The Blithedale Romance

The Blithedale Romance is proof that an author can begin with an assortment of characters and flowery sentiments swirling in his head, string them together in a semblance of cohesion, and be crowned with "classic" status. From beginning to ridiculous end, this hodgepodge of thoughts, while beautifully written, desperately lacks unity. Ironically, if there is one thought that remains constant throughout the entire novel, it is a theme of deception, secrecy, double lives, and ulterior motives. Every character in the story, no matter how prominent their role, distorts the truth as they see fit in order to manipulate their life and the lives of those around them. These lies are so skillfully woven into the characters' interaction that this theme is not immediately apparent, but it is there nonetheless, as a simple examination of the individual characters reveals.

Zenobia exemplifies this perfectly. Her appearance, "physical and otherwise," is a carefully calculated mask. This becomes apparent without looking any farther than the pseudonym by which she is known (her real name is never revealed). She obsesses about how she is perceived, to the point where she is concerned with appearances even in death; Miles observes that Zenobia was "not quite simple in her death. She had seen pictures...of drowned persons, in lithe and graceful attitudes. And she deemed it well and decorous to die as so many village-maidens have, wronged in their first-love, and seeking peace in the bosom of the old, familiar stream...has not the world come to an awfully sophisticated pass, when, after a certain degree of acquaintance with it, we cannot even put ourselves to death in whole-hearted simplicity?" Assuming that Miles' estimate is accurate--and given what has been revealed of Zenobia's character, there is no reason to believe that it is not--she cared so much about her carefully groomed image that it factored into her suicide method. It is very telling that she would choose drowning, which is a relatively painful way to die, over a faster or less painful death, merely because of the romance of old pictures and stories.

Priscilla, for her part, lives in a fantasy world, as if pretending that her past never existed can make it so. Though not mean-spirited and arguably the most sympathetic character in the story, she is not exempt from the recurring theme of deceit. Life has treated her harshly, so she re-creates it, attaching herself to anyone or anything that will give her a taste of the security she craves. Interestingly, by doing so, she deceives herself more than anyone else. When she becomes fixated on Zenobia, for example, she somehow convinces herself that her enamored feelings for her idol are mutual, despite clear signs to the contrary. Over the course of the story, Priscilla proves herself to be surprisingly perceptive. Why, then, does she so deliberately ignore Zenobia's annoyance? It is safe to assume that she has become so adept at adjusting her perception of reality that it is natural for her to carry it into her relationship with Zenobia. Priscilla deceives the others to some extent, but in keeping with her character, she takes the brunt of it herself.

Hollingsworth's motives for deceit are darker than those of the other characters. He methodically manipulates his neighbors according to his own purposes--convincing Miles that they are friends in order to gain his alliance, winning Zenobia's heart only to break it later and drive her to suicide, and indulging Priscilla's lonely fantasies. He and Westervelt both use other characters as they see fit, but where Westervelt's exploitation of the Veiled Lady is presumably driven by greed alone, Hollingsworth often seems to deceive purely because he has the ability. He also never shows remorse for his actions, even after Zenobia's death.

Moodie deserts his wife and daughter to escape his marriage after realizing that he was attracted to his wife for purely superficial reasons. After starting a new life and fathering Priscilla, he allows his old family to believe he is dead. He goes on to paint an unrealistically beautiful picture of his former life and of Zenobia in the stories he tells Priscilla, planting the seed that will become her obsession with seeing things as more beautiful than they really are. He stalks his daughters, watching them from a distance and casually asking others about them.

Miles, for all his complaints about the dishonesty of his fellow communists, hides what is, by his own admission, "essential to the full understanding of [his] story," from both the other characters and from his readers. He confesses that he has "concealed it all along, and never meant to let the least whisper of it escape," but is finally compelled to admit--on the last line of the book, no less--that he has been in love with Priscilla all along. The validity of this belated confession is called into question by both his lack of unusual affection for Priscilla and his flair for the dramatic. Being a self-described poet and romantic, it is not hard to imagine him tweaking his story here and there, either to satisfy his natural appetite for the poetic or to fulfill contractual obligations. Indeed, he says that his pen "has perhaps allowed itself a trifle of romantic and legendary license, worthier of a small poet than of a grave biographer." Though it is far easier to forgive Miles' romantic exaggeration than Hollingsworth's malicious manipulation, it is still a brand of deception.

Priscilla's appropriately-named alter ego, the Veiled Lady, deserves her own analysis. Though she plays a minor part in the story itself, she is an apt symbol, as veils--while beautiful--are created to conceal. This subtly reinforces the continuing theme of concealment, deception, and other distortions of the truth. She appears on a semi-regular basis throughout the course of the book, even appearing in the opening scene and in Zenobia's story. The existence of the Veiled Lady reflects more deceit on Priscilla's part, since she keeps her separate identity a complete secret. Not only does she not volunteer the information, but she also remains silent when the subject arises on its own. ),
(Despite its shortcomings, The Blithedale Romance remains a skillfully-written story that deserves to be carefully read and examined. Nathaniel Hawthorne may have written the most unromantic romance of his time, but it is an intriguing picture with compelling characters. It is also to his credit that he maintained at least one constant throughout the entire novel--even if that constant is only a thread of deceit.