Autobiography Of Edgar Allan Poe Essay, Research Paper

Athough I cannot remember it clearly, as a child at the age of 3, one of the worst

tragedies of my life occurred. My mother died of an infectious fever.

My mother, an actress, had three children: Rosaline, William and I, Edgar Poe. My

father had left her for reasons I do not know about, and she was left with three children to

raise by herself. This was a difficult task for her, she was an actress with not an ample

supply of money for a family. Soon she grew ill and very weak and had a lack of money.

To support herself some fellow actors played benefits to make her some money.

However, despite help from others, she died of the illness.

I was left with nothing but a miniature portrait of her, some letters, and a sketch

of the Boston Harbor. The remaining memory of her in my head is very small and blurred,

but what she has given to me and what I have managed to remember, is something I will

forever cherish.

After this event, I was left with no mother and no guardian and no one to take care

of me. I was then taken in by a Richmond merchant by the name of John Allan and his

wife. However our relationship did not blossom. There was a rigid gap between us, one

which grew more year by year.

My father and I encountered many problems, one of which was his personality. We

were two very different people, with different principles, thoughts, ideas etc. For ex; when

my mother passed away, I became very upset and miserable. My father found my behavior

a sign of unthankfulness. Another incident in which our personalities clashed was one

which involved my mother. While my mother was ill, the man who I am ashamed to call

my father had many mistresses. He would even take them to my very house, while my

mother sat in another room feeling uneasy and miserable, unaware of her husbands sins. I

found this behavior a disgrace, I believe that women should only be treated with respect

and dignity.

Another problem that John Allan and I had was finances. My father would send

me away to college with only enough money to pay for board, attendance, and food for a

little while. When I told him I needed more money he wouldn?t send any, he would think

that I spent it carelessly and was just looking for more. With no money to feed and clothe

my self I was reduced to having to gamble. However, gambling put me in an even worse

state. At one point I was $2,500 in debt and was being pursued constantly. I changed my

name a few times to avoid being followed by those who I owed money to.

Alcohol; it was my escape from the drudgeries of life, and a stimulant that added

many more. It was also what helped label me a, ?raving, drunken lunatic?, a label that was

far out of proportion. Alcohol effected my life greatly, at different ages, and for different

reasons; my health suffered, my jobs disappeared, and many of my dreams did too.

I had a very bad disadvantage with alcohol; I was so sensitive to it that even one

drink could drive me mad. After a few drinks, I was not responsible for my words or

actions. My desire for alcohol knew no bounds, if I had one or two drinks I would keep

drinking until I was out of money. Sometimes I would even find myself stranded in the

street with someone else?s clothes on oblivious to where I had gone or what I had done.

As a child, alcohol was present in my household. As an infant, my parents pacified

me with bread soaked in gin, and as a young man I made toasts with the dinner guests.

While young, my cousin did warn me about my genetic disposition to alcohol, but I

disregarded his warnings. I began drinking as a young man. During college, I went to bars

frequently and drank to my hearts content, I even kept a convenient bottle of brandy in my

room. After late nights of a lot of drinking I would become a lunatic. However I did not

do an drugs as popular belief may hold. Doctors did prescribe me some, but I ended up

throwing it up; it never went through my system.

As the years went by, I had found myself trying to support myself as a writer. My

lack of money put me in a very depressed state for a while. Also, in my life span, it seemed

as if everyone who I grew to love was torn away from me by death. One of the most

tragic events I experienced was the death of my beloved wife Virginia. I drank constantly

after her death.

I lost many opportunities because of my drinking. I lost my job as editor at the

Southern Literary Magazine, and Burtons Gentlemen Magazine as a result of alcohol. I

could hardly hold down any job because of this. My dreams for making a magazine were

also diminished because of my problem. I attempted making a magazine 3 times, and all

three times I failed. Rofus Griswold took advantage of my problem and made me appear

like a lunatic while he critiqued me. Even at death he had no pity on my soul, and wrote an

article on full of lies on me; he said I was a drunken maniac etc..

Rufus Griswold; the main contributor to the labeling of me as a ?raving

drunkard? was not only an enemy but a big competitor of mine. I honestly reviewed his

work, and he dishonestly reviewed mine. He would make up vicious rumors just because I

would critique his work with sincerity; if his work was poor I would say it. For my

sincerity was assaulted.

Griswold and I were good friends at one point. However, our friendship soon took

a downfall. Griswold came out with a book called the Poets and Poetry of America in

which I was also included in, however I reviewed this book harshly. A vast majority had

proclaimed Griswolds novel as a great one, and a vast number of people had purchased it,

but I found it included some of the worst poets and left out some of the best ones.

Griswold replied to my criticism with a nonsense remark. After this incident my

relationship with Rufus Griswold was never the same.

As time went by, our relationship did not grow better. At one point he even had

the nerve to come between me and a woman I loved, Helen Whitman. He sent her letters

that included passages which criticized me, and at hearing this she was even more hesitant

about marrying.

Griswolds vengeance knew no bounds. Even after I died he made vicious attacks

on me. Once he had received notice of my death, he was compelled to write an obituary

article about me. He made very outlandish remarks, and absurd accusations. A few of my

friends tried to clear this up but before they could even try, Griswold stopped them. He

created the third and final volume of his ?Memoir? on me, which was an article of

compiled rumors and lies. My friends read this ?Memoir? and most of them lost all respect

for me. Once again, Griswold had attacked and succeeded.

However Griswold did not go unpunished. He suffered an epileptic fit while in a

ferry, fell in the water and sank twice before being rescued. His daughters train plunged

into a river and he had to view 49 corpses till he found his daughters. Also, a gas leak

burned his face severely and took off seven fingernails. Finally his dormant tuberculosis

became active and he died. The final series of events show Griswold finally got what was

coming to him, too bad I wasn?t there to enjoy each and every second of it.

The life I had where I lived on my own was a very hard one; I lived in poverty. I

was the first American writer who tried to support himself just by writing and it was not

an easy task. I could not make enough money to feed myself many times. Many

unfortunate events have taken place because of my lack of money.

My wife Virginia probably could?ve been saved, or been able to live longer if I had

more money. Our house was very cold, and I had to use my coats to try to keep her warm,

even the cat would lie on her to try to keep her warm. I was publishing very little and

could not help her though. My family was unable to feed or dress themselves. At one point

a newspaper printed an article for others to come to my aid.

When I did write, I did not receive much money for it. For making the Raven, I

only received $14. Also in the year of 1848, I only made $166. At times I did have jobs as

an editor of a magazine or something along those lines, but I would show up drunk and

unable to work at times and I would be fired. I applied for a job at the customs house but I

showed up intoxicated.

My emotional crisis impacted me greatly. It effected my work, stories etc. My

emotional started ever since I was a child to my death.

One of the things that effected me greatly was the death of my wife Virginia. She

had died of tuberculosis as did my mother, step mother, and brother. I was deeply in lover

with her, and her death made me a wreck. I would drink constantly to try to heal the pain

but that did not work. I wrote Anabell Lee for her. Her death left me looking for other

women to supply the need that Virginia had left me with.

The short story, detective story, poetry, literary criticism and the magazine- these

are all things have contributed to in the span of 40 years. My contributions to literature

are still used today throughout the world.

I also was the first American to invent a form of literature; I invented the detective

story. The first detective story I made was the first one ever written, its called, ?The

Purloined Letter.? The same elements used in this story is still used in modern detective

stories today.

I made three elements that I believe make a detective story successful. These

elements are crime, the detective, and the method of detection. The crime is the reason for

the story, the cause of the incidents that follow. After the crime has been described and the

authorities have failed then the detective steps into the case. Next, when ordinary police

methods have failed, the question is what method of his the detective will bring to the

solution of the crime.

Although time has passed and the genre of the detective story has become more

sophisticated, my methods seem ahead of time and scarcely ?old fashioned?; my standards

are still sound.

My literary criticism stands beside my short stories, detective stories, poetry, and

magazines as a worthy contribution to Americas literary heritage.

I had many beliefs and standards in literary criticism also. I believe that a critic is

not a parasite who lives off other men, he must distinguish good writing from bad. He

must also give good reasons for doing or saying something. I also believe that a critic

should know some biography of the artist and the circumstances of the composition he?s

critiquing, but this should not affect thing critical opinion. I also think that the critic of

poetry should also have poetic sentiment. Many modern poets believe that judges should

be made up of critics who are themselves poets. Also, I believe in the necessity for strong

criticism. There should be no flaw that goes unmentioned. If there is a piece of good

literature than positive criticism should be merited.

Some have constantly criticized me for being an outlandish and extremely harsh

critic, however I find myself being nothing but sincere. I am only discarding the worthless

and making the worthwhile shine splendidly by contrast.

I am known as the father of the short story. They are my highest achievement. I

concentrated in them intensely because I thought it was something needed in America;

reading material that does not take too much time, but is remembered and worthwhile.

I made rules for the short story to combine in a right structure to produce an

intended effect. The first rule is that you have to conceive the ending of the story before

you start writing. Also, it should have striking originality. Next, it should be able to be

read in one sitting. It should also create one definite emotion in the story. Finally, every

word and phrase should concentrate on the emotional feeling of the story.

A great deal of my work consists of short stories, ones that are famous through

out the world. What I did for the story was unify it, and made it an art form that is

uniquely my own.

I also contributed a lot to the magazine. I served as an editor of the Southern

Literary Messenger, Burton?s Gentleman?s Magazine, Graham?s Magazine, and the

Broadway Journal.

I tried to please the public by writing good shirt stories in magazines. I also was

aware of all the literary trends and tried to keep note of them in my magazines. When I got

involved with the Southern Literary Messenger and Graham?s Magazine was when they

started to get popular. I knew what the public wanted and were prepared to pay for and I

gave them what they wanted.

I also made a great contribution to poetry. I believe I was a poet at heart. During

my last years in life I made many very famous poems such as the Raven and Anabell Lee.

My poetry was similar to my stories in mood, tone, and even events, and

sometimes I added poetry to my stories. I also Theorized about poetry more than I did

about prose. I repeatedly discuss verse and verse forms in my book reviews. I was one of

the few people to interpret my own poems.

The most popular and well known theory of my death is the one in which I die of

intoxication. Most people believe this, and have not heard of other theories for it was first

thought this and it is more common then the second theory.

I was on my way to Baltimore from Richmond with a trunk containing some

clothing and books when I was found at a Baltimore tavern a week later, wearing strange

clothing, and semiconscious. It was election day in the town and the tavern served as a

polling place. The days before were very cold, windy and rainy; I was a bit sick from

exposure. Others thought I might?ve been mugged and drunken in order to cast more

votes for a candidate. They took me into a hospital and after being delirious for a few days

I died. From this most people concluded that I was drunken because of the elections going

on and mugged, and ended up dying.

The next theory of my death is one far different from the first well known one.

This theory was thought of very recently and is not as popular and well known as the

previous one. This theory states that I died of rabies.

Doctors drew this conclusion from a few symptoms of rabies that I was showing. I

drank water with great difficulty, which is a symptom of rabies. Also, I died in a very short

time span, which is what happens to a victim of rabies. At the hospital, I was perspiring

heavily and hallucinating. The day after I was better but I had no memory of what had

happened. At my last day I grew confused, then grew quiet and died. This is a classic case

of rabies. Although no one is sure of my death, for there was no autopsy, this is a possible

answer.

This is a short summary my life, one which was full of sufferings. Even at my death

bed I said ?the best thing my best friend could do would be to blow out my brains with a

pistol.? I believe that god did bless me with a spark of genius but quenched it with misery.

Works cited

Buranelli, Vincent. (1977) Edgar Allan Poe . Boston: G. K. Hall and Co.

Hart, James (1983) Oxford Companion to American Literature Oxford O. Press

Malone, Dumas (1963) Dictionary of Biographies American Council of Learned Society

Poulter, Thomas. ?Edgar Allan Poe and Alcohol?. (1995) n.pag. Online. AOL.

Silverman, Kenneth (1991) Edgar Allan Poe New York: Harper Collins

Smith, Gary (July 1990) Once Upon a Midnight Dreary Life Magazine