What Would Hawthorne Say About Marshall and Devi?

It's heartening to note that after his first two children were born in 1844 and 1846, Hawthorne didn't publish much until The Scarlet Letter in 1850. And that after his third child was born in 1851 he was only able to publish one novel and the Pierce campaign biography until the late 1850s (if you don't count what he did in 1851, which I prefer not to for the purposes of this digressive intro paragraph). Because after today's adventures in moving and settling back in in Fukuoka, it really hit home to me how much we depended on my wife's parents the past two weeks. Except for brief walks to the grocery store and one jackpot visit to the ocal discount shoe store, we didn't need to shop, and when the ladies did, Baba drove them around. Except for the occasional meal, my wife didn't need to cook, as Gigi is the acknowledged master chef of both families. Coming back home to a freezing and food-less apartment and realizing that the incipient migraine my wife was suffering from on the flight would go full-bore if we pushed it today, we sent mom and imoto to bed and dad and onechan to forage for supplies. The walking was fun, actually, and it was warmer outside than inside the apartment when we left, but by the end of our three-hour tour (half of which was playtime for onechan) it was no longer so warm outside, onechan was super-cranky (until she fell asleep), and dad was itching to work. But imoto was missing him and tsuma needed to arrange our three post-Hawaii trips (2 for conferences and 1 for a visit to the sister-in-law in Okinawa and endless sparring with her three Ultraman-Power Ranger-Boukenja-loving sons, ages 9 months to 5 years) and help me wade through the forms I need to fill out for the following academic year, which is why I'm not even starting this till 8:15 pm.

OK, so this has to be fast, as it's basically warm-up writing for the last push on the conference paper tonight and tomorrow before 3 of my last 4 classes of the semester meet on Tuesday and Wednesday. But basically because I have Hawthorne on the brain, I was finding moments in Marshall and Devi that seemed positively Hawthornesque to me. And it got me wondering what Hawthorne would have made of their fiction.

Both Marshall and Devi create memorable characters who are made representative of different groups and situations by the plots of the works they appear in. In The Chosen Place, The Timeless People and Imaginary Maps, at least, both use a semi-omniscient semi-objective third person narrator who's not quite a fully fleshed-out persona, but whose voice is interesting. Both mix historical, political, and psychological insights and write with a sense of the past and its continuing presence that Hawthorne would have found interesting, even if he would have disliked their politics. (I was trying to think of antebellum equivalents--Lydia Maria Child meets Harriet Beecher Stowe meets Margaret Fuller for Devi? William Apess meets Herman Melville meets Martin Delany for Marshall?)

For instance, consider the representation and function of Carnival in CPTP--how might it relate to stories like "My Kinsman, Major Molineux" or sketches like "The Procession of Life"? Or take the haunting of Harriet (mostly by memories from her past) and particularly the last scene we see of her before her presumed suicide--how might it relate to Judge Pyncheon in The House of the Seven Gables? How might Marshall's technique of jumping from one highly charged tableaux-like scene to the next relate to Hawthorne's similar mode of compression in The Scarlet Letter? Or take Devi's creation of representative female tribal figures like Mary Oraon and Douloti in Imaginary Maps--how might these women compare to Hester, Phoebe, Zenobia, and Miriam?

These are just random examples and not even the best, as my mind is already elsewhere. I'm certainly not trying to build a case for influence on Hawthorne's part or conscious re-vision on Marshall's or Devi's part. I'm just wondering what possibilities open up when you put Hawthorne alongside writers whose politics would absolutely oppose his yet whose narrative strategies and literary techniques can be related to his....

Trauma, Mourning, Marshall, Devi

One of the great things about being an academic is that you can do a lot of work in your head. Say imoto--who I may start referring to here as Giggling Science Girl (because she giggles at the drop of the hat and has amazing powers of concentration and observation for an 8-month-old) or Standing-Already Girl (uh, thinking through the Morrison reference there, that would be a no) or maybe just Grabby Girl (nothing is safe from her now that she can crawl and sometimes half-stand half-balance on chairs and small tables or the kotatsu I love to work on because it's heated)--wakes you up at 2 am, but it's too cold in the house to seriously contemplate getting out of bed and firing up the computer, the space heater, and the kotatsu, yet in the time it took to change her diaper and go to the bathroom the cold woke you up enough to get you thinking about everything you have to do the next day, so rather than aimlessly stressing, you can do something productive like come up with an outline for the conference paper you've been working on.

Normally I don't outline when I write. I write down a lot of notes and do a lot of brainstorming by hand, then type them and key notes from my research process into a Word document, type out some key quotations I know I want to use in the paper, and agonize over my introductory paragraph or three until I feel some confidence about my thesis, and then start into the body. When I start again the next day, I edit what I wrote to get warmed up, then pick up where I left off. This process continues until I finish the first draft. Then the serious editing starts. But more on my inefficient and time-consuming writing process later.

For this paper, however, I have to be much more disciplined than usual. Here's what the panel looks like:

Friday
Time: 3:00 - 4:30 PM 1/12/2007 Room: Waikiki III (Marriott)
Session Topic: Postcolonial Identities
Session Chair: Waggaman, Beatrice

Decolonization and Surrealism in Aimé Césaire’s Two Plays: "A Season in the Congo" and "Tragedy of King Christophe”
Waggaman, Beatrice Villanova University

Literary Vestiges of France in the Mississippi Valley
Metzidakis, Stamos Washington University in Saint Louis

Traumatic Displacements and Militant Mourning: Paule Marshall’s The Chosen Place, The Timeless People and Mahasweta Devi’s “Pterodactyl, Puran Sahay, and Pirtha”
Simon, Bruce Kyushu University

The Colonial Poems
Puch-Bouwman, Jen The University of the South Pacific

Going third in a 90-minute panel means I have to keep it to 15 minutes, because I can count on the two people ahead of me to go over time (nothing personal, everyone does it) and I don't want the person going last to hate me for the rest of my life.

So here's the outline for the paper:

Outline (15 minutes, 7 pages)
I. Intro (1): key issues, debates, claims
II. Structural Similarities (2): the chart I'm preparing will allow me to do a faster plot summary than usual b/c I'll let my audience read the details
III. Detail Similarities (1): these are bonus details that allow me to clarify I'm not talking about influence and transition into the next, bridge section
IV. Differences (4): summarize via works' different perspectives on and uses of trauma/testimony and mourning/melancholia, using chart and quotes handouts--again, I can let my audience read the details, so I can keep this short
V. Significance of Intertextual Dialogue (3): I can use this section to spell out what I mean by "traumatic displacements" and "militant mourning" and make a case for the theoretical significance of the two works
VI. Stakes of Dialogue (3): the two works together provide a meeting-space for thinking through key issues facing activists and intellectuals today--a space for debate not consensus
VII. Conclusion (1): implications for postcolonial studies, black studies, marxism

Well, this is probably meaningless to anyone but me, but I did promise I'd give the update on the conference paper today. Little did I know when I made the promise that our flight leaves 6 am tomorrow morning, which means we have to get up at 4:30 am, or that the three-year-old's formal photos we put off taking until today would be a two-hour extravaganza, complete with hair (lots of it), make-up (lipstick only!), costumes (kimono and yellow princess dress), and lighting--or that the process would be so fascinating and horrifying at the same time that I had to get it all down on video"tape" and thus would be unable to do any real thinking about the paper during it--or that it would go on so long I'd have little time to write this evening. Long story short, it's time to put the girls to bed! Next post from Kyushu!

The Hobgoblin of Little Minds, Hester Prynne, and Student Cheating

Since BikeProf was nice enough to devote a post to CitizenSE, I want to say a word or two about the post that made me decide to put The Hobgoblin of Little Minds on my blogroll. In it, he describes the confrontation with a student other students of his had accused of cheating on the final exam for the course he was teaching. Over the course of the conversation he starts feeling more and more like Roger Chillingworth or Governor Bellingham from The Scarlet Letter (assuming they had the capacity to recognize that they might be judging Hester just a little harshly). Was the student just guilt-tripping him? Or was she guilty? His title, "The Opacity of Truth," says it all. I encourage my readers to put their two cents in on his blog (but read the earlier posts, too). I have three cents (or is that six?).

I don't give final exams in most of my classes to avoid this problem. You can look at my syllabi for the rationale and for the way I typically handle assessment in my classes (profile-->web site for those who need the direction)--I don't have time today to write about it. So if a problem comes up for me it has to do with plagiarism. But forcing students to formulate their own final project and check in with me at various stages tends to cut down on the opportunities for this. It's time-consuming to meet and correspond with my 70-100 students per semester to make this work, but the students generally do better work and you can really tell who's fired up about it and who's just checking it in. I've taught well over a thousand students and graded more than six thouand papers and only had to deal with a handful of plagiarism issues. I wonder what other people's experience has been?

I've thus experienced the pleasures of plagiarism mainly vicariously. The personal part has been the pleasures of wrangling as a department and university over how to stop it. Topics for future posts. Maybe I can get my fantasy football buddy to guest blog here, too. He has the worst two cases I've ever heard of and they both happened the first semester he escaped from adjunct hell and began to enjoy life as a tenure-track professor. Two stories from grad school I can pass on, though. Student walks into professor's office and says, "The grade on this paper is unacceptable." The professor, an earnest young tenure-tracker, agrees and launches into an explanation of what went wrong and how to improve it when the student interrupts and says coldly, "You don't understand. I said, this grade is unacceptable." The professor is taken aback and speechless for a moment (must have been a priceless moment if you happen to know the guy!). The student continues, "My father is a very important donor to this campus...." but before he can finish his tirade the professor kicks him out of his office. The next day, he worries that he just ended a heretofore promising career and goes to his chair for advice. The chair says not to worry and calls the alumni giving office to see just how important a donor the dad really is. The answer comes back, "Just six figures. Expendable." End of story 1. Story 2 is simpler, and I think just as true. A rumor was going around that a student turned in a senior thesis but left the receipt in it. Heh. The Ivy League. You gotta love it!

My third comment is simply to note that in The Scarlet Letter Hester's pregnancy is irrefutable evidence of her having had sex, so the case is somewhat different from BikeProf's. But given that her husband was missing and presumed dead--and that Mr. Prynne (i.e., Roger Chillingworth, or am I making an unwarranted assumption that Hester took and kept his name?) never came forward to prove otherwise--my students and I this semester were a bit confused as to why she was accused and convicted of adultery. I know as a responsible professor I should have looked this up, but for American Puritans did adultery include having a child out of wedlock? Yeesh, you'd think I'd have a good answer to that already....

May I add that right now the Spider-Man villain is winning out over Emerson as my mental image of BikeProf? How bad is it that ads for Spider-Man 3 here in Chiba are more influential than "Self-Reliance"?

And Now for Something Completely Different

The next paragraph's "Faulknerian feat[] of subordination" should not be read by anyone not named Scott Eric Kaufman. If you want to find out what I think about Marshall, Devi, trauma, and mourning, I recommend skipping to the third paragraph. But if you're wondering what a Hawthorne blogger is doing blogging on something and some, uh, two other than Hawthorne, the next paragraph may do. And if you're interested in how not to write when writing a conference paper, the next paragraph will most certainly do. Oh, and if you love it when the author of a blog nobody reads tells inside jokes to himself, the next paragraph is a must-read. (Must fight temptation to tell anecdote about the SF story I wrote for my AP Chemistry class and how easily amused I am. Aaaargh. OK, done. Yes.)

"Old School" readers of this blog (that empty set) will no doubt recall it used to be "mostly about Hawthorne" (and still is, in its technorati profile--I'm that lazy!). New readers (and how do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle, may I ask?)--coming here from such generous linkers (and good titlers) as The Hobgoblin of Little Minds (I'd thank BikeProf in a comments on his post, but one of the annoying features of the new Blogger, one which makes you wonder why they put it in there, is its tendency to freeze when you try to post a comment--or wait, is that just a feature of the ancient computer I'm using here in Chiba?), Old Is the New New, and Quod She--will have already noted that it now is "chiefly about Hawthorne matters" (for reasons I'm sure I'll devote a boring post to when I run out of material for Monday blogging [yes, the obscurest blog in blogoramaville has a programming schedule]). The point is, I'm delivering a paper in Hawaii on traumatic displacements and militant mourning in Paule Marshall's 1969 novel, The Chosen Place, The Timeless People and Mahasweta Devi's "Pterodactyl, Puran Sahay, and Pirtha," a short story translated into English by Gayatri Spivak in 1995 for Imaginary Maps in T-minus, oh, less than 8 days, so the Hawthorne blogging is going to be kept to a minimum the next few days as I try to tame the formless monster that began as a paper at the 1996 American Studies Association convention on trauma and diaspora in CPTP, evolved into a submission to a collection of essays that to my knowledge was never published, morphed into a paper I was planning to insert into one of the collections of essays that I'm supposed to be co-editing, and then refused to copy itself onto the memory stick that I brought to Japan last August, forcing me to start from scratch this semester as I bring in a new topic and new writer to an already-far-too-complex (and possibly lost) old essay. So good ol' Intertextual Thursday is going to begin the project of helping me not embarrass myself more than I normally do at academic conferences, even if the main purpose of this one is to see my parents and let them see their grandkids for the only time between the Augusts of 2006 and 2007. Oh, and to make up for my most humiliating job interview ever, during which I established personal records, hopefully never to be challenged again, in the categories of inability to think on one's feet, inability to hide how flustered one is, and rapidity with which one gives up on oneself in an interview. That's all.

Anyway, my third attempt to begin this post will begin, as I tend to do here, with a quotation. It's from my conference proposal that got accepted (with a close-to-$400 registration fee, I suspect most proposals get accepted--not that that's a bad thing--so judge for yourself whether mine is any good):

Although intellectuals and activists working to define and contest the boundaries and methodologies of postcolonial studies have since its inception emphasized the comparative, transnational, and indeed global nature of the field, they have so far failed to analyze together two works of literature that offer profound meditations on the meaning, significance, and stakes of colonial/racialized trauma/testimony and mourning/melancholia in their respective times and places: Paule Marshall's novel The Chosen Place, The Timeless People for the post-independence Anglophone Caribbean and Mahasweta Devi's "Pterodactyl, Puran Sahay, and Pirtha" for post-independence India. This failure represents a missed opportunity to bring together not only two quite different colonial/post-colonial histories and regions but also two vibrant fields of study with quite relateable trajectories.

This paper proposes to show how Marshall's and Devi's texts both represent and enact the best kinds of literary, historical, ethical, and political connections and relations postcolonial theorists, critics and scholars have been calling for, marking out, and arguing over for the past two decades. In so doing, I will suggest a certain exemplarity in the intertextual dialogue between The Chosen Place, The Timeless People and "Pterodactyl, Puran Sahay, and Pirtha," one that has serious implications for future developments specifically in postcolonial studies and more generally in the humanities. Attending to the formal, structural, and indeed theoretical similarities between the two works will allow me to address such pressing debates within postcolonial studies as how to recognize colonialisms' impact on differently colonized groups along with the deep structures of resistance practiced by such groups, how to assess nationalist, internationalist, and transnationalist forms of resistance, and how to respond to the difficult divisions between activists from the metropole and subjects in the periphery. But it will also allow me to address such pressing debates over postcolonial studies as its intellectual and political origins, geographical and historical scope, relation to other fields, and potential for transforming both academic practices and institutions and their publics.

It may seem that I am asking a medium-length novel and a long short story to carry an inordinate amount of weight in my argument. But a quick glance at their quite similar plots and themes alone should dispel this view. Marshall's and Devi's works, although produced in different decades and regions, in response to two quite different forms of colonialism and two ambiguously (post)colonial temporalities, tell basically the same story: a well-informed and well-intentioned activist from the metropole (in the former, a radical Philadelphia anthropologist who leverages the desperation of his philanthropist funders for a success story, not to mention a tax break, into control over an alternative-to-modernization development project in the Bournehills region of a Caribbean island suspiciously like 1960s Barbados that aims to build from local knowledge and practices, empower the poorest of the poor agricultural workers in the region, and model ecological, economic, and political sustainability; in the latter, a radical urban journalist who leverages his activist and government connections to travel to and report on the failure of public and private aid efforts in a famine-stricken tribal region suspiciously like 1980s India) slowly comes to realize the profundity of the limitations of his original project (due to local, national, regional, and international politics in the Cold War era), suffers a crisis with a female lover (the former on-island; the latter long-distance), experiences reality-bending events (the former a metaphorical 'road to Damascus' conversion experience; the latter a quite magically real encounter with the 'last of the pterodactyls'), and most importantly bears witness to the historical and contemporary trauma of the rural people of the region, yet finds himself unable to offer any kind of testimony to the world outside the region. The most both sympathetically-portrayed metropolitan intellectuals can offer to the people of the region is a kind of barely articulate recognition of what they have come to dimly understand as a massive mourning project by those people for centuries-old failed rebellions against enslaving/colonizing forces.

Even this bare structuralist analysis gestures toward the deeply entangled meanings, significances, and stakes of this common Marshall-Devi story of colonial/racialized trauma/testimony and mourning/melancholia. Teasing them out and using them to take positions on crucial issues within and over the past, present, and future of postcolonial studies--and their implications for both research and teaching in and curricula and institutions of the humanities--is the project of this paper.

OK, so, sound interesting? Anyone read either or both of these works? Or heard of these authors? Thought to analyze them together? Done so? I'm under the no-doubt-mistaken impression that I am actually the first to do this. I'm happy to find out I'm wrong b/c it'll save me loads of time and space in the article that will someday follow from this....

Oh, and before I start, let me note that I've already criticized my earlier Intertextual Thursday postings as not living up to their billing--not "really" being intertextual. I've failed to do more than identify links between two works (here, The Scarlet Letter and Beloved, a much-travelled path, but one on which there is always something new to notice)--failed, that is, to explore what follows from them. As you can see from my conference proposal, years of commenting on failed comparison-contrast papers from students have vaccinated me, if you will, against falling into this trap in the genre of proposal-writing. But following through on the promises made in proposals like this one, in a way that will be satisfying both to me and my audience (assuming I have one--my 1996 Marshall paper, for instance, featured a smaller audience than panel, and two-thirds of the audience was made up of friends of mine), is the challenge facing me this week. It's not just an issue of making my balky (and nebulous and missing--cf. 2nd para if you were foolish enough to actually skip it!) prose "talky" or of concisely introducing my audience to two authors and works, two regions and traditions of social/cultural analysis of them, two theoretical concepts and two intellectual/activist projects concisely enough to leave me enough time to develop and support my claims convincingly. It's the challenge of balancing enumeration of similarities and differences with tallying of meanings, significances, and stakes with the taking and defending of positions in academic and more-than-academic wars of position.

So I'll let you "all" see the "draft" this Saturday (even if it doesn't deserve the name), in a slightly revised version of CitizenSE's Latest Crazy Hawthorne Idea. Hopefully I'll be able to actually come up with a decent ending to one of my posts on this blog that day. I may actually have to hold myself to some standards if people are actually reading this blog!

Perhaps Unexpected Allusions to Hawthorne

Posting on The Scarlet Letter and Beloved has gotten me thinking about the uses to which other African-American writers than Morrison have put Hawthorne. Tonight, while the family get-together is winding down downstairs and I'm up here making sure the girls don't roll off the beds we've put them in (yes, we've been evicted from our cozy downstairs sleeping-all-together-on-two-futons-on-the-floor arrangement but have upgraded to Baba's bedroom, which is too small for the SALoTFotF set-up), I'll offer a short list and hope my imaginary readers will help mex expand it.

In as close to reverse chronological order as I can get without renumbering everything when I make a mistake:

0. I've already posted a bit on Maryse Conde's I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem.

1. The subtext of the Chillingworth-Dimmesdale relationship (D as fugitive slave; C as slave catcher) seems to have been developed by Charles Johnson in Middle Passage. Morrison's Schoolteacher and Johnson's Slavecatcher both seem like Chillingworth figures to me.

2-3. Both Patricia Williams (in The Rooster's Egg) and Suzan-Lori Parks (in at least one of The Red Letter Plays) have run with the idea that the Puritan magistrates' marking Hester with the scarlet letter can be linked to racialized and gendered markings of black women today.

4. In this, they seem to be following up on and developing Ralph Ellison's uses of Hawthorne in Invisible Man to explore themes of stigmatization (cf. Marjorie Pryse's implicit linking of Hawthorne and Ellison in this way in The Marka nd the Knowledge) and racialization.

5. W.E.B. Du Bois made use of many of Hawthorne's short stories in The Souls of Black Folk, in part to situate himself as a fellow New England native and writer.

6-7. Pauline Hopkins's use of the gothic around the turn into the twentieth century makes me wonder if, like Charles Chesnutt, she was reading and responding to Hawthorne's short stories and novels.

8. It's quite possible Hawthorne was responding to Frederick Douglass's Narrative of the Life in "The Custom-House" and The Scarlet Letter, which doesn't exactly fit the list's parameters, but seems worth mentioning.

9. As is the possibility that one of the many sources of "Egotism, or the Bosom-Serpent" comes from African-American folklore that he could have come across in Salem or in Maine.

10. A certain rock star friend of mine provided me years ago with a syllabus from a friend of his that laid out a Hawthorne-Baldwin major authors course that looked very exciting--if I can dig it up in my files once I return to the States, I'll hit the highlights.

11-12. Ah, how could I forget Richard Wright and his contributions to the black gothic? Thank you, Professor Bryant! Your essay makes me wonder if Linda Brent/Harriet Jacobs was influenced by Hawthorne's representation of trapped and fallen women in his novels of the 1850s and tales of the 1840s.

13. Professor Gruesser has a neat reading of "The Birth-Mark" and whiteness and suggests it's possible that George Schuyler's Black No More may be a response to the story.

14. Professor Sollors as always makes fascinating connections between multiple traditions of American literature. His essay raises the possibility that a Hawthorne-Tolson connection wouldn't be a stretch. Better ask a certain dangeral professor about this one of these days.

This is not a bad list for someone who consorted with Copperheads and Confederates, who was known in his time and after for his anti-abolitionism and patronizing attitudes towards African Americans, and who was decidedly ambivalent and unenthusiastic about the Civil War and the prospects of African Americans after slavery, isn't it?

A is for Abatement

Got loads of family staying overnight here somewhat unexpectedly, but I get to use the computer upstairs while imoto is napping and everyone else is finishing up preparations. Our topic today is Hawthorne's use of heraldry in The Scarlet Letter.

Even the Indians were affected by a sort of cold shadow of the white man's curiosity, and, gliding through the crowd, fastened their snake-like black eyes on Hester's bosom; conceiving, perhaps, that the wearer of this brilliantly embroidered badge must needs be a personage of high dignity among her people.

The office of the scarlet letter, to borrow a phrase famously analyzed by Sacvan Bercovitch, is a herald's office. One of Governor Bellingham's "bond-servants," a "free-born Englishman, but now a seven years' slave," newly arrived in Boston and not familiar with Hester Prynne, makes the same assumption as the Indians who saw in her "brilliantly embroidered badge" a mark of colonial aristocracy:

"Ye may not see his worship now."

"Nevertheless, I will enter," answered Hester Prynne; and the bond-servant, perhaps judging from the decision of her air and the glittering symbol in her bosom, that she was a great lady in the land, offered no opposition.

These characters of lower status in Puritan society or outside it are joined by the narrator, who is separated by time and temperament from the era, when he "discovers" the remains of the scarlet letter in the Salem Custom-House:

It had been intended, there could be no doubt, as an ornamental article of dress; but how it was to be worn, or what rank, honor, and dignity, in by-past times, were signified by it, was a riddle which (so evanescent are the fashions of the world in these particulars) I saw little hope of solving.

The narrator, certain that he has come across an item of colonial fashion, nevertheless admits to being fascinated and "perplexed" by it, wondering even if "the letter might not have been one of those decorations which the white men used to contrive to take the eyes of Indians." Of course this turns out to be as mistaken as his original, bland version of Hester Prynne--"rather a noteworthy personage in the view of our ancestors." But actually these kinds of assumptions about Hester Prynne's "badge" are not that far off.

Consider the first description of the letter in the romance itself:

On the breast of her gown, in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery and fantastic flourishes of gold thread, appeared the letter A. It was so artistically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeous luxuriance of fancy, that it had all the effect of a last and fitting decoration to the apparel which she wore; and which was of a splendor in accordance with the taste of the age, but greatly beyond what was allowed by the sumptuary regulations of the colony.

No wonder, then, that one of her harsher judges among the "female spectators" at this first scaffold scene remarks, "She hath good skill at her needle, that's certain, but did ever a woman, before this brazen hussy, contrive such a way of showing it! Why, gossips, what is it but to laugh in the face of our godly magistrates, and make a pride out of what they, worthy gentlemen, meant for a punishment?" The largely uncharitable remarks of the audience in this and other scenes raise questions about Hester's intentions and the effect of the magistrates' punishment on her, but they also align her with an English, aristocratic, and Catholic past (and hence suggest a certain critical attitude toward English as well as American Puritans at this point in the novel, a point that has been well made by Larry Reynolds and Frederick Newberry). Among the "mass of imperfectly shaped and spectral images" that bring to Hester's mind "other scenes than this roughly hewn street of a little town, on the edge of the Western wilderness; other faces than were lowering upon her from beneath the brims of these steeple-crowned hats," was "her native village, in Old England, and her paternal home; a decayed house of gray stone, with a poverty-stricken aspect, but retaining a half-obliterated shield of arms over the portal, in token of antique gentility."

The herald's office is to assign coats of arms to families of sufficient birth and standing; the Puritans have appropriated this office for their own purposes, using the scarlet letter to indicate that Hester may well be a descendant of English aristocracy, but she is fallen in more ways than one. Hester to some extent accepts the terms of her punishment when she tells Pearl, "Once in my life I met the Black Man! This scarlet letter is his mark!" On the surface at least, this rare admission echoes Roger Chillingworth's interpretation, "Thus she will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominious letter be engraved upon her tomb-stone." But designating the scarlet letter the Black Man's mark does not necessarily make it a symbol of her sin, or her sin alone; it could easily refer to two other men she's met in the forest, Chillingworth and Dimmesdale, or it could refer to the Puritan magistrates themselves, sinning against the act that she later tells Dimmesdale "had a consecration of its own."

The battle over the meaning of the A is a well-trodden topic, so I'll stop with four observations: 1) the scarlet letter is is intended to function as a mark of dishonor; in the language of heraldry, it is an abatement; 2) Pearl disappears from the novel, but the narrator strongly suggests she has married a non-English aristocrat and is living abroad with him and their child when he notes that "Letters came, with armorial seals upon them, though of bearings unknown to English heraldry," again emphasizing her and Hester's contrast with the natal alienation and long-term inheritance of the mother's condition that marked female slaves from the mid-seventeenth century until the mid-nineteenth century in England's American colonies from Hester Prynne's time until the independent America of Hawthorne's time; 3) nevertheless, the narrator returns to heraldry at Hester's death, appearing to ratify Chillingworth's prophecy of the monumentalizing of the letter by ending the novel with "a herald's wording" of the "semblance of an engraved escutcheon" and "device": "ON A FIELD, SABLE, THE LETTER A, GULES"; 4) Jim's coat of arms in Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn parodies Hawthorne's ending of The Scarlet Letter, in ways crucial to understanding the compromises of 1850 and 1876--but that will be the subject of an Intertextual Thursday after I've finished with Beloved.

So, Really, Why CitizenSE?

Well, it's been 2007 in Japan for over 13 hours now, so the "New World" is about to join us; Baba has her first day off since we've been in Chiba, so the onnahito futari and the onnanoko futari have been hanging out downstairs (Diva Girl's been coming up here every so often to check on me) and are now out shopping; and in yesterday's post I raised questions (and got what I believe to be this blog's first-ever comment--thanks and congrats to nikeroo!) that I've been thinking about a bit, so I think it's about time to take them on in the course of answering the questions of why a Hawthorne blog and why call it "Citizen of Somewhere Else" more directly than I've done in previous posts in this series.

"Henceforth I am a citizen of somewhere else" is a line I've always liked from Hawthorne, for reasons I've been circling around on this blog. The ghostly quality of the declaration and of the self-referentiality is something I'm going to have to address more directly later. But today is about acknowledging the self-referentiality of the blog title. As an American living in Japan from August 2006 to August 2007, I am literally a citizen of somewhere else for that year. And when my family and I are at home in the States, I'm the only one who's not a citizen of somewhere else (my two girls have dual citizenship--until they turn 21, that is--and my wife has no plans to give up her Japanese citizenship). Maybe someday Japan and the U.S. will agree to allow people to declare dual citizenship, but until then, someone in the family is always going to be a citizen of somewhere else, no matter where we live.

The question of where to live was an important one for Hawthorne at the time he was writing "The Custom-House," and its importance is registered both in the way he writes about Salem, his "native town," in the essay itself and in the fact that he never again lived there. No doubt I am sensitive to this issue because the question of where to live is of great importance to my family and myself. Up until this past August, we've lived in a small town in western NY about three and a half hours by car from where I grew up and where my parents still live (in 10 days I'll see them for what looks to be the only time this year in Hawaii, where my dad and I are attending overlapping conferences and bringing our families along), and even closer to my aunt and uncle. To move almost anywhere else in the States would mean to move further away from my closest family (my brother and his family are in CT and central NY provides a nice place for us to meet when he ad his wife are up to travelling with their four kids). Until August 2007, we live in Fukuoka, Japan, about the same distance by plane and subway/bus (and much longer by shinkansen) from my wife's parents here in Chiba. We're about the same travel time from my wife's sister (and her three kids) in Okinawa. Wherever we live, we're going to be pretty far away from a large number of people we love. That's the reality of an international marriage. As our children grow up and our parents age, this is going to be an even bigger question than it has been for the three-and-a-half years of our marriage.

While not in an international marriage, Hawthorne himself spent several years outside the United States, when Franklin Pierce appointed him to a consular post in Liverpool and when he travelled in Italy with his family before returning to the States. And as his writings from 1853-1864 show, the questions of where to live and how he felt about being an American citizen were quite pressing to him, as well, for obvious reasons. But rather than get into that, I should note that my blog title, too, alludes to my own feelings about being an American citizen. I'll post more on this later on this "professional/personal" blog, but for those who want something of a preview, I recommend checking out my "political" blog, Objectivist v. Constructivist v. Theist, particularly my columns on immigration reform and George W. Bush. Suffice to say I'm not happy with the current administration and only wish I could spend the rest of its term in Japan. Unlike Hawthorne, I'll never be in a position to write a campaign biography for one of my friends--unless this fantasy football columnist or this rock star ever decide to give up their day jobs, that is.

Ah, my relation to Hawthorne? Obviously by choosing a blog title that references us both, albeit in complicated ways--not to mention by doing the comparison/contrast thing in this post--I am acknowledging a tie with him and asserting a distance from him. Back when I started this blog, I promised to devote several posts to my talk before the Kyushu American Literature Society, which traced the transformations in my race and Hawthorne research project from its conception as a dissertation proposal in the early 1990s to its (ongoing) becoming a book manuscript in the mid-2000s. I haven't forgotten that promise, but I don't intend to keep it just yet.

Especially because the ladies have come home and imoto wants her daddy to hold her! One-handed typing is a drag, so I'll have to continue this next Monday!