November.

I have a soft spot for this month since it’s my birth month, but I can’t say that good things ever happen to me in November. I’m not sure why that is. Perhaps emotions and tensions are heightened, expectations become too high. It’s all Murphy’s Law at the end of the day.

But I like the way it sounds, the way the word rolls off the tongue. There’s something mysterious and elusive about it. For some habitual reason, November makes me think of the Salem Witch Trials and with it, today’s recommendation, Nathanial Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.

My fondest year of high school was my freshman year, where everything was new and shiny to my thirteen to fourteen-year-old self. I had an English honors teacher who was pretty relaxed, which is probably how I prefer teachers anyway. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve disliked a class or teacher just because they played favorites a little too obviously. It sucks even more when you’re not one of the favorites.

But this teacher was chill, a bit detached, and I liked it that way. He had us watch The Crucible play for extra credit, a production that was being held at the school theater. I went with a friend of mine and would not be disappointed. I was enchanted by the acting, all the effort that went into executing a play. It was also incredibly fascinating to realize that these actors were just regular people who walked the same halls I did. Yet here they were, stars in their own right.

I must admit, I am not recommending this book because of the way it’s written. The paragraphs are long, and could easily put you to sleep. But the story is what’s captivating. Elements of adultery, sin, secrets, and betrayal, make this story worth remembering. I’m also a sucker for symbolism and the color red, and everything about this book screams those two things in the best way possible: subtle, underlying tones everywhere.

As I get older, I try my best not to associate good literature with the likes of high school. It’s juvenile and has embedded sentiments of the past, which perhaps isn’t healthy for anyone. I have a friend who constantly brings up high school any chance she can get and suffice to say, it confuses me. Are great works of literature only meant for high school? That’d be a bit sad and frankly, quite limiting.

It just also occurred to me that the reason why The Scarlet Letter makes me think of November is because it was written by a guy named Nathanial. Alliteration, anyone?

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