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Tuesday, September 17, 2013

"Young Goodman Brown" and A Backyard

John Watson

Blog #2, Option 4

            The forest in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Young Goodman Brown” remind me of when I used to be afraid of the backyard of my parent’s home when is was very little. I was not afraid of the backyard during the day because the sun was out and the fact that I could see what was in front of me rather than walking into one of the trees or the fence. At night, however, was a different story because it was difficult to see at night and the fact that my dog’s eyes looked like the eyes of a demon dog when light reflected his eyes helped to freak me out when I was younger. I am not entirely sure as to why I was afraid of the backyard but it may have been because my friends kept scaring me at school at night as well as having heard ghost stories. My imagination could have taken over an eight-year-old kid’s rationality, as if an eight boy has the capacity to be rational at all but still it was unpleasant.

            The sound of the wind described in the forest in “Young Goodman Brown” as well as the dark leafless tree tends to make some people nervous and let their emotions take over them. Rustling sounds coming from trees and bushes only further this state of anxiety. When I was younger, I always stayed close to the light near the door facing the backyard when I went outside at night because I felt more secure and safer instead of wandering off in the dark. Another reason why I did like the backyard was because I thought the some sort of creature would jump of the bushes and eat me. Looking back on how I felt about the backyard when I was younger and the forest in “Young Goodman Brown,” I believe that the overactive imagination of a child, and even a young adult, people can convince themselves that demons or monsters lurk within the land simply because that person may have heard such stories from other people and they slowly give in to their fears.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. “Young Goodman Brown.” American Gothic Tales. Ed. Joyce Carol Oates. New York: The Penguin Group. 52-64. Print.

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