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: \\n  IT’S! DUSTY!\\n
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: Also he kinda-sorta ogles his teenaged caregiver.
ME:
HAWTHORNE: But, like, in a chaste way.
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

The old house stands there, a mysterious and foreboding presence. Hawthorne leads the way, excitedly sharing the tales and secrets of its inhabitants. The cursed descendants, with their various quirks and flaws, make for a strange and captivating group. Clifford, the old and sensitive man, is both endearing and a bit creepy with his possible ogling of the teenaged caregiver. Holgrave, the self-proclaimed thinker, spouts some rather outdated and offensive ideas about women. And Judge Pyncheon, with his scowling and possible connection to Satan, adds an air of mystery and danger. As the story unfolds, it becomes a wild and chaotic ride, filled with unexpected twists and turns. By the end, the reader is left both entertained and a bit bewildered, wondering what on earth just happened.

This book delves into various important aspects such as land stealing, property rights, the process of getting elected to office, and how there are forces greater than an individual that influence the world (not in a religious context). It also makes a case for privacy.

It is extremely insightful, especially for a new Republic.

During my second to fourth reading of this book this month, I have a few additional things to add.

For example, there is a passage about a course where each boy in class has to give a spontaneous speech. And if a boy digresses at all, the others are supposed to yell "Digression!" at him as fast as they can. This drove the narrator crazy and he got an F in the course. When asked why, he said that the digression business got on his nerves, but he actually liked it when someone digressed as it was more interesting.

The Catcher in The Rye is also mentioned, along with a link to a related topic on Goodreads.

The House of Seven Gables, written by Nathaniel Hawthorne and published in 1851, is another significant work. Hawthorne was a founding member of Brook Farm, although not a strong adherent of its ideals.

By 1844, the Brook Farmers adopted a socialist model based on the concepts of Charles Fourier and began publishing The Harbinger.

François Marie Charles Fourier was a French philosopher and an influential early socialist thinker associated with "utopian socialism". Some of his views, which were radical in his time, have become mainstream in modern society. He is credited with coining the word feminism in 1837.

Fourier had a intense contempt for the respected thinkers and ideologies of his age and used terms like philosopher and civilization in a pejorative sense. He is best remembered for his writings on a new world order based on unity of action and harmonious collaboration.

One of the people he influenced was someone whose name is linked in the text.

The book also mentions three other books, including The Rape of the Lock by Pope. In the introduction to this book, Pope refers to the Rosicrucians and a French book called Comte de Gabalis.

The introduction to Comte de Gabalis contains a cryptic phrase suggesting a hidden mystery, and it has been cited by various authors.

In the introduction to Zanoni, there is a reference to Hawthorne, comparing his use of the supernatural to that in other works.

My point is not to fully explain this book but rather to make you question even more the mysteries it may hold.

In 1850, Nathaniel Hawthorne, disappointed by his sudden dismissal from his job as a customs inspector in Salem, Massachusetts, a decision that he and other literary and artistic figures of the time attributed to the political intrigues of his opponents, moved to Lenox, a rural center in the area where thinkers, writers, and poets such as Melville, with whom he had a friendly connection, exchanging ideas, books, and long discussions about anything one could imagine, often gathered. Although that period was disappointing for Hawthorne, it was also the most fertile for both of them in terms of literary activity. On the one hand, Melville wrote his epic masterpiece 'Moby Dick', while Hawthorne, having already delivered 'The Scarlet Letter', was seized by one of his most significant novels and one of the most influential of Gothic Literature, 'The House of the Seven Gables'!

This particular house was not created in Hawthorne's fantastical mind. On the contrary, it is quite familiar as in 1804, his second cousin, Susan Ingersoll, inherited the house from her father, which originally belonged to Captain John Turner and his descendants since it was built in 1667. In the early 20th century, it was renovated and today it operates as a museum with various events taking place inside the house, the most significant of which is in October when the fictional characters of the book come to life in front of the eyes of the visitors!.. So, during Hawthorne's sporadic visits to the Salem mansion - at that time the house consisted of only three gables - and in the historical accounts of his cousin for the period when the imposing house was crowned with seven gables, the American writer was not only charmed by the pulsating human heart of the house but was also inspired to create one of his most important works.

Another significant event that influenced Hawthorne in the creation of the book was the famous Salem Witch Trials (February 1692 - May 1693), in which John Hathorne - a merchant, justice of the peace, and ancestor of Nathaniel - was the leader and which ended in the execution, hanging, and imprisonment of the accused. Somehow, this is how the plot of the work begins in a town in New England.. Old Matthew Maule, the legal owner of a poor hut on what later became Pyncheon Street, is summoned to court by Colonel Pyncheon on a charge of witchcraft. Subsequently, the poor hut is desecrated and turned into a mansion worthy of their social position, and the unfortunate Maule is executed by strangulation. Before he dies, he manages to utter a curse against his enemy, a curse for the future generations of the Pyncheons, while also hiding a mysterious - and keeping it known to the following generations of the Maule - mythical treasure of great value. And the first owner of the Mansion is suddenly and inexplicably found dead in his armchair, during a meeting with prominent people in the town, thus fulfilling Maule's prophecy.

The story is passed down through several generations of the Maule and Pyncheon families and in the present time to the small remaining last generation of the Pyncheons, where in the now poor mansion, they choose to live: the eccentric for her seclusion from a society that is intolerant of what it cannot explain according to its own standards, but beloved and touching to the readers for her selflessness and warmth, the myopic, ugly old woman Hepzibah, her brother Clifford, a sybarite, a lover of beauty with the mind of a small child who, after his release from prison, never leaves the perimeter of the house except in the garden decorated with beautiful flowers, their niece Phoebe who visits them from another place and manages, like the sun with its miraculous rays, to light up every pleasant aspect of their human souls, like a beautiful nymph who, with the small magic wand of her youth, gives a whole new dimension to everything in the house, and a mysterious daguerreotypist with whom the puzzle of the enigmatic characters that Hawthorne weaves with such mastery and extremely great zeal is completed.

Quite a bit further down Pyncheon Street, in a wealthy estate, lives another cousin of Hepzibah, Judge Pyncheon, who undoubtedly we could say is the contemporary incarnation of the cunning Puritan Colonel, not only physiognomically and because he enjoys social esteem due to the social position he is dressed in - and we would say chained to - but because he is the only one who struggles to uncover the mystery of the Maule and mainly because he is the only one responsible for the continuation of the 'household' of the Pyncheons to the next generations. Troubled, Hawthorne accurately observes that in addition to the physical characteristics that can be passed down from generation to generation, there are also transmitted, through different and more certain processes, flaws, weaknesses, evil passions, and ill-omened prophecies. In order to obtain a permanent residence and other goods that create a false sense of happiness, a person is willing to commit any immorality, any ethical or criminal offense, to open, like another evil Pandora, the box of his own misfortunes.

As for the physical presence of the contemporary generation of the Maule, let us be allowed to keep a secret ourselves, participating in the mystery of this well-written Story. In fact, in various flashbacks to the past, we come into contact with new crimes, traditions, prejudices, jealousies, rivalries, and through them, with other notable members of both families.

Simultaneously with the development and maturation of the fictional plot, a realistic portrayal of the era and society of New England and the idiosyncrasies of its inhabitants is also formulated. However, Hawthorne's ability to penetrate the depths of the dark soul of every enigmatic or peripheral person - and always in conflict with the eyes of a small-minded society - is what impresses the discerning and amazed reader. Hawthorne is revealed as a true master of the written word, where the well-structured and profound thought is the main component of a continuous observability that so charmed Melville, proclaiming him as one of the most complete writers of American Literature.

I have a great affection for Hawthorne. His works usually possess a unique charm that attracts me deeply.

However, this particular piece demands more energy and concentration than I am prepared to invest during my precious leisure hours.

I understand that it might be a remarkable work, but at the moment, I simply don't have the inclination to persevere.

I might return to it in the future, but for now, I have decided to DNF (Did Not Finish) at 18%.

It's not that I don't appreciate the potential of this work, but sometimes, our priorities and available energy determine our reading choices.

Perhaps when I have more time and a greater mental capacity, I will be able to fully engage with this Hawthorne piece and discover its hidden gems.

Until then, I will focus on other books that can provide me with immediate enjoyment and intellectual stimulation.

Please note that I gave this book half a star and rounded it to 1 star on Goodreads.

Bah! Bah a thousand times! I have no clue as to why I began reading this. I think it was for the Halloween Book Bingo and I ultimately switched it out. This thing was agonizing to read. I don't even know what to tell you except that if you must read this, just pace yourself because trying to force-read this was not enjoyable at all. At least the last 10 - 15 pages were about Project Gutenberg. I'm going to complain that my library doesn't have this as an e-book to download. I had to read it via Overdrive, which means I had to read it either via computer or my cell. I'm so used to downloading my books to my Kindle for iPad, and this was another reason why it took me so long to finish.

The essence of this book is about a family and their ancestral home in New England in the late 1800s. At first, it describes the home and how the family (Pyncheon) came to own the land on which the home was built. At first, I was intrigued as it seemed like something supernatural was happening. But then the book jumps to the current resident of the home (Hepzibah, try saying that 10 times fast), and I lost interest. There are additional characters here and there, but nothing really clicks. The best part of the book is when Hawthorne describes the grounds and the house that stands there.

Other than the house, the whole book progresses at a sluggish pace. We have the character of Phoebe Pyncheon who moves in with her cousin Hepzibah and, of course, has all the men falling for her. I don't really know what to say except that the flow was abysmal throughout. Nothing happens, and there's a lot of "well, maybe this is haunted" (like the colonel's chair), but nothing is really certain. I wish the setting had come more alive for me while reading this book. I just couldn't picture things well at all and had to look up pictures of the house to get a better mental image while reading. The ending was a big disappointment for me. I'm so glad I can finally remove this from my currently reading list.

The House of the Seven Gables commences with a preface penned by the author, in which he designates the work as a romance rather than a novel. While this might be the author's inclination, I surmise that a significant number of romance enthusiasts would be disheartened should they peruse this volume. The book, being a classic by a renowned American author, undeniably merits being read. Once one has completed the book and surveyed the entire plot, it becomes evident how romantic love has alleviated a 200-year-old family curse. In that sense, it can be regarded as a romance. However, the act of reading the book feels more akin to wandering through a dismal, haunted labyrinth. I did not find the reading experience to be enjoyable.

I suppose the book can be construed as a parable with a moral targeted at the obstinate 19th-century New England descendants of the Puritans. They are a people who conduct themselves in a proper manner, yet have an ancestral history of executing their neighbors on fabricated charges of witchcraft. They are haunted by a secret guilt of association due to the actions of their ancestors. The tale told in this book regarding the Pyncheon family parallels this broader New England narrative.

The book's narrative comes as near as possible to being a ghost story while still remaining within the realm of realism. I can envision that a reader who believes in ghosts could emerge from this story with the impression that it is indeed about ghosts. Similarly, another reader who does not believe in ghosts will assert that the story is about people who suspect that there might be ghosts in their lives with malicious intent. Either way, Nathaniel Hawthorne deftly weaves a family saga replete with angst.

One aspect of the book that astonished me was the role of Mesmerism (which we now term hypnotism). As depicted in this book, it appears to be occult magic. Likewise, much of the melancholia described in this book would today be classified as clinical depression. Thankfully, for the character of Phoebe in the story. Her youthful, sunny disposition is a refreshing breeze in an otherwise drab environment. She serves as a reminder of the eternal possibility of renewal that young people bring to human society.

Hawthorne is like nudging someone and winking, yet without really having any interesting, risque, beautiful, or even useful thoughts in mind.

It is truly a pity that a man who possessed such a remarkable writing ability seemingly lacked any clear idea of how to make the most of it.

One would expect that with his talent, he could have produced works that were both captivating and profound. However, it appears that he often found himself at a loss for what to do with his skills.

Perhaps he was too preoccupied with other matters, or maybe he simply couldn't find the inspiration he needed. Whatever the reason, it is a great loss to the literary world that he didn't fully realize his potential.

Despite this, his works still hold a certain charm and have managed to endure over time. But one can't help but wonder what might have been if he had only known how to channel his creativity more effectively.

Back in the early 19th century, the prevailing idea was to stuff as many clauses as possible into one's sentences. If one could interrupt oneself twelve times before reaching the full stop, that was considered the height of style. For the most part, I find the rigidity of early Victorian prose rather enjoyable. It's like wading through barb-wired treacle, but at least you know what to expect. And, like spelunking, it can present an invigorating challenge.

However, Nathaniel Hawthorne takes this to an extreme. Here he is describing a little kid who has already bought some gingerbread from the shop and has now 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 truly sickly and simpering stuff. The repeated use of phrases like "the little devourer," "his mighty deeds," "his private fortune," and "unheard-of luxuries" beats this spoofiness to death. It dies a horrible death long before he even gets to the half pound of raisins. He thinks he's being kindly and funny, but in reality, he's being revolting. Of course, that was the taste in polite humour back then - mercilessly patronising little children. And he doesn't stop laying it on thick:

"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 spending the whole first page of chapter 8 hacking through all this arch blathering about a gingerbread whale and the rather tiresome references to Jonah and the red pathway. And he just won't 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 now get back on track.

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

Okay - a new character. Ah, but wait - in 1850, that meant you had to spend a page describing what he's wearing because, apparently, 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 simply couldn't take it any more. Congratulations to the more resilient readers who managed to finish this novel with their sanity intact. I fled to the austere pages of Wikipedia where I read the Plot Summary. And ugh, what a disappointment it was. All that for this?

The DNFs (Did Not Finish) are coming thick and fast. Will I actually manage to finish a novel this year?

Nathaniel, I truly understand.

Your ancestor was John Hathorne - a Salem witch trial judge. When one delves into the Salem Witch Trials Documents (warning: it's infuriatingly tragic), it becomes evident that he was as history portrays him: a loathsome, greedy, and vulgar being with no respect for human life. This must have been极其艰难 for you to endure. You even changed your name.

You incorporated him into your book, Nathaniel. This isn't a spoiler; you've constructed this story around a case of falsely accusing someone of witchcraft and having them executed because they wouldn't sell a piece of land.

However, this is an overstuffed pot. It can't be your personal vendetta, a detective story, a horror story, a romance, a short story within the story, and a detailed architectural description of the garden layouts all at once. As a result, you ended up lacking key elements, and I couldn't care less - not even about the historical aspect - not even about the missing right hand from the grave.

As a fan of The Scarlet Letter, all of this leads to the ultimate question: why are you doing this to me, Nathaniel?

Why are you building up a story only to drain the life out of it with each successive chapter, all the way to the end that I had been longing (crying) for since the middle?

Why are you creating all this tense narrative only to have that balloon deflate at every single climactic moment?

Why are you explaining all your mysteries to me, thereby rendering this book pointless? Have you completely lost control of your writing sensibilities?

Why is Hepzibah such a witch with a B to pass all those bothersome caretaker duties of her obnoxious brother onto a young girl?

Why are you calling it a romance?

Why am I reading 300 pages only to feel like I've read 700, with nothing remarkable at the end?

"Life is made up of marble and mud." You should have adhered to that.

And for goodness' sake, enough with the behavioural study of the chickens. I'd had enough when Hepzibah did what she did with that one solitary egg that was supposed to safeguard an entire lineage of fancy chickens that had been passed down through previous generations of her fancy family that she claims to hold in such high esteem.

- Yes, Nathaniel, I fully understand the symbolism behind the chicken behaviour. There's no need to explain any further. Thanks and goodbye.

There are two glaring issues that stand out in this book: pace and tone.

Pace-wise, approximately 9/10ths of the story is centered around the day-to-day happenings in a creepy old house that is built over a stream of deadly black muck. However, not much really occurs during this extensive portion. Then, suddenly, there is a very fast resolution, as if both the characters and the author, Hawthorne, have simply become bored.

Regarding the tone, when it comes to the resolution, it feels rather farcical and as if it was tacked on by a different author. This gothic-psychological-horror-lite style is one where ghosts, crimes, and such are referenced but not presented in a blatant, in-your-face manner, similar to Shirley Jackson's "The Haunting of Hill House". Interestingly, the four main characters in Jackson's "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" bear a passing resemblance to the characters in Hawthorne's work here: two women (Hepzidah and Phoebe), an older male relative (Clifford), and a younger man (Holgrave, who may potentially save the family from darkness).

This book seems to have been in my periphery forever. Yes, "The House of the Seven Gables" (1851) has undoubtedly influenced many writers and is a rite-of-passage for those studying American literature. However, it's hard to believe that "Moby Dick" was also published in 1851. "Moby Dick" is so much more original and compelling. In fact, "The House of the Seven Gables" feels rather flat, outdated, and irrelevant, while "Moby Dick" has themes that are still applicable in 2022. If you have to choose an American novel from 1851 to read, it would be much better to go with "Moby Dick" and perhaps just enjoy one of Hepzidah's animal cookies. I do believe she might have cooked up a whale or two.

Decades have passed since I last delved into any of Hawthorne's works, and now I find myself filled with regret. Re-reading "The House of the Seven (sic) Gables" has been an absolute delight.

The characters in Hawthorne's novels are always remarkable, carrying profound meanings. He writes about guilt, redemption, and atonement in a way that no other author can. The story is always mysterious. In "The House of the Seven (sic) Gables," we have the incomparable Hepzibah, the beautiful and innocent Phoebe, the puzzling daguerreotypist, the ex-con Clifford, the hypocritical Uncle Jaffrey, the tragic memory of Alice, the painting of the dead colonel, and the gloomy Pynchon house itself. All of these elements are suffused with guilt from the past, and the atmosphere is filled with hints of the supernatural.

I have had the opportunity to visit the actual house in Salem, Massachusetts. Dating back to the late 1600s, it was owned by Hawthorne's relatives in the mid-1800s when he wrote the novel. As is always the case with Hawthorne, give him a wisp of family history, and he will create an entire world of guilt, retribution, and, if possible, forgiveness. He constructed the story from a tale told to him by a cousin, combined with the mystery of the extraordinary old house and his own inescapable sense of culpability for the transgressions of his family during the Salem witchcraft incident.

If you ever get the chance, do visit Salem, Massachusetts. Chestnut Street, lined with glorious houses built in the early years of the 19th century, is sometimes被誉为 the most beautiful street in America, and I would not dispute that claim. The Essex Peabody Museum is filled with the rich lore of New England shipping and whaling. And make sure to fit in a visit to the House of the Seven (sic) Gables and Hawthorne's birthplace next door. Do not miss the secret staircase. By the way, "sic"? The House of the Seven Gables actually has nine gables. Count them.

The House of the Seven Gables is a classic Gothic horror novel that shows us how the ancient mistakes of the Pyncheon family, mainly those of Colonel Pyncheon during the Inquisition, brought terrible consequences to the family for generations. Let me explain!

During the Inquisition, the powerful and wealthy Colonel Pyncheon participated in the unjust condemnation of Matthew Maule for witchcraft. Maule was just a poor landowner, but Colonel Pyncheon, driven by great greed, desired in his harsh heart to buy the only piece of land that this humble man possessed in order to build a huge house there that would be called "The House of the Seven Gables". However, Maule refused to sell. Using his authority as a judge, Colonel Pyncheon had Maule condemned and killed. At the moment of his death, Matthew Maule uttered a prophecy: "God will make you drink blood!". From then on, the entire Pyncheon family was cursed and was wearing away, fading, being destroyed little by little over time.

Deaths, decadence, generations of bad, unjust and depraved men were the tone of the family in the years to come.

Until in 1850, in the current generation of the family, Phoebe appears. She was the small descendant of the Pyncheons from a rural area of New England, to bring a little happiness to The House of the Seven Gables now inhabited by Hepzibah Pyncheon and her brother Clifford.

The siblings are persecuted by their relative Judge Pyncheon, who made Clifford spend many years in prison to cover up a crime committed by the Judge and now wants Clifford to reveal a secret that will make him even richer.

As you can see, it is a difficult book. It requires effort and perseverance, but in the end it brings you a very good feeling of overcoming and a change in level in relation to your readings. You feel that you have evolved.

I recommend it to patients and those who like challenging readings.