Introduction to American Literature
Iroquois Creation Story
Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation - Phillis Wheatley
On the Equality of the Sexes
The Raven Audio
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Scarlet Letter full audio book with rolling text
The Tell-Tale Heart Audio
The World on the Turtle's Back performed by Samuel Larsen
Women's History Organization - Phillis Wheatley
American Literature Beginnings to Present
Overview
This is a open educational resource material for American Literature: Beginnings through 1865 and American Literature: 1865 to present.
Attributions
American Literature Beginning to Present © 2024 by Alexa Chiefari, Betsy Ralph-Tollefson is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
Introduction: Beginnings to 1865
American Literature Beginnings to 1865
Why Study Literature?
- We can easily communicate facts, but what is really important is experience. Literature helps to give full experiences to understand a story.
- Literature captures experiences. For example, a memoir about a person does a lot more for the reader than reading a biography online about the person.
- Any piece of literature is a product of the time. Therefore, reading literature of a certain period will help us to understand that period of history, including the values and cultures of the time. We will read diverse perspectives to get a better understanding of a variety of perspectives from American history.
- Humans love stories. Literature frames stories that will sell us more than just bald facts, but helps us to understand human experiences at a deeper level.
- Telling stories is communicating more than just the story. They provide a lesson or a purpose to the reader.
- Literature is a map. It is a map that one person has written for another. They are hoping to communicate their view of the universe and world around them. While this cannot portray everything, it does provide the reader with an outlook for a situation that they do not have experience with.
What do we mean when we say “American Literature”?
- It takes place in the United States of America.
- The author is American.
- Themes, ideas, values, experiences, and purposes that represent American (United States) identity
- United States history influences the material
Thoughts and Considerations for Readings:
- Where and when is the text from?
- Who wrote it? (identity)
- Why did they write the text? What is the purpose? What story needed to be told?
- What is the experience of reading? What is the goal of the author for the reader think or feel?
- Is the meaning deeper than the content? If so, what is it?
- What sources influenced this text?
- What phrases, passages, selections seem to stick or linger in your mind?
- What symbols and themes occur in what you’re reading? Are there reoccurring themes throughout various readings? What are they?
- In what ways is the text valuable? If it is not valuable to you, it must be valuable to others, so who is it?
Literary Terms
Literary Terms
Alliteration- the repetition of the same sound at the start of a series of words in succession whose purpose is to provide an audible pulse that gives a piece of writing a lulling, lyrical, and/or emotive effect.
Rhyme-repetition of syllables, most often at the end of the line. Most often used as a device in poetry
Motif-a repeated pattern, an image, sound, word, or symbol that comes back again and again within a particular story.
Tone-the attitude of a character, narrator, author, or speaker towards a given subject
Mood- the physical atmosphere that provokes a reader’s emotions
Narrator –fictional construct through which a story is told
Foreshadowing- hints, suggestions or warnings about events to come that are dropped or planted to build anticipation or suspense.
Symbolism –the use of objects, characters, or elements that represent deeper ideas, themes, or emotions
Characterization- The representation of the traits, motives, and psychology of a character in a story
Plot -The linear order of events that make up a story, including exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution (definition in Foreshadowing video)
Setting-a time and/or place in which a story is told.
Point of view-The audience’s perspective on the events of the narrative. This is determined by the storyteller. Most common third person and first person.
Imagery-descriptive language that appeals to the senses.
Metaphor - comparison between two things otherwise unrelated, the qualities are figuratively carried over to the other.
Theme - central, unifying idea in a story. Theme addresses bigger issues that emerge as the characters pursue their goals. Addresses deeper questions like identity, philosophy, or morality.
Protagonist - the main character, the character that drives the action that is central to the plot or conflict.
Antagonist- The character or force that opposes the main character creating conflict and other obstacles.
Satire- the art of making something or someone look ridiculous, raising laughter in order to embarrass, humble, or discredit its targets.
Irony –when someone says something or does something that departs from what they (or we) expect them to say or do. Three main types in literature: verbal, dramatic, and situational irony
Conflict-thwarted, endangered, or opposing desire. Creates tension, launches the plot, and it evokes the themes of a story.
Oregon State Guide To English Literary Terms, Oregon State, The Oregon State Guide to English Literary Terms | Oregon State University, CC BY 4.0
Characteristics of Different Types of Literature
POETRY: Literary work that has an intense and specific focus on the use of the rhythmic and aesthetic qualities of language to evoke meaning, express feeling, or share experience.
Characteristics of Poetry: Written in verse and often employs various forms of meter, rhyme, and stanza structures. The language utilized favors concise word choice and vivid imagery. Other literary devices commonly used include symbolism, simile, metaphors, and personification, which leaves each work open to varied interpretations. Poems can be written in a variety of styles including sonnets, haikus, free verse, and more.
DRAMA: Literary work intended for performance, which includes plays, scripts, and dialogues.
Characteristics of Drama: Dramas have a more immediate and focused structure, divided into acts and scenes. Designed for performance, the narrative is conveyed through dialogue and stage direction, limiting the depth of description. The visual and auditory emphasis is on character interaction. The purpose of dramas is to entertain, provoke thought, and evoke emotions. They are categorized into genres like tragedy, melodrama, and comedy.
SATIRE/COMEDY: Comedy is a broad genre with the purpose of entertaining and amusing. Satire is a type of comedy. Satire is a genre of literary work that uses humor, exaggeration, irony, and other devices to critique and expose societal follies. Comedy is a broad genre with the purpose to entertain and amuse.
Characteristics of Satire: Satire targets specific aspects of society or human behavior to critique. Satire employs sarcasm, wit, and irony to get to the point and often layers a social message or moral message under the humor. Satire can be found in various forms of literary work such as novels, plays, poems, and essays.
FICTION: Narrative works of literature that are created from a writer’s imagination
Characteristics of Fiction: Fiction features invented characters, settings, and plots that may or may not reflect reality. Allows authors to explore themes, ideas, and emotions through invented stories and because of this it may incorporate elements of realism or surrealism. It can encompass every type of genre such as historical fiction, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, romance, and others.
NONFICTION: Factual writing based on research, observation, or personal experience that presents information or account of real people, events, or phenomena.
Characteristics of NonFiction: The purpose is to inform, educate, or persuade the reader about real-world subjects. It takes the form such as biographies, memoirs, essays, histories, news articles, or other journalistic writing. Requires accuracy, credibility, and truthfulness. Common features include artifactual evidence, citations, and references to support claims.
2. Pre-Colonial 1500-1599
The literary work in the period spanning from 1500 to 1599, primarily consists of the indigenous oral traditions of the Indigenous people that inhabited the land before European colonization. Indigenous people shared stories, songs, and ceremonial speeches orally from one generation to the next. This oral tradition was central to the preservation and transmission of cultural values, beliefs, and knowledge within indigenous communities. This was the beginning
The oral works of the Indigenous people often recounted the experiences of their ancestors, including migration patterns, battles, treaties, and interactions with other tribal nations. These oral histories served as a means of preserving tribal identity and collective memory. Another common theme was the role nature played in their lives. They reflected a deep connection to the natural world, portraying animals, plants, and landscapes as sacred and imbued with spiritual significance. Many stories and songs celebrated the interdependence between humans and the environment, emphasizing the importance of living in harmony with nature.
Literary work at this time was closely intertwined with rituals and ceremonies, such as rites of passage, seasonal celebrations, and religious ceremonies. These rituals often incorporated storytelling, songs, chants, and dances as integral components of cultural and spiritual expression.
Different tribes and nations across the continent developing their own unique oral literature, languages, and storytelling techniques. Each indigenous culture had its rich tapestry of myths, legends, and oral traditions that reflected its distinct cultural heritage.
Creation & Trickster Stories
Creation Story Haudenosaunee (Iroquois)
In the great past, deep water covered all the earth. The air was filled with birds, and great monsters were in possession of the waters when a beautiful woman was seen by them falling from the sky. Then huge ducks gathered in council and resolved to meet this wonderful creature and break the force of her fall. So they arose, and, with pinion overlapping pinion, unitedly received the dusky burden. Then the monsters of the deep also gathered in council to decide which should hold this celestial being and protect her from the terrors of the water, but none was able except a giant tortoise, who volunteered to endure this lasting weight upon his back. There she was gently placed, while he, constantly increasing in size, soon became a large island. Twin boys were after a time brought forth by the woman—one the spirit of good, who made all good things, and caused the maize, fruit, and tobacco to grow; the other the spirit of evil, who created the weeds and all vermin. Ever the world was increasing in size, although occasional quakings were felt, caused by the efforts of the monster tortoise to stretch out, or by the contraction of his muscles.
After the lapse of ages from the time of his general creation Ta‑rhuⁿ‑hiă‑wăh‑kuⁿ, the Sky Holder, resolved upon a special creation of a race which should surpass all others in beauty, strength, and bravery; so from the bosom of the great island, where they had previously subsisted upon moles, Ta‑rhuⁿ‑hiă‑wăh‑kuⁿ brought out the six pairs, which were destined to become the greatest of all people. The Tuscaroras tell us that the first pair were left near a great river, now called the Mohawk. The second family were directed to make their home by the side of a big stone. Their descendants have been termed the Oneidas. Another pair were left on a high hill, and have ever been called the Onondagas. Thus each pair was left with careful instructions in different parts of what is now known as the State of New York, except the Tuscaroras, who were taken up the Roanoke River into North Carolina, where Ta‑rhuⁿ‑hiă‑wăh‑kuⁿ also took up his abode, teaching them many useful arts before his departure. This, say they, accounts for the superiority of the Tuscaroras. But each of the six tribes will tell you that his own was the favored one with whom Sky Holder made his terrestrial home, while the Onondagas claim that their possession of the council fire prove them to have been the chosen people. Later, as the numerous families became scattered over the State, some lived in localities where the bear was the principal game, and were called from that circumstance the clan of the Bear. Others lived where the beavers were trapped, and they were called the Beaver clan. For similar reasons the Snipe, Deer, Wolf, Tortoise, and Eel clans received their appellations.
How the World Was Made (Cherokee)
The earth is a great floating island in a sea of water. At each of the four corners there is a cord hanging down from the sky. The sky is of solid rock. When the world grows old and worn out, the cords will break, and then the earth will sink down into the ocean. Everything will be water again. All the people will be dead. The Indians are much afraid of this. In the long time ago, when everything was all water, all the animals lived up above in Galun’lati, beyond the stone arch that made the sky. But it was very much crowded. All the animals wanted more room. The animals began to wonder what was below the water and at last Beaver’s grandchild, little Water Beetle, offered to go and find out.
Water Beetle darted in every direction over the surface of the water, but it could find no place to rest. There was no land at all. Then Water Beetle dived to the bottom of the water and brought up some soft mud. This began to grow and to spread out on every side until it became the island which we call the earth. Afterwards this earth was fastened to the sky with four cords, but no one remembers who did this.
At first the earth was flat and soft and wet. The animals were anxious to get down, and they sent out different birds to see if it was yet dry, but there was no place to alight; so the birds came back to Galun’lati. Then at last it seemed to be time again, so they sent out Buzzard; they told him to go and make ready for them. This was the Great Buzzard, the father of all the buzzards we see now. He flew all over the earth, low down near the ground, and it was still soft. When he reached the Cherokee country, he was very tired; his wings began to flap and strike the ground. Wherever they struck the earth there was a valley; whenever the wings turned upwards again, there was a mountain. When the animals above saw this, they were afraid that the whole world would be mountains, so they called him back, but the Cherokee country remains full of mountains to this day. [This was the original home, in North Carolina.]
When the earth was dry and the animals came down, it was still dark. Therefore they got the sun and set it in a track to go every day across the island from east to west, just overhead. It was too hot this way. Red Crawfish had his shell scorched a bright red, so that his meat was spoiled. Therefore the Cherokees do not eat it. Then the medicine men raised the sun a handsbreadth in the air, but it was still too hot. They raised it another time; and then another time; at last they had raised it seven handsbreadths so that it was just under the sky arch. Then it was right and they left it so. That is why the medicine men called the high place “the seventh height.” Every day the sun goes along under this arch on the under side; it returns at night on the upper side of the arch to its starting place.
There is another world under this earth. It is like this one in every way. The animals, the plants, and the people are the same, but the seasons are different. The streams that come down from the mountains are the trails by which we reach this underworld. The springs at their head are the doorways by which we enter it. But in order to enter the other world, one must fast and then go to the water, and have one of the underground people for a guide. We know that the seasons in the underground world are different, because the water in the spring is always warmer in winter than the air in this world; and in summer the water is cooler.
We do not know who made the first plants and animals. But when they were first made, they were told to watch and keep awake for seven nights. This is the way young men do now when they fast and pray to their medicine. They tried to do this. The first night, nearly all the animals stayed awake. The next night several of them dropped asleep. The third night still more went to sleep. At last, on the seventh night, only the owl, the panther, and one or two more were still awake. Therefore, to these were given the power to see in the dark, to go about as if it were day, and to kill and eat the birds and animals which must sleep during the night. Even some of the trees went to sleep. Only the cedar, the pine, the spruce, the holly, and the laurel were awake all seven nights. Therefore they are always green. They are also sacred trees. But to the other trees it was said, “Because you did not stay awake, therefore you shall lose your hair every winter.” After the plants and the animals, men began to come to the earth. At first there was only one man and one woman. He hit her with a fish. In seven days a little child came down to the earth. So people came to the earth. They came so rapidly that for a time it seemed as though the earth could not hold them all.
Reference
"Native American Stories". American Literature 1600-1865. Lumen Learning. n.d. https://courses.lumenlearning.com/suny-empire-amliterature/
These two Native American creation stories are among thousands of accounts for the origins of the world. The Salinan and Cherokee, from what we now call California and the American southeast respectively, both exhibit the common Native American tendency to locate spiritual power in the natural world. For both Native Americans and Europeans, the collision of two continents challenged old ideas and created new ones as well.
Salinan Indian Creation Story
When the world was finished, there were as yet no people, but the Bald Eagle was the chief of the animals. He saw the world was incomplete and decided to make some human beings. So he took some clay and modeled the figure of a man and laid him on the ground. At first he was very small but grew rapidly until he reached normal size. But as yet he had no life; he was still asleep. Then the Bald Eagle stood and admired his work. “It is impossible,” said he, “that he should be left alone; he must have a mate.” So he pulled out a feather and laid it beside the sleeping man. Then he left them and went off a short distance, for he knew that a woman was being formed from the feather. But the man was still asleep and did not know what was happening. When the Bald Eagle decided that the woman was about completed, he returned, awoke the man by flapping his wings over him and flew away.
The man opened his eyes and stared at the woman. “What does this mean?” he asked. “I thought I was alone!” Then the Bald Eagle returned and said with a smile, “I see you have a mate! Have you had intercourse with her?” “No,” replied the man, for he and the woman knew nothing about each other. Then the Bald Eagle called to Coyote who happened to be going by and said to him, “Do you see that woman?” Try her first!” Coyote was quite willing and complied, but immediately afterwards lay down and died. The Bald Eagle went away and left Coyote dead, but presently returned and revived him. “How did it work?” said the Bald Eagle. “Pretty well, but it nearly kills a man!” replied Coyote. “Will you try it again?” said the Bald Eagle. Coyote agreed, and tried again, and this time survived. Then the Bald Eagle turned to the man and said, “She is all right now; you and she are to live together.”
Source: John Alden Mason, The Ethnology of the Salinan Indians (Berkeley: 1912), 191-192. Available through the Internet Archive
Cherokee Indian Creation Story
The earth is a great island floating in a sea of water, and suspended at each of the four cardinal points by a cord hanging down from the sky vault, which is of solid rock. When the world grows old and worn out, the people will die and the cords will break and let the earth sink down into the ocean, and all will be water again. The Indians are afraid of this.
When all was water, the animals were above in Gälûñ’lätï, beyond the arch; but it was very much crowded, and they were wanting more room. They wondered what was below the water, and at last Dâyuni’sï, “Beaver’s Grandchild,” the little Water-beetle, offered to go and see if it could learn. It darted in every direction over the surface of the water, but could find no firm place to rest. Then it dived to the bottom and came up with some soft mud, which began to grow and spread on every side until it became the island which we call the earth. It was afterward fastened to the sky with four cords, but no one remembers who did this.
At first the earth was flat and very soft and wet. The animals were anxious to get down, and sent out different birds to see if it was yet dry, but they found no place to alight and came back again to Gälûñ’lätï. At last it seemed to be time, and they sent out the Buzzard and told him to go and make ready for them. This was the Great Buzzard, the father of all the buzzards we see now. He flew all over the earth, low down near the ground, and it was still soft. When he reached the Cherokee country, he was very tired, and his wings began to flap and strike the ground, and wherever they struck the earth there was a valley, and where they turned up again there was a mountain. When the animals above saw this, they were afraid that the whole world would be mountains, so they called him back, but the Cherokee country remains full of mountains to this day.
When the earth was dry and the animals came down, it was still dark, so they got the sun and set it in a track to go every day across the island from east to west, just overhead. It was too hot this way, and Tsiska’gïlï’, the Red Crawfish, had his shell scorched a bright red, so that his meat was spoiled; and the Cherokee do not eat it. The conjurers put the sun another hand-breadth higher in the air, but it was still too hot. They raised it another time, and another, until it was seven handbreadths high and just under the sky arch. Then it was right, and they left it so. This is why the conjurers call the highest place Gûlkwâ’gine Di’gälûñ’lätiyûñ’, “the seventh height,” because it is seven hand-breadths above the earth. Every day the sun goes along under this arch, and returns at night on the upper side to the starting place.
There is another world under this, and it is like ours in everything–animals, plants, and people–save that the seasons are different. The streams that come down from the mountains are the trails by which we reach this underworld, and the springs at their heads are the doorways by which we enter, it, but to do this one must fast and, go to water and have one of the underground people for a guide. We know that the seasons in the underworld are different from ours, because the water in the springs is always warmer in winter and cooler in summer than the outer air.
When the animals and plants were first made–we do not know by whom–they were told to watch and keep awake for seven nights, just as young men now fast and keep awake when they pray to their medicine. They tried to do this, and nearly all were awake through the first night, but the next night several dropped off to sleep, and the third night others were asleep, and then others, until, on the seventh night, of all the animals only the owl, the panther, and one or two more were still awake. To these were given the power to see and to go about in the dark, and to make prey of the birds and animals which must sleep at night. Of the trees only the cedar, the pine, the spruce, the holly, and the laurel were awake to the end, and to them it was given to be always green and to be greatest for medicine, but to the others it was said: “Because you have not endured to the end you shall lose your, hair every winter.”
Men came after the animals and plants. At first there were only a brother and sister until he struck her with a fish and told her to multiply, and so it was. In seven days a child was born to her, and thereafter every seven days another, and they increased very fast until there was danger that the world could not keep them. Then it was made that a woman should have only one child in a year, and it has been so ever since.
Source: W. Powell, Nineteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1897-1898, Part I (Washington: 1900), 239-240.
3. Colonial 1600-1829
Coming to America
The literary period of Colonial America, spanning from roughly 1600 to 1829, is marked by the development of literature in the English colonies established in North America. Religion played a central role in the lives of the early colonists, and religious literature was a dominant genre during the Colonial period. Puritan writers produced sermons, theological treatises, and devotional writings that emphasized themes of sin, salvation, divine providence, and the importance of leading a moral life.
Narratives depicted accounts of exploration and settlement, describing the challenges and hardships faced by early settlers and encounters with the Indigenous people. Cultural encounters, survival, and identity were other common themes to emerge from Colonial writers. Poetry and prose flourished in Colonial America, encompassing a wide range of styles, themes, and subjects. While much of the literature of this period was influenced by European literary traditions, Colonial writers also drew inspiration from their experiences in the New World, exploring themes such as nature, landscape, and the American wilderness.
Colonial America was home to a diverse population of settlers from different ethnic, religious, and cultural backgrounds. As a result, Colonial literature reflects the cultural diversity of the early American colonies, incorporating elements of English, Dutch, French, Spanish, African, and Native American literary traditions.
The Colonial period was also marked by political upheaval and debates over issues such as colonial governance, taxation, and independence from British rule. Political pamphlets and tracts were widely circulated, expressing various political viewpoints and advocating for colonial rights and liberties. Personal writings and public documents provided accounts of significant events, figures, and developments in the colonies, shaping early understandings of American history and identity.
Overall, the literary time of Colonial America from 1600 to 1829 laid the groundwork for the development of American literature, providing insights into the experiences, values, and aspirations of the early settlers who helped shape the course of American history.
Notable writers during this period that left a lasting impact on literature and culture include Anne Bradstreet, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Paine, Phillis Wheatley, Washington Irving, and James Fenimore Cooper.
Jonathan Edwards
Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758) was a preeminent theologian and philosopher in British American Puritanism, central to the Great Awakening religious revival, and a pioneer of the 19th-century Protestant missionary movement. Raised in a devout environment, he entered Yale College at 13 and became a pastor in Northampton, Massachusetts. Edwards is known for his deep introspection on divine sovereignty and predestination, contributing significantly to Christian philosophy. His works, including "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," played a critical role in shaping early American religious thought.
"Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" by Jonathan Edwards, Abridged Version
Sinners in the Hands of An Angry God, abridged version Jonathan Edwards There is no want of power in God to cast wicked men into hell at any moment. Men's hands cannot be strong when God rises up. The strongest have no power to resist him, nor can any deliver out of his hands So that it is not because God is unmindful of their wickedness, and does not resent it, that he does not let loose his hand and cut them off. God is not altogether such one as themselves, though they may imagine him to be so. The wrath of God burns against them, their damnation does not slumber; the pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive them; the flames do now rage and glow.
The glittering sword is whet and held over them, and the pit hath opened its mouth under them. So that, thus it is that natural men are held in the hand of God, over the pit of hell; they have deserved the fiery pit, and are already sentenced to it; and God is dreadfully provoked, his anger is as great towards them as to those that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least bound by any promise to hold them up one moment; the devil is waiting for them, hell is gaping for them, the flames gather and flash about them, and would fain lay hold on them, and swallow them up; the fire bent up in their hearts is struggling to break out: and they have no interest in any Mediator, there are no means within reach that can be any security to them. In short, they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of; all that preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will and uncovenanted, unobligated forbearance of an incensed God.
You probably are not sensible of this; you find you are kept out of hell, but do not see the hand of God in it; but look at other things, such as the good state of your bodily constitution, your care of your own life, and the means you use for your preservation. But indeed these things are nothing; if God should withdraw his hand, they would avail no more to keep you from falling, than the thin air to hold up a person that is suspended in it. Your wickedness makes you as it were heavy as lead, and to tend downwards with great weight and pressure towards hell; and if God should let you go, you would immediately sink and swiftly descend and plunge into the bottomless gulf, and your healthy constitution, and your care and prudence, and best contrivance, and all your righteousness, would have no more influence to uphold you and keep you out of hell than a spider's web would have to stop a fallen rock.
There are black clouds of God's wrath now hanging directly over your heads, full of the dreadful storm, and big with thunder; and were it not for the restraining hand of God, it would immediately burst forth upon you. The sovereign pleasure of God, for the present, stays his rough wind; otherwise, it would come with fury, and your destruction would come like a whirlwind, and you would be like the chaff of the summer threshing floor. The wrath of God is like great waters that are damned for the present; they increase more and more, and rise higher and higher, till an outlet is given; and the longer the stream is stopped, the more rapid and mighty is its course, when once it is let loose. It is true, that judgment against your evil works has not been executed hitherto; the floods of God's vengeance have been withheld; but your guilt in the meantime is constantly increasing, and you are every day treasuring up more wrath; the waters are constantly rising, and waxing more and more mighty; and there is nothing but the mere pleasure of God, that holds the waters back, that are unwilling to be stopped, and press hard to go forward. If God should only withdraw his hand from the flood-gate, it would immediately fly open, and the fiery floods of the fierceness and wrath of God would rush forth with inconceivable fury, and would come upon you with omnipotent power; and if your strength were ten thousand times greater than it is, yea, ten thousand times greater than the strength of the stoutest, sturdiest devil in hell, it would be nothing to withstand or endure it.
The bow of God's wrath is bent, and the arrow made ready on the string, and justice bends the arrow at your heart, and strains the bow, and it is nothing but the mere pleasure of God, and that of an angry God, without any promise or obligation at all, that keeps the arrow one moment from being made drunk with your blood. Thus all you that never passed under a great change of heart, by the mighty power of the Spirit of God upon your souls; all you that were never born again, and made new creatures, and raised from being dead in sin, to a state of new, and before altogether inexperienced light and life, are in the hands of an angry God. However, you may have reformed your life in many things, and may have had religious affections, and may keep up a form of religion in your families and closets, and in the house of God, it is nothing but his mere pleasure that keeps you from being this moment swallowed up in everlasting destruction. However unconvinced you may now be of the truth of what you hear, by and by you will be fully convinced of it. Those that are gone from being in the like circumstances with you, see that it was so with them; for destruction came suddenly upon most of them; when they expected nothing of it, and while they were saying Peace and safety: now they see, that those things on which they depended for peace and safety, were nothing but thin air and empty shadows.
The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like a fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince, and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment. It is to be ascribed to nothing else, that you did not go to hell the last night; that you suffered to awake again in this world after you closed your eyes to sleep. And there is no other reason to be given, why you have not dropped into hell since you arose in the morning, but that God's hand has held you up. There is no other reason to be given why you have not gone to hell, since you have sat here in the house of God, provoking his pure eyes by your sinful wicked manner of attending his solemn worship. Yea, there is nothing else that is to be given as a reason why you do not this very moment drop down into hell.
O sinner! Consider the fearful danger you are in: it is a great furnace of wrath, a wide and bottomless pit, full of the fire of wrath, that you are held over in the hand of that God, whose wrath is provoked and incensed as much against you, as against many of the damned in hell. You hang by a slender thread, with the flames of divine wrath flashing about it, and ready every moment to singe it, and burn it asunder; and you have no interest in any Mediator, and nothing to lay hold of to save yourself, nothing to keep off the flames of wrath, nothing of your own, nothing that you ever have done, nothing that you can do, to induce God to spare you one moment. And consider here more particularly, It is everlasting wrath. It would be dreadful to suffer this fierceness and wrath of Almighty God one moment, but you must suffer it to all eternity. There will be no end to this exquisite horrible misery. When you look forward, you shall see a long forever, a boundless duration before you, which will swallow up your thoughts, and amaze your soul; and you will absolutely despair of ever having any deliverance, any end, any mitigation, any rest at all. So, that your punishment will indeed be infinite. Oh, who can express what the state of a soul in such circumstances is! All that we can say about it, gives but a very feeble, faint representation of it; it is inexpressible and inconceivable: For "who knows the power of God's anger?" And now you have an extraordinary opportunity, a day wherein Christ has thrown the door of mercy wide open, and stands in calling and crying with a loud voice to poor sinners; a day wherein many are flocking to him, and pressing into the kingdom of God.
And you, children, who are unconverted, do not you know that you are going down to hell, to bear the dreadful wrath of that God, who is now angry with you every day and every night? Will you be content to be the children of the devil, when so many other children in the land are converted and become the holy and happy children of the King of kings? And let every one that is yet of Christ, and hanging over the pit of hell, whether they be old men and women, or middle-aged, or young people, or little children, now hearken to the loud calls of God's word and providence. "Haste and escape for your lives, look not behind you, escape to the mountain, lest you be consumed."
Anne Bradstreet
Anne Bradstreet (1612–1672) was the first notable American poet and the first woman to be published in Colonial America. Her work, often deeply personal and reflective, navigated the complexities of life as a Puritan woman, touching on themes of love, faith, and domesticity. Despite living in a male-dominated society, Bradstreet's voice emerged with eloquence and insight, earning her a place in American literary history. Her legacy continues to inspire as a pioneering figure for female writers in the New World.
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" by Anne Bradstreet (attached as PDF)
AnneBPhillisWPoetry_5XlfMdD.pdf (oercommons.s3.amazonaws.com)
Phyllis Wheatley
Phillis Wheatley Peters, born around 1753 in Gambia and brought to America as an enslaved child, emerged as the first African American woman to publish a book of poems. Educated by the Wheatley family, her literary talent flourished early, leading to the publication of her work in 1773 with endorsements from prominent figures. Wheatley's poetry, celebrated for its elegance and expression of religious and moral themes, played a pivotal role in challenging contemporary perceptions of African American intellect and capability. Despite her contributions, Wheatley faced hardships, including failed attempts to publish further and personal losses, leading to her death in 1784. Her legacy endures in scholarly study and institutional honors.
For more details, you can visit the full article on the National Women's History Museum's website here.
"On Being Brought from Africa to America" by Phyllis Wheatley (same PDF as Anne Bradstreet poem)
AnneBPhillisWPoetry_5XlfMdD.pdf (oercommons.s3.amazonaws.com)
Judith Sargent Murray
Judith Sargent Murray (1751-1820) was a significant figure in early American literature, an advocate for women's equality, and a proponent of women's education and the right to control their earnings. Her influential essay, "On the Equality of the Sexes," predates Mary Wollstonecraft's similar works. Facing financial difficulties and personal loss, including the death of her first husband, Murray's writings supported her family and contributed to the early discourse on women's rights. Her efforts laid foundational ideas for the education of women and the concept of "Republican Motherhood," advocating that educated women were essential to the nation's success.
For more detailed information, visit the full article at the National Women's History Museum here.
"Equality of the Sexes" by Judith Sargent Murray
(attached as PDF)
Anne Bradstreet, Judith Sargent Murray, Jonathan Edwards, and Phyllis Wheatley: authors are published under the public domain license.
Romantic, Gothic Literature 1820-1849
During this time, writers explored themes of individualism, nature, emotion, and the supernatural, while also grappling with the social and political issues of the day.
In the United States, Romanticism flourished during the 1820s, with writers celebrating the beauty of nature, the power of imagination, and the importance of individual freedom and expression. American Romantic literature often reflected the country's growing sense of national identity and explored themes of exploration, frontier life, and the American wilderness. To do this, authors tapped into folklore and mythology to explore history and identity. These writers also often rebelled against societal norms, expressing priority in individualism and their ideals.
The exploration and advancement of themes of passion, romantic idealism and love as a transcendent force that could overcome social barriers and conventions is a tenet of Romanticism. Writing featured descriptive and figurative writing meant to evoke strong and passionate emotions.
Authors that exemplified these literary styles that of Romanticism include: Washington Irving, James Fennimore Cooper, William Cullen Bryant, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Another trend in literature that evolved in the late 18th century and remained popular through the 1820s was Gothic literature. Hallmarks of Gothic literature include its dark, mysterious, settings, characters, and themes of madness, terror, and the supernatural.
Gothic literature relied heavily on mystery and suspense to engage readers, with writers often weaving complex and convoluted plots filled with unexpected twists and turns supported by the supernatural and fear of the unknown. Themes delved into the darker side of human nature and the workings of the brain including forbidden relationships, longing, obsessive behaviors, and psychological turmoil.
Authors that exemplify Gothic literature include Edgar Allen Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Charles Brockedn Brown.
Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) was an American writer known for his contributions to Romanticism and Gothic literature. His life was marked by tragedy, including the loss of his parents at a young age, struggles with financial instability, and the death of his wife, Virginia. These experiences influenced his macabre and often melancholic writing style.
Romanticism, a movement emphasizing emotion and individualism, is evident in Poe's celebration of the imaginative and the supernatural. His works often explore the complexities of the human mind and emotions, aligning with Romantic ideals of exploring the self and the transcendent.
Poe's Gothic literature, characterized by its use of horror, decay, and the grotesque, is exemplified in stories like "The Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Fall of the House of Usher." These works showcase his mastery of creating tension and psychological depth, making him a central figure in both Romantic and Gothic literary traditions.
"The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
"The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe
True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers — of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out — “Who’s there?”
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; — just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief — oh, no! — it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself — “It is nothing but the wind in the chimney — it is only a mouse crossing the floor,” or “it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes, he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel — although he neither saw nor heard — to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until, at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? — now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The old man’s hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all — ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o ‘clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: — it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness — until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.
No doubt I now grew very pale; — but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men — but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no! They heard! — they suspected! — they knew! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again! — hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! —
“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! — here, here! — it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
Edgar Allan Poe: author is published under the public domain license.
Transcendentalism 1830-1865
Transcendentalism (1830-1865)
“True American Voice Emerges”
Transcendentalism was a literary, philosophical, and cultural movement that emerged in the United States during the mid-19th century, roughly 1830-1860. It was born out of New England and was heavily influenced by Romanticism and European philosophers, such as Immanual Kant and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe of Germany.
The notion of rugged individualism as an American value grew from this movement due to the emphasis on individualism, self-reliance, non-conformity, and dissent Transcendentalists encouraged individuals to trust their instincts and judgments, rather than conforming to societal expectations and external authorities. They were often critical of organized religion, government, and social hierarchy. Instead, they sought solace in nature and incorporated elements of spirituality and mysticism in favor of direct, personal experience with the divine. They believed nature as a source of spiritual insight, often advocating for a return to nature as a means of finding spiritual fulfillment and connection. Social movements they were actively involved with included education reform, women’s rights, and abolitionism.
Prominent writers of the time include Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, Frederick Douglass, and Walt Whitman.
Author Biography: Nathanial Hawthorne
Nathaniel Hawthorne was an American novelist and short story writer. He was born in 1804 in Salem, Massachusetts. His ancestors include John Hathorne, the only judge involved in the Salem witch trials who never repented of his actions. He graduated from Bowdoin College in 1825. He worked at the Boston Custom House and joined Brook Farm, a transcendentalist community, before marrying Sophia Peabody in 1842.
Much of Hawthorne’s writing centres on New England, with many of his works featuring moral metaphors with an anti-Puritan inspiration. His themes often centre on the inherent evil and sin of humanity, and his works often have moral messages and deep psychological complexity. Hawthorne’s works belong to Romanticism or, more specifically, Dark Romanticism, cautionary tales that suggest that guilt, sin, and evil are the most inherent natural qualities of humanity. Many of his works are inspired by Puritan New England, combining historical romance loaded with symbolism and deep psychological themes, bordering on surrealism. His depictions of the past are a version of historical fiction used only as a vehicle to express common themes of ancestral sin, guilt, and retribution. His later writings also reflect his negative view of the transcendentalism movement.
Hawthorne was predominantly a short story writer in his early career. Upon publishing the collection Twice-Told Tales, however, he noted, “I do not think much of them,” and he expected little response from the public. His four major novels were written between 1850 and 1860: The Scarlet Letter (1850), The House of the Seven Gables (1851), The Blithedale Romance (1852), and The Marble Faun: Or, The Romance of Monte Beni (1860).
Hawthorne died on May 19, 1864, and was survived by his wife and their three children.
The Scarlet Letter. 1850. Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Project Gutenburg. Author work also found in the public domain.
Introduction: 1865-Present
Introduction: 1865-Present
Realism 1865-1910
Realism - 1865-1910, Post Civil War
Realism as a literary movement emerged in the mid-19th century as a reaction against the highly stylized and idealized art of Romanticism, aiming to depict everyday activities and experiences as they are. This period, particularly from 1865 to 1910, was marked by significant socio-economic changes that influenced the development of Realism in literature.
The end of the American Civil War in 1865 marked the beginning of Reconstruction in the United States, a period of significant social and political upheaval. In Europe and the Americas, the industrial revolution was transforming societies, shifting populations from rural to urban areas, and creating new social classes and tensions. This era also saw the expansion of empires, colonization, and the early stages of globalization, as well as scientific advancements and increasing secularism challenging traditional beliefs and structures.
Realist writers sought to portray life with a new level of accuracy and detail, focusing on ordinary people and everyday situations. They delved into the complexities of human behavior and societal issues, often highlighting the struggles of the middle and lower classes. This movement was a shift away from the emphasis on emotion and individual heroism of the Romantic era, towards a focus on society and the conditions of life for its members.
Authors that exemplify the Realism movement of offering insight into American society and culture during a time of profound change and transformation include Mark Twain, Henry James, Edith Warton, Kate Chopin, Stephen Crane, Willa Cather, and Ambrose Bierce.
Modernism 1910-1945
Modernism is the literary period that roughly spans 1910-1945. This period of significant experimentation, innovation, and upheaval in literature, was marked by a break from traditional writing and social forms and conventions. Modernist writers sought to capture the complexities and uncertainties of the modern world, exploring themes of alienation, fragmentation, identity, and the search for meaning in a rapidly changing society.
Modernist literature reflects experimentation with style, form, and type of writing such as different narrative structures, language, and style use, such as non-linear storytelling, stream of consciousness, and fragmented narratives. Realism and transcendental writers wrote through a more objective lens while writers during the modernism movement took up the subjective and symbolic perspectives of the reality of the characters they created. Writers turned inward and explored the inner lives of characters, the subconscious mind, and the complexities of human perception, memory, and identity.
Modernist writers experienced great changes in the early 20th century including World War I, the Industrial Revolution, urbanization, the fight for Women’s Rights (that is still going on today), and other social changes. Because of these major societal changes, many works of Modernist literature reflect existential angst, alienation, and disillusionment. Symbolism, allegory, and allusion are literary conventions used to convey deeper meaning and themes. Symbols and motifs were commonly used to explore complex ideas and evoke emotional responses from readers.
Popular Modernist authors include James Joyce, T.S. Elliot, Virginia Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and Katherine Mansfield.
Contemporary 1946-present
The literary time of contemporary writing spans from 1946 to the present day and encompasses a diverse array of styles, themes, and voices. Writers during this time have played a significant role in pushing the boundaries of literary expression, challenging norms, and exploring alternative perspectives as it relates to reality, identity, and society. It reflects the ever-evolving nature of literature and the dynamic cultural, social, and technological changes that have shaped the world since the end of World War II.
Contemporary literature embraces diversity and inclusivity, featuring voices from a range of backgrounds, cultures, and perspectives. Many modern works transcend national boundaries exploring migration and cultural exchange themes while engaging with global issues and perspectives. Writers delve into the intersectionality of identity, examining how race, gender, class, sexuality, and other factors which shape individual lives and perspectives.
This leads authors to grapple with pressing social and political issues of the day, including social justice, human rights, technology, and the impacts of globalization. Writers use their platforms to raise awareness, provoke thought, and inspire change. Some popular writers have even fallen out of public favor due to limited personal beliefs that they have shared publicly about identity, gender, and human rights.
Not only have contemporary writers taken up the topic of technology and how our human experience is impacted by technology, but writers also experiment with new technology to reach audiences in new ways. They’ve experimented with form and structure, incorporating multimedia, hybrid genres, and interactive storytelling. Digital technology has opened up new possibilities for storytelling, allowing writers to explore innovative ways of engaging with readers.
Contemporary American literature resonates with readers today by offering insights into the human experience, sparking dialogue on pressing issues, and providing a mirror to society’s triumphs, challenges, and aspirations.
Popular Contemporary authors include Arthur Miller, Ralph Ellison, Toni Morrison, Kurt Vonnegut, Don DiLillo, Jesmyn Ward, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
Alice Walker © Virginia DeBolt is licensed under a CC BY-SA (Attribution ShareAlike) license