As a child in the age of hyper-information, I am usually introduced to concepts in their rawest form possible. Concepts simplified so that they can slip elegantly into my understanding like the union of shuttle and station in 2001: A Space Odyssey, accompanied by the lilting notes of the Blue Danube [1]. Digesting Nathaniel Hawthorne's ultra-dense Scarlet Letter, then, seemed more appropriate than a surgeon's retrieval of his Rolex from the open chest cavity of a hapless patient, perhaps a score of pounding, rapid-fire baroque fugues and more levels. Yes, the ideas and connections were there, they were fascinating and beautifully orchestrated. But I often got headaches as I worked through the mounds of flowery language and dated syntax under which they were buried so deeply, and I often found myself making estimates about the number of Word-a-Day calendars Hawthorne must have owned [2] . It's tragic, though, really, because it's not Hawthorne's fault that his novel has become the bane of the existence of so many English high school students. Times have changed, and with them attention spans have decreased, and many systems for extracting and condensing information have been developed to accommodate them. Just as a surgeon presented the possibility of recovering his lost wristwatch, A) from a hinged jewelry case, or from B) the innards of a living human being would most likely tick the box marked "A" with much gusto and not so much rumination, a student with the option to avoid the pain of actually reading Hawthorn's masterpiece, choosing instead to receive the novel's concepts in the form of easy-to-digest Sparknotes tidbits, would probably do so [3]. The subject of the novel has all... half of paper......f demands [12] and my ability to act accordingly and endure much lesser consequences. But the oppression is still there. However, the positive aspects also remain. The prolific nature of the American university system can be attributed largely to the Puritans' value of knowledge and education. Reading The Scarlet Letter was hard work. But it never seemed frivolous. The themes have become less innovative and weighty but still relevant, and the writing style has been significantly dulled by time, but not to the point of being impenetrable. If nothing else, it expanded my mental lexicon and gave me a new understanding of why anyone would ever be forced to engage in such a torturous activity as running a marathon. I felt, at the novel's conclusion, a euphoria of relief similar to that described by sweat-drenched long-distance runners. And on top of that I lost 20 kilos.