La casa dei sette abbaini

by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Mario Manzari (Translator)

Sulla Casa dei Sette Abbaini pesa l’ombra di una maledizione. Il vecchio colonnello Pyncheon l’ha costruita sul terreno dei Maule dopo aver fatto condannare ingiustamente il legittimo proprietario per stregoneria. I discendenti del colonnello cercano in ogni modo di liberarsi della sua eredità maligna, che tuttavia sembra esigere da ogni generazione il suo lugubre tributo.

Emanuele Trevi rilegge con occhi contemporanei il primo grande romanzo gotico americano, nel quale la vita serena della tipica cittadina di provincia viene funestata dalle nubi oscure che aleggiano sui sette abbaini di casa Pyncheon. Ne restituisce non solo il fascino passato, ma la potente suggestione che esercita sul nostro presente. La vecchia dimora è «fatta di tempo e di tenebre», come scrive nella prefazione: un «tempo malato», perché i vivi faticano a scrollarsi di dosso le malefatte di chi li ha preceduti. Così la letteratura: cerca di mutare, di mettere da parte il copione che ci hanno tramandato i morti. Ma La Casa dei Sette Abbaini, come ogni classico, pulsa di vita propria; conserva, tra le sue quattro mura, il sortilegio che ci apre le porte del futuro.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, Gothic, Literature, Historical Fiction, Horror, American

368 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1851

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

[Olivia · Rating 2 out of 5]

HAWTHORNE: Look at this old house. *whispers conspiratorially* It’s very scary.

ME: Ooh, why?

HAWTHORNE: What?

ME: Why is it scary?

HAWTHORNE, confused: Well, it’s -- I mean, it’s old, see?

ME: Yes, but why is it scary?

HAWTHORNE: It’s cursed!

ME: How?

HAWTHORNE, getting impatient: It just is, okay? There was this patriarch of this clan, see, and he got the deed for this land dishonestly, see, and now all his descendants are cursed, see.

ME: Cool, but how are they cursed?

HAWTHORNE, visibly upset: They can never feel joy!

ME: But -- but isn’t that because they literally never step outside?

HAWTHORNE, frantically: The windows admit no light!

ME: Yeah, but isn’t that because the shutters are always closed?

HAWTHORNE: THE HOUSE IS SO THREATENING OH THE HORROR

ME: But couldn’t they just --

HAWTHORNE: IT’S! DUSTY!

ME: But --

HAWTHORNE: *pterodactyl screeching*

ME: Okay, okay, calm down. Show me the rest.

HAWTHORNE, settling: Thank you. This is Hepzibah. She has a turban and an unfortunate face.

ME, blinking: Wow, that’s --

HEPZIBAH: Woe to me! *gives a kid too much gingerbread*

HAWTHORNE: This is Phoebe. She’s wholesome.

PHOEBE, smiling brightly: Hi!

HAWTHORNE, as an afterthought: She’s also virginal.

ME: Wait, what? How does that --

HAWTHORNE: She’s wholesome because she’s virginal. Try to keep up.

ME: I don’t think --

HAWTHORNE: Hush. This is Clifford. He’s old and sensitive and delightful and quite possibly a serial killer.

ME: What?!

CLIFFORD: *whines indistinctly*

HAWTHORNE: Life should only ever be gentle and kind to him! His way should be easy and perfumed with roses! Pity him, dear reader!

ME: Why on earth --

HAWTHORNE: Women aren’t as beautiful as he needs them to be. Plus a monkey looked at him once and it was a really ugly monkey and that was just really traumatizing for him.

ME:

HAWTHORNE:

ME:

HAWTHORNE: Also he kinda-sorta ogles his teenaged caregiver.

ME:

HAWTHORNE:

ME:

HAWTHORNE: But, like, in a chaste way.

ME:

HAWTHORNE:

ME:

HAWTHORNE: Little girls find him attractive.

ME, in a dangerously low voice: They do not.

HAWTHORNE, hurriedly: Anyway this is Holgrave. He’s pretty useless but he thinks he’s a thinker.

A PICTURE, randomly: THEY SAY I DID SOMETHING BAD!!!

ME, disoriented: Um, hello . . . ?

CLIFFORD: *whines indistinctly*

HEPZIBAH: *cries in the background*

HOLGRAVE: Did you know that men can control women through hypnosis because women are virgins and have weaker spirits than men do?

ME:

ME:

ME to myself: Somebody's gonna end this man’s whole career.

HAWTHORNE, loudly: And here’s Judge Pyncheon. He’s a really upstanding old man except that he might be Satan. *shrugs* Idk. That’s none of my business.

PHOEBE: I’m gonna go visit my real family. Peace.

CLIFFORD: *whines indistinctly*

HEPZIBAH: *sniffles*

PYNCHEON: I scowl. *scowls*

CLIFFORD: Hepzibah! Let’s go on a train ride!

HEPZIBAH: Wait, why?

CLIFFORD: No reason! Absolutely no reason at all! Also maybe peek in the parlor on your way out.

PHOEBE: I’m back!

HOLGRAVE: In moments of emergency, I try to remain calm and follow my first instinct, which is to draw a picture. Anyway here’s a dead body and I love you.

HAWTHORNE: It’s true love, don’t question it, the old geezer had it coming, they all move to his house in the country to more effectively spit on his memory and dance on his grave, aaAAAND SCENE! *takes a bow*

ME, screaming: HAWTHORNE WTF

[Kim · Rating 2 out of 5]

OHMYFREAKIN'GAWD.


Why the hell did I pick this up again? Life's too short, you say? You have 200+ other books on your 'to read' shelf and this was sucking your will to read? Give it up! You're right... all of it... and my answer is... my excuse being... because I'm freakin' stubborn. Its Hawthorne . I mean how much more New Englandy can you get? I couldn't just--- give up... I'd be betraying my countryman...


Whatever.


For a few years, in my younger days, I worked down the street from the House of the Seven Gables and I'd always get this literary stab of guilt for not having read it. I'd never fully look it in the eye, feeling the shame wash over me. Its judgmental gables peeking out at me while I'd sit by the lighthouse eating lunch. I want it all back. All those years of remorse. I could definitely put it to better use.

And you know what? It's not such a bad story, really. It's got murder, witchcraft, a creepy house, a curse, a spinster and her childlike convict brother, some mystery hottie and a fair maiden. You throw in an organ grinder and some insolent chickens and you've got the making of a great short story.

See there? What I did? I said 'short story.' But what Hawthorne does, and what irritates the fuck out of me, is draw out the narrative and then... draw it out some more. It gets to the point where you (read: me) throw the damn book down, cursing and feeling like you've just been scolded by your high school english teacher for not appreciating its nuances.
Ugh. Double frickin' UGH.

Example: Do I really need 8 pages describing the gardens? Or does he really feel he's being clever when he writes 18 pages playing out the death of one of the characters? (oops---spoiler---my bad) I get it...ha ha... yer just full o' wit there, Nate.

I will say that there was one little salacious scene that had me all a twitter and thinking that I might see some girl on old decrepit man action:

"On Clifford's part it was the feeling of a man naturally endowed with the liveliest sensibility to feminine influence, but who had never quaffed the cup of passionate love, and knew that it was now too late. He knew it, with the instinctive delicacy that had survived his intellectual decay. Thus, his sentiment for Phoebe, without being paternal, was not less chaste than if she had been his daughter. He was a man, it is true, and recognized her as a woman. She was his only representative of womankind. He took unfailing note of every charm that appertained to her sex, and saw the ripeness of her lips, and the virginal development of her bosom. All her little womanly ways, budding out of her like blossoms on a young fruit tree, had their effect on him, and sometimes cause his very heart to tingle with the keenest thrills of pleasure."

I think Nate was dipping into Fanny Hill hoping to quaff his own cup a bit... but, I was bored and of course picked up on this.

Maybe I've just read too much. Maybe I'm just expecting too much. I've said before, I grew up on Hungry Mans and the advent of the remote control. Don't pussy foot around. Give me what I want and give it to me now. Okay?

[Brett C · Rating 5 out of 5]

I actually enjoyed this one. Nathaniel Hawthorne has a unique way of writing and I think it he's hit or miss. For instance I didn't care for 'The Scarlett Letter' but I really liked 'Young Goodman Brown'. This story explored themes of guilt and generational sin. I felt all the characters had connectedness yet they were all trying to either run away from each other and their past sins/guilt.

I enjoyed the darker gothic tone of the story. The dark and shadowy house played a major role and even acted as a character.

"Several days had passed over the seven gables, heavily and drearily enough. In fact, an easterly storm had set in, and indefatigably applied itself to the task of making the black roof and walls of the old house look more cheerless than ever before." pg. 192

The backstory of Salem witchcraft, a curse, and the mysterious deaths gave subtle elements of the supernatural. The descriptive imagery helped carry the story.
"the quiver of the moonbeams; they dance hand-in-hand with the shadows..." pg. 241

Overall in enjoyed this story. The reading sometimes was tedious and slow but helped with the overall story. I would recommend this to anyone who enjoys a good story. Thanks!

[Henry Avila · Rating 3 out of 5]

The illustrious Pyncheon family had quite a useful reign, (but that was long ago) its founder Col. Pyncheon a stout, merciless Puritan and able soldier, helped wipe out the scourge the evil threat of the abominable witches, in the honorable Salem trials of 1692. For his just reward he happened by pure accident, to take over the property of old Matthew Maule. Still a splendid , beautiful area the perfect place to set his building the magnificent Seven Gables,
the Colonel's new mansion for his noble efforts .The wicked Wizard Maule , met his proper end at Gallows Hill. Things do not stay the same unfortunately, the family and House of the Seven Gables have seen better days... In fact truthfully at one time few would argue against it being ranked among the best edifices in colonial Massachusetts. That was more than 150 years ago this building, shall we reiterate is a little run down ( a dump in reality). Hepzibah Pyncheon, an "old maid", with nevertheless a wonderful name is now all alone, the only exception a young boarder, Mr. Holgrave. A daguerreotypist, as a resident the poor Hepzibah has to open a cent store, also to make a living what a humiliating situation for an upper class woman, from a formerly prominent family. Also visiting a relative Phoebe Pyncheon, a penniless country cousin with all that implies, the girl has no idea why the brother of Miss Pyncheon, Clifford returns home after 30 years, was it for some crime ? Nobody is talking and the 17- year- old- girl doesn't ask too many questions, she is a guest after all and very grateful. Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon, a rich distinguished man once a member of Congress and his son traveling around Europe somewhere, are the last male Pyncheons, not counting the unfortunate and sick Clifford, nobody does. People stay away from the strange house rumors about ghosts and unexplained deaths, are a constant source of gossip for the dull town. The bored Clifford likes to blow soap bubbles from the second story of the mansion, one hits his haughty cousin the distinguished gentleman on the nose. The prosperous relative now has an excuse to visit, wanting to talk to Clifford, about a vague proposition but the nervous ex-inmate, blames the aloof magistrate for his troubles refuses. A dark , strange thick atmosphere engulfs the premises, the ancient crumbling House of the Seven Gables, will some sunshine ever brighten it ? A classic novel not as exciting as when it was first published, yet worth reading still. Over a century and a half after being first written, many events have shocked the world making this rather mild in comparison. Did Hawthorne's, ( author of The Scarlet Letter, a monumental work) evil ancestors involvement in the notorious Salem kangaroo trials, gullible adults fooled by emotional delusional bad children with no conscious...Did these killings of innocent people, haunt the great author?

[Werner · Rating 4 out of 5]

Note, March 17, 2018: I edited this again slightly, just to change the formatting of a long quotation.

Note, May 14, 2016: I edited this review just now to make a slight factual correction.

During the Salem witch hysteria of 1692, when real-life accused witch Sarah Good was about to hanged, she pointed at one of the witch hunters, Rev. Nathaniel Noyes, who was looking on approvingly, and shouted, "I'm no more a witch than you are, and if you murder me, God will give you blood to drink!" (an allusion to Revelation 16:6). Years later, Noyes suffered a throat aneurism, and did die literally drinking his own blood --a fact that wasn't lost on the keepers of New England's traditions.

Nathaniel Hawthorne was born and raised in Salem (and lived there much of his adult life), a descendant of the Judge Hathorne who was one of the judges in the witch trials, and the only one who never repented of it later. (The author added the 'w' to his own name to disassociate himself from the judge, and other ancestors who persecuted Quakers, etc.) His family heritage, and the intellectual debates taking place in the New England of his formative years over the region's inherited Calvinist orthodoxy, prompted him to give a lot of serious attention to questions of predestination, original sin, and inherited guilt. The House of the Seven Gables can be seen as his most direct literary exploration of these themes. It opens with a recap of the scene described above, but with the names (and, in the case of the "witch," the gender) changed; but it then telescopes time, so that Col. Pyncheon dies of a throat aneurism soon afterwards --on the day of the planned house-warming for the great, seven-gabled mansion he's built on the land he railroaded Matthew Maule to execution in order to steal. (That house is a real structure in Salem, and still stands today, though the Pyncheons are fictitious.) Hawthorne then skips down to his own time, while noting that the intervening generations of Pyncheons have shared their ancestor's nasty personality and, often, his mode of death; bloody aneurisms have run in the family. But not all Pyncheons share the family's legacy of greedy selfishness. Clifford, Hephzibah and Phoebe are decent people, despite being Pyncheons, because they've made their own choices in life as to what kind of people they'd become; for them, inheritance wasn't destiny, and therein lies Hawthorne's major point. Like Hawthorne himself --an Arminian Christian who repudiated the moral outrages his family once stood for-- they've exercised their free will to choose good over evil. Not everybody does that; but everybody can do it, and has a moral responsibility to do it, a view totally opposite to both Calvinist predestinarianism and modern chemical/social determinism. In his narrative voice, Hawthorne addresses Judge Pyncheon with the clear language of personal moral responsibility and choice:
"Rise up, thou subtle, worldly, selfish, ironhearted hypocrite, and make thy choice whether still to be subtle, worldly, selfish, ironhearted, and hypocritical, or to tear these sins out of thy nature, though they bring the lifeblood with them! The Avenger is upon thee! Rise up, before it is too late!"

Both of my Goodreads friends who've reviewed this novel consider it inferior to The Scarlet Letter. I'll concede that point; its plot doesn't have the dramatic tension of the latter (though it has some). It's not as strong in that regard as the author's less well known novels The Blithedale Romance and The Marble Faun, either. But it has its appeal nonetheless; it's perhaps the most Gothic of Hawthorne's novels, and it's message-driven without losing sight of the very real, often poignant human story it's telling.

Hawthorne's ornate 19th-century diction isn't problematic to me, but will be a bane to many modern readers. That's a matter of misguided self-conditioning and prejudice in most cases, though, IMO. Contrary to what many modern readers automatically assume, expanding one's vocabulary and being able to decipher complex sentences doesn't take being born with some kind of genius-level IQ; it only takes patience, application and motivation, and I think the pay-off is worth it.

Note #1: Joseph Schwartz's "Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804-1864: God and Man in New England," contained in American Classics Reconsidered: A Christian Appraisal provides an excellent treatment of Hawthorne's often misunderstood religious thought.

Note #2: The 1940 movie adaptation starring Vincent Price as Clifford does not follow the novel very closely (big surprise, coming from Hollywood --NOT!) Among other things, the scriptwriters made Hephzibah his love interest rather than his sister. :-(

Note #3: Though I've read this book at least twice (originally as a teen), I've never read it in the edition above. The one I own and most recently read has no supplementary material except a good short biography of Hawthorne and a brief Forward and Afterword, all by Andre Norton.

[Fernando · Rating 3 out of 5]

"Ya en el umbral sintieron cómo su inexorable garra caía sobre ellos. Porque ¿Qué otra celda más oscura que el propio corazón y qué carcelero más implacable que el yo mismo?"

Descubrí a Nathaniel Hawthorne a través Herman Melville, uno de mis escritores preferidos. Melville y Hawthorne se hicieron grandes amigos a punto tal que Melville le termina dedicando su obra cumbre Moby Dick: "En señal de admiración a un genio este libro está dedicado a Nathaniel Hawthorne." Melville siempre destacaba, un atributo sobresaliente de Hawthorne que según sus propias palabras "Es la negrura en Hawthorne lo que tanto me atrae y me fascina. Los grandes genios son parte de los tiempos".
Otro gran admirador de la prosa de este autor fue Edgar Allan Poe. En su reseña del libro "Cuentos dos veces contados", Poe resalta: "Los rasgos distintivos de Hawthorne son la invención, la creación, la imaginación y la originalidad y Hawthorne es original en todos los sentidos".
Ahora bien, todos estos cumplidos y gestos de admiración seguramente en el caso de Poe se centran en ese libro que es un volumen de cuentos, mientras que Melville lo hace puntualmente sobre sus novelas. Tal vez el estilo de escritura es lo que atraía a Melville, quien en algunas de sus novelas empleaba un estilo similar.
Leer "La casa de los siete tejados" es un libro de lectura lenta. Muy lenta. Hawthorne se toma demasiadas vueltas para explicar una acción o para definir los rasgos de un personaje y esto hace que todo se torne por momentos exasperante, insoportable. Algo parecido me sucedió con "Pierre, o las ambigüedades", casualmente de Melville.
Dado que poseo por Hawthorne una estima que proviene de ese volumen de cuentos que también maravilló a Poe, es que intenté proseguir de la forma más estoica hasta el final de este libro, escrito en 1851 y que posee todas las características de la incipiente literatura de Estados Unidos, a comienzos del siglo XIX. Debemos tener en cuenta que estos tres autores que nombro, sumado a otros de la talla de Irving, Tennyson, Longfellow o Emerson son los que se consideran como pioneros de la literatura norteamericana.
La casa de los siete tejados posee algunos destellos del puritanismo que formó parte de la vida ancestral de Hawthorne. Recordemos su familia, oriunda de Salem poseen una relación directa con el puritanismo extremo. Es más, su abuelo John Hathorne (sin la w) había formado parte de ese tribunal de inquisición que se dedicó a juzgar y ejecutar brujas allá por el tumultuoso año de 1690.
Pero Hawthorne, escribe esta novela utilizando un recurso que me parece más que interesante: el personaje principal de la novela no es ninguno de los miembros de la familia Pyncheon, sino precisamente La casa de los siete tejados. De la misma manera que lo hiciera Edgar Allan Poe con su cuento "La caída de la casa Usher" o del emblemático caso de "El castillo de Otranto" de Horace Walpole, Hawthorne transforma a la vieja y ruinosa mansión en la estrella del lugar.
Este caserón de siete techos, enorme, ominoso y lúgubre ya desde su fundación ejerce una opresión extrema en quienes lo habitan. A partir de la muerte del Coronel Pyncheon el mismo día de su inauguración, todos los descendientes de la familia sentirán agobio, desasosiego y asfixia al punto tal que sucederán las inevitables desgracias que se narran en la novela.
De todos modos, es importantísimo aclarar que este no es para nada una novela de terror, ni de características completamente góticas, sino que posee ciertos elementos que el autor utiliza como adornos para sostener andamiaje de narrativo y argumental.
Tan pronto termina la confrontación entre el supuesto brujo Matthew Maule y el Coronel Pyncheon, la historia avanza para centrarse propiamente en la vida de uno de los descendientes, la solterona Hepzibah Pyncheon junto a otros miembros de la familia como su anciano hermano Clifford Pyncheon, su joven sobrina, Phoebe y otro miembro que tendrá importancia en el relato, me refiero al Juez Jarrey Pyncheon.
Hepzibah, una mujer ya entrada en la ancianidad deberá afrontar la realidad de una familia venida a menos hasta caer casi en la miseria y para ellos deberá afrontar recursos extremos contando con la ayuda de su sobrina, quien aportará algo de frescura ante tanto deterioro y abandono. Sucederán cosas que alarmarán a los personajes y que formarán parte de los últimos capítulos del libro para llegar a un final un tanto interesante, pero que no levanta el nivel de monotonía con el que Hawthorne le imprime a la historia.
El arcaísmo de las frases, las eternas descripciones, la adjetivación desmesurada y el filosofismo refinado del autor entorpece el normal transcurso de la historia, haciendo que varios lectores desistan de seguir leyendo el libro y lo abandonen.
Yo estuve tentado a hacerlo, pero no soy de abandonar la lectura de un libro y tendría que hacer memoria para recordar cuál puede ser ese libro que dejé inconcluso, pero debo reconocer que leer éste me demandó grandes esfuerzos para no claudicar y es algo que por ejemplo nunca me sucedió leyendo "La letra escarlata", otra de las novelas icónicas de este autor.
Personalmente, creo que lo mejor de Hawthorne está en sus cuentos, algunos de ejecución perfecta, como el kafkiano "Wakefield", al que considero su mejor cuento o aquellos de tenor fantástico, como "La Hija de Rapaccini", "El experimento del Dr. Heidegger" y "La niña de hielo (un milagro infantil), que es bellísimo.
En el caso de las novelas, creo que los lectores no acostumbrados a este tipo de autores chocarán con una barrera. Para libros como este es necesario armarse de paciencia y tiempo ya que como dije, su lectura es lenta, intrincada y puede tornarse aburrida y eso es lo peor que le puede pasar a un lector.
Franz Kafka dijo una vez “Pienso que sólo debemos leer libros de los que muerdan y apuñalen. Si el libro que estamos leyendo no nos obliga a despertarnos como un puñetazo en la cara, ¿para qué molestarnos en leerlo?"
Con "La casa de los siete tejados" la frase de Kafka me vino a la cabeza, pero fiel a mi estilo de no abandonar la lectura del libro no lo hice.
Tal vez por el respeto y aprecio que le tengo al querido Nathaniel Hawthorne.

[William2 · Rating 4 out of 5]

This narrative, published in 1850, starts with a preface by Hawthone explaining his concept of the Romance, which is to be distinguished from the Novel because it provides the writer with greater latitude to takes risks. The Novel is somehow more straightforward, more conservative, less flexible as a vehicle for experimentation.

The first chapter gives us the backstory in a kind of lump sum. Most contemporary novelists probably write such a backstory but often cut it, since, lacking action and character, it can seem too schematic and impersonal. Hawthorne's backstory is perhaps no exception. But, it has the virtue of being 160 years old, and that, combined with its antiquated vocabulary, deftly wielded, combines to hook the reader. The backstory spills all the beans of this fantastic narrative, including the heinous crime, the resulting curse, the astonishing event at the housewarming--and the collective guilt that is said to course through each suceeding generation of the Pyncheon family.

When we reach the action of the present day, it's a particularly low moment in the Pyncheon family's fortunes. Hepzibah, the permanently scowling seemingly sole survivor of the line, is forced to open what was at the time known as a "cent shop" in a corner of the grand though decaying house. There's nerve-wracking suspense here. Hawthorne seems to wring it from every word. His mode of storytelling is simultaneously achingly and beautifully slow. There's one scene, for example, in which he lingers over a simple breakfast. Each item seems lovingly revealed; there's a sumptuousness to the language that seems to belie the meal's simplicity. The gaze throughout smacks of the voyeuristic; as if the dead, who are no longer permitted such pleasures, were narrating.

The narrative is marked by a number of oppositions in terms of imagery: gloom and sunshine, animal and spiritual, age and youth, ugliness and beauty, exhaustion and vitality. Clifford embodies many of these. He is put forth as the spoiled and decadent figure and symbol of the family's fortunes. He is obviously homosexual, something Hawthorne, working in the era he did, could only vaguely touch upon. Yet in the end he is mindful enough to turn this cliché on its head. For Clifford, it turns out, is not the "symbol" of the decaying family, but an individual, just one, from whose shoulders at the end of the book all unfair connotation seems justly lifted.

Clifford has an artist's sensibility without the artistry. He is a dilettante. The Daguerrotypist, who lives beneath one of the House's gables, is referred to as "the artist." The contrast is intentional. The fellow with the so-called artistic sensibilities is not an artist at all, but one who makes his living from a simple mechanical process. Clifford, by contrast, lives for beauty. It infuses his every happy moment. Without it he is corpse-like, almost inert.

[John Anthony · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have read and re-read this many times.

“...the act of the passing generation is the germ which may and must produce good or evil fruit, in a far distant time”.

Thus speaks Hawthorne in the course of his book and to a large extent this summarises the theme and plot of the story.

The book is a natural progression from his previous work, The Scarlet Letter, almost an updated (by 150-200 years) sequel to it. Hawthorne began it a mere 6 months after the publication of The Scarlet Letter. Here he shows what happens as the seeds of the Salem type of puritanism germinate throughout the generations, in this case through the Pyncheon family line.

My relationship with this book goes back a very long way. I bought it as a boy in a village jumble sale (do they have such things any more?) determined to read it. Not surprisingly, I struggled, but with the aid of a dictionary and taking it slowly, I managed to read it through. I’ve been hooked on it ever since, returning to it often and to my beloved Nathaniel Hawthorne.

As a boy I could identify with the characters who people the book and especially the reclusive Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon. She was, for me, my widowed grandmother with whom I spent a great deal of time. Like Hepzibah, she had virtually retired from the world, in her case on the early death of my grandfather. She rarely went out of doors. Her arthritis, which had painfully and cruelly deformed her limbs, would have made this difficult anyway. Like Hepzibah too, she could scowl. But as in the case of the former, this was frequently misinterpreted. Both women were short sighted and lovely with it. My grandmother’s house too, whilst lacking the dimensions of Hepzibah’s, had been the family home for 3 or 4 generations. There was a shop attached to it too where my father plied his trade, the same as his father, grandfather and great grandfather before him. The idea of my grandmother crossing its threshold as Hepzibah did, in order to eke out a living selling a few sweets filled me with horror; not for snobbish reasons, after all we were a family of shopkeepers, but my grandmother was painfully shy.

At the risk of over egging the pudding (no pun intended….) my grandmother had a large garden, somewhat neglected like Hepzibah’s, and here my father kept a few chickens. The book is altogether very personal for me and I have returned to it, almost my childhood home, many times. I sense it is very autobiographical for Hawthorne too, who as a young man/ adolescent shut himself up in his room for some years, possibly with a guilty secret?

Hawthorne is quite particular in labelling this book a romance, rather than a novel, and this gives him leeway for his mirage style of story telling; so we’re never quite sure whether what he tells us is sheer fantasy, fact, or a mixture of both. This romance is about sunshine and shadow, sadness and joy, laughter and tears, age and the future. The book will also focus on double standards and false values and justice, which Hawthorne is expert in examining.

Here’s a taster or two:

“Stay a moment if you please! Said the Judge, again beaming sunshine out of his face...” But appearances can be deceptive as, a page or so later, his expression has momentarily changed: “To know Judge Pyncheon was to see him at that moment. After such a revelation, let him smile with what sultriness he would, he could much sooner turn grapes purple or pumpkins yellow, than melt the iron-branded impression out of the beholder’s memory”.

Hepzibah’s brother Clifford to his sister - “We are ghosts! We have no right amongst human beings – no right anywhere, but in this old house, which has a curse on it, and which therefore we are doomed to haunt...It is an ugly thought, that I should be frightful to my fellow-beings, and that children would cling to their mother’s gowns, at sight of me…..”

I spoke of sunshine and shadow. Here, as the book nears its close, an old character, much loved by the Pyncheons, who spoke often of retiring to his “farm” (the work house) says:

“But I suppose I am like a Roxbury Russet – a great deal the better, the longer I can be kept”.

I guess this is much too personal to be an objective review but what the Hell! I love this book.

[Justin Tate · Rating 5 out of 5]

A Gothic masterpiece with direct ties to a real-life Gothic event—the Salem Witch Trials!

Nathaniel Hawthorne's great-great-grandfather, Judge John Hathorne, ruled many women guilty of witchcraft. He declared guilt quicker than any other magistrate and, when others later expressed regret, he remained steadfast in his decisions.

These decisions included the execution of Sarah Good and the imprisonment of her four-year-old daughter, Dorothy. The girl (practically a toddler) was branded a witch like her mother. Evidence included biting and the presence of snakes which allegedly “sucked” on her in Satanic ways.

According to trial transcripts, Hathorne summoned the little girl to the stand and boomed: “Dorothy Good, you are here accused of acts of witchcraft. What say you to it, child? Have you done it, or no?”

"They said I had a thing like a serpent, which did suck on me," replied Dorothy, bewildered and terrified.

Though Dorothy was eventually released from a rotting underground prison, she emerged with a dead mother and permanent mental scars.

Judge Hathorne lived about 150 years before Nathaniel, but the family still resided in Salem, and it’s clear this history haunted the gifted writer. Nathaniel added the “W” to his last name to distance himself from his ancestor. He also wrote The House of the Seven Gables, a novel soaked in Witch Trial allusions and stand-ins for his own family.

The sensational opening chapter lays out important backstory and obvious parallels: about 150 years earlier, a man accuses another of being a wizard so that he can seize his property. Right before the supposed wizard is hanged, he places a curse on his accuser.

Eventually the book returns to the present day, where the curse seems to linger over the family mansion. But we must decide if the family truly cursed or if they have simply fallen into stagnant behavior.

After the blockbuster opening, readers should prepare for dramatically slower pacing and hints of the macabre over the previous blood-and-guts. It does pay off, but don’t stress about plot. This is not a plot novel so much as a character novel. Hawthorne crafts each chapter like a miniature epic, with slow build-up and internal melodrama climbing to a cliffhanger. Almost every scene takes place in one of three rooms, and movement within those spaces is nearly non-existent.

It’s a unique style that has tormented many high schoolers in AP English, but for pleasure reading, it’s worth surrendering to the rhythm. I could only manage a single chapter at a time before feeling exhausted, but I returned the next night without fail. I had to find out what these characters would do next, and what lay beneath all the ghostly suggestion.

Despite the slow pace, there are horrific moments that left me breathless and goosepimpled. One involves mesmerism—always creepy—but another involves a chair. It may be the most unnerving chair sequence in all literature.

Hawthorne isn’t for everyone, but if willing to soak in his language like a luxurious bath, the experience doesn’t have to be tedious. He may seem excessive when describing a single room in obsessive detail, but nearly every object proves symbolic or foreshadows later drama. This is, after all, a novel that unfolds almost entirely inside one house. To describe it completely is not wasted effort.

Between the fascinating historical backstory, Hawthorne’s powerful pen, and the suffocating Gothic atmosphere, The House of the Seven Gables ranks among my favorite reading experiences ever. My only shame is in how little of Hawthorne’s remaining work I’ve read. I vow to mend this problem and will soon explore even his most obscure and forgotten tales.

[Paul Haspel · Rating 5 out of 5]

The House of the Seven Gables – located as it is at 115 Derby Street, Salem, Massachusetts 01970 – is today one of the pre-eminent historical attractions of an eminently historic city. Built in 1668, the house, also known as the Turner-Ingersoll mansion, is a treasure of colonial New England architecture. Yet today, the house is best-known for its associations with a masterpiece of Gothic literature – Nathaniel Hawthorne’s 1851 novel The House of the Seven Gables.

Hawthorne is one of those early American writers who has never lost his relevance or his popularity among readers. In the United States of America, and worldwide, he is known for the way he combined a Romantic sensibility with a rigorous examination of New England’s often difficult history. As he cited his work in Salem’s U.S. Customs House as an inspiration for his first great novel, The Scarlet Letter (1850), so he used the time he spent visiting at the House of the Seven Gables (even if it actually had only three gables while he was living in Salem) as a basis for his composition of The House of the Seven Gables.

The narrator, at the beginning of the novel, describes the house itself as a presence that emphasizes the connection between the present and the past, and that might “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” (p. 2).

As The Scarlet Letter focused on the harshness of Puritan rule in colonial Massachusetts, so The House of the Seven Gables places emphasis on the injustice of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692-93, in which twenty people were executed as “witches” amidst a climate of irrational fear. Histories like Marion Starkey’s The Devil in Massachusetts (1949) have examined how “witchcraft” accusations in the Salem of those years were often nothing more than score-settling on the part of neighbors with a grudge, and Seven Gables sets forth just such a scenario:

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. (p. 3)

Judged, tried, and condemned as a “witch” because one Colonel Pyncheon wants his land, Maule issues a curse upon the man who has used societal fear to bring about Maule’s death and steal his land: “‘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!’” (p. 3) And sure enough, Colonel Pyncheon is later found dead, his mouth and beard stained with blood.

The Pyncheons, even though that blood-curse continues to be associated with their name, remain an important family in Salem; even as the family’s financial pre-eminence ebbs, what is left of the family continues “to cherish, from generation to generation, an absurd delusion of family importance, which all along characterized the Pyncheons” (p. 10).

The actual House of the Seven Gables, by the time in which the story is set, is home to Hepzibah Pyncheon and her brother Clifford. Hepzibah, who is elderly and is not fair of face, reflects on how grim her facial expression looks, but the narrator gallantly takes care to note that Hepzibah’s “heart never frowned. It was naturally tender, sensitive, and full of little tremors and palpitations” (p. 21).

Though she is a descendant of aristocrats, Hepzibah has been reduced to opening a shop in order to make a living, and she is acutely conscious of the change in social status that this move into commercial enterprise, even if on a modest scale, entails: “Life is made up of marble and mud. And, without all the trust in a comprehensive sympathy above us, we might hence be led to suspect the insult of a sneer, as well as an immitigable frown, on the iron countenance of fate. What is called poetic insight is the gift of discerning, in this sphere of strangely mingled elements, the beauty and the majesty which are compelled to assume a garb so sordid” (p. 26).

A lodger in the house, a daguerreotypist named Holgrave, has encouraged Hepzibah in her plans to open a shop, in spite of Hepzibah’s misgivings, and tries to reassure her that her move into commerce is not to be considered unbearable or tragic: “I find nothing so singular in life as that everything appears to lose its substance the instant one actually grapples with it. So it will be with what you think so terrible” (p. 29). Holgrave, who on one level represents the modern world challenging the prejudices and superstitions of the past, has on another level his own connection to the old tragedy of Matthew Maule’s unjust death and the blood-curse upon the Pyncheons.

A distant relative, young Phoebe Pyncheon, comes to help Hepzibah, in spite of Hepzibah’s misgivings. Phoebe is cheerful, optimistic, and helpful – “Angels do not toil, but let their good works come out of them; and so did Phoebe” (p. 56) – and she plays a much-needed positive role in the lives of Hepzibah and Clifford Pyncheon.

Clifford in particular – long imprisoned without just cause, because of the machinations of the recently returned Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon – has great difficulty dealing with the changes of a changing world: “Nothing gives a sadder sense of decay than this loss or suspension of the power to deal with unaccustomed things, and to keep up with the swiftness of the passing moment” (p. 111). Additionally, Clifford and Hepzibah feel trapped by the family curse – “For, what other dungeon is so dark as one’s own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one’s own self!” (p. 117)

Holgrave, in a tense conversation with Phoebe – who wants to be optimistic about life, where Holgrave’s outlook runs toward the grimly realistic – makes his own observations regarding the Pyncheons’ family dynamic:

“I can perceive, indeed, that Judge Pyncheon still keeps his eye on Clifford, in whose ruin he had so large a share. His motives and intentions, however, are a mystery to me. He is a determined and relentless man, with the genuine character of an inquisitor; and had he any object to gain by putting Clifford to the rack, I verily believe that he would wrench his joints from their sockets, in order to accomplish it. But, so wealthy and eminent as he is – so powerful in his own strength, and in the support of society on all sides – what can Judge Pyncheon have to hope or fear from the imbecile, branded, half-torpid Clifford?” (p. 151)

Phoebe meanwhile justifies her interest in Hepzibah and Clifford, whom Holgrave affects to dismiss as belonging among the living dead, by saying that “my small abilities were precisely what they needed; and I have a real interest in their welfare – an odd kind of motherly sentiment – which I wish you would not laugh at!” (p. 150) Hawthorne seems to be suggesting that Holgrave, with all his awareness of the human capacity for evil, needs to learn to be a bit more compassionate; Phoebe, meanwhile, whose heart is so warm and kind, needs to understand that not everyone is as compassionate as she is, and needs to be more aware of the real human evil that can pose a threat to those whom she loves.

A narrative that sets forth supernatural forces as a possible, but not certain, explanation for key plot events gives the author of said narrative a couple of choices. Sometimes, as in Guy Ritchie’s film Sherlock Holmes (2009), a seemingly supernatural event turns out to be explainable in rational terms; at other times, as with Tim Burton’s film Sleepy Hollow (1999), a rationalist must accept the existence of forces beyond those that can be understood through the power of the reasoning mind alone.

I will leave it to the reader to discover how the Gothic elements of the plot of The House of the Seven Gables are resolved – adding only that Hawthorne seems interested in setting forth a cautiously optimistic assessment of how a society like Salem, or New England, or the United States of America, can learn from the wrongs of its past and move forward.

The real-life House of the Seven Gables, as mentioned above, remains popular: folks around modern Salem call it “H7G.” The tour is well-organized and informative (the secret staircase is a highlight); the museum shop is well-stocked with H7G memorabilia. Yet ultimately, what makes this particular house stand out from other well-preserved and architecturally interesting homes is the way in which it is tied to this suspenseful, well-crafted, and thought-provoking novel.

[Teresa · Rating 4 out of 5]

4 stars for first read; 3.5 for second

In late September I toured the House of the Seven Gables in Salem, Massachusetts. Our guide, a knowledgeable and entertainingly wry young man, spoke of two additions made to the house after the woman who bought it decided to turn it into a tourist attraction: a room to emulate Hepzibah’s little shop and a secret stairway not mentioned in the text that Clifford must’ve used to be able to suddenly appear the way he does. The latter intrigued me since I didn’t remember anything along those lines, so I decided upon a reread.

As I got further into it, I realized only the beginning seemed familiar and I started to wonder if perhaps I hadn’t finished the book that first time, though that didn’t seem right either. Perhaps it’s just that the beginning, with its legend of the Pyncheons and the Maules, and then its description of poor Hepzibah setting up shop are still the most memorable scenes. The middle is a lengthy setting-the-stage for a rather anticlimactic denouement, completed with perfunctory explanations, some of which is apparently known of due to mesmerism. I understand why I remember liking it more the first time I read it, as at times I felt that same frisson of ‘gothic-ness’ I felt while reading We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

Our guide had mentioned he’d read the book numerous times, adding in a hushed tone that it wasn’t all that great, apologizing when I told him I’d read it. I think I also reread this to prove him wrong, but I’m unable to do so. The main feeling I’ve come away with—that Hawthorne struggled with inherited guilt due to the actions of his ancestor, a ‘hanging’ judge presiding over the ‘witch’ trials—is what I discerned in that brilliant beginning.

And what of Clifford’s mysterious appearances? There’s really only one, but it is an important one; and a bit later there’s the mention of another relative having had “secret access” to their uncle’s room: Curiosity satisfied.

As I read my old paperback copy, the edges of both the front and back covers shed pieces. (My 1985 edition has a picture of the house on the front; that cover seems to have been removed from Goodreads, though it was here not too long ago.) Last night, as I settled in to finish, the back cover fell completely off the spine. And if I count in a certain way the spaces left behind from the triangles that fell from the front cover, they number seven.

[Joselito Honestly and Brilliantly · Rating 4 out of 5]

A clueless group here in goodreads.com made this this its book of the month read under the "Horror" genre when there is no horror in it. The author called it, instead, a "Romance" but there is no romance in it, either, except a brief declaration of love for each other of two protagonists towards the end with all its unmistakable phoniness ("How can you love a simple girl like me?" Duh, all men profess to love simple girls!).

This is actually a sex book written under the atmosphere of sexual repression during the mid 19th century.

There is this big, old house (with seven gables, of course) which has a dark past that can be traced back to a hundred or so years. Displayed inside is a portrait of the house's builder and original owner, Colonel Pyncheon. Its present occupants are a brother and a sister, both Pyncheons too, descendants of the Colonel, both decrepit and poor. The brother, Clifford, had apparently lost his marbles and acts, at times, like a child.

They have a border, occupying one of the house's seven gables, a young, good-looking artist. Later comes for a visit (and she eventually became a occupant) another Pyncheon, a cousin of the brother and sister. She's young and pretty. And what would a story be without a villain? So we have Judge Pyncheon, another cousin: rich, powerful and a look-alike of Colonel Pyncheon in the portrait and said to be as evil as the original.

Everything needed for gothic sex is here: a big, old gloomy "house"(which, in the dictionary, can mean a brothel), reminiscent of the castle in Marquis de Sade's "120 Days of Sodom"; an unattractive sex-starved character (the sister, a spinster, with a permanent scowl on her face and with a sado-masochistic name "Hepzibah"); one with an infantile taste for sex (the brother named Clifford, off in the head); the stud (the artist/border, Holgrave), a permanent fixture in all porn films; a nubile object of delectation and ready for corruption (the young lady from the country who first came for a visit and with the equally-nubile name "Phoebe"); and a villain (Judge Pyncheon).

The first sex scene (symbolically only; remember this was in the 19th century when the Philippines was still firmly under Spanish rule) is where Hepzibah opened up her small store to earn her upkeep, like she is opening her legs for the first time in her life after she is forced to earn money by prostitution. Her first customer is the stud/artist. He asks her if he can assist her any further in her preparation. When Hepzibah--

"saw the young man's smile--looking so much the brighter on a thoughtful face--and heard his kindly tone, she broke first into a hysteric giggle and then began to sob.
"'Ah, Mr. Holgrave,' cried she, as soon as she could speak, 'I never can go through with it! Never, never, never! I wish I were dead, and in the old family tomb, with all my forefathers! With my father, and my mother, and my sister! Yes, and with my brother, who had far better find me there than here! The world is too chill and hard--and I am too old, and too feeble, and too hopeless!'"

The stud, Holgrave, however gives her words of encouragement:

"'Oh, believe me, Miss Hepzibah, these feelings will not trouble you any longer, after you are once fairly in the midst of your enterprise. They are unavoidable at this moment, standing, as you do, on the outer verge of your long seclusion, and peopling the world with ugly shapes, which you will soon find to be as unreal as the giants and ogres of a child's storybook. I find nothing so singular in life as that everything appears to lose its substance the instant one actually grapples with it. So it will be with what you think so terrible.'"

The exchange then continues:

"'But I am a woman!' said Hepzibah, piteously. 'I was going to say a lady, but I consider that as past.'
"'Well, no matter if it be past!' answered the artist, a strange gleam of half-hidden sarcasm flashing through the kindliness of his manner. 'Let it go! You are the better without it....'"

For Clifford, the retard, nothing is more beautiful than Phoebe--

"He took unfailing note of every charm that appertained to her sex, and saw the ripeness of her lips, and the virginal development of her bosom."

But since he is such a child, all he can do is to touch her flower and smell it--

"His feeling for flowers was very exquisite, and seemed not so much a taste as an emotion; he was fond of sitting with one in his hand, intently observing it, and looking from its petals into Phoebe's face, as if the garden flower were the sister of the household maiden. Not merely was there a delight in the flower's perfume, or pleasure in its beautiful form, and the delicacy or brightness of his hue..."

With Phoebe by his side his little weapon comes alive--

"now with the lesson thoroughly by heart, he could with difficulty comprehend his little airy happiness. Frequently, there was a dim shadow of doubt in his eyes. 'Take my hand, Phoebe,' he would say, 'and pinch it hard with your little fingers! Give me a rose, that I may press it thorns, and prove myself awake by the sharp touch of pain!' Evidently, he desired this PRICK of a trifling anguish..."

What about the villain Judge Pyncheon? Here he is compared with the long dead Colonel Pyncheon and the clear implication is that both were as debauch and cruel as any of Marquis de Sade's sick "heroes":

"The Puritan (Colonel Pyncheon), again, an autocrat in his own household, had worn out three wives, and, merely by remorseless weight and hardness of his character in the conjugal relation, had sent them, one after another, brokenhearted, to their graves. ...The Judge had wedded but a single wife, and lost her in the third or fourth year of their marriage. There was a fable, however--for such we choose to consider it, though not impossibly typical of Judge Pynchon's marital deportment--that the lady got her death blow in the honeymoon, and never smiled again, because her husband compelled her to serve him with coffee every morning at his bedside, in token of fealty to her liege lord and master."

What is this, what is this "serving him WITH coffee every morning at his bedside" like he was her liege lord and master and which was so gross as to be the equivalent of a DEATH BLOW? My lascivious readers, your guess is absolutely correct! What could be more debasing than forcing your wife to give you a blowjob in the morning while she drinks her coffee?

[Axl Oswaldo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Best book I read in December 2021

“La fe de la anciana era muy débil, y la oración demasiado pesada para ascender a los cielos. La súplica volvió a caer como un peso plúmbeo a su corazón. La golpeó con la maliciosa convicción de que la providencia no intervenía en esas patéticas injusticias que cometía un individuo contra el prójimo, ni tampoco apaciguaba las pequeñas agonías de un alma solitaria, sino que impartía su justicia y su piedad con un barrido generalizado sobre la mitad del universo a un tiempo, al igual que el sol ilumina la tierra.“

Lectura que se va directo al Top 12 del año y por cierto, la última en entrar al top. *

La casa de los siete tejados, publicada en 1851 y escrita por Nathaniel Hawthorne en una de las mejores etapas de su vida como escritor, es una de esas novelas en las que solo hay dos posibilidades: o la amas o la odias.
Por lo general, yo tiendo a ser partidario de recomendar todos los libros que me han encantado y los que especialmente considero mis favoritos (como este caso), pero haré una excepción con esta obra y diré que prefiero no recomendarla en general, y ahora explicó el por qué.

Nathaniel Hawthorne tiene una manera muy peculiar de escribir sus obras, y aunque he leído tan solo dos novelas y un cuento de él, el estilo es muy parecido: siempre de afuera hacia adentro, es decir, primero nos describe toda la escena, la atmósfera, los límites o bordes que delimita, y al final, ahora sí, va directo al grano. Con La letra escarlata sucede, pero con La casa de los siete tejados sucede incluso más veces y con mayor intensidad.

Esta es una obra densa, muy densa en algunas partes —mencionaré más adelante un caso particular—, donde lo que importa más es la prosa y el estilo narrativo, que la historia que está siendo contada. No diría que es difícil de leer, de hecho se lee muy bien siempre y cuando uno como lector se sienta atraído por la narrativa de Hawthorne, porque de ser así, no deja indiferente a nadie. Lo pondré fácil, yo recomendaría esta novela únicamente a alguien que es súper fan de leer a Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Aún no olvido, por ejemplo, la maestría con la que en el primer capítulo el narrador es capaz de describirnos la casa minuciosamente, sin escapársele ni un solo detalle, su historia desde sus orígenes, así como quiénes la han habitado. Otro caso, detalles que no suelo ver en otros autores frecuentemente, como el hecho de que un gallo y dos gallinas pasen a ser parte de la historia, y cuando el narrador habla del gallo, lo describe y de pronto entra en su mente, se pregunta ¿qué nos diría si pudiera decirnos algo? y ahí es cuando crea una situación hipotética en la mente del gallo; quizá sea una situación ordinaria, pero no es el qué, sino el cómo lo que impresiona, el hecho de que, partiendo de detalles tan comunes y simples, pueda sacar conclusiones tan bien elaboradoras, lo cual dice mucho del escritor nato que era Hawthorne.

Ahora, hablando de la historia, primero me gustaría decir que mi edición contiene un resumen en la contraportada, que no es mas que la síntesis del primer capítulo del libro, el cual funciona como antesala de la novela; por ende, no recomendaría leer esta sinopsis ya que en mi opinión, convendría más entrar a ciegas y ver lo que le depara a uno dentro. Además, la historia en sí misma no se centra directamente en el pasado de la familia Pyncheon como se insinúa ahí, sino que sigue de cerca la vida de cuatro de sus descendientes dos siglos aproximadamente después del tal infortunio.

Como sucede en La letra escarlata , donde el personaje principal no es más que la letra en sí misma y donde el resto de los personajes giran en torno a ella, aquí sucede exactamente lo mismo: la casa de los siete tejados pasa a ser la absoluta protagonista, cobra vida —no de manera literal— a través de las innumerables descripciones que nos deja ver Hawthorne de la misma. La casa, como la letra escarlata, pasa a ser el corazón de la novela, la que permite que exista. Es así, como la historia del resto de los personajes pasa a ser un complemento y no el objetivo principal del autor; dicho lo anterior, no está de más aclarar que me es imposible definir la trama en un párrafo, dado que va avanzando sin un fin o un rumbo específicos, donde uno como lector se deja llevar y atrapar y cuyo principal medio de arrastre es, de nuevo, la narrativa de Hawthorne. Si tuviera que definir en una sola frase lo que esta historia significa para mí, sería sencillamente: "uno no puedo huir de su propio pasado, ya que como un rayo de luz, no importa dónde estés ni a dónde vayas, siempre te alcanzará en el presente".

Si bien puedo asegurarles que disfruté cada capítulo de este libro, cada uno a su manera, hay uno en particular que se ubica casi al final que podría considerarse una excepción. En términos generales, me gustó, pero es un capítulo bastante largo y bastante denso, 20 páginas que me tomaron 2 horas leer. En sí, no es difícil de leer, el problema está en que el narrador se toma su tiempo para decirnos al final que un personaje, que sabíamos que había muerto el capítulo anterior, efectivamente había muerto. ¿Cómo lo hace? A través de 20 páginas describiendo todo: la habitación, con todo lujo de detalle, la posición del cuerpo, lo que se escucha del exterior, del interior, los planes del personaje que tenía a futuro y que ¿posiblemente? no pueda completar más, memorias del pasado, olores, sabores, formas, incluso una escena sacada de la propia imaginación del narrador.
Lo irónico es que termina el capítulo con este párrafo:

“¡Escuchen! Suena la campanilla de la tienda. Después de horas como estas, a lo largo de las que hemos soportado nuestro denso relato, resulta positivo ser consciente de que existe un mundo vivo…”

Hasta el mismo autor sabe que ha sido denso, y sí, para qué negarlo. Me gustó, claro que sí, pero pienso que hay que ser muy, muy fan del autor y de su narrativa para ser capaz de terminarlo.

Como último punto a destacar está el final. No es un final increíble, de nuevo, la historia al ir dando saltos sin un objetivo final específico, uno podría esperar lo que sea. El problema con el final es que se me hizo demasiado optimista con respecto a la ambientación y a la problemática que se venía abordando es sus previas 300 páginas. No es un mal final, pero es un final que uno no se espera que ocurra. Ahora bien, de acuerdo al catedrático que realiza la introducción de esta edición —una muy buena introducción por cierto, que recomiendo leer después de la novela porque destripa el final y puntos relevantes de la historia—, Hawthorne escribió este libro cuando estaba teniendo una etapa alegre en su vida personal, y cosechando un considerable éxito con su novela previa, La letra escarlata, además de que su propio editor le exigía un final feliz, acorde con el estilo literario y lo que el público quería leer en la época. Si tomamos en cuenta ambos detalles, parece entenderse el por qué del final, aunque decepcionante o no, debo reconocer que las últimas líneas son una completa maravilla, a pesar de todo.

A este punto, ya no sé si los he animado a leer el libro o los he espantado para que no lo hagan, pero sea cual sea la decisión que tomen, es decir, leerlo o no leerlo, les aseguro que no se arrepentirán: si lo leen, encontrarán una joya para todo amante de la prosa de Hawthorne; y si no, seguro que habrá sido una sabia decisión.

“Así pues esa invitada —la única que no falla nunca a la hora de colarse, tarde o temprano, en la morada de todos los seres humanos— la muerte, ¡había cruzado el umbral de la casa de los siete tejados!”

———

* Mi top del año podría verse modificado con base en lo que me depare de aquí a fin de año, pero por el momento, este es el “posible” resultado final.

[Chrissie · Rating 1 out of 5]

ETA: A VERY SHORT REVIEW
First the book was difficult because of dense language. Then the language lightened up and I could enjoy parts. At the end it went rapidly downhill, being slapstick in style. I could have saved myself a lot of time and just written this as my review.

************************

“Halfway down a by-street 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.”

Here is the house Hawthorne is speaking of: https://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/the-h...

It is The House of Seven Gables. It exists still today, in Salem, Massachusetts, built in 1668 by sea captain and merchant John Turner. Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) lived in Salem. His cousin, Susanna Ingersoll, was at this time the house’s owner, and Hawthorne visited her there. Hawthorne has imagined a fictional family, the Pyncheons. He has drawn a gothic story about them, their lives and this house. In the tale, Colonel Pyncheon has the house built by carpenter Matthew Maule. A legal dispute arises, deeds are lost, thereafter follow gruesome deaths and talk of the supernatural. Who has the right to live there? This information sets the stage. Only thereafter does the story really begin--two centuries later, in the 1850s.We meet five Pyncheon descendants, Hepzibah, Phoebe, Clifford, Venner and Judge Jaffrey, as well as Holgrave the daguerrotypist and Ned Higgins, a child fond of gingerbread cookies. Through flashbacks we learn about the interim years and come to meet Alice and Gervayse Pyncheon, as well as the grandson of Matthew Maule.

The introductory section, the first six chapters, does not live and breathe; we are being told of previous events. The chapters serve as the background to the story that is to unfold, the story set in the 1850s. The author is our narrator, he interrupts, explains and voices his opinion on events. He is philosophical; he has a message to deliver. He is longwinded. The views expressed are at times difficult to get through—perplexing, abstruse, wordy and overblown. As the story picks up speed, humor, dialogs and lines of lyrical beauty make the prose lighter and easier to absorb. Here follow three examples of lines I like:

“...and I love to watch how the day, tired as it is, lags away reluctantly, and hates to be called yesterday so soon.”

“…the summer eve might be fancied as sprinkling dews and liquid moonlight.”

which contrasts with

“the clamor of the wind through the lonely house.”

Hawthorne has a knack for creating the feeling of a place, of the pervading atmosphere. Humor revolves around the family’s chickens and that child in love with gingerbread cookies. I even found myself enjoying some of the shorter lines of philosophical bent:

“A man’s bewilderment is a measure of his wisdom.”

“Life is made up of marble and mud.”

“Nothing gives a sadder sense of decay, than this loss or suspension of the power to deal with unaccustomed things, and to keep up with the swiftness of the passing moment.”

“Ambition is a more powerful talisman than witchcraft.”

Very much a Gothic novel, a sense of gloom and disaster begins to permeate the tone of the novel. A sense of impending doom builds, a doom tied to the relentless manner by which the wrongdoings of one generation inexorably shape the doings of the next. It is this that is scary. In Hawthorne’s words:

“The past is but a coarse and sensual prophecy of the present and the future.”

“What slaves we are to bygone times!”

He asks:

“Shall we never get rid of the past?”

Then he remonstrates:

“We are not doomed to creep on in the old ways.”

Clearly, Hawthorne is saying we must break free from the past. The question is if the characters will have the strength to do this. It is this that the book asks.

Many state that it is difficult to read Hawthorne’s prose. In parts it is wordy, but not in all. It is for this reason, I have included quotes. They are my proof.

I grew to like the prose style, when it lightens up a bit, once the story picks up, after the tedious start.

But then came the ending, which I absolutely detested. It destroyed everything for me. So damn gimmicky, so clash-bang-boom. I’d have to admit that many Gothic novels do end in such a manner, but I was mistakenly thinking—wow, here is a great Gothic novel that exhibits discernment and intelligence. Dear Hawthorne, it is not always necessary to end with a splash! Where the deed was hidden and that silly spring on the portrait and the need to clear Clifford’s name and the rush to solve everything in a jiffy, to smack on a sweet and tidy ending, all of this made the whole book go down the drain for me. I recommend it to nobody. Read The Scarlet Letter instead.

The audiobook is superbly narrated by Anthony Heald. I believe that a really good narrator can make difficult, abstruse prose intelligible. IF you decide you do want to pick this up, I definitely recommend that you listen to it. Be sure to listen to the audiobook narrated Anthony Heald.

When I look back on this novel, I no longer understand how I could have liked it at all.

[Sir He-Man · Rating 1 out of 5]

I'm so glad you're dead, Nathaniel Hawthorne.

So this is a classic horror novel in which nothing at all happens for a few hundred pages except the description of some house, an old hag selling oatmeal, and some guy who may or may not have hypnotized the other chick who's boarding there. There might be something scary but I was too busy falling asleep to notice. If Hawthorne were alive, he'd be a zombie, which I'd totally be okay with because then he could get shot in the head by zombie experts. Take that for wasting my time, you dead bastard! One star! Read it and weep!

[Paul Bryant · Rating 1 out of 5]

Back in the early 19th century the idea was to bung as many clauses as possible into your sentences – if you could interrupt yourself twelve times before the full stop, that was style. Mostly I enjoy the sclerosis of early Victorian prose, it’s like wading through barb-wired treacle but you knew what you were in for and like spelunking it can be an invigorating challenge.

But Nathaniel Hawthorne - really, this guy is too much. Here he is talking about a little kid who’s already bought some gingerbread from the shop and now he’s returned :

Phœbe, on entering the shop, beheld there the already familiar face of the little devourer—if we can reckon his mighty deeds aright—of Jim Crow, the elephant, the camel, the dromedaries, and the locomotive. Having expended his private fortune, on the two preceding days, in the purchase of the above unheard-of luxuries, the young gentleman’s present errand was on the part of his mother, in quest of three eggs and half a pound of raisins.

This is sickly simpering stuff indeed. “The little devourer”….”his mighty deeds”…”his private fortune”…”unheard-of luxuries”… he is beating this spoofiness to death, it dies horribly long before he gets to the half pound of raisins. He thinks he’s being kindly-funny when he’s being revolting. Well, of course, that was the taste in polite humour back then – patronising little children mercilessly. And he doesn’t stop laying it on with a trowel :

These articles Phœbe accordingly supplied, and, as a mark of gratitude for his previous patronage, and a slight super-added morsel after breakfast, put likewise into his hand a whale! The great fish, reversing his experience with the prophet of Nineveh, immediately began his progress down the same red pathway of fate whither so varied a caravan had preceded him.

We are taking the whole first page of chapter 8 to hack through all this arch blathering about a gingerbread whale and the fun stuff about Jonah and the red pathway. And he will not stop wringing every last morsel of hilarity from the small boy.

This remarkable urchin, in truth, was the very emblem of old Father Time, both in respect of his all-devouring appetite for men and things, and because he, as well as Time, after ingulfing thus much of creation, looked almost as youthful as if he had been just that moment made.

Finally the kid leaves – phew, maybe we can get back on track now.

As the child went down the steps, a gentleman ascended them, and made his entrance into the shop.

Okay – a new character. Ah, wait – in 1850 that meant that you had to spend a page describing what he’s wearing because no one in those days knew what anything looked like.

It was the portly, and, had it possessed the advantage of a little more height, would have been the stately figure of a man considerably in the decline of life, dressed in a black suit of some thin stuff, resembling broadcloth as closely as possible. A gold-headed cane, of rare Oriental wood, added materially to the high respectability of his aspect, as did also a neckcloth of the utmost snowy purity, and the conscientious polish of his boots. His dark, square countenance, with its almost shaggy depth of eyebrows, was naturally impressive, and would, perhaps, have been rather stern, had not the gentleman considerately taken upon himself to mitigate the harsh effect by a look of exceeding good-humor and benevolence. Owing, however, to a somewhat massive accumulation of animal substance about the lower region of his face, the look was, perhaps, unctuous rather than spiritual, and had, so to speak, a kind of fleshly effulgence, not altogether so satisfactory as he doubtless intended it to be. A susceptible observer, at any rate, might have regarded it as affording very little evidence of the general benignity of soul whereof it purported to be the outward reflection. And if the observer chanced to be ill-natured, as well as acute and susceptible, he would probably suspect that the smile on the gentleman’s face was a good deal akin to the shine on his boots, and that each must have cost him and his boot-black, respectively, a good deal of hard labor to bring out and preserve them.

My dear fellow goodreaders, this was page 116 and I could take it no more. Congratulations to the steelier readers who finished this novel with their sanity intact. I decamped for the austere pages of Wikipedia where I read the Plot Summary. And ugh, what thin gruel it was. All that for this?

The DNFs come thick and fast. Will I actually finish a novel this year?

[Clif Hostetler · Rating 2 out of 5]

The House of the Seven Gables begins with a preface by the author that identifies the work as a romance, not a novel. That may be the author's preference, but I think most romance fans will be disappointed if they read this book. The book is a classic by a famous American author, so it deserves to be read. Once you finish the book and look over the complete plot, you can see how romantic love has healed a 200-year family curse. Therefore, in that regard it is a romance. However, the experience of reading the book is more like wondering through a dreary haunted labyrinth. I did not find it enjoyable to read.

I suppose the book can be considered a parable with a message aimed at the stiff necked 19th Century New England descendants of the Puritans. They are a people who behave in proper ways, but have an ancestral history of executing their neighbors on trumped up charges of witchcraft. They are haunted by a secret guilt of association because of the actions of their ancestors. The story told by this book is about the Pyncheon family that parallels this New England story at large.

The book's narrative comes as close as possible to being a ghost story while still remaining within the world of realism. I can imagine that a reader who believes in ghosts can come away from this story with the impression that it is indeed about ghosts. Likewise, another reader who doesn't believe in ghosts will say the story is about people who suspect that there may be ghosts in their lives who are intent on mischief. Either way Nathaniel Hawthorne skillfully weaves a family story filled with angst.

One feature of the book that surprised me was the role of Mesmerism (today we call it hypnotism). As described in this book it appears to be occult magic. Likewise, a lot of the melancholia described in this book would today be called clinical depression. Thank goodness for the character of Phoebe in the story. Her young sunny disposition is a breath of fresh air into an otherwise dreary environment. She’s a reminder of the eternal possibility of renewal brought by young people to human society.

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

I adore this book. I recall reading it for the first time in my twenties, picking it up at random and being amazed how lively and picturesque the writing was, so different from the dreary Scarlet Letter I remembered from high school. The decline of the Pyncheon family after the curse of old man Maule, a fiercely independent man who’d staked a claim on land and a certain well which the progenitor of the Pyncheon clan, the old Puritan, desired to have for his own. Eventually he'd had Maule hung for a witch, so that he could come into possession of that acreage to build a fine house for his own family, but which came with a curse from the dead man. This curse played out through the generations of Pyncheons, to land in its final decline with old spinster Hepzibah, a mysterious relative and a young girl who arrives from the country, the final generation of Pyncheons to share the House of the Seven Gables.

What is especially interesting about this book, besides the fine writing and the wonderful characterizations, is the framework of the novel, in which destiny is written out over the grave of some indelible wrong, touching everyone who came after--in this case, literally on the same plot of land. Hawthorne was the grandson of one of the judges at the Salem Witch Trials, and the legacy hung as heavy over him as the legacy of slavery over the writers of the Southern Gothic tradition. He gave his name an e not to share the same appellation as his ancestor. The past, Faulkner said, is not really over. It's not even past. Love the spookiness and the charm of this book, which he called a Romance rather than a tragedy, for the themes of the resilience of the weak, and the primacy of the living. A lovely book whose delights have been too long ignored.

[Lorna · Rating 4 out of 5]

The House of the Seven Gables by Nathanial Hawthorne is a classic that was written subsequent to one of my favorite classic books, The Scarlet Letter. The House of the Seven Gables revolves around a family cursed by a wronged man, Mathew Maul, of accused, tried and convicted of witchcraft and the seizure of his land upon which they built their mansion, the House of the Seven Gables. The tale links the misdeeds of Colonel Jaffrey Pyncheon to the subsequent misfortunes of the Pyncheon family as the portrait of Colonel Pyncheon looms ominously over the Pyncheon family. While for the most part, I was enthralled in the narrative and the beautiful writing, there were times that I became weary. But all in all, it was a book that I was happy that I read.

In the preface, Nathanial Hawthorne informs us that we are reading a Romance as opposed to a Novel. And as he tells us, when a writer calls his work a Romance he is claiming a certain latitude which he would not have felt himself entitled to assume had he been writing a Novel.

“The point of view in which this tale comes under the Romantic definition lies in the attempt to connect a bygone time with the very present that is flitting away from us. It is a legend prolonging itself, from an epoch now gray in the distance, down into our own broad daylight, and bringing along with it some of its legendary mist, which the reader, according to his pleasure, may either disregard, or allow it to float almost imperceptibly about the characters and events for the sake of a picturesque effect. The narrative, it may be, is woven of so humble a texture as to require this advantage, and, at the same time, to render it the more difficult of attainment.”

And what I found interesting is that there is a House of the Seven Gables built in 1668 by John Turner on Salem Harbor, designated a National Historic Landmark District in 2007. The House of the Seven Gables is best known as the inspiration for the renowned author Nathaniel Hawthorne’s 1851 novel. It should also be noted that Nathaniel Hawthorne had a distant relation involved in the Salem witch trials which probably added additional interest in the writing of this gothic novel.

“We have already hinted that it is not our purpose to trace down the history of the Pyncheon family, in its unbroken connection with the House of the Seven Gables; nor to show, as in a magic picture, how the rustiness and infirmity of age gathered over the venerable house itself.”

“For, what other dungeon is so dark as one’s own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one’s self!”

[J.G. Keely · Rating 1 out of 5]

Hawthorne is the equivalent of nudging someone and winking without actually thinking of anything interesting, risque, beautiful, or even useful. It is sad that a man with such a voluminous writing ability was seemingly devoid of any notion of what to do with it.

[Quirkyreader · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’ll admit that I am not a big fan of some of Hawthorne’s writing. At the beginning of the book it was slow going and hard for me to get into. But I stuck it out.

The things I did like about the story were the gothic undertones. If Hawthorne had focused more on those, I might have liked the story better.

I am not giving up on Hawthorne yet. Eventually I will get to the “Marbel Faun”.

[Shainlock]

Oh Nathaniel Hawthorne, I respect you, your time, your life, and your day, but reading one of your sentences in your carefully, long-winded, written stories wears me out. KO
😵
One of these days I'll make it though, Mr Hawthorne ....

[Maria Bikaki · Rating 3 out of 5]

με παίδεψε πολύ αναγνωστικά αλλά είχε ταυτόχρονα μια περίεργη γοητεία που συνολικά με κέρδισε.
full review to come

[Edita · Rating 3 out of 5]

It could the more adequately be known that the soul of the man must have suffered some miserable wrong, from its earthly experience. There he seemed to sit, with a dim veil of decay and ruin betwixt him and the world, but through which, at flitting intervals, might be caught the same expression, so refined, so softly imaginative, which Malbone—venturing a happy touch, with suspended breath —had imparted to the miniature! There had been something so innately characteristic in this look, that all the dusky years, and the burden of unfit calamity which had fallen upon him, did not suffice utterly to destroy it.
*
Indeed, all the enjoyments of this period were provocative of tears. Coming so late as it did, it was a kind of Indian summer, with a mist in its balmiest sunshine, and decay and death in its gaudiest delight. The more Clifford seemed to taste the happiness of a child, the sadder was the difference to be recognized. With a mysterious and terrible Past, which had annihilated his memory, and a blank Future before him, he had only this visionary and impalpable Now, which, if you once look closely at it, is nothing.
*
But, as the sunlight left the peaks of the Seven Gables, so did the excitement fade out of Clifford's eyes. He gazed vaguely and mournfully about him, as if he missed something precious, and missed it the more drearily for not knowing precisely what it was. "I want my happiness!" at last he murmured hoarsely and indistinctly, hardly Shaping out the words. "Many, many years have I waited for it! It is late! It is late! I want my happiness!"

[ioannis. anst · Rating 5 out of 5]

Το 1850 ο Ναθανιελ Χοθορν όντας απογοητευμένος από την αιφνίδια απόλυση του από την εργασία του ως επιθεωρητή στο Τελωνείο του Σειλεμ της Μασαχουσέτης, μια απόφαση που ο ίδιος και άλλες προσωπικότητες των γραμμάτων και των τεχνών της εποχής απέδωσαν σε σκοπιμότητες πολιτικών του αντιπάλων, μετακομίζει στο Λενοξ, σε ένα παραθεριστικό κέντρο της περιοχής στο όποιο συχνάζουν διανοούμενοι, συγγραφείς, ποιητές όπως ο Μέλβιλ με τον όποιο συνδέεται φιλικά, ανταλλάσσοντας απόψεις, βιβλία και πολύωρες συζητήσεις για ό’τι μπορεί να φανταστεί κανείς. Αν κ απογοητευτική για τον Χοθορν η περίοδος εκείνη αποτελεί ταυτόχρονα και την γονιμότερη και για τους δυο όσον αφορά την συγγραφική δραστηριότητα καθώς από την μια ο μεν Μελβιλ συγγράφει το επικό του αριστούργημα ‘Μομπυ Ντικ’ , ο δε Χοθορν έχοντας ηδη παραδώσει το ΄Αλικο Γράμμα’ καταπιάνεται με ένα από τα σημαντικότερα μυθιστορήματα του και ένα από τα επιδραστικοτερα της Γοτθικής Λογοτεχνίας, το ‘Σπίτι με τα Εφτα Αετώματα'!

Το συγκεκριμένο σπίτι δεν δημιουργήθηκε στο ευφάνταστο μυαλό του Χοθορν αντιθέτως του είναι αρκετά οικείο καθώς το 1804 η δεύτερη ξαδέρφη του Σουζανα Ιγκερσολ κληρονόμησε το οίκημα από τον πατέρα της το οποίο πρωτύτερα ανήκε από την εποχή που χτίσθηκε (1867) στον καπετάνιο Τζον Τερνερ και στους απογόνους του. Στις αρχές του 20ου αιώνα ανακαινίστηκε και σήμερα λειτουργει ως μουσείο με διάφορα events να συμβαίνουν στον εσωτερικό χώρο του σπιτιού με σημαντικότερο αυτό του Οκτωβρίου στο οποίο ζωντανεύουν μπροστά στα μάτια των επισκεπτών οι μυθιστορηματικοί χαρακτήρες του βιβλίου!.. Στις σποραδικές λοιπόν επισκέψεις του Χοθορν στο αρχοντικό του Σειλεμ –την περίοδο εκείνη το σπίτι αποτελούνταν μονάχα από τρία αετώματα- κ στις ιστορικές αναφορές της ξαδέρφης του για την εποχή που το επιβλητικό σπίτι στεφανώνονταν από επτά αετώματα ο Αμερικανος συγγραφέας όχι μόνο γοητεύτηκε από την παλλόμενη ανθρώπινη καρδιά του σπιτιού αλλά εμπνεύστηκε και ένα από τα σημαντικότερα έργα του.

΄΄ It was itself like a great human heart, with a life of its own, and full of rich and sombre reminisces ‘’ Nathaniel Hawthorne.

https://assets1.roadtrippers.com/uplo...

Ένα άλλο σημαντικό γεγονός που επηρέασε τον Χοθορν στην δημιουργία του βιβλίου ηταν οι περιβόητες Δίκες των Μαγισσών στο Σειλεμ (Φεβ 1692-Μαιος 1693), στις οποίες μπροστάρης υπήρξε ο John Hathorne – έμπορος, ειρηνοδίκης και πρόγονος του Ναθανιελ- και κατέληξαν στην εκτέλεση, στην κρεμάλα κ στην φυλάκιση των κατηγορούμενων.Κάπως έτσι αρχίζει και η πλοκή του έργου σε μια πόλη της Νέας Αγγλίας..Ο γερό Μαθιου Μολ νόμιμος κάτοχος μια φτωχικής καλύβας στην μετεπειτα Πιντσιον Στριτ σέρνεται στα δικαστήρια από τον Συνταγματάρχη Πυντσιον με την κατηγορία της μαγείας, εν συνεχεία καταχράται το πενιχρό οίκημα μετατρέποντας το σε ένα αντάξια της κοινωνικής τους θέσης αρχοντικό κ ο άτυχος Μολ εκτελείται με απαγχονισμό. Προτού ξεψυχήσει προλαβαίνει να ξεστομίσει ένα ανάθεμα προς τον εχθρό του, μια καταρα για τις μελλοντικές γενιές των Πυντσιον αποκρύπτοντας ταυτόχρονα ένα μυστικό -και διατηρώντας το εν γνώσει στις ακόλουθες γενιές των Μολ- μυθώδης χρηματικής άξιας. Ο δε πρώτος ιδιοκτήτης του Αρχοντικού βρίσκεται ξαφνικά κ αναίτια νεκρός στην πολυθρόνα του, σε μια συνεστίαση με επιφανείς ανθρώπους την πόλης, επαληθεύοντας τον χρησμό του Μολ.

Η ιστορία μεταφέρεται καμπόσες γενιές Μολ και Πιντσιον αργότερα κ σε ενεστώτα χρόνο στην ολιγομελή τελευταία γενιά των Πιντσιον όπου στο φτωχικό πλέον αρχοντικό διαμένουν κατ’ επιλογήν τους: η παρεξηγήσιμη για τον εγκλεισμό της από μια κοινωνία δυσανεκτική σε ο΄τι δεν εξηγείται σύμφωνα με τις δικά της πρότυπα, μα αγαπητή και συγκινητική στους αναγνώστες για την αυταπάρνηση της και την θαλπωρή της, η μυωπική άσχημη γριά Εψιβα, ο αδελφός της Κλιφορντ, ένας συβαρίτης, λάτρης του ωραίου με μυαλό μικρού παιδιού ο οποίος μετά την αποφυλάκιση δεν παραβγαίνει ποτέ από την περίμετρο του σπιτιού παρά μόνο στην στολισμένη από πεντάμορφα λουλούδια μεσαυλη, η ανιψιά τους η Φοιβη η όποια τους επισκέπτεται από έναν αλλοτινό τόπο και καταφέρνει όπως ο ήλιος με τις θαυματουργές ηλιαχτίδες του να φωτίσει κάθε ευχάριστη πτυχή της ανθρώπινης ψυχής τους, σαν μια όμορφη νεράιδα που με το μικρό μαγικό ραβδάκι της νιότης της δίνει μια ολοκαίνουρια υπόσταση σε όλα τα υπάρχοντα του σπιτιού και ένας μυστηριώδης δαγκεροτυπης με τον οποιο συμπληρώνεται και το πάζλ των αινιγματικών χαρακτήρων που πλάθει με τόση μαεστρία κ εξαιρετικά μεγάλο ζήλο ο Χοθορν.

Αρκετά πιο πέρα από την οδό Πιντσιον σε μια πλουσιοπάροχη έπαυλη διαμένει ένας άλλος ξάδελφος της Εψιβα, ο Δικαστής Πιντσιον που αναμφίβολα θα μπορούσαμε να πούμε ότι αποτελεί την σύγκαιρη μετενσάρκωση του πανούργου Πουριτανού Συνταγματάρχη όχι μόνο φυσιογνωμικά και γιατί χαίρει της κοινωνικής εκτίμησης λόγω της κοινωνικής θέσης με την όποια είναι ενδεδυμένος –και αλυσοδεμένος θα λέγαμε εμείς- αλλά διότι είναι ο μοναδικός που αγωνίζεται για την αποκάλυψη του μυστικού των Μολ και κυρίως διοτι είναι ο μοναδικός υπεύθυνος για την συνεχεία της παράδοσης του ‘’οικόσημου’’ των Πιντσιον στις επόμενες γενιές. Προβληματισμένος ο Χοθορν εύστοχα παρατηρεί ότι εκτός των φυσικών χαρακτηριστικών που μπορεί να μεταβιβάζονται από γενιά σε γενιά μεταφέρονται με διαφορετικές και πιο σίγουρες διαδικασίες ελαττώματα , αδυναμίες, δόλια πάθη, δυσοίωνες προφητείες. Για την απόκτηση μιας μόνιμης κατοικίας και άλλων αγαθών που δημιουργούν μια ψευδαίσθηση της ευτυχίας ο άνθρωπος είναι διατεθειμένος να διαπράξει κάθε ανηθικότητα, το οποιαδήποτε ηθικό ή ποινικό έγκλημα, να ανοίξει ως άλλη πονηρή Πανδωρα το κουτί των δικών του συμφορών.

Όσο για την φυσική παρουσία της σύγχρονης γενιάς των Μολ ας μας επιτραπεί να κρατήσουμε κ εμείς ένα μυστικό συμμετέχοντας στο μυστήριο της καλογραμμένης αυτής Ιστορίας. Σε διάφορες αναδρομές άλλωστε στο παρελθόν ερχόμαστε σε επαφή με καινοφανή εγκλήματα, παραδόσεις, προκαταλήψεις, ζήλιες, αντιπαλότητες και μέσω αυτών με άλλα αξιομνημόνευτα μέλη και των δυο οικογενειών.

Ταυτόχρονα με την διάπλαση και την ωρίμανση της μυθιστορηματικής πλοκής διατυπώνεται κ μια ρεαλιστική απεικόνιση της εποχής και της κοινωνίας της Νεας Αγγλιας και της ιδιοσυγκρασίας των κάτοικων της. Η ικανότητα ωστόσο του Χοθορν να διεισδύει στα μύχια της ερεβώδους ψυχής κάθε αινιγματικού ή περιθωριακού ανθρώπου – και πάντα σε σύγκρουση με τα μάτια μιας μικρόνους κοινωνίας - είναι αυτή που εντυπωσιάζει τον διορατικό και έκπληκτο αναγνώστη. Ο Χοθορν αναδεικνύεται σε έναν πραγματικό αριστοτέχνη του γραπτού λόγου όπου η άρτια συγκροτημένη και βαθυστόχαστη σκέψη είναι τα κυρία συστατικά μιας συνεπούς παρατηρητικότητας που τόσο γοήτευσε και τον Μελβιλ ανακηρύσσοντας τον ως έναν από τους πιο ολοκληρωμένους συγγραφείς της Αμερικανικης Λογοτεχνίας.

[Sergio · Rating 4 out of 5]

- Libro acquistato ad Aprile 2024 -
Romanzo dal passo lento, appesantito da una prosa inizialmente poco scorrevole, “La casa dei sette Abbaini” pubblicato nel 1851 da Nathaniel Hawthorne [1804-1864] mi ha creato fin dalle prime pagine difficoltà di lettura al punto da spingermi quasi ad abbandonarlo, ma poi perseverando la scrittura si è pian piano rianimata, il racconto ha preso un passo più spedito e concreto, la trama si è arricchita di personaggi e situazioni più invitanti e a fine lettura mi dichiaro pienamente soddisfatto di questo romanzo che per molto tempo ho ingiustamente tenuto da parte.
Fin dalle prime righe incombe sul racconto la vetusta e imponente casa della famiglia Pyncheon: sulla costruzione, peraltro ormai in stato di avanzato degrado, e sui suoi abitanti grava un’antica maledizione che sembra continuare ad accanirsi sugli ultimi discendenti del colonnello Pyncheon, il capostipite che riuscì a impossessarsi di quell’ambito lotto di terreno su cui poi costruì la casa “dai sette abbaini” grazie alle false accuse di stregoneria con le quali eliminò l’ostacolo del precedente proprietario che prima di essere condotto al rogo maledisse il suo nemico e la sua progenie.
Il racconto inizia a distanza di molti anni e di altrettante generazioni, quando quella casa anche se ormai decadente, é abitata solo dall’anziana e disillusa discendente del colonnello, Hepzibah Pyncheon rimasta nubile e da suo fratello Clifford lunatico ed eccentrico, ma incute ancora paura nel suo lento e progressivo disfacimento…
…e in quell’atmosfera asfittica e decadente, oppressa da antiche profezie di perdizione, l’inatteso arrivo della giovane Phoebe, una lontana nipote degli attuali proprietari, porterà una ventata di giovinezza, di entusiasmo e di pulizia morale e donerà nuova vitalità che risveglierà dal torpore ormai cronico e apparentemente senza ritorno i due anziani congiunti finalmente capaci di spezzare le catene morali e gli incantesimi a cui sembravano avvinti.

[Shawn · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book dares you to read it. I hadn't thought about putting it up here, because, in fact, I have never finished it. I have the distinction of having had the book assigned to me no less than three times in various college courses, and never once read the whole thing.

The problem is I do not care about a single character in this novel. A rich family is cursed because they screwed over a poor family? Great. Where's the conflict? I hate rich people, and didn't want to see them redeemed.

The Daguerrotypist? He's a creep. Phoebe. Well, she's only "half-Pyncheon" right, Hepzibah? I had no pity for anyone in this novel, didn't care that the monkey and the Organ grinder were a metaphor for capitalism, and I certainly didn't care when Phoebe and the "artist" seemed to be the new hope for the Pyncheon line. What's in a name anyway?

Maybe it's just the extremely nineteenth-centuryness to the book. (Can't be helped really...)I've never been fond of too much pre 1900 stuff, but man, read this book and tell me how many times you find the word "countenance." This works with anything from the period, really. See also Turn of the Screw. Only I liked that book.

[Coos Burton · Rating 3 out of 5]

No sé si asegurar que el libro me decepcionó, porque de cierta manera sabía a qué me estaba aventurando desde que lo empecé. Había escuchado una infinidad de veces que el libro no era para nada ligero, que tenía una cantidad exagerada de relleno innecesario, descripciones eternas de nimiedades que no le aportan a la trama, entre otras cosas. Creo que el problema radica, en principio, en que ésta es una novela gótica cuyo foco está en un drama familiar, pero no puede definirse plenamente como una novela íntegramente de terror.

La novela gótica cuenta con varias características que suelen despistar al lector, haciendo que olvide la idea de "terror" durante la lectura. Algunas atmósferas oscuras indican que lo sobrenatural puede ocurrir, pero también está acompañado de un sinfín de detalladas descripciones sobre cosas más irrelevantes y cotidianas por cuestiones meramente estilísticas que hacen que uno pierda de vista algunos tópicos de mayor envergadura. Por ejemplo, de momentos nos encontramos con páginas repletas de descripciones con lujo de detalle sobre las gallinas, entre otras trivialidades. Esto sucede porque la novela gótica sigue esta linea: la de hacer que el lector se adentre en la trama desde el detalle de algunas cosas que rodean a los protagonistas, las descripciones específicas sobre sentimientos y situaciones por las que éstos atraviesan, expresiones empleadas, comentarios que denotan conversaciones mundanas, entre otros elementos que hacen que el lector se interiorice en el mundo del protagonista de una forma más "personal". Y por supuesto, eso no significa que todo lo que vaya a narrarse sea de interés del lector, pero parte de la literatura gótica consiste en tener ese carácter inmersivo que lo envuelve, y lo hace parte de la historia en cierto modo, y para esto en preciso contar las cosas desde cero y con alto grado de detalle.

Las historias góticas son de mis predilectas, aunque con gran dolor en el corazón, debo admitir que "La casa de los siete tejados" no fue lo que esperaba. No quisiera extenderme mucho más sobre esto, al menos no por escrito, pero haré un video al respecto en mi canal para quienes gusten escuchar mi opinión sobre esta novela. https://www.youtube.com/coosburton

[Darinda · Rating 3 out of 5]

A classic by an American novelist. I've wanted to add more classics into my reading schedule, and recently came across this one. Unfortunately, I found it too dry and slow paced. It was very detailed and full of symbolism. One that is probably used a lot in classes to illustrate imagery and symbolism in writing, but not an especially enjoyable read.

[Jr Bacdayan · Rating 3 out of 5]

… for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation… Exodus 20:5

It has always been a wonder for me why punishment should be as such. Why is this idea of making descendants suffer for their forefather’s mistakes so recurring in literature? Including this passage from the bible, there are countless other works which involve this sad practice; Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The House of Seven Gables is one of the more renowned cases. With the infamous line “God will give him blood to drink!” the life of Coronel Pyncheon and his descendants are tainted with darkness and gloom. But why include the innocent? Why stain the pure with blood before they even take their first breath? It may not be as obvious as such curses, but it occurred to me that even without these often thunderous pronunciations of hexes, the lives of future generations are often so greatly affected by their ancestors that such curses prove to be superfluous in the success or downfall of a lineage. If, say, an ancestor gives you the handicap of poverty, then it is more probable that you would be born in hard circumstances. Having no material advantages at all, you would have to work infinitely to improve your living conditions. Alas, if you are given the advantage of luxury, being born in a well-endowed family, then you owe your well-being to your ancestors. A descendant is almost insured of a good life having such great advantages as money and power without working for it. It is laughable how much our life is dictated by one person’s decision two or three generations before us. This common occurrence in literature of making descendants suffer for their ancestors, in my perspective, is a tool meant to accentuate the power that an ancestor holds over his lineage. It implicates its effects by showing it in a more obvious form. In direct contrast with this lineal punishment is the practice of building a great house for posterity, this is where the house of seven gables comes in. The house, signifying Colonel Pyncheon’s good intentions for posterity, shows how an ancestor can plunge his lineage into wrong thinking of their welfare. The house, it would seem, represents everything that is wrong with the dead making decisions for the living. First, the curse that it incurred. Second, considering the number of his descendants, it proved that so large a house was unnecessary for Colonel Pyncheon’s lineage considering upkeep and maintenance. Third, like the portrait, and considering their history of gloom, it serves as a reminder for all the negativity and sadness that has haunted the home through the years. Aside from these long-term decisions, another recurring point in the novel is the feud with the Mauls. People heedlessly and often without sufficient reason are tangled into bitter conflict because of some unknown spat their grandfathers had years ago. Of course, the resolution of the two clans in the end proved to be more optimistic than expected, but the said rivalry because of lineage is one practice as contemptible as pronouncing punishment unto future generations. In the end, I can only agree with Holgrave’s discourse: “… a Dead Man, if he happen to have made a will, disposes of wealth no longer his own; or, if he die intestate, it is distributed in accordance with the notions of men much longer than he. A Dead Man sits on all our judgment-seats; and living judges do but search out and repeat his decisions. We read in Dead Men’s books! We laugh at Dead Men’s jokes, and cry at Dead Men’s pathos! We are sick of Dead Men’s diseases, physical and moral, and die of the same remedies with which dead doctors killed their patients! We worship the living Deity, according to Dead Men’s forms and creeds! Whatever we seek to do, of our own free motion, a Dead Man’s icy hand obstructs us! Turn our eyes away to what point we may, a Dead Man’s white, immitigable face encounters them, and freezes our very heart! And we must be dead ourselves, before we can begin to have our proper influence on our own world, which will be then no longer our world, but the world of another generation, with which we shall have no shadow of a right to interfere.” Of course, one cannot be so naïve as to brush aside our forefather’s examples and achievements before us. We learn much by their examples and owe our comfort to them, but the daguerreotypist has a point. The living should be more accountable for decisions they make and more responsible for the changes that occur during their lifetime. That being said, we cannot discount that our ancestors will have a major role in determining whether we have our head-starts or our pits, but we should bear in mind that it is only the starting situation they influence. The rest is up to us. We can control our destiny; we have the power to do so.

“For, what other dungeon is so dark as one’s own heart! What jailor is so exorable as one’s self!”

Hawthorne sought to write a story which would show guilt to be a trick of the imagination. The curse of the Pyncheons and the house of seven gables at the start of the novel is treated as folklore but slowly as the book unfolds turns into something you may consider otherwise. The calamities that befall the clan and the traceable hand that the Mauls play can make you believe the said curse. But as the book ends, a scientific and realistic explanation is given. Sometimes, we put too much weight on what people say about us that we believe it and make it so of our own accord. So that our downfall is sometimes caused by our very own volition. Nobody has power over ourselves but us, what we put into our minds is our choice. Self-pity, self-depreciation, insecurity, all these are mental states; they are but pits dug up by nobody else but ourselves, by our very hands. You dictate who you are, not what people say about you.

The house of seven gables is a good read, it shows certain tendencies of the human state that can be improved upon, and it exposes qualities especially regarding lineage and folklore that can be outlived. It shows that the power of the past is but a choice, whether we acknowledge its ruling power or not is a decision made by the present. As with anything else, it has it shares of faults. It gives too much faith on mesmerism and hypnotism despite its alleged aim to disprove myths and curses. Also, it did not live up to certain expectations. The first chapter promised something of an epic sweeping across generations, but the novel only focused on one generation and showed but glimpses of others. I was under the impression of something like of one hundred years of solitude; I got but barely a year. And, sometimes I am given the impression that Hawthorne distrusts his reader’s intellectual capacity. Especially with regards to the chapter entitled “Governor Pyncheon”, he expects his reader to be clueless about a very obvious fact. Of course, this might be considered as style; nevertheless I disliked the treatment on my part. Considering all elements of the book, I can still say that it is worth the time I gave it. The novel ends on a positive note and its optimism despite all its precedent darkness gives light to Hawthorne’s romanticism and virtuosity. In the end, I would like to note that should I sum up the nuggets of wisdom imparted by this book by a sentence, it would read as thus: Live by your own accord, then let others live by theirs.