On the literary
and communal presences of the past.
In the famous Preface to his novel,
Hawthorne argues that “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.” That is, Hawthorne’s novel was neither set
entirely in a distant historical era (as is his Scarlet Letter) nor engaged with clearly contemporary stories and issues
(as is his Blithedale Romance), but
represented, as a historical romance, a complex combination of the two.
Whether the novel
succeeds at creating that complex combination, at bringing the past’s legendary
mist into our own broad daylight, depends, as Hawthorne admits, on each reader’s
responses; I encourage you to do a Reading
Rainbow and read the book (and when you do, or if you already have, I’d
love to hear your thoughts in comments). But in any case, Hawthorne’s goal
makes Caroline Osgood
Emmerton’s creation of the House’s historic site in conjunction with her very
present-minded settlement house efforts particularly apt. Moreover, for the
more than 100 years since Emmerton created that combinatory endeavor the House
has continued to serve those dual historical and contemporary, commemorative
and civic purposes, as my Guest Poster will describe and analyze at greater
length in her piece this weekend.
I’ll leave the
additional specific thoughts to her, and end my week’s series with this final
broader thought. Every American house, at least every one that goes back a
ways, is full of interesting histories and stories, of connections to issues
and communities that have a great deal to tell us about who we’ve been and who
we are. As my colleague and friend Elif
Armbruster has argued
at length, authors’ and historic houses can capture those histories and
stories particularly effectively. But such sites can often feel like museums in
the most limiting or separate senses, as if they’re cut off from our present
communities and histories. What makes the House of the Seven Gables so
compelling and crucial is that it resists such separations, and in fact has
done so from its first moments as a historic site—moments in which the past and
present were intimately interconnected, as they remain to this day.
Special Guest
Post this weekend,
Ben
PS. What do you
think?
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