Poe Short Story Discussion Group

[Quark]

It's good to see the Poe thread still going. Is this the second story you've done, or did you do another besides this and Legeia?

I might try to take part in the next discussion. Any idea what the next story would be?

[Dark Muse]

Hey, good to see you around again. This is the second story. I am thinking about doing The Man of the Crowd after we wrap this one up

[Quark]

I am thinking about doing The Man of the Crowd after we wrap this one up

Is that a more obscure one? I don't think I've heard of it. Of course, I don't know that many Poe stories, so they're all obscure to me. The last too have had a vaguely familiar sound, though.

In any case, I'm sure it's good. I remember Ligeia being an interesting read.

[Dark Muse]

It is one of his lesser known stories it is a bit different from some of his more popular stories which is one of the reasons I choose it. I have a link for an online text for it, if needed, though you could probably find it just by googling it as well.

[Dark Muse]

For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me, among the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat similar appearance, with which to supply its place.

We can see the narrators growing selfishness here and perhaps this is also a mark of his further deterioration. He does not regret his violent actions and only misses the familiar presence of the cat. So he is still wavering now between some semblance of humanity in his at least feeling sorry that the cat his gone, and yet he still does not truly acknowledge what he did was wrong, and in order to remedy the problem he seeks to simply find another cat which can take its place.

One night as I sat, half stupefied, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment

I never heard of a hogshead before so out of curiosity I looked it up and this is what I found:

hogshead is a large cask of liquid (less often, of a food commodity). More specifically, it refers to a specified volume, measured in Imperial units, primarily applied to alcoholic beverages such as wine, ale, or cider.

Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was the very creature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made no claim to it --knew nothing of it --had never seen it before. I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my wife.

Rather mysteriously another black cat almost identical to Pluto appears. No one knows of this cat or from where it came, but it conveniently shows itself to the narrator right when he is searching for just such a thing, as well seems to express the same temperament as the old Pluto. This should immediately lead the reader to some suspicion upon the nature of this beast, and knowing the narrator's past history how things are going to turn out. There are some key differences between this cat and Pluto which play a significant role within the story. First the appetence of white upon this cat, as well as the wife having a sudden affection for the cat.

For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. This was just the reverse of what I had anticipated; but I know not how or why it was --its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted and annoyed.

The narrator appears to be surprised by his sudden reactions to the cat, and yet I do not believe any of us were fooled or expected anything else but this to eventually happen. The very fact that he himself does not seem to predict this outcome would come about perhaps suggests he truly is not so mentally stable as he would have us believe he is.

I avoided the creature; a certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, preventing me from physically abusing it.

While the cycle is starting to play itself out again, he is still struggling with some remnants of humanity within him. He is at least for a time moved enough to be prevented from immediately assaulting the cat.

--I came to look upon it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath of a pestilence.

First of all I think this is just a beautiful line. There is such poetry in this verse. Wonderful writing.

But the line

as from the breath of a pestilence

leaves me to wonder, is it the cat itself which the narrator is trying to flee form here or rather is it in fact the thing within himself which the cat seems to bring back that he is trying to avoid. The cat becomes a symbol of his bad habits and bad behavior, and it is the cat that most provokes him, and while he does not seem to feel true grief over the things he is driven to do. He at least is left feeling sorry for himself when he does commit such actions. While he is not actively trying to reform himself but rather just trying to conceal his deeds and pretend they never occurred by simply replacing the cat.

What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast, was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of one of its eyes.

The fact of the cats missing way, is not revaluated until later at this point as a device to further build up suspense within the reader, as well it is a bit of foreboding and foreshadow as we already know what became of the first Pluto.

This circumstance, however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.

It is interesting the way in which the cat is linked so closely to the wife here. It is another bit of foreshadow for the reader. As well the narrator seems to be lamenting his former self in the temperament of his wife.

[PabloQ]

Poe often uses a device known as the unreliable narrator in his stories. I do not belive we are acutally suppose to take the narrator at face vaule when he tries to cliam that he is in fact a rational being. Though he is trying to seek some validation in the reader, as one can see, he is clearly not a rational being. His beliving that he is, is just another proof of his true maddness.

DM, I accept your invitation to agree to disagree. I'm sticking with the issues with the wife. I'd been thinking about this thread and in particular the theory of the unreliable narrator. This unreliable narrator tells us what he wants us to hear, believe, and accept, which may or may not be factual. So if he is mad, what is the story we actually receive from this unreliable source? So I agree with this point you are making and I always feel as though these narrators are trying to coerce us to their side of the story.

This circumstance, however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.

This is a fascinatingly constructed sentence and I really don't know how to interpret it. His wife possessed that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, but is not any longer. But what was the source of his simplest and purest pleasures -- his humanity of feeling or his wife's. And what if his wife's humanity of feeling no longer extends to the narrator. There I go again.

What makes Pluto II so odious that narrator must flee from it? What makes Pluto II different from Pluton I? The white patch, but what else. Pluto II is the recipient of that humanity of feeling. Narrator seeks out Pluto II to replace Pluto I, who narrator loved and wife despised, and Pluto II has an odious presence, as of the breath of pestilence. I agree, DM, that this is a wonderfully turned phrase, but is this a comment about the way the cat smells. I don't think narrator can love what his wife loves which would include himself. He can flee the cat, but he can't flee himself, except through drink. My opinion remains -- it is not about the cat.

[Dark Muse]

I agree that it is not about the cat, but as I stated above, I think it is more about himself, and what the cat reminds him of, then it is about his wife. He does not like the cat because it reminds him of his actions. And while he says he does not regeret what he did, he still does not wholly embrace that side of himself and does not like to be reminded of it. The cat is a constant reminder to him of what he is becoming.

[PabloQ]

So what is he becoming? At the beginning of the tale, he swears he's not mad. Is he a drunk? Is he a cat-killing drunk? To me, this is what fascinates me with Poe's narrators. I always wonder what is going on with this person? Why is he doing what he's doing and why is so important that he reassure me that he's sane and okay? I'm curious to know what you feel he is becoming, unless that's skipping ahead in the story.

[Dark Muse]

So what is he becoming? At the beginning of the tale, he swears he's not mad. Is he a drunk? Is he a cat-killing drunk? To me, this is what fascinates me with Poe's narrators. I always wonder what is going on with this person? Why is he doing what he's doing and why is so important that he reassure me that he's sane and okay? I'm curious to know what you feel he is becoming, unless that's skipping ahead in the story.

First of all in a Poe story you can never take a narrator at face vaule when he cliams that he is not "mad." Just becasue he swears he is not mad, does not by defualt make it so. Nor is it Poe's intent, based my readings of his work and why I know about his writing for us the readers to accept the narrator as being wholy sane. It plays back with the idea of the unreliable narrator. It is part of the horror, mystery, and suspense of the story, that he trys to avow for his own sanity. But the reader is intended to see through this, and question that idea, and statment.

As far as "why is he doing what he is doing" it touches back to the idea of the Imp of the Perverse. You should read that story. It is alluded to in this story. And it is all about the theroy, that a person does not truly need a reason, at least not a rational one, to do horrible things. That they have the imp within them which makes them do bad things, for that very reason, becasue they know they are doing something bad.

Just as in the Tell Tale Heart, in which the Narrator kills a man he claims he is found of, simply because he does not like the mans eye. But then he avows that he is not mad. But can anyone truly beleive that?

[Dark Muse]

Ok I thought I would post the next part of the text now

With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly it at by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly --let me confess it at once --by absolute dread of the beast.

This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil-and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed to own --yes, even in this felon's cell, I am almost ashamed to own --that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me, had been heightened by one of the merest chimeras it would be possible to conceive. My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but, by slow degrees --degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a long time my Reason struggled to reject as fanciful --it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the representation of an object that I shudder to name --and for this, above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster had I dared --it was now, I say, the image of a hideous --of a ghastly thing --of the GALLOWS! --oh, mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime --of Agony and of Death!

And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere Humanity. And a brute beast --whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed --a brute beast to work out for me --for me a man, fashioned in the image of the High God --so much of insufferable woe! Alas! neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of Rest any more! During the former the creature left me no moment alone; and, in the latter, I started, hourly, from dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast weight --an incarnate Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off --incumbent eternally upon my heart!

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates --the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.

So we have the narrator here now at conflict with himself, and struggling against his desire to strike against this new black cat as he had done with Pluto, yet he is more horrified by this new beast then he was by his former companion. There are some interesting things within this segement of the story as it plays with ideas of the supernatural.

[Dark Muse]

At such times, although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly it at by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly --let me confess it at once --by absolute dread of the beast.

While Pluto had roused him into anger, by his avoidance of him, after being driven away by the narrators violent behavior, the new black cat is suffocating him with its affection. He is being haunted by what he has done, as the new cat, dogs his every step and will not leave his side, but it always there, always confronting him. The narrator can never truly escape the memory of his crime, nor escape that part of himself. And while he does not seem to express true remorse for the deeds he has done, he is withheld from doing violence to this cat primarily out of his fear and dread of it, which could be seen as truly his dread of the beast that is himself.

--yes, even in this felon's cell,

Here Poe drops a clue to the careful and attentive reader. As one can guess, he likely was not arrested for the killing of a cat, as the beginning of the story the Narrator relays to the reader that he is about to die, and here, he drops that he is in a cell. One could begin to speculate on what is to happen. That his violence and temper are about to escalate as the story progresses. The fact that we know now that he is in a cell might also make one suspicious of taking all he says at his word. It could be a mark against his credibility.

My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but, by slow degrees --degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a long time my Reason struggled to reject as fanciful --it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the representation of an object that I shudder to name --and for this, above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster had I dared --it was now, I say, the image of a hideous --of a ghastly thing --of the GALLOWS! --oh, mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime --of Agony and of Death!

Now, the Narrator tries to clime that he is indeed not mad, and that his story is one that could happen to anyone, that he is a rational human being. Yet can the reader truly be expected to believe that the white mark upon the cat is actually starting to grow to from the shape of the noose? Here Poe introduces more aspects of the supernatural into the story, and we can recall his wife's suspirations about black cats. Is this cat really Pluto returned to get revenge? As we hear of the terror and fear that cannot be names which the cat has instilled in the narrator.

Also, you can see, how his telling does begin rather come and rational, and yet, as he comes to the frightful conclusion of the white mark, he becomes more frantic, you can feel his anxious and growing emotions when he reveals the truth about the mark.

[Dark_Age]

Hey i dont know much about Edgar Allen PEo but i have always loved his work. Even as a kid i was blown away by his creepy and sinister stories

[K.K.]

Hey i dont know much about Edgar Allen PEo but i have always loved his work. Even as a kid i was blown away by his creepy and sinister stories

Not all of his work is "creepy and sinister," some of his lesser known work could actually be considered humorous. I recently read "the Spectacles" for an English class, and it was nothing like the typical, haunting Poe that I am familiar with. (I actually found it to be rather dumb, but it was interesting to see another facet of his work.)

[Dark Muse]

Yes Poe has several works of comedy that are not as well known as his horror. His works of humur often border upon the outright ridiculous and while they are not creepy and sinsister they still are very "Poe" it is wonderful what he does with langauge in his humur stories and some are rather clever.

He is also the inventer of the dective story and has written a few mysteries.

[optimisticnad]

I loved this story (the black cat). I could empathise with the narrator - at traffic lights when I am waiting to cross and cars are speeding past I always get this mad rush to run in front, just for the heck of it, to annoy everyone i guess, for the thrill. Like Poe says:

'Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law , merely because we understand it to be such?'

First-person narrative always have this element of unreliablity of narrator, add to that his insistence that he is not mad, and then add to that an element of the supernatural (or the fantastic) AND then finally add to that his addiction which blurs reality and fiction as we know, Poe really went all the way didn't he?!

What bothers me about this story is why do his feelings toward Pluto change? It's not just the booze talking. It's much more. What does the cat present? What is it a symbol of?