765 Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne (with Mike Palindrome)

Summary

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The History of Literature – Episode 765

"Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne"

With Host Jacke Wilson and Guest Mike Palindrome

Release Date: January 8, 2026

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Overview

In this episode, Jacke Wilson is joined by longtime friend and recurring guest Mike Palindrome (president of the Literature Supporters Club) to discuss Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic American short story "Young Goodman Brown." The conversation explores the story's enduring mysteries, its exploration of faith and evil, and its place within the American literary tradition. Jacke and Mike dive deeply into the text, its themes, and its legacy, providing both analysis and personal reflections that make the episode engaging for Hawthorne fans and newcomers alike.

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Key Discussion Points & Insights

1. Setting the Scene: Belief, Evil, and Ambiguity

• Opening Questions: Jacke kicks off the episode by asking Mike if he believes in the devil, establishing a tone of philosophical inquiry.
  • “Do you believe in the devil?” (06:41)
• Mike’s Response: He doesn’t believe in literal devils but admits to believing in evil.
  • “I guess I believe in evil.” (06:53, Mike)
• Reflection on Faith and Religion: Mike reveals a fascination with religious people and the role of faith in America, particularly as depicted by Hawthorne.
  • “I used to really go after them and attack them, but I think I’ve mellowed out… There's a real utility to religion whether or not you believe in God.” (09:48, Mike)

2. Contextualizing "Young Goodman Brown"

• Literary Praise: The hosts note famous admirers of the story:
  • Melville called it "as deep as Dante,"
  • Stephen King: "One of the 10 greatest stories ever written by an American,"
  • Henry James: "A magnificent little romance." (11:47–12:27)
• Historical Note: Jacke explains that "Goodman" is a title, a rank below gentleman, and not simply an indication of virtue or a surname (11:07).

3. Plot Structure/Analysis

• Abrupt Beginning: Both note the story starts in media res, with no backstory for Goodman Brown's decision to enter the woods.
  • “We don’t get any backstory into what he’s doing or why or when he decided to do this.” (47:44, Emma)
• Power of Mystery: Mike suggests the absence of motive adds to the story’s suspense and reader engagement.
• Significance of Faith: The double entendre of the wife’s name "Faith" is highlighted for its thematic resonance.
  • “He says, faith kept me back a while … obviously that’s talking about his wife. But… it could also be that his faith in God kept him from consorting with Satan.” (49:43, Emma)

4. Encounter with Evil

• Immediate Appearance of the Devil: Both are struck by the devil’s early and matter-of-fact entrance, which departs from expectations of gradual escalation:
  • “Were you surprised that he encountered the devil right there in the… as he’s entering the woods?” (50:22, Emma)
• Familiar Odyssey Structure: Mike observes the ‘road-encounter’ structure is reminiscent of classic epics like the Odyssey. Each encounter is laced with suspicion and ambiguity (51:49).

5. Thematic Depth: Sin, Hypocrisy, and Original Guilt

• Community Exposed: The revelation that seemingly pious townspeople are present at the satanic gathering shocks both Goodman Brown and the readers.
• Historical Sins: The devil’s recounting of violent acts by Goodman Brown’s ancestors is discussed as Hawthorne’s broader comment on Puritan history and American collective guilt.
  • “He says, I was there when your grandfather… lashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem.” (54:47, Jacke)
• Nature of Sin: Debate over whether the villagers' sins are “original” (human) or concrete evils (murder, infanticide, etc.)
  • Emma: “I can accept maybe that because I’m human, I’m a sinner, but I haven’t done any of those things.” (57:44)
  • Mike: “Some of these crimes do seem bad.” (58:02)

6. Ambiguity, Dream Logic, and Aftermath

• Dream vs. Reality: The hosts discuss whether Brown’s experience is a dream, vision, or actual event, noting Hawthorne’s intentional ambiguity.
  • “I would like to think it really happened because I think it’s a better story… but I think that’s the way I want to think about this.” (59:02, Mike)
• The Cost of Lost Faith: The story’s chilling end—where Brown becomes sullen, distrustful, and alienated even from Faith—is unpacked for its psychological resonance.
  • “It kind of turns him into a suspicious, almost paranoid and gloomy person…” (61:59, Emma)
• Legacy of Salem: Jacke and Mike discuss Hawthorne’s family ties—his ancestor was a judge at the Salem witch trials—and how this personal history infuses the story with particular intensity (62:09).

7. Hawthorne’s Craft and Classroom Appeal

• Debatable and Enduring: Hawthorne’s mastery of theme, ambiguity, and plot structure make his work both accessible to students and endlessly debatable in literary circles (63:11).
  • “His stories are really debatable. Like, debatable in terms of, like, worth debating.” (63:12, Mike)

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• On the Devil and Evil
  • “I guess I believe in evil.” – Mike Palindrome (06:53)
• Faith as Symbol and Character
  • “He says, faith kept me back a while… obviously that’s talking about his wife. But… it could also be that… his faith in God kept him from consorting with Satan.” – Emma (49:43)
• On the Nature of Sin in the Village
  • “Behold the whole earth. One stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. It’s kind of like one act… dooms all of humanity.” – Mike Palindrome quoting Hawthorne (58:30)
• Enduring Effect of Brown's Night
  • “It kind of turns him into a suspicious, almost paranoid and gloomy person, which… you could see happening to someone even without having a fantastical vision like this.” – Emma (61:59)
• Hawthorne’s Family History
  • “He. His, I think, great, great grandfather was a judge at the Salem [witch] trials.” – Mike Palindrome (62:09)

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• Belief in the Devil and Evil: 06:41–09:14
• The Significance of "Goodman" and Story Context: 11:07–12:27
• Literary Praise and Legacy: 12:09–12:27
• Story Reading (abridged): 13:02–47:00
• Abrupt Beginning & Absence of Motive: 47:44–49:28
• Faith as Wife and Symbol: 49:43–50:06
• Meeting the Devil: 50:22–51:09
• Structure and “Odyssey Setup”: 51:49–52:46
• Historical Sins & Puritan Commentary: 54:04–56:43
• Nature and Severity of Sin: 57:18–58:30
• Dream vs. Reality: 58:47–59:57
• Psychological Fallout and Loss of Trust: 61:59–62:09
• Hawthorne’s Family Dark Legacy: 62:09–62:45
• Debatability and Classroom Appeal: 63:11–63:30
• Short Story, Enduring Power: 64:18–64:29

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Additional Notes & Closing

• Reading Together Project: Mike mentions upcoming books discussed in the Literature Supporters Club, including "Santango" by Laszlo Krasznahorkai and "Lost Illusions" by Balzac (64:46–65:44).
• Hawthorne’s Themes: Both hosts agree on Hawthorne’s bravery in exploring taboo themes in his time, praising the enduring relevance and teachability of "Young Goodman Brown."
• Outro: Jacke teases upcoming episodes featuring Gertrude Stein and others, inviting listeners to subscribe and join future journeys in literature.

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This episode offers a thorough, thoughtful, and at times playful exploration of "Young Goodman Brown," unpacking its layers in an accessible way and providing plenty of material for discussion and further reading.

Transcript

[Jack Wilson]

The History of Literature podcast is a member of the podglomerate Network and Lit Hub Radio.

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[Jack Wilson]

Hello.

On its surface, the story is simple. A man living in 17th century New England heads out one night to a forest where he plans to meet the devil. But in the hands of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the story takes on depth. It's as deep as Dante, said Melville. One of the 10 greatest stories ever written by an American, said Stephen King, who wrote one of his very best stories, the man in the Black Hat, as a kind of tribute. Nathaniel Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown, both story and commentary today on the history of literature.

[Emma]

Okay, here we go.

[Jack Wilson]

Welcome to the podcast.

I'm Jack Wilson. It's Young Goodman Brown, a classic American short story, and it led me to ask my friend of 30 years, Mike Palindrome, whether he believes in the devil. When's the last time you asked a friend that? It's a good conversation starter. Try it at your next cocktail party and ask your friend if he or she has ever read Hawthorne and Young Goodman Brown. And if they haven't, then maybe send them our way to this episode. Because that's what we're going to do here. We'll talk to Mike, hear the story, and then get Mike's thoughts on the story. A man goes out to the woods on a special mission.

I'm going to meet the devil.

What happens to him along the way, and what does it all mean? Mike Palindrome will help us tackle all that in a moment. But first let me note that I got some feedback from a listener who said that he's a Calvinist and he's especially attuned to Calvinist writers. He's kind of protective of them. Please don't say anything negative about Marilynne Robinson. He said, well, listener, I'll do my best. He also said that in our episode on sonnets, we missed Anne Locke, who's often said to have contributed the first sonnet sequence in English, a meditation of a penitent sinner, multiple poems that provide a kind of gloss on the Psalms, which was published back in 1560.

And Locke was born around 1533, the.

Daughter of a merchant and an enthusiastic Protestant, Stephen Vaughan, who was also a diplomatic agent for King Henry viii. Anne's mother, Margaret, became the silkwoman to Anne Boleyn. Anne Vaughan had a couple of siblings and five half siblings and a tutor named Mr. Cobb, who taught her Latin, Greek and French, among other subjects. Mr. Cobb, like Ann's father, Stephen, was also a Protestant. When Anne was around 16, she married a man named Henry Locke. Many years later, Henry inherited a large share of the estate left by the passing of his father, Sir William Locke, which included several houses, shops, a farm and other land. Some political turmoil led to exile in.

[Emma]

Geneva for the Lockes, and this is.

[Jack Wilson]

Where Anne is believed to have started connection with John Calvin, translating his sermons into English. Things settled down in England and Ann returned. She was a wealthy woman, inheriting money from her husband, who died when she was 37. And then she remarried a few more times, once to a preacher and scholar of Greek. It appears that she continued writing poetry and translating works until at least 1590, when she would have been around 57 years old. The sonnet sequence has been contested by some recent scholarship, but traditionally it's been attributed to her as not only the first sonnet sequence by a woman in English, but the first sonnet sequence by anyone in English. This is before Shakespeare, but was probably influenced by the works of Sir Thomas Wyatt and those of the Earl of Surrey. Let's hear one of the sonnets from this cycle, and note that it's the.

Same rhyme scheme that Surrey used, abab cdcd E, F, E, F, G, G.

Which is also the one that Shakespeare used 30 or so years later. My many sins in number are increased with weight whereof in sea of deep.

Despair my sinking soul is now so.

Sore oppressed that now in peril and in present fear I cry. Sustain me, Lord, and Lord, I pray with endless number of thy mercies Take the endless number of my sins away. So by Thy mercy, for Thy mercy's sake rue on me, Lord. Relieve me with Thy grace. My Sin is caused that I so need to have thy mercy's aid. In my so woeful case, my sin is cause that scarce I dare to crave thy mercy, many fold, which only may relieve my soul and take my sins away. That was Anne Locke. Mike Palindrome is next.

[Emma]

Okay. Returning once again for another crack at a Nathaniel Hawthorne short story is our old friend and the president of the.

[Jack Wilson]

Literature Supporters Club, Mike Palindrome.

[Emma]

Mike, welcome back to the History of literature.

[Mike Palindrome]

Hey, Jack.

[Jack Wilson]

So let's start with this. Mike. Do you believe in the devil?

[Mike Palindrome]

You mean devil or devils or devils?

[Emma]

Devil. Devils. Either one, I guess.

[Mike Palindrome]

I guess I believe in evil.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah, me, too.

[Mike Palindrome]

I don't know if I need to say anything more or people need to have a position on religion or anything, but I think evil is something that many people can agree on, as dark as that sounds.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Jack Wilson]

Whether it comes from nowhere or whether.

[Emma]

It comes because there is a fallen angel who is tempting people into it and everything, it almost doesn't matter. The results are we have bad people doing bad things.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah.

[Emma]

Do you have any sense of what? The devil? I guess. I guess you don't really believe in the devil. But I had this. I got in this argument once with this Irishman who was telling me he.

[Jack Wilson]

Had dreams where he saw the devil.

[Emma]

And I said, oh, wow, what's he? Is he, you know, red with horns and a pitchfork and, you know, a tail, that kind of thing. And he got really angry, and he said, well, it's, you know, so it's.

[Jack Wilson]

A little more mature than that.

[Emma]

And I thought, well, how mature is it to believe. To believe in a guy who lives in the earth, in hellfire? But he. His view of the devil was that he had black hair that was swept back, slicked back, and then he had.

[Jack Wilson]

Narrow features, like a really narrow nose.

[Emma]

And he had eyes that could sometimes, you know, most of the time they were black, but then sometimes they could turn into, like, flames. And, you know, it was very real for him that he could see this guy in his dreams. It's not all that far out from.

[Jack Wilson]

What we're going to hear in the.

[Emma]

Story, I guess, but I do feel like I don't really believe in the devil.

[Jack Wilson]

I do believe in evil, and I.

[Emma]

Definitely believe in hypocrisy of people who thump the table and hold up their Bible and say that there's a heaven and a hell are often the people most likely to be headed there.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah, same here. I mean, I may not be the right person to ask about devil or devils, though, because I, I don't even believe in luck. I don't believe. I. I mean, I don't throw salt over my shoulder and I put hats on beds and open umbrellas indoors.

[Emma]

How about witches or ghosts?

[Mike Palindrome]

No, not really.

[Emma]

Yeah. So it's all just what's plain before your eyes.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah. David Hume's a. Types of causality.

[Emma]

Yeah. Although one of the things we'll have here, we'll have a big question of.

[Jack Wilson]

Whether this is all a dream.

[Emma]

So even if you don't believe in it, it's possible that certainly anything can.

[Jack Wilson]

Happen in a dream.

[Emma]

So that holds open that possibility. Okay, so what do you think of the people of faith? Where do you stand with those people? Do you view them as a curiosity? Do you share their faith?

[Jack Wilson]

You know, are they, are you like minded with them?

[Emma]

Do you think they're deserving of sympathy?

[Mike Palindrome]

I used to really go after them and attack them, but I think I've mellowed out and I. And now I kind of am fascinated by them, especially as an American. I think, you know, you have to grapple with and try to understand the other side, so to speak, and how religion functions. There's, I think there's a real utility to religion whether or not you believe in God.

[Emma]

Yeah. And it's just a fact. It's a fact of New England of this time. It's a fact of Americans. I feel in some ways like Hawthorne is a pretty good guide for me because I don't feel like he's tipping his own hand. He's kind of describing what it means to be as religious as these people who he's describing are. And he's trying to kind of take that through, what it would mean.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

I think there's a. There's a direct line one can draw from Hawthorne to Thomas Mann, Dr. Faustus to Flannery O'. Connor. And the way they depict, you know, kind of use God as a narrative.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Emma]

Right. Okay. So anything listeners should have in mind before they hear the story.

[Mike Palindrome]

I probably have used this before, but I think the title is interesting and I read it in the Norton Anthology Fiction Critical Edition and they pointed out in a footnote that A Goodman is a title one rank below gentleman.

[Emma]

So this isn't part of his name or this isn't something that's applied to him because of how decent he was or anything. But it's a title the way someone today might be called. Mr.

[Mike Palindrome]

Right. I think it's a great title of a story.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Emma]

Young Goodman Brown.

[Mike Palindrome]

I mean, it's almost catchy for a 19th century title. It's like hip. Young Goodman Brown.

[Emma]

Yeah, right, right. It could be a rapper's name. Okay. One thing I wanted to mention before we hear it, hopefully this will get people excited about listening to it, is how popular the story was with other 19th century writers, and even 20th century writers, too.

[Jack Wilson]

Edgar Allan Poe loved it.

[Emma]

Melville said it was as deep as Dante. Stephen King said it was one of the 10 best stories ever written by an American. And Henry James, even Henry James liked it, calling it a magnificent little romance.

[Mike Palindrome]

Wow. It's good company.

[Emma]

Yeah. Okay, so let's take a quick break. We'll hear the story, and then we'll come back with our discussion.

[Jack Wilson]

Young Goodman Brown By Nathaniel Hawthorne Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem Village, but put.

His head back after crossing the threshold.

To exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap, while.

[Emma]

She called to Goodman Brown.

[Jack Wilson]

Dearest heart, whispered she softly and rather sadly when her lips were close to his ear, prithee, put off your journey until sunrise, and sleep in your own bed tonight. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray, tarry with me this night, dear husband. Of all nights in the year, my love and my faith, replied young Goodman Brown, of all nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it forth and back again, must needs be done twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already? And we but three months married. Then God bless you, said Faith with the pink ribbons, and may you find all well when you come back. Amen. Cried Goodman Brown. Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee. So they parted, and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air in spite of her pink ribbons. Poor little Faith thought he, for his heart smote him. What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand. She talks of dreams, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done to night. But no, no, you twould kill her to think it. Well, she's a blessed angel on Earth. And after this one night, I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heaven. With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpose. He had taken a dreary road darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be. And there is this peculiarity in such a solitude that the traveler knows not who may be concealed by the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead, so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be passing through an unseen multitude. There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree, said Goodman Brown to himself, and he glanced fearfully behind him as he added, what if the devil himself should be at my very elbow? His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and looking forward again, beheld the figure of a man in grave and decent attire, seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked onward side by side with him. You are late, Goodman Brown, said he. The clock of the old south was striking as I came through Boston, and that is full 15 minutes agone. Faith kept me back awhile, replied the young man with a tremor in his voice caused by the sudden appearance of his companion. Though not wholly unexpected, it was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying as nearly as could be discerned. The second Traveler was about 50 years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than features. Still, they might have been taken for father and son. And yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger, and as simple in manner, too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed at the governor's dinner table, or or in King William's court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. Come, Goodman Brown. Cried his fellow traveler. This is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff if you are so soon weary, friend, said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full stop. Having Kept covenant by meeting thee here. It is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have scruples touching the matter. Thou wotst of the sayest thou so? Replied he of the serpent smiling apart. Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go. And if I convince thee not, thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in.

The forest, yet too far.

Too far. Exclaimed the good man, unconsciously resuming his walk. My father never went into the woods on such an errand, nor his father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the days of the martyrs. And shall I be the first of the name of Brown that ever took this path and kept such company? Thou wouldst say, observed the elder person, interpreting his pause. Well, said Goodman Brown, I have been as well acquainted with your family as with ever a one among the puritans, and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem. And it was I that brought your father a pitch pine knot kindled at my own hearth to set fire to an Indian village in King Philip's war. They were my good friends both, and many a pleasant walk have we had along this path and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friends with you.

For their sake, if it be as.

Thou sayest, replied Goodman Brown. I marvel they never spoke of these matters. Or verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumour of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness. Wickedness or not, said the traveler with the twisted staff, I have a very general acquaintance here in New England. The deacons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me. The selectmen of divers towns make me their chairman, and a majority of the great and general court are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I too. But these are state secrets. Can this be so? Cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amazement at his undisturbed companion. Howbeit I have nothing to do with the governor and council. They have their own ways and are no rule for a simple husbandman like me. But were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me tremble both Sabbath day and lecture day. Thus far, the elder traveler had listened with due gravity, but now burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so violently that his snake Like Staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy. Ha ha ha. Shouted he again and again, then composing himself. Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on. But prithee, don't kill me with laughing. Well, then, to end the matter at once, said Goodman Brown, considerably nettled, there is my wife, Faith. It would break her dear little heart, and I'd rather break my own.

Nay, if that be the case, answered.

The other, E' en go thy ways, Goodman Brown. I would not for 20 old women like the one hobbling before us, that faith should come to any harm. As he spoke, he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in whom Goodman Brown recognized, a very pious and exemplary dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin. A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloys should be so far in the wilderness. At nightfall, said he. But with your leave, friend, I shall take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was going.

Be it so, said his fellow traveler.

Betake you to the woods, and let me keep the path. Accordingly, the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way with singular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words, a prayer, doubtless. As she went, the traveler put forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail. The devil. Screamed the pious old lady. Then Goody Cloyes knows her old friend observed the traveler, confronting her and leaning on his wreathing stick. Ah, forsooth. And is it your worship indeed? Cried the old dame. Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the silly fellow that now is. But would your worship believe it, my broomstick hath strangely disappeared. Stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Corey. And that too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smage and cinquefoil and and wolfsbane mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new born babe, said the shape of old Goodman Brown. Ah, your worship knows the recipe. Cried the old lady, cackling aloud. So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting and no horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it, for they tell me There is a nice young man to be taken into communion to night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling. That can hardly be answered her friend. I may not spare you my arm, Goody Cloys, but here is my staff, if you will. So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where perhaps it assumed life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly lent to the Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had cast up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloy's nor the Serpentine's staff, but his fellow traveler alone, who waited for him as calmly as if nothing had happened. That old woman taught me my catechism, said the young man, and there was a world of meaning in this simple comment. They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhorted his companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so aptly that his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his auditor than to be suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a branch of maple to serve for a walking stick, and began to strip it of the twigs and little boughs, which which were wet with evening dew.

The moment his fingers touched them, they.

Became strangely withered and dried up, as with a week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded at a good free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road, Goodman Brown sat himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther. Friend, said he stubbornly, my mind is made up. Not another step will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to go to the devil when I thought she was going to heaven? Is that any reason why I should quit my dear faith and go after her? You will think better of this by and by, said his acquaintance composedly. Sit here and rest yourself awhile, and when you feel like moving again, there is my staff to help you along. Without more words, he threw his companion the maple stick and was as speedily out of sight as if he had vanished into the deepening gloom. The young man sat a few moments by the roadside, applauding himself greatly and thinking with how clear a conscience he should meet the minister in his morning walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedly, but so purely and sweetly now in the arms of faith, amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy meditations. Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the road and deemed it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so happily turned from it. On came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, who two grave old voices, conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingled sounds appeared to pass along the road within a few yards of the young man's hiding place. But owing doubtless to the depth of the gloom, at that particular spot, neither the travelers nor their steeds were visible. Though their figures brushed the small boughs by the wayside, it could not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam from the strip of bright sky athwart which they must have passed. Goodman Brown alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, pulling aside the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst, without discerning so much as a shadow. It vexed him the more, because he could have sworn were such a thing possible, that he recognized the voices of the minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietly, as they were wont to do when bound to some ordination or ecclesiastical council, while yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch of the two.

[Emma]

Reverend, sir, said the voice like the.

[Jack Wilson]

Deacon'S, I had rather miss an ordination dinner than to night's meeting. They tell me that some of our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and others from Connecticut and Rhode island, besides several of the Indian.

Powwows, who, after their fashion, know almost.

As much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover, there is a goodly young woman to be taken into communion. Mighty well, Deacon Gookin, replied the solemn old tones of the minister. Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be done, you know, until I get on the ground. The hoofs clattered again, and the voices, talking so strangely in the empty air, passed on through the forest where no church had ever been gathered or solitary Christian prayed. Whither then, could these holy men be, journeying so deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman Brown caught hold of a tree for support, being ready to sink down on the ground, faint and overburdened with the heavy sickness of his heart, he looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really was a heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch and the stars brightening in it, with heaven above and faith below. I will yet stand firm against the devil, cried Goodman Brown, while he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament, and had lifted his hands to pray. A cloud, though no wind was stirring, hurried across the zenith and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible except directly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swiftly northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a confused and doubtful sound of voices. Once the listener fancied that he could distinguish the accents of townspeople of his own, men and women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion table and had seen others rioting at the tavern. The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, he doubted whether he had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest whispering without a wind. Then came a stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily in the sunshine at Salem Village, but never until now from a cloud of night. There was one voice of a young woman uttering lamentations, yet with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor which perhaps it would grieve her to obtain. And all the unseen multitude, both saints and sinners, seemed to encourage her. Onward, Faith. Shouted Goodman Brown in a voice of agony and desperation. And the echoes of the forest mocked him, crying, faith, Faith. As if bewildered wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness. The cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night. When the unhappy husband held his breath for a response, there was a scream drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far off laughter as the dark clouds swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Goodman Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The young man seized it and beheld a pink ribbon. My faith is gone. Cried he after one stupefied moment. There is no good on earth, and sin is but a name. Come, devil, for to thee is this world given and maddened with despair. So that he laughed loud and long did Goodman Brown grasp his staff and. And set forth again at such a rate that he seemed to fly along the forest path rather than to walk or run. The road grew wilder and drearier and more faintly traced and vanished at length, leaving him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mortal man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds. The creaking of the trees, the. The howling of wild beasts and the yell of Indians, While sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveller, as if all nature were laughing him to scorn. But he was himself the chief horror of the scene and shrank not from its other horrors. Ha ha ha. Roared Goodman Brown, when the wind laughed at him. Let us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with your deviltry. Come, witch. Come, wizard. Come, Indian. Pow Wow. Come, devil himself. And here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear you. In truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing more frightful than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew among the black pines, brandishing his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horrid blasphemy, and now shouting forth such laughter as set all the echoes of the forest laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac on his course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been set on fire and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky. And at the hour of midnight he paused in a lull of the tempest that had driven him onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn rolling solemnly from a distance with the weight of many voices. He knew the tune. It was a familiar one. In the choir of the village meeting house. The verse died heavily away and was lengthened by a chorus not of human voices, but of all the sounds of the benighted wilderness peeling in awful harmony together. Goodman Brown cried out, and his cry was lost to his own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert. In the interval of silence, he stole forward until the light glared full upon his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock bearing some rude natural resemblance either to an altar or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops aflame, their stems untouched like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage that had overgrown the summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the night and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods. At once a grave and dark clad company, quoth Goodman Brown. In truth, they were such among them, quivering to and fro between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of the Province and others, which sabbath after sabbath looked devoutly heavenward and benignantly over the crowded pews from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirmed that the lady of the governor was there at least. There were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands and widows, a great multitude and ancient maidens all of excellent repute, and fair young girls who trembled lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudden gleams of light flashing over the obscure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a score of the church members of Salem village, famous for their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor, but irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins. There were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered also among their pale faced enemies were the Indian priests or powwows, who had often scared their native forest with more hideous incantations than any known to English witchcraft. But where is faith? Thought Goodman Brown. And as hope came into his heart, he trembled. Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain such as the pious love. But joined to words which expressed all that our nature can conceive of sin and darkly hinted at, far more unfathomable to mere mortals is the lore of fiends. Verse after verse was sung, and still the chorus of the desert swelled between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ. And with the final peal of that dreadful anthem there came a sound as if the roaring wind, the rushing streams, the howling beasts and every other voice of the unconcerted wilderness were mingling and. And according with the voice of guilty man, in homage to the prince of all the four blazing pines, threw up a loftier flame and obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke wreaths above the impious assembly. At the same moment the fire on the rock shot redly forth and formed a glowing arch above its base, where now appeared a figure with reverence be it spoken. The figure bore no slight similitude, both in garb and manner. To some grave divine of the New England churches. Bring forth the converts. Cried a voice that echoed through the field and rolled into the forest at the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees and approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood. By the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart, he could have well nigh sworn that the shape of his own dead father beckoned him to advance, looking downward from a smoke wreath, while a woman with dim features of despair threw out her hand to warn him back. Was it his mother? But he had no power to retreat one step, nor to resist even in thought, when the minister and good old Deacon Gookin seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thither came also the slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloys, that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she. And there stood the proselytes beneath a canopy of fire. Welcome, my children, said the dark figure, to the communion of your race. Ye have found thus young your nature and your destiny. My children, look behind you. They turned, and flashing forth, as it were in a sheet of flame, the fiend worshippers were seen. The smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage. There resumed the sable form. Are all whom ye have reverenced from youth. Ye deemed them holier than yourselves and shrank from your own sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness and prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet here are they all in my worshipping assembly this night. It shall be granted you to know their secret deeds. How hoary bearded elders of the church have whispered wanton words to the young maids of their households. How many a woman, eager for widow's weeds has given her husband a drink at bedtime and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom. How beardless youths have made haste to inherit their father's wealth. And how fair damsels blush not sweet ones, have dug little graves in the garden and bidden me the sole guest to an infant's funeral. By the sympathy of your human hearts for sin, ye shall scent out all the places, whether in church, bedchamber, street, field or forest, where crime has been committed and shall exult to behold the whole earth. One stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. Far more than this, it shall be yours to penetrate in every bosom the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which inexhaustibly supplies more evil impulses than human power than my power at its utmost can make manifest in deeds. And now my children look upon each other. They did so. And by the blaze of the Hell kindled torches. The wretched man beheld his faith and the wife, her husband trembling before that unhallowed altar. Lo, there ye stand, my children, said the figure in a deep and solemn tone, almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race depending upon one another's hearts. Ye had still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye undeceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again, my children, to the communion of your race. Welcome. Repeated the fiend worshippers in one cry of despair and triumph. And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basin was hollowed naturally in the rock. Did it contain water reddened by the lurid light? Or was it blood? Or, perchance a liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil dip his hand and prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast one look at his pale wife and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed and what they saw.

Faith, faith.

Cried the husband. Look up to heaven and resist the wicked one. Whether Faith obeyed, he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock and felt it chill and damp, while a hanging twig that had been all on fire besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew. The next morning, young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of Salem Village, staring around him like a bewildered man. The good old minister was taking a walk along the graveyard to get an appetite for breakfast and meditate his sermon and bestowed a blessing. As he passed on Goodman Brown. He shrank from the venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship, and the holy words of his prayer were heard through the open window. What God does the wizard pray to? Quoth Goodman Brown. Goody Cloyes, that excellent old Christian, stood in the early sunshine at her own lattice, catechizing a little girl who had brought her a pint of morning's milk. Goodman Brown snatched away the child as from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turning the corner by the meeting house he spied the head of Faith with the pink ribbons gazing anxiously forth and bursting into such joy at sight of him that that she skipped along the street and almost kissed her husband before the whole village. But Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face and passed on without a greeting. Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dreamed a wild dream of a witch meeting? Be it so, if you will. But alas, it was a dream of evil omen. For young Goodman Brown, a stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath day, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could not listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit with power and fervid eloquence and with his hand on the open Bible of the sacred truths of our religion and of saint like lives and triumphant deaths and of future bliss or misery unutterable. Then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often waking suddenly at midnight, he shrank from the bosom of Faith. And at morning or eventide, when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowled and muttered to himself and gazed sternly at his wife and turned away. And when he had lived long and was borne to his grave, a hoary corpse, followed by Faith, an aged woman and children and grandchildren, a goodly procession besides neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verse upon his tombstone, for his dying hour was gloom.

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[Jack Wilson]

Experian.

[Mike Palindrome]

Foreign.

[Emma]

Okay, we're back. So, Mike, one of the things I.

[Jack Wilson]

Was struck by was how this starts out right in the middle.

[Emma]

We don't get any backstory into what he's doing or why or when he.

[Jack Wilson]

Decided to do this.

[Emma]

We just hear like, tonight is the night and you know, I have to.

[Jack Wilson]

Go out for this evil purpose.

[Emma]

We don't know if someone talked him into it or if he had been having a crisis of faith or he.

[Jack Wilson]

Needed something like money and he needed to make a deal with the devil.

[Emma]

We don't hear anything about it. He's just on his way. Did you want more backstory?

[Mike Palindrome]

I didn't. I think, you know, everyone comes to a text with their assumptions and this is a 19th century text. Hawthorne I associate with high school literature, you know, and it's probably a prejudice that was established early on and is a bit unfair, but I think when I start to read literature that is not contemporary and it feels PG rated, I immediately want something to happen. So I was. If I'd be afraid that the background would be pg. More PG rated stuff.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Emma]

And it would maybe be a long description of the time town or the, the meadows surrounding the town or something. We'd start to get a little impatient.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah, yeah.

[Emma]

I also liked that it was a mystery and that, you know, I, I often will, like, you know, you can imagine in a creative writing workshop, people.

[Jack Wilson]

Will say, you need to have his motive.

[Emma]

And I kind of think a lot.

[Jack Wilson]

Of times it's almost better that you.

[Emma]

Don'T, you know, let people guess or let people think he's just doing it.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah, yeah. And I love the, the confusion of his wife. Faith.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

Is sort of like the reader's confusion. Like, don't, don't go. Why this night? I think that's that. I like that.

[Emma]

Yeah. And of course, the name of the wife being Faith gives us all kinds of the double meanings where, you know, he says, faith kept me back a while. You know, obviously that's talking about his wife. But, but we know that it could also be that it was his faith in God that kept him from consorting with Satan.

[Mike Palindrome]

I mean, I, I have known of two faiths, one Verity and one Patience. So it really does seem like these names are, you know, heavily imbued with religious trials.

[Emma]

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Speaking of starting with a bang, were you surprised that he encountered the devil right there in the, you know, as he's entering the woods? I, I was kind of expecting it to be. I, I remembered that he was. That this was about a guy who, who meets up with the devil in the woods. But I was kind of thinking of.

[Jack Wilson]

Dante, where the devil is at the.

[Emma]

End of the Inferno and you first, you meet a bunch of other people who are setting the stage and here.

[Jack Wilson]

We get the guy right there.

[Mike Palindrome]

I enjoyed that. I thought it has to build and when you start with the devil right at the onset, you feel like it's going to be an explosive narrative.

[Emma]

Right.

[Mike Palindrome]

Because you have the devil already.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Emma]

And then it, it gets very suspenseful, but the suspense is coming from who else shows up.

[Mike Palindrome]

Right.

[Emma]

You know, which is interesting because then it's not about, oh my goodness, when the devil comes into the story, we're going to have this huge description. It's going to be terrifying or it's going to be overwhelming or something like that.

[Jack Wilson]

Instead, it's all about the build up.

[Emma]

To the people who he is worried, especially he's worried that his wife is going to be there. And it, it's suspenseful just seeing all.

[Jack Wilson]

The good people of the town who.

[Emma]

Are turning up one by one.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

Readers will immediately recognize the sort of Odyssey setup. And I really love that structure where people, you know, you're, you're kind of on the road and it sort of feels dangerous. But then luckily you run into people, but then you don't quite trust the people you meet and one of which is the devil. I mean, but you still like the company. There is like a companionship with each person he meets. And I find that structure so recognizable and almost comforting, but for the fact that you, you don't know where this is headed.

[Emma]

And it kind of flips things around because it started out being, well, what's young Goodman Brown going to do when he faces this great temptation of the devil? And what's it going to mean for this individual? But instead, because of the way the structure of the story is, it's, who.

[Jack Wilson]

Else is there going to be anybody.

[Emma]

Who doesn't turn up at this? And what's it going to mean for Goodman Brown when he comes to the realization that everybody he knows and everyone he's trusted and all of these religious figures, basically like his Sunday school teacher is there and they're all to know that they're all corrupted and all worshiping Satan? That's a lot heavier to deal with than if it was just one guy who was agonizing over whether he should meet the devil.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah. I like that. While we build to the big kind of like Eyes Wide Shut type moment where everyone's congregated.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

In no way do I feel that he's sort of lost already. He, you know, he's, there's still this.

[Emma]

He's fighting.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah. There's this still hope that I don't know that he has some powers of his own. So I think that is a lot of that can come out of first person narrative which we don't have here. But I think that I really like that about Hawthorne, the way he ups the stakes without taking some kind of agency out of Goodman Brown, that he can still do something.

[Emma]

Mm. Speaking of upping the stakes, I liked that he wasn't just talking about, well, what if this was, like, a corrupt town? But he's basically saying, this whole area, this whole region. And I think my favorite passage was kind of earlier or midway through the story, when Goodman Brown says, well, what would my ancestors think of this? And the devil basically says, oh, you mean those pals of mine? You know, those. Like, I've been, as I've been well acquainted with your family, along with all the other Puritans. And then he says, I was there when your grandfather, the constable, lashed the.

[Jack Wilson]

Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem. And he goes through all the different.

[Emma]

Things that historically these puritanical New Englanders did that we can recognize objectively as horrible and evil. And we instantly think, yes, this is Hawthorne telling us. He's not telling us about some weird, corrupted little village. He's taking on what white people were doing in New England for a couple of centuries.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah. I mean, I think that I was fascinated by. When he. When he cries out, faith. Faith.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

And later, as your mind, as a reader is trying to think of what do these people do wrong? And then we get a little mini list of the things they've done wrong.

[Jack Wilson]

And.

[Mike Palindrome]

And it. It doesn't seem quite justifying the punishment of. Of having to succumb to the devil. And so. So I thought that was. I mean, maybe that's the modern reader, you know, the idea that religious punishments almost always seem disproportionate to sin. I mean, going to hell. I mean, for instance.

[Emma]

Yeah, yeah. For a couple of impure thoughts or something.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah.

[Jack Wilson]

But I don't know.

[Emma]

I don't. I don't know if.

[Jack Wilson]

If these.

[Emma]

I think I had a different take on whether these people had done evil things because, you know, and I don't think he mentions slavery, but that, you know, he does mention setting fire to an Indian village. And, you know, there is a sort of original sin that's specific to Americans in the. I guess it's the 17th and 18th centuries. But.

[Jack Wilson]

But there's also.

[Emma]

I mean, I was kind of expecting it to be Hawthorne saying, well, if you believe in original sin and that everyone is a sinner, then this is kind of how you have to believe that your fellow human beings are. But then when he gave a list of the secret deeds that the people had done, I kind of thought these People aren't just like the nice, innocent person who we say, well, they're a sinner because they're human. I mean, he says, this night it shall be granted to you to know their secret deeds.

[Jack Wilson]

And then he talks about people murdering their husbands and.

[Mike Palindrome]

Oh, yeah, that's true.

[Emma]

Young people murdering their parents in order to inherit their father's wealth.

[Jack Wilson]

And how fair damsels have dug little graves in the garden.

[Emma]

And I guess that's infanticide. And it's sort of like, well, geez, I can accept maybe that because I'm human, I'm a sinner, but I haven't.

[Jack Wilson]

Done any of those things.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, the whole. The fact that the whole. The whole community is there. There's this idea that everyone is in hell together because of surely by the fact they're. They're human.

[Jack Wilson]

Mm.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

Okay. Some. Some of these crimes do seem bad.

[Emma]

I didn't know if the story had to make them as bad as they were. Or maybe he was just giving a few examples of, like, okay, even. Let's not kid ourselves about these good churchgoers. A lot of them will go to church on Sunday, but then, you know, they're. They're doing horrible things during the. The rest of the week.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah, I mean, they. I think he. There's some. There's a moment where he says to. Behold the whole earth. One stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. It's kind of like one act kind of dooms all of humanity.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Jack Wilson]

Right.

[Emma]

Okay. So do you think this is a dream? How are we supposed to make this out? Did this really happen in the woods?

[Jack Wilson]

Was this.

[Emma]

Is it supposed to be left ambiguous? What was your reading?

[Mike Palindrome]

I would like to think it really happened because I think it's a better story. But, yeah, I think, like, you know, I mentioned Thomas Mann in Dr. Faustus, when the devil visits the composer Leverkin. The way it's done is he leaves the window open. He has a fire in the fireplace going, but the air becomes cold and really chilly, and the devil speaks to him, and the devil is the cold air. And it's both a dream and reality. It is very cold in the room. And I think that's the way I want to think about this. That when you're walking in the woods or in the forest at night, you may be having conversations in your head, and, yeah, you may be having visions, but I would like to think that it was real.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

Yeah.

[Emma]

I mean, it. It feels real when he sets out right. When he's Talking to Faith and saying, I'm going out tonight. You know, I'll be back. And all of that feels like it's real. It doesn't seem like he's dreaming that. And then. But then he does. Certainly some of the things that he's seeing become dreamlike. And he. At the end, when the vision ends, that feels like someone waking up from a dream, you know, then all of a sudden it sort of vanishes. But it could be that he really went out to the woods and he saw this as like a vision. You know, maybe these. The people weren't actually there, but this was actually what he saw. Whether it was because the devil was showing it to him or because it was stirred up inside him and he was having a kind of, you know, religious, like, spell or think of it like a vision quest almost. You know, that could all be the case. And then the end of the story certainly is not a dream anymore. We see the effect that this has had on him, which is really pretty chilling, that it kind of turns him into a suspicious, almost paranoid and gloomy person, which, again, I really felt like Hawthorne was tapping into something there because it is kind of something that I could see happening to someone even without having a fantastical vision like this. If you go to church and you really believe and then you find out that your minister or your priest is not a good person, or you find out that the person who sits next to you in church is actually kind of a snake or, you know, a thief or sexual assault or something, you know, it really does. It really could shake your faith, so to speak, or it could make you feel like, well, I don't trust anybody now. I feel like everybody. Everybody's awful. Even the people I most trusted to.

[Jack Wilson]

Be the most pious and all of that.

[Mike Palindrome]

And.

[Emma]

And I could see how that could.

[Jack Wilson]

Change the way you go through life.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah. I mean, it's a shocking story to. To have been written in that time. I. I don't know if, you know, but he. His, I think, great, great grandfather was a judge at the Salem woods trials.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

And they. Yeah, he changed his name.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Jack Wilson]

He.

[Emma]

He. That was Judge Hawthorne without a W. Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

To distance himself from his idea that the church, like, you could have a minister who was like a minister by day and Satan at night. It's really offensive. I mean, it's really.

[Emma]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

Like leaving a cobble of. Of sinners and. Yeah. You know.

[Emma]

It'S.

[Mike Palindrome]

But I think his technique. And so I wanted to talk a little bit about, you know, I mentioned that I associated with high school. And I think it's because the way he develops themes is so well done that it's.

[Jack Wilson]

It.

[Mike Palindrome]

His stories are really debatable. Like, debatable in terms of, like, worth debating.

[Emma]

They would open up discussions. You can see the. You can. You could imagine the students afterwards having, like, perfect discussion topics to go through.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

Like, just. There's so much like religion as an odyssey and whether you return home changed or unchanged. And, you know, and I think the. The substance and themes, why we read him in high school is that it sort of. It sort of overshadows his technique and plot devices and character building, which he does so well. So. And I think he does both well. But I think coming out of that time period, these are brave themes he was exploring.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

Right.

[Emma]

Okay, well, are there any other passages you want to. You want to note or anything you admired or any other general thoughts before we say goodbye here?

[Mike Palindrome]

I mean, I think this is another testament to how a fairly short story is brilliant.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Mike Palindrome]

You can read this easily in one sitting.

[Jack Wilson]

Yeah.

[Emma]

Okay, so we haven't talked about the Blue Sky, Reading Together projects as we're recording this. It's kind of the start of December. What's on the horizon for you guys? What should we send people toward if they're hearing this in, let's say, early January?

[Jack Wilson]

Do you know what you guys are.

[Emma]

Going to be tackling?

[Mike Palindrome]

We'll be reading Santango by Laszlo.

[Emma]

Oh, the Nobel Prize winner.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah, yeah, yeah. So people should join in. And then at some point, we'll be reading Balzac. And I'm toying with squeezing in books of Jacob by another Nobel Prize winner, Olga Tucker. Zach. I've never read her.

[Emma]

So what Balzac are you going to read?

[Mike Palindrome]

We'll probably read a couple of the Human Comedy. I'm trying to think of the. We'll probably read two of the biggies, so. But not Pierre Giraud, I was gonna say, because I think everyone. Everyone's read that.

[Emma]

Right, right. Well, those will be good. I always, every time I read Balzac.

[Jack Wilson]

I think, why haven't I read more of this?

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah. Oh, Lost Illusions. We'll definitely do Lost Illusions. We have to figure out the other one. Yeah.

[Emma]

Okay.

[Jack Wilson]

And how do they find that on Blue Sky?

[Emma]

They just look for you.

[Mike Palindrome]

Yeah, just literature. Sc. And we've built a nice little home on Bluesky now that we've left X and Twitter.

[Emma]

Okay, sounds good. Well, Mike, as always, thank you for joining me on the history of literature.

[Mike Palindrome]

Thanks, Jack.

[Jack Wilson]

Okay, that's going to do it for this episode of the History of Literature. I hope you enjoyed it. My thanks to Mike Palindrome for being here. We'll be back soon with some new discoveries about one of the matriarchs of modernism, Gertrude Stein. Is matriarch the right word for her position that she held there in Paris in her salon High Priestess. Maybe then we'll dive into the romantic archives with a black woman scholar who feels uneasy about her position there. She loves the poetry, doesn't always love the politics. We'll be in France soon and Russia and ancient Greece and California and all over the world. So please do subscribe and take those journeys with us. Drop us an email through our contact [e-mail] Sign up for our newsletter, which Emma puts out every month so you can keep tabs on our past and forthcoming shows. I'm Jack Wilson and thank you for listening and we'll see you next time.

[Emma]

Sa.