Oh, Poe

When a new biography of Edgar Poe comes out it gets right onto my to-be-read list, so I suppose it's some measure of how far behind I am that I am only now reading James M. Hutchisson's 2005 book, Poe. If you've been waiting all this time for my opinion I'm sorry. I'll try to read faster in the future.


Hutchisson's is the third major biography of the writer to come out in the last twenty years. Kenneth Silverman's Edgar A. Poe: Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance and Jeffrey Meyers' Edgar Allan Poe: His Life and Legacy were both excellent books. Silverman's study has been described as psychological, focusing on the mind of the man. Meyers looked more closely at Poe's writing and used it to illuminate events in his life. I wondered, what would Hutchisson bring that hadn't been covered before?


The answer, it seems, is his own point of view and interpretation of Poe's work. It makes for a pretty good read. Hutchisson's opinions are interesting, thought provoking, and occasionally frustrating.


An example would be his interpretation of what he sees as sexual imagery in “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” The fact that the narrator is excited by Dupin's imagination and the fact that they walk arm in arm is, we are told, Poe's signals that they are desirous of a “homosexual fling.” Similarly, the murdered women, who sleep in the same bed (not at all uncommon in the nineteenth century), are named L'Espanayes, which sounds a bit like “lesbians.” And their gate is “forcibly penetrated” by a man with a crowbar. Poe, it seems was giving his work sexual overtones that the common reader might miss.


I'm sorry, but . . . phooey. A twenty-first century scholar may see these things, but that's only because he is living in our post-Freudian world. To think that Poe deliberately intended this symbolic interpretation is almost as absurd as Marie Bonaparte's Freudian psychoanalysis of Poe by reading such symbolism as being unintended revelations.


There are a few other annoyances. Poe, we are told, was not a racist. I'm not sure what definition of racist is being employed here, but Poe definitely supported the institution of slavery based on the notion that black men were inferior. He was probably no more of a racist than the average slavery-supporting antebellum southerner. But as a man who had once helped a relative sell a slave (a fact not mentioned in this book) and a man who objected to northern writers partly because many of them were abolitionists, he was certainly no less of a racist.


And I may be nit-picking here, but I was disappointed when James Russell Lowell's famous description of Poe as “Three-fifths of him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge” was misquoted with the wrong fractions. Not the worst mistake in the world, but since he gets the quote right only 76 pages earlier it does suggest the need for a bit of copy editing.


It sounds like I'm coming down a bit hard on this book.  In don't want to leave the impression that it isn't quite readable and interesting. Nonetheless, if you are looking for a biography of Edgar A. Poe, pick up the Silverman and the Meyers first.

Ho Ho Poe

Last week my best beloved and I took in a lecture at the Boston Public Library. The subject was Edgar A. Poe and humor. A natural enough subject, Poe being so well known as America's literary funnyman. No? Come on, wasn't “Masque of the Red Death” a million laughs? “The Pit and the Pendulum,” surely that was worth a giggle? “Annabel Lee,” “The Raven,” “Berenice;” what's funnier than the death of a beautiful young woman right? Who's with me?

Okay, I know, Poe isn't seen as the most cheerful of our great writers. But his tales of the grotesque were only a small fraction of his work. He certainly had his funny side.

The lecture, held in the library's beautiful Abbey Room, was called “What's So Funny About Edgar Allan Poe.” It was presented by two gentlemen: Professor Paul Lewis of Boston College, who is the curator of the library's current Poe exhibit, and Robert Mankoff, the cartoon editor of The New Yorker. Prof. Lewis began with props, including an Edgar Poe finger puppet, bobble-head doll, and everyone's favorite, the Edgar A. Poe action figure (I have two, one for home, one for work). He noted that on the back of the blister card that the doll comes in it lists Poe's weapon of choice as “morbid rumination.” The professor dramatized a confrontation that might occur between Poe and The Incredible Hulk, using action figures. Hulk, of course, seethed with rage, and was on the verge of smashing, while Poe ruminated morbidly. Hulk never stood a chance.

After that the talk settled down a bit. Most people think of Poe as being a writer of the macabre but in his own day he was far better known as a brilliant if vicious literary critic. Poe used humor when attacking, as in his frequent shots at Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, or when counter-punching, at which he was a master. He used humor to great effect in his tales as well, notably in “The Cask of Amontillado,” when Fortunato asks Montresor if he is a Mason. Montresor replies in the affirmative and produces a trowel from under his cloak. Now that's funny stuff right there. It was quite a good talk, interesting and very amusing.

Mr. Mankoff spoke on humor in general. As a cartoonist and cartoon editor he has obviously given the subject a great deal of thought. He spoke about the science of the subject, of what humor means in primate and human relations, and how it has changed through history. He touched on how humor is related to fear but also on how humor requires distance, a temporary stilling of compassion. Humor is funny when it is about the other guy. He reminded us of the fad of “dead baby” jokes (PDF) back in the late 70s. The kids who laughed then would not even be thinking of such humor now, years later, while they wait in the maternity ward. An interesting point. His talk was illustrated, of course, with cartoons, pictures, short film clips, and even the occasional graph. It was a howl while being thoughtful and stimulating.

During the question time most people were asking about humor in general or about contemporary humor. I wanted to know about what Prof. Lewis, who had earlier stated that he liked political humor best if he agreed with the humorist's point of view, thought of “Some Words with a Mummy,” one of Poe's attempts at an outright funny story. The reanimated mummy title, Count Allamistakeo (funny name, huh?), reflects Poe's disdain for democracy. The professor explained to the crowd that it was one of Poe's more obscure stories and that it wasn't one of his favorites. As a Poe geek he can't help but like it a bit, but he felt that the piece was more typical of its time then of the writer. That was a point I hadn't thought of, but it makes sense when viewing it in context with Poe's other work. He also said that it showed that when Poe was trying to use humor to advocate for his beliefs he was less successful. That is certainly true. Mr. Mankoff pointed out that humor that is didactic in purpose often fails.

Later I though of another question that I would have liked to have asked. I wonder what the professor thinks of Poe's inability to take a joke directed at himself. I recall the offense he took at James Russell Lowell's little jibe about him, a spot of doggerel – “Here comes Poe with his raven like Barnaby Rudge, / Three fifths of him genius, two fifths sheer fudge.” I really don't see why Poe was upset. Edgar was a well known hoaxer and proud of it (another example of humor the professor discussed). He was two fifths fudge. I'd be happy to have someone like Lowell call me three fifths genius. Poe could dish it out, but he didn't like to take it.

I think that most of Poe's humor is either badly dated or terribly heavy-handed, but there are some lovely exceptions. In “A Predicament” he satirizes the sort of story that he has become best known for:

But now a new horror presented itself, and one indeed sufficient to startle the strongest nerves. My eyes, from the cruel pressure of the machine, were absolutely starting from their sockets. While I was thinking how I should possibly manage without them, one actually tumbled out of my head, and, rolling down the steep side of the steeple, lodged in the rain gutter which ran along the eaves of the main building. The loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent air of independence and contempt with which it regarded me after it was out. There it lay in the gutter just under my nose, and the airs it gave itself would have been ridiculous had they not been disgusting. Such a winking and blinking were never before seen. This behavior on the part of my eye in the gutter was not only irritating on account of its manifest insolence and shameful ingratitude, but was also exceedingly inconvenient on account of the sympathy which always exists between two eyes of the same head, however far apart. I was forced, in a manner, to wink and to blink, whether I would or not, in exact concert with the scoundrelly thing that lay just under my nose. I was presently relieved, however, by the dropping out of the other eye. In falling it took the same direction (possibly a concerted plot) as its fellow. Both rolled out of the gutter together, and in truth I was very glad to get rid of them.

How an eye can wink and blink after it has fled the body is something that should not be contemplated for too long.

“Never Bet the Devil Your Head” is good for a laugh, even if the title does give away the eventual fate of poor Mr. Toby Dammit. “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Feather” is pretty funny, in a twisted way of course. And I've always been fond of “The Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq.” which tells of the glittering career of the eponymous Bob, who wrote a celebrated ode to a tonsorial preparation called “Oil-of-Bob.”

Yes, a million laughs is our dear Eddie. You can have your Mark Twain, your Ambrose Bierce, or even your Abraham Lincoln. I'll stick with that old rib tickler, Mr. Poe.