Sunday At Home

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Nathaniel Hawthorne (born Nathaniel Hathorne; July 4, 1804 – May 19, 1864) was an American novelist and short story writer. Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in 1804 in the city of Salem, Massachusetts to Nathaniel Hathorne and the former Elizabeth Clarke Manning. His ancestors include John Hathorne, the only judge involved in the Salem witch trials who never repented of his actions. Nathaniel later added a "w" to make his name "Hawthorne" in order to hide this relation. He entered Bowdoin College in 1821, was elected to Phi Beta Kappa in 1824, and graduated in 1825. Hawthorne anonymously published his first work, a novel titled Fanshawe, in 1828. He published several short stories in various periodicals which he collected in 1837 as Twice-Told Tales. The next year, he became engaged to Sophia Peabody. He worked at a Custom Houseand joined Brook Farm, a transcendentalist 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 their return to The Wayside in 1860. Hawthorne died on May 19, 1864, and was survived by his wife and their three children. -wikipedia

26 pages, Paperback

First published October 4, 2009

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

[Bill Kerwin · Rating 4 out of 5]

This Hawthorne vignette makes up for what it lacks in plot by the precision of its irony, the ambiguity of its theme, and the charm of its atmosphere.

The narrator--an educated, thoroughly secular man--lives across the street from a church. During the week, he is impressed primarily by the steeple, the “moral loneliness” that “broods around its stately height,” but on Sunday, even the quality of the sunlight seems to change for him, as he watches the congregation assemble.

Some illusions, and this among them, are the shadows of great truths. Doubts may flit around me, or seem to close their evil wings, and settle down; but, so long as I imagine that the earth is hallowed, and the light of heaven retains its sanctity, on the Sabbath--while that blessed sunshine lives within me--never can my soul have lost the instinct of its faith. If it have gone astray, it will return again.

He proceeds to describe the individual arrivals—the sexton dressed in gray, the old folks in black, the children and “pretty girls” in bright colors, etc.—in affectionate terms, but fancies that in his own way, he may be superior to some of them in his devotions: “though my form be absent, my inner man goes constantly to church, while many, whose bodily presence fills the accustomed seats, have left their souls at home.” Still, he begins to have his doubts, as soon as the streets are empty:

Now, every loiterer has gone in, and the street lies asleep in the quiet sun, while a feeling of loneliness comes over me, and brings also an uneasy sense of neglected privileges and duties. Oh, I ought to have gone to church!...Could I bring my heart into unison with those who are praying in yonder church, and lift it heavenward, with a fervor of supplication, but no distinct request, would not that be the safest kind of prayer; "Lord, look down upon me in mercy!" With that sentiment gushing from my soul might I not leave all the rest to Him?

Our narrator, if he lived today, might be the sort of man who declares himself to be “spiritual but not religious,” who prides himself on the purity of his solitary meditations, yet yearns for communion. Hawthorne captures the double movement in the soul of such a man precisely at the moment when he is suspended between seclusion and fellowship, how he regrets his isolation even while celebrating his loneliness, and how he performs an imaginative act of participation which allows him to worship communally and still spend his “Sunday at home.”

Still, the questions remain. Should he have gone to church this morning? Has his "instinct of faith" gone astray? If so, will it return again?

[Peter · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is an interesting story showing that church/religion gives stability to society. Hawthorne's prose is still great and the way the narrator describes this sunny Sunday is absolutely worth reading. Here you'll read about a typical Sunday with church-goers in New England. Recommended!

[William · Rating 5 out of 5]

Entertaining relationship listening 🏡😁

This kindle ebook novella is free from Amazon

I went crazy finding free books now it is clean up time. I remember reading✨ many different authors in all graded.

I would recommend this novella and author to readers of life 😯 2025 🌃🙄

[Vaishali · Rating 4 out of 5]

What depth Mr. Hawthorne... what insight, what feeling, and what wit. The narrator - I wonder this time if it's Hawthorne himself - spies the church next door from afar, and possibly experiences more than its attendees.

Like so many of his works, this is not a story but an observation of an event unfolding... an extraordinary reflection of an otherwise mundane moment. And perhaps that's exactly his point : there's magic, meaning, and utter beauty in every second we live. Yet we miss it all !

What's really awesome is that his descriptions are now historic relics of a bygone New England past. He captured its environment and intellectual state of mind, and he was right : it was all so special. Thank you, sir, for preserving both.

On a personal note, the story made me finally treasure being in the present. What precious jewels of time do you and I zip thru today, each one of which are destined to be regarded as a golden age in 100 years?



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[Glen Engel-Cox · Rating 2 out of 5]

Let’s describe this in a high concept way: imagine Rear Window meets the 700 Club. The narrator here is a bit creepy, although his (and I assume it is a he, although that’s not made clear) language is quite lofty. There’s not much plot. The narrator comments on the sun rising and shining on the church which he can see from behind a curtained window across the way, then he continues to describe what occurs at the church on the sabbath. The creepiness is exactly what he notices, like how the young girls all wear white stockings. And, of course, there’s the racism, with a particular egregious line about how the “sable” colored rejoice in the fact that once they die, they will be white in heaven.

[Larry · Rating 2 out of 5]

Religious poetry at its finest.

[Forked Radish · Rating 4 out of 5]

Actual churchgoing is too fraught with hypocritical implications for all but the most impious.

[Sean Harding · Rating 3 out of 5]

Hawthorne Hawks #25
The Hawthorne quest has hot 25 tales and this one had some nice descriptive moments as well, but not something I will remember much of later, good but not one of my favourites.

[Suzan Poisner · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found this to be a very colorful depiction of a typical Sunday in New England in the early 1800s. It is a poetic description of a village church, both metaphorically and spiritually, as seen through the eyes of a local resident. I am not religious, but this story helped me understand the reverance churches used to hold in small regional communities at this time.