
by Angie E.
The poet W.H. Auden once said, “a classic is a book that survives generations because it continues to speak to us in new ways.” Classics persist because they challenge, provoke, and resonate, especially when the world feels uncertain or unjust. Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter is one of my favorite books of all time. I can feel some of you wincing but before you scoff, I highly recommend you ignore the opening “Custom-House” chapter and go straight to the good stuff and then, maybe, you’ll see what I mean.
Not only do I love it a bit more than most people probably would, but my love for it is directly related to my favorite Halloween memory from 1989 when I won third prize in a costume contest my sophomore year at college. Dressed as Hester Prynne with a long dark cloak with a bold red A smack dab in the middle, I kept getting mistaken for Alvin the Chipmunk so when I got to the microphone to clarify what my costume was I said “I’m Hester Prynne.”
“Who?” Several people yelled out in the crowd.
“Hester Prynne from The Scarlet Letter. Nathaniel Hawthorne? Puritan times?”
No one in the audience appeared to have ever heard of any of it so I finally yelled, “I am with child and a woman of sin!” as I waved my baby bunny stuffed animal in the air. It seemed like everyone roared with laughter, most likely because I was painfully shy at the time and I went against type or maybe I just really could not shatter their Alvin the Chipmunk illusions and hopes. My other favorite book is Washington Square by Henry James. I agree with everything James once said of The Scarlet Letter: “It is beautiful, admirable, extraordinary; it has in the highest degree that merit which I have spoken of as the mark of Hawthorne’s best things—an indefinable purity and lightness of conception…One can often return to it.”
I know The Scarlet Letter is not an easy sell, I really do. For many, the book is tangled up with high school English class, dense prose, and the frustrating ambiguity of Arthur Dimmesdale. It’s often shelved as a classic American novel, a historical piece, or even—bafflingly!—a romance. I have never been able to see it that way, especially with its eerily Puritan version of #MeToo vibes. To call this story a romance is to fundamentally misunderstand its brutal, brilliant heart. This isn’t a tale of love triumphing over adversity. It’s a forensic examination of power: who has it, who wields it, and who is crushed by it.
Reading it today, in our world of public shaming and relentless scrutiny of women’s bodies and choices, Hester Prynne’s story feels less like a history lesson and more like a reflection. Margaret Atwood has acknowledged The Scarlet Letter as one of the texts she considered while writing The Handmaid’s Tale. In fact, she has acknowledged that her dystopia was built from historical precedents, not fantasy. Hester Prynne’s punishment for adultery and forced isolation echoes the way Atwood’s handmaids are reduced to reproductive vessels under a theocratic regime.
The central injustice of Hawthorne’s novel has always taken my breath away. One person bears the visible, lifelong mark of their shared “sin,” while the other is celebrated, pitied, and ultimately forgiven for his private struggle. The community’s wrath is laser-focused on the woman, the visible proof of the transgression, while the system effortlessly protects the man. This is not a romance. This is a blueprint for how societal structures (legal, religious and social) are designed to punish women disproportionately. This is where Hester’s story becomes so starkly modern. We may not brand women with a literal scarlet letter anymore, but we have our own versions.
Hester’s quiet, stubborn resilience is what makes her my hero. She doesn’t crumble under the weight of the ‘A’. She does something far more radical: she reclaims it. She takes the symbol meant to annihilate her and, through sheer force of character, transforms it. She becomes “Able.” She survives, she raises her daughter, she thinks for herself. She endures, not with passive acceptance, but with a powerful, silent defiance. She is not waiting for a man to save her. She is saving herself.
That’s why I keep returning to this difficult, profound book. It’s not a comfortable read, but it is an essential one. It’s a reminder that the battles women fight over their own bodies and narratives are not new. They are ancient. It’s a testament to the incredible strength it takes to wear a label you didn’t choose and rewrite its meaning through your own grace and power. So, if you haven’t read The Scarlet Letter since you were assigned it in school, I urge you to pick it up again. Don’t read it looking for a love story. Read it looking for Hester. Read it for every woman who has ever been judged more harshly, held to a different standard, or forced to wear a scarlet letter of someone else’s making.
You might just find, as I did, that it’s one of the most relatable books you’ll ever read.
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne is available in print and large print, e-book and e-audiobook. There’s also audiobook on CD, Playaway and a manga adaptation.
Angie is an Instructor & Research Specialist at Central Branch and is a co-facilitator for Reads of Acceptance, HCLS’ first LGBTQ-focused book club. Her ideal day is reading in her cozy armchair, with her cat Henry next to her.










