So, The Crucible. If you can get past the fact that all the married women are referred to as “Goody” instead of “Mrs.” (Goody Ann, Goody Proctor) and that “blink” seems to be the way to say “forget” (“I cannot blink what I saw, Abigail, for my enemies will not blink it,” Miller, p9), then you’re halfway through enjoying The Crucible.
In a play detailing the events of the Salem witch trials, this is a lot less American Horror Story Coven and a lot more Twilight Zone with an uncomfortable amount of reality thrown in there. I’m sure you read it in high school (or didn’t), but Arthur Miller (of Death of a Salesman acclaim) delivers a chillingly powerful account of what happens when people let their lies and jealousies get away with them.
With each terrifying scene that unfolds, I became more and more astounded at the lengths people were willing to go to in order to get what they wanted, even at the sake of others. It made it that much more despicable that these people hanged one citizen after another under holy pretenses. A quick read, but prepare to be depressed at how likely this could happen in real life (for a real life spin on the play, check out my previous review on The Sisterhood of Night).
Featured photo: ttbyl.net