Department Of English

Department Of English ' I woke up that day entered that lane and turned insane'

23/11/2025

“I don't believe in the kind of magic in my books. But I do believe something very magical can happen when you read a good book.” ― J.K. Rowling

22/11/2025

15/11/2025
The Scarlet Letter Full Book SummaryFull Book SummaryThe Scarlet Letter opens with a long preamble about how the book ca...
09/11/2025

The Scarlet Letter Full Book Summary
Full Book Summary

The Scarlet Letter opens with a long preamble about how the book came to be written. The nameless narrator was the surveyor of the customhouse in Salem, Massachusetts. In the customhouse’s attic, he discovered a number of documents, among them a manuscript that was bundled with a scarlet, gold-embroidered patch of cloth in the shape of an “A.” The manuscript, the work of a past surveyor, detailed events that occurred some two hundred years before the narrator’s time. When the narrator lost his customs post, he decided to write a fictional account of the events recorded in the manuscript. The Scarlet Letter is the final product.

The story begins in seventeenth-century Boston, then a Puritan settlement. A young woman, Hester Prynne, is led from the town prison with her infant daughter, Pearl, in her arms and the scarlet letter “A” on her breast. A man in the crowd tells an elderly onlooker that Hester is being punished for adultery. Hester’s husband, a scholar much older than she is, sent her ahead to America, but he never arrived in Boston. The consensus is that he has been lost at sea. While waiting for her husband, Hester has apparently had an affair, as she has given birth to a child. She will not reveal her lover’s identity, however, and the scarlet letter, along with her public shaming, is her punishment for her sin and her secrecy. On this day Hester is led to the town scaffold and harangued by the town fathers, but she again refuses to identify her child’s father.

The elderly onlooker is Hester’s missing husband, who is now practicing medicine and calling himself Roger Chillingworth. He settles in Boston, intent on revenge. He reveals his true identity to no one but Hester, whom he has sworn to secrecy. Several years pass. Hester supports herself by working as a seamstress, and Pearl grows into a willful, impish child. Shunned by the community, they live in a small cottage on the outskirts of Boston. Community officials attempt to take Pearl away from Hester, but, with the help of Arthur Dimmesdale, a young and eloquent minister, the mother and daughter manage to stay together. Dimmesdale, however, appears to be wasting away and suffers from mysterious heart trouble, seemingly caused by psychological distress. Chillingworth attaches himself to the ailing minister and eventually moves in with him so that he can provide his patient with round-the-clock care. Chillingworth also suspects that there may be a connection between the minister’s torments and Hester’s secret, and he begins to test Dimmesdale to see what he can learn. One afternoon, while the minister sleeps, Chillingworth discovers a mark on the man’s breast (the details of which are kept from the reader), which convinces him that his suspicions are correct.

Dimmesdale’s psychological anguish deepens, and he invents new tortures for himself. In the meantime, Hester’s charitable deeds and quiet humility have earned her a reprieve from the scorn of the community. One night, when Pearl is about seven years old, she and her mother are returning home from a visit to a deathbed when they encounter Dimmesdale atop the town scaffold, trying to punish himself for his sins. Hester and Pearl join him, and the three link hands. Dimmesdale refuses Pearl’s request that he acknowledge her publicly the next day, and a meteor marks a dull red “A” in the night sky. Hester can see that the minister’s condition is worsening, and she resolves to intervene. She goes to Chillingworth and asks him to stop adding to Dimmesdale’s self-torment. Chillingworth refuses.

Hester arranges an encounter with Dimmesdale in the forest because she is aware that Chillingworth has probably guessed that she plans to reveal his identity to Dimmesdale. The former lovers decide to flee to Europe, where they can live with Pearl as a family. They will take a ship sailing from Boston in four days. Both feel a sense of release, and Hester removes her scarlet letter and lets down her hair. Pearl, playing nearby, does not recognize her mother without the letter. The day before the ship is to sail, the townspeople gather for a holiday and Dimmesdale preaches his most eloquent sermon ever. Meanwhile, Hester has learned that Chillingworth knows of their plan and has booked passage on the same ship. Dimmesdale, leaving the church after his sermon, sees Hester and Pearl standing before the town scaffold. He impulsively mounts the scaffold with his lover and his daughter, and confesses publicly, exposing a scarlet letter seared into the flesh of his chest. He falls dead, as Pearl kisses him.

Frustrated in his revenge, Chillingworth dies a year later. Hester and Pearl leave Boston, and no one knows what has happened to them. Many years later, Hester returns alone, still wearing the scarlet letter, to live in her old cottage and resume her charitable work. She receives occasional letters from Pearl, who has married a European aristocrat and established a family of her own. When Hester dies, she is buried next to Dimmesdale. The two share a single tombstone, which bears a scarlet “A.”

 W.B
08/11/2025

W.B

With mere touch of AI, everyone becomes writer..~164
08/11/2025

With mere touch of AI, everyone becomes writer..
~164

I don’t mean to move too fastbut I couldn’t sleep last nightbecause I don’t know your middle nameor how you take your co...
01/08/2025

I don’t mean to move too fast

but I couldn’t sleep last night

because I don’t know your middle name

or how you take your coffee

and for some reason there’s nothing in the world

I would like to know more except maybe

how your hair looks when it’s messy in the morning

and what makes you laugh until you cry

or what makes you laugh when you’re crying

either or both or all of those facts would be just fine

and I know we only just met and I don’t mean to move too fast

but I couldn’t focus this morning

because I need to know your preference and

take out food and the dreams you’d never say out loud

but secretly wish to come true

and if I were to buy you flowers

would you want them to be blue

and I know we only just met and I don’t mean to move too fast

but suddenly your voice is in my head playing on repeat

and I’ll probably never say this out loud

and I should probably get some sleep

but everything that’s significant to you

is significant to me

and I don’t mean to move too fast

but I would trade spots with Atlas

to hold up the world in hopes that you find joy

is more than worth an eternity of weight

at least then I would know your world is safe

and if I were Atlas then I would spend eternity

with a smile on my face and joy in my heart

and I know we only just met

but I wouldn’t trade this for the world

but I want you to soar through the heavens

like the wingéd Icarus before you

and although I couldn’t save him

I will save you

~ Daniel Garrison

Let the boy try along this bayonet-bladeHow cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;Blue with all malice, like a ma...
05/04/2025

Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;
And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.

Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads,
Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,
Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth
Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.

For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
And God will grow no talons at his heels,
Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.

Arms and the Boy

By Wilfred Owen (Own portrait)

Move him into the sun—Gently its touch awoke him once,At home, whispering of fields half-sown.Always it woke him, even i...
05/04/2025

Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?

Futility

By Wilfred Owen

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