4.5 stars, rounding up to 5. It would have been unreservedly 5 if this very fine novel hadn't been diluted by the inclusion of Hawthorne's "The Custom-House", an introductory and far-too-lengthy sketch of unsurpassed dullness. But the novel itself, shorn of its horrible stodgy predecessor, is outstanding. Claustrophobic and painful and an almost transformative read, because - for modern readers, at least - I think the initial reaction to Arthur Dimmesdale is very often an angry sort of contempt. It certainly is for me, anyway, and it's true that the man's an absolute coward. As the book goes on, however, it's equally plain that he's aware of his cowardice; both terrified and ashamed of it. I found myself - while not losing one tiny bit of sympathy for Hester - identifying more with the judgemental Puritans than I would have liked. And that's where the genius of this book lies, I think - it makes you think of Dimmesdale as the Puritans think of Hester, and then it makes you realise how wrong they were (and by extension how wrong you are) to judge so very harshly. The Scarlet Letter doesn't excuse Dimmesdale for his cowardice and disloyalty, but it doesn't make these the whole of his character either, and forces you to acknowledge suffering as well as guilt. The whole effect is genuinely astonishing.