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Edgar Allan Poe Needs a Friend (laphamsquarterly.org)
21 points by samclemens on Sept 9, 2021 | hide | past | favorite | 3 comments


Edgar Allan Poe was a true Genius in the sense that more than any other author, his writings spanned very many genre of literature. Some of his stories, eg. "The Man of the Crowd" defy any simple categorization.

And the language is just beautiful, a couple of my favourites;

From "The Murders in the Rue Morgue";

THE mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension præternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.

From "The Purloined Letter";

"That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who had a fashion of calling every thing "odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of "oddities."


Thoroughly appreciated this article, thanks for posting it.

Another one that will delight fans of Poe:

Poe’s Best-Selling Book During His Lifetime Was a Guide to Seashells - https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/edgar-allan-poe-seashe...

HN thread: https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=27324511


Yes, Heaven is thine; but this

Is a world of sweets and sours;

Our flowers are merely—flowers,

And the shadow of thy perfect bliss

Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,

He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky.

[https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Works_of_the_Late_Edgar_A...]




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