtedly changed since Hawthorne's tour, nearly everything that he referred to remains to be viewed to this day.

The Marble Faun demands patience from its readers, but take it slowly (I needed the entire summer!) and your perseverance is rewarded. But be forewarned: the friends are reunited at book's end, and the final chapter is bittersweet.

[Stuart · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nathaniel Hawthorne's MARBLE FAUN is, depending on who you ask, either a masterpiece or an interesting failure, but regardless of which view you take, it is an undeniably unique novel. Though it can be terribly slow at times, there are also excellent extended passages of breathtaking beauty, precise and poignant observations about the human condition, and more than one plot twist that keeps you interested. If you can learn to appreciate the digressions onto the the beauty and culture of Italy, and accept the climax comes in the middle of the story, the book will no doubt end up in the positive for you, but warning's fair, those slower, more meandering sections will not be for everyone and the rather tongue-in-cheek ending will leave some readers infuriated they put so much time into a novel that doesn't seem to care much for conventional narrative values. Still, Hawthorne weaves a magical and mysterious tale that is successfully able to evoke a time in history long past but picturesque, populated by complex and compelling characters who epitomize the author's particular knack for creating psychologically believable human beings capable of acts both horrific and lovely, but always relatable. If none of them explode off the page the way they do in HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES and BLITHEDALE ROMANCE, they at least echo with a certain kind of melancholy wistfulness that makes you enjoy their company for the time you are allowed to keep it.

[Bob · Rating 4 out of 5]

I avoid reading introductions to books until after I have finished, so I don't feel like I've been told what to think, or have the plot revealed. In this case, it might have been nice to know in advance "everyone has a lot of trouble with those long undigested travel diary descriptions of Italy that stretch out the story".

The actual plot is rather Gothic. Two young wholesome New Englanders (who Hawthorne plainly considers the superior human type) are in Rome to pursue their art. Their best friends are a somewhat mysterious dark-haired woman of unknown origins whose beauty and artistic talent override social concerns, and a young Italian man who is pursuing her, initially presented as something of a buffoon, but revealed to be a Count of a very ancient Tuscan family, and the one who matures the most interestingly over the course of the story.

Every possible American stereotype of Italians is on display, but Hawthorne clearly felt that documenting the country carefully, rather than just using it as a backdrop, was important.

[Karen · Rating 4 out of 5]

I actually read this back in college, and loved it then. I still really like it, and enjoyed rereading it and following the mysteries of Miriam's and Donatello's pasts. This time, I was on a deadline and was not able to appreciate the long descriptive passages as I did the first time. It takes some imagination, but you can really begin to share the mindset of someone for whom reading was far more of a gateway to foreign places than it is today.

It was something of a shock to see how anti-Catholic Hawthorne was, but, because I can remember hearing people expressing similar feelings in my own lifetime, I'm not sure why I was surprised.

Hawthorne's characters are always in service of his ideas, and I'm struck now by how character types recur in his fiction, but it's always gripping, and his insights into human nature are amazing. I see why two of my 20th century favorites--Faulkner and O'Connor--found him so compelling.

[Ian · Rating 2 out of 5]

Donatello is an Italian count of a juvenile nature and a striking resemblance to a mythical faun captured in marble. He is in love with Miriam, a gifted painter, but a girl with a dark secret. In Rome they enjoy the company of two New Englanders - Kenyon, a sculptor who is in love with the other, Hilda, a talented copyist and as pure as the Virgin. A rash, murderous act changes all their lives.
A slight plot is fleshed out with anti-Catholic rhetoric, musings on the relative merits of two- and three-dimensional art and mainly with pieces of travelogue, culled from Hawthorne's notebooks. Therein lies the problem: you always feel at one remove from the characters. Although the descriptions of their surroundings are detailed, it has the feel of a typical scene, rather than the individual moment of their being there, a sort of generalisation which contributes to the flatness of the protagonists.

[George · Rating 3 out of 5]

A romantic fiction, partly fable like novel, with minimal plot and a significant amount of travelogue writing on Rome, Italy. The novel is mainly about four characters, Kenyan the sculptor, Hilda the painter, Miriam who is beautiful and mysterious, and Donatello, a young Italian count with an innocent nature. Miriam and Hilda are good friends. They are both from New England. Donatello falls in love with Miriam and at Miriam’s instigation, Donatello does something quite out of character. This event has a profound affect Miriam, Hilda and Donatello.

This book was first published in 1859.

[John Pistelli · Rating 4 out of 5]

Please see my illustrated review over at my main site.

[Mike Thorn · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's hard not to compare Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Marble Faun with Henry James's Roderick Hudson, given that both late-nineteenth-century American novels are set in Italy, feature primary sculptor characters, and ponder questions of art and morality. Where James's novel exhibits its author's knack for drawing dramatic tension from all the minutia of human interactions, Hawthorne's occasionally loses itself in the thickets of travel fiction conventions, devoting huge swaths of text to the landscapes and cultures of its Italian environments. It's Hawthorne, so the writing itself is never less than excellent, but purely in terms of plot it's a very peculiar read.

The novel's major (if not only) narrative incident occurs about a third of the way through, with the final two thirds pondering the consequences of that incident at a curious remove. However, many of the dialogues about complex interactions between artist, art, and viewer are exhilarating, exhibiting Hawthorne's critical acuity and philosophical insight. Also thrilling are the novel's flirtations with Gothic Romance; I love how it playfully nudges against the perimeters of the fantastic. If the novel's disparate parts never quite seem to fall into place, it's still fascinating to see Hawthorne engaging with all these lofty thematic possibilities, archetypes, and genre conventions.