Shawn smiled to himself, ‘The Scarlet Letter’, Hawthorns words come immediately to mind.

As is apt to be the case when a person stands out in any prominence before the community, and, at the same time, interferes neither with public nor individual interests and convenience, a species of general regard had ultimately grown up in reference to Hester Prynne. It is to the credit of human nature, that, except where its selfishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates. Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility. In this matter of Hester Prynne, there was neither irritation nor irksomeness. She never battled with the public, but submitted uncomplainingly to its worst usage; she made no claim upon it, in requital for what she suffered; she did not weigh upon its sympathies. Then, also, the blameless purity of her life, during all these years in which she had been set apart to infamy, was reckoned largely in her favor. With nothing now to lose, in the sight of mankind, and with no hope, and seemingly no wish, of gaining any thing, it could only be a genuine regard for virtue that had brought back the poor wanderer to its paths, and seemingly no wish, of gaining any thing, it could only be a genuine regard for virtue that had brought back the poor wanderer to its paths.

And he had thought that being a Senior was going to be hard. He’d read everything Hawthorne had written, most of it several times. Also most of the other classical writers from Marcus Aurelius to Ernest Hemingway. He did, however, speculate why it was this particular passage that had come to mind. He didn’t feel like Hester Prynne, but he could certainly relate to her.

He liked this new teacher, Miss Blake. Miss…Blake…..Miss. His eyes went straight to her left hand, specifically to the third finger on her left hand. No ring.

Nah, he thought. She’s a teacher, besides, she older than me.

The rest of the day didn’t go as well as Miss Blake’s class. He knew he stood out, as if he, himself, had a ‘Scarlet Letter’ on his chest. He heard the whisper more than once as the day passed:

“See that kid,” they would say. “He flunked three grades. He’s just a big dummy.

He wanted to stop, and tell them the truth, but he knew they weren’t interested in the truth.

Hawthorne’s words came back to him: She never battled with the public, but submitted uncomplainingly to its worst usage; she made no claim upon it, in requital for what she suffered. No, he would not battle with them.

He went home after school. It was nice not to have to work, well at least for the time being, not for the rest of the school year anyway. His mother was sit at her job so he started supper for her, he knew she would be tired. His brothers and sisters stared coming in from their own classes, burdened with stacks of new textbooks. They laughed and joked with each other, talking about their new teachers and what new girl or boy they liked. He scooted them off to do some of their homework before supper.

“Hi honey,” his mother said coming in the back door. “How was the first day of school?”

“Hi Momma,” he answered going over and hugging her, kissing her on the cheek. “School was fine.”

He went back to preparing supper while she sat her purse down and took her jacket off. She came over to help him.

“Sit Momma, I can do it.” He said. “I have a new teacher.” He said off handedly.

“A new teacher,” she replied, emphasizing the ‘A’. Don’t you mean you have several new teachers?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” he corrected himself.

She reached up and turned his face to her.

“Is she cute?”

“Momma! She’s nice………….and cute.” His face reddening.

“I suppose I need to buy a bushel of apples now,” she laughed going to the cabinet and taking out the dinner plates.

After dinner Shawn went to the room he shared with two of his brothers. He sat at the small desk and started his analysis of the Scarlet Letter.

The next day, second class, he walked up to Miss Blake’s desk and laid his report down in front of her.

Literary analysis of The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Written by Shawn Murphy

The scarlet letter was Hester Prynne’s passport into regions where other women dared not to tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers—stern and wild ones—and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss. When Hester Prynne bears an illegitimate child she is introduced to the ugliness, complexity, and ultimately the strength of the human spirit. Though set in Puritan community centuries ago, the moral dilemmas of personal responsibility, and consuming emotions of guilt, anger, loyalty and revenge are timeless.

He looked down at Miss Blake and smiled.