Thursday, August 30, 2012

Hawthorne's Writing


One thing that always seems to intrigue me about nineteenth century author Nathaniel Hawthorne is the way in which he sets up descriptions of characters, and the manner in which he drags on metaphors; much like passages from Homer's epic The Iliad. "I knew that pale, elderly face, with the red-tipt nose, and the patch over one eye... only revealing enough of himself to make me recognize him as an acquaintance" (Hawthorne 6). The portrait painted only goes to show how concise, yet perfectly enthralling every detail is. This is something that I really enjoy about Hawthorne, he uses each word in a meaningful sense instead of just throwing in actions words. I also enjoy the unreliable narrator aspect because it gives the novel greater depth, and lets the reader spend countless hours ruminating over the meaning of each finely chiseled adjective or metaphor. 
Having such a recondite style of writing is something I feel like not a lot of authors have nowadays. Granted we have a more fast-paced societal structure so not many enjoy reading multi-layered text, but I believe people's taste for fine literature still lurks in their minds, rapaciously waiting for a palatable paradigm of syntax and vocabulary. That said I think there's several points or "morals" to be learned from Hawthorne's The Blithedale Romance, but one that really stuck out to me was Coverdale's seemingly unusual and perhaps even blatantly sordid habit. Yet in a way we are all too close in resemblance to the caricature Hawthorne has pieced together for us; maybe that's why it doesn't grab attention the first read around. Hiding up in his sylvan fortress it would appear as if Miles is nothing more than a forlorn observer of the private. After closing in on such behavior though, the line between a young poet's unsettling past-times and our own mundane hobbies begin to blur and mesh together forming a torpid and surreptitious reality where the majority of civilization resides.  
Nevertheless, Hawthorne's ineffably powerful plot twist simply fleshes out the obvious: in past and present times mankind has been stuck in a wanton and utterly pompous hierarchy controlled by greed for control and its pernicious relatives. It's a wonder that our puerile way of life has flourished thus far. The need for an army of veritable writers and inspirational storytellers has never been greater, and I fear with the decline, perhaps the extinction of excellent writers endows us with an indomitable portent; one that may in fact erode the mien of an entire nation.