Like a procession of moonlight clouds

By the time The Raven and Other Poems had been published in 1845, Poe was a well-known figure in American writing. Though his earliest fame (infamy?) was more for his criticism, publishing a certain poem about a black bird with limited vocabulary established him as one of the most talked about poets in the United States. It was because of that instant fame that The Raven and Other Poems was published — and some big-name critics sunk their teeth into it.

One such critique was published in the Daily Tribune in New York on November 26, 1845. The critic, Margaret Fuller, commented on Poe's introduction (in which he called his poems "trifles"). She agreed. "The productions in this volume indicate a power to do something far better. With the exception of The Raven, which seems intended chiefly to show the writer's artistic skill, and is in the way a rare and finished specimen, they are fragments... almost all of which leave us something to desire or demand."

Among the "fragments" in the book were "To One in Paradise" (which she said "breathe[s] a passionate sadness") and "The Haunted Palace" (she referred to its "dignity"). The review printed in full the poem "Israfel," presumably as a specimen which she particularly liked.

Overall, Margaret Fuller deemed Poe's poems as:

a sweep of images, thronging and distant like a procession of moonlight clouds on the horizon, but like them characteristic and harmonious one with another, according to their office. The descriptive power is greatest when it takes a shape not unlike an incantation, as in the first part of "The Sleeper."

Fuller's overall positive review is somewhat surprising, considering the personal quarrel with Poe she got herself involved with. By the way, she was only about one year younger than Poe — which means next year, 2010, is her bicentennial. For information on celebrations in honor of her 200th, visit www.margaretfuller.org.

Poe, puffs, and North Carolina

Poe's first job as a critic was in August 1835 when he was hired by the Southern Literary Messenger. Poe brought to the SLM a new style of criticism which distinctly broke away from the "puffs" that plagued American periodicals. In those days, critics were bribed or paid off to provide positive reviews by publishers or authors — or, in some cases, the system of puffing was so ingrained, no pay-off was needed. Poe, on the other hand, provided sincere reviews, whether laudatory or critical. Although, certainly, there are cases where Poe's personal bias influenced his judgment, he was going against the grain in providing a new type of literary criticism. He was a trailblazer, in some sense, and some have credited him as "the father of modern literary criticism."

Of course, one does not blaze a trail without making a few enemies.

On July 15, 1836 (surprisingly early in Poe's critical career), the Newbern Spectator, a periodical out of New Bern, North Carolina, suggested it was time for Poe to resign. His reviews were too caustic, too critical, too different. As the article said, "We think that Mr. Poe will soon see the necessity of resigning his chair, or of conforming to the rules of modern criticism. The Proprietor should look to this."

The irony here is clear, of course. Consider the climate, the "rules of modern criticism" to which Poe was being asked to conform: critic Rufus Griswold at one point wrote to publisher James T. Fields that he puffs books regardless of quality; he later received direct instructions from a minor publisher named T. B. Peterson for the positive review he expected (along with a request to destroy the letter once read); so many critics are patting authors on the backs that the term "mutual admiration society" is thrown around regularly by people like Margaret Fuller, Edwin Percy Whipple, and Oliver Wendell Holmes (the phrase is so prevalent, in fact, I'm having difficulty determining who said it first).

Poe, however, was not without supporters. Later that same July, the editor of the New York Weekly Magazine would respond positively to the Southern Literary Messenger. Others would continue to back Poe and even emulate his style throughout Poe's lifetime and beyond.

But, back to the Newbern Spectator. Poe acknowledged their comments and the Spectator responded, mentioning "the debt of gratitude which we owe its profound editor... having taken 'notice' of us in a manner so gentlemanlike and dignified, and so creditable to his own temper and erudition." Not to say, however, that they became supporters of Poe. Acknowledging the prevalence of "puffs," they question what Poe is doing. "It cannot permit a single voice to be raised against... errors without descending to scurrility and invective; thus showing conclusively the unfitness of its conductor for the task he has undertaken."

To each their own, I suppose. Personally, I wonder why a North Carolina publication has any interest at all in a Virginia newspaper.

Margaret Fuller at 199

On May 23, 1810, Timothy and Margaret (Crane) Fuller welcomed their first (of eight) children. They named her Sarah Margaret Fuller — it would not be long after that the precocious child demanded she be referred to only as "Margaret." In fact, in her professional career — which spanned education, journalism, criticism, poetry, etc. — she went by that name, rather than the more conventional etiquette which would have her named "Miss Fuller."

The relationship between Poe and Fuller was, like many of Poe's interactions, complicated. Despite some comments against Fuller (he once called her an "old maid" and a "busybody") and her involvement in a strange personal interaction (involving Frances Osgood; I'll tell that tale another time), I believe Poe sincerely admired her work.

The earliest interaction I found was, oddly, over James Russell Lowell, who later became a sort of literary rival for both Fuller and Poe. A critic for the Daily Tribune in New York (presumed to be Fuller) strongly disagreed with Poe's review of Lowell. Charles Frederick Briggs wrote to his friend Lowell on January 17, 1845, about the disagreement: "Poe's criticism about your Conversations [on Some of the Old Poets] was extremely laudatory and discriminating; it was the female ass of the Tribune [e.g. Fuller] that misunderstood him."

The same month, Fuller noted Lowell's critical/biographical sketch of Poe. She noted that the article ("frank" and "earnest") introduced her to some of Poe's poetry which she never read before. She liked "The Haunted Palace" and "To Helen" enough to reprint them in the Tribune. The latter, she writes, is "of such distinguished beauty in thought, feeling, and expression, that we might expect the life unfolded from such a bud to have the sweetness and soft lustre of a rose." She was always very honest in her opinions of Poe. Later in 1845, she reviewed The Raven and Other Poems and suggested they were "all fragments" — suggesting that he was capable of better poetry, "with the exception of The Raven, which seems intended chiefly to show the writer's artistic skill." Nevertheless, she notes that the poems "breathe a passionate sadness, relieved sometimes by touches very lovely and tender" and show "a sweep of images, thronging and distant like a procession of moonlight clouds on the horizon."

Poe, in turn, acknowledged Fuller's "high genius." In 1846, he commended her daring review of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. As he wrote, "it is one of the very few reviews of Longfellow's poems, ever published in America, of which the critics have not had abundant reason to be ashamed." When Fuller published Woman in the Nineteenth Century, her definitive work (regarded as the first major feminist work in the United States), Poe praised her fortitude. He called it "a book which few women in the country could have written, and no woman in the country would have published, with the exception of Miss Fuller." He particularly praised her for not manufacturing a false public persona. Instead, he wrote, her "personal character and her printed book are merely one and the same thing."

Happy 199th birthday to Margaret Fuller — a woman well ahead of her time! All the best for her bicentennial next year, in 2010!

"Insufferable trash... one of the most delightful books"

On May 17, 1845, The Town, a New York weekly, poked fun at Edgar A. Poe, who was in town working at the Broadway Journal. It featured a mock review, found "Astray from the office of the Broadway Journal" of the (fictitious) book The Adventures, Life and Opinions of John Smith. The Poe-like reviewer notes the work "a mass of insufferable trash, without one redeeming quality." Nevertheless, it is "one of the most delightful books... printed in a beautiful arabesque style by Wiley & Putnam."

The hilarious little stab at Poe was noting how his reviews always seem to fall in both positive and negative categories: even as he praises a writer, he still damns them. It is, of course, quite a true observation, and it's one of the many details I point out to folks who think Poe simply "hated" or "loved" certain other writers. The reality is, he always found ways to both praise and criticize nearly everyone. Such is the case with Rufus Griswold's The Poets and Poetry of America in 1842, which many categorize as a negative review outright — in fact, Poe loved the anthology and thought it a major turning point in American poetry, though he noted a few errors in judgment on the part of its editor. The same is also true for Poe's reviews of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which people seem to take for granted as "Poe hated Longfellow." Again, it's much more complicated.

But, before you think that Poe was being hypocritical or noncommittal, keep in mind the context here. The world of American literary criticism was slow to develop and, in a sense, Poe was moving against the grain. Writers like Margaret Fuller noted "the mutual admiration society" — a climate where reviewers praised to the point of absurdity, without any mark of sincerity. Such reviews, many felt, were detrimental to the advancement of American letters. At a time when Europeans were asking "Who reads an American book?", people like Poe (and Fuller) were trying to encourage writers to work harder and not just idly assume that their writing was good enough (clearly, it wasn't!).

I haven't found much information about The Town, but the Poe Log refers to it as a weekly magazine devoted to satirizing the New York literati. It's first mention of Poe seems to be in February 1845, when it notes Poe's plans to start a new magazine (presumably The Stylus, which was a dream never to come true). The writer noted Poe was "the most interesting and original of Magazine writers, and a fearless critic." When Poe became affiliated with the Evening Mirror that same month, The Town reported that they "rejoice at the fact" — especially because his style of criticism would relieve "much of the Miss Nancyism of [N. P.] Willis" and add "a more manly vigor" to the reviews. They nevertheless note their disagreement with Poe's review of Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Poe had denied the poet's genius, suggesting he was instead merely a clever fellow. The Town suggested Poe "ought to hurry express haste to Washington and get out a patent right for his Discovery." The point is: Poe's negativity looked strange to people who were used to "puffing" (Griswold, by the way, once noted to James Thomas Fields that he "puffed," or gave empty praise to, all the books Fields published, regardless of quality).

By the way, the satire of Poe's criticism happens to use the name "John Smith" in the title of their fictitious book. "John Smith" is also a character in Poe's 1849 comedy story "X-ing a Paragrab" who eventually takes revenge on his newfound rival publisher.

Something different

I wrote a guest column for the online version of the Concord Magazine, which they published yesterday. 2009 might be the year of Poe, but 2010 will be the year of Margaret Fuller! View the article here: Margaret Fuller: The Measure of Her Footprint.

You'll note, of course, that even though the article is on Margaret Fuller, I found a way to mention Poe.

Hop-Frog's last jest

On March 17, 1849 - just over six months before his death - Edgar A. Poe published the last of his horror tales in the Boston-based periodical Flag of Our Union. "Hop-Frog: Or, the Eight Chained Orangoutangs" features a short-statured jester who works for a practical joke-loving king. Hop-Frog was taken from his home and became a slave of the king's and, on his birthday, the king reminds him of the friends he will never see again. Hop-Frog finally has had enough of the king and decides to perform one last jest...

Poe's horror works stretch as far back as January 1832 when he published "Metzengerstein." So, from "Metzengerstein" to "Hop-Frog," Poe had only 17 years of horror-writing before his death. Some of his horror works aren't quite as scary as they once were and many are forgotten or overshadowed by better-known works. What's important about "Hop-Frog" is that Poe was inspired by a true event.

In the 1840s, Poe's popularity was skyrocketing. First, his reputation was built as a critic and, after 1845, he was one of the most well-known poets of his generation with the publication of "The Raven." Amidst all of this, however, he was making enemies in the literary world (some were his fault, but not always). When people published overly-critical commentary on his character or repuation, Poe retaliated - through lawsuits, of course.

Attacks on his character were particularly troubling to Poe at the end of the decade because he was actively pursuing romantic relationships; at least one relationship was cut off likely because of an assault on his character. Lawsuits, however, can only do so much. So, Poe cleverly hid his revenge in prose, including "The Cask of Amontillado" and, of course, in "Hop-Frog."

Hop-Frog the jester pulls his final, deadly prank on the king and his eight ministers, who are humiliated and burned to death in front of a shocked audience. If Hop-Frog represents Poe, his victims were really people like Thomas Dunn English (more on him another time), Anne Lynch Botta, Hiram Fuller and Margaret Fuller (no relation), among others. The king, of course, was none other than Elizabeth F. Ellet, who was infamous as a trouble-maker (another of her victims, who suffered far more than Poe, was Rufus Wilmot Griswold).

My guess is that Poe had some form of catharsis by venting his anger by creating fiction - and he likely had further enjoyment of the "hoax" by keeping his vengeance a secret.

Longfellow damns censorious Poe

America's most beloved poet for the majority of the 19th century was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who was born this day, February 27, back in 1807. The relationship between Longfellow and Poe — if it can be called that — has become somewhat infamous. Poe made many strong statements against Longfellow (to put it lightly), and people today consider his "war" on Longfellow an example of Poe's declining mental health, a sign of his raging jealousy of successful poets, or of his endless enmity towards all things Boston.

Those superficial interpretations are great examples of how we oversimplify parts of Poe's life.

Poe and Longfellow never met face-to-face, though they certainly corresponded. As an editor, Poe contacted him to urge him to submit to Graham's Magazine (he did, but moreso under Poe's successor Rufus Griswold). Longfellow was one of the most popular poets of the day and, shortly after Poe's death, did what Poe was never able to do: sustain himself financially solely as a poet — no small feat!

Poe's criticism began as early as 1840, after Longfellow had published his collection Voices of the Night (unlike many poets of his generation, Longfellow generally released books of brand new poetry, rather than releasing piecemeal in magazines then collecting the so-called "fugitive" poems later; he had this option because he had a full-time job as a Harvard professor and didn't need constant money from his writing like Poe did). Poe noted that one particular poem in the collection was very similar to one by Lord Tennyson. He wrote (anonymously) of it as the "most barbarous class of literary robbery; that class in which, while the words of the wronged author are avoided, his most intangible, and therefore least defensible and least reclaimable property is purloined." The so-called "Longfellow War" continued with several accusations of plagiarism throughout the 1840s, especially in the Broadway Journal while Poe was its editor. It became such a heated feud that others, including James Russell Lowell and Margaret Fuller, jumped in and took sides (the former took Longfellow's, the latter took Poe's). The oddest to join in was the pseudonymous "Outis" (translates to "nobody") — which generally is agreed to be Poe himself as an attempt at keeping the spotlight a bit longer. But, even the friendly, non-confrontational Nathaniel Parker Willis noted that Longfellow was too free from criticism and that the controversy would "do him good to rouse him."

Critics or readers who think the Longfellow War is about plagiarism are overstating things. When Poe used the term "plagiarism," it didn't mean what it does today. In fact, it was the opposite of "originality." Like that quote above makes clear, it's not a word-for-word theft, but a theft of poetic ideas.

Poe was strung up as a bad guy in all of this, and critics and scholars today refer to it as Poe's attempt to destroy his own reputation — his "imp of the perverse," if you will. Others say it shows Poe was merely jealous of success, or he was inspired by his hatred of New England and the Boston elite literary circle. Even in Poe circles, there is no consensus and it still brings up debate. Longfellow, on the other hand, universally comes out squeaky clean, and didn't actually engage in the feud personally. After Poe's death, Longfellow noted that all was forgiven and called him "richly endowed with genius." He added, famously: "The harshness of his criticisms, I have never attributed to anything but the irritation of a sensitive nature, chafed by some indefinite sense of wrong."

Longfellow never publicly responded, but he did make an obscure response, which I have yet to see noted by Poe scholars. In his journal in 1845, Longfellow wrote a line in verse: "In Hexameter sings serenely a Harvard professor / In Pentameter him damns censorious Poe." Amidst these accusations of imitation, Longfellow carefully noted that this impromptu couplet was an imitation of another poem, thereby admitting his guilt as a plagiarist.

And it's quite true: Longfellow often lifted ideas from other poems. He was incredibly well-read and often paid homage to his influences. He wasn't ground-breaking as a poet; he did not significantly experiment with poetic structure or invent anything new. Instead, he went back to classic poems — especially European poems — and copied their meter. Remember, of course, that this was a time (the 1840s in particular) where we as Americans were really trying to define and create an American literature — Emerson asked for it, as did Lowell and Fuller. But, instead of trying to be distinctly American, Longfellow said he was trying to be "universal" (read: "European"). Poe, on the other hand, was part of this newly-developing world of American literature that, as Emerson said, aimed to be "free" from the "courtly muses of Europe."

So, was Poe right?

If anyone is interested, I will be speaking much more in-depth on "A War of the Words: Poe's Battle With Longfellow" on Thursday, April 9 at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, Brattle Street in Cambridge, Massachusetts (the former home of Margaret Fuller!). The lecture is free and open to the public. Later, in October, I'll be making a similar presentation at the Poe Bicentennial Conference in Philadelphia.

In the meantime, I cheerily wish Henry Wadsworth Longfellow a happy 202nd birthday.

"The Raven" never flitting...

I can't resist writing more about "The Raven" today.

I'd like to dispel one major rumor about this amazing poem: it is not scary.

When it was featured on The Simpsons "Treehouse of Horror," Bart and Lisa conclude that people must have been more easily scared in the 19th century. Whether or not that is true, their reading of "The Raven" was absurd. Poe did not intend to write a scary poem.

As his phenomonal (and controversial) essay "The Philosophy of Composition" explains, writing "The Raven" was a step-by-step process. After thinking about length, Poe writes: "My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I may as well observe that, throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering the work universally appreciable." So Poe wants to write a poem that everyone would enjoy, while never dismissing his main point in his poetic theory: "the point, I mean, that Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem." Beauty, of course, is the highest form of truth. But using what tone should this beauty manifest? "Its highest manifestation... all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones."

The bold emphasis is mine. Poe sat down to write a poem that was universally beautiful because of its sadness. "The Raven," then is meant to be sad, not scary. Oddly, however, Poe's emotional tone throughout the poem changes. We can probably agree that the first line (and its whopping eight-meter trochee) — Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary — is a sad line. We feel some ominous foreboding in those first couple stanzas, and we feel that the narrator is in pain... until the raven comes in through the window.

After perching on a pallid bust of Pallas, Poe writes this line: " Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling." The narrator is smiling because of how comical the situation is! And it's pretty humorous. Here's this guy, trying to forget his lost Lenore, moping in his melancholy, and suddenly this jet-black bird flies in through the window. The narrator is so amused by it, in fact, that he asks for its name, much like you might say to a recently-found stray puppy. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'

With each repitition of the word, the narrative within the poem sinks deeper. Poe claims at one point that he thought of the word "Nevermore" first, then built a poem around it (very unlikely). But, here's his line of thinking, now that he knows he wants a sad poem: "I betook myself to ordinary induction, with the view of obtaining some artistic piquancy which might serve me as a key-note in the construction of the poem — some pivot upon which the whole structure might turn." The most obvious pivot to Poe was some kind of refrain (or, as the term was commonly used, a "burden") that focused both on sound and thought. The refrain would not change, Poe decided, only how it was applied. But what word? "To have force, [it] must be sonorous and susceptible of protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt: and these considerations inevitably led me to the long o as the most sonorous vowel, in connection with r as the most producible consonant." With that in mind, how could Poe not use the word "Nevermore"?

Upon its first utterance, the word is supposedly the raven's name. This makes the narrator laugh a bit, as he says:

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But for this poem to really be sad, the comical elements have to slide away. And what would really make the reader feel the melancholy in this poem? Well, remember that Poe is trying to be universal — and what is more universally sad than Death? Poe says the answer is quite obvious: "When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death, then, of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world."

And there's Poe's poetic theory, in a nutshell — applied perfectly to "The Raven" (that is, of course, if you really want to believe his "Philosophy of Composition"). This might be a good explanation, however, to his frequent use of dead women in his stories. Sure, you can make the superficial assumption that he wrote about dead women because of all the dead women in his personal life. Or, you can throw out autobiographical readings and look at the text independently and ask yourself if Poe was right: is the death of a beautiful woman the most poetical (i.e. melancholy) topic in the world?

"The Raven" also allows me to dispel another rumor. There's a belief out there that Poe was never successful during his lifetime. I'll clear that up right now: Poe was one of the most successful poets of the 1840s. He was nationally and internationally known after "The Raven" was published (and re-published again and again), and many considered his poem the most perfect poem constructed in the English language. For its publication, however, he received only a token monetary amount. So, success can be gauged in many ways, not always financially.

Admirers of "The Raven," by the way, included Elizabeth Barrett, William Gilmore Simms, Margaret Fuller, and many, many others. Are you one of them?

Poe the Critic (cont'd)

In the last post, I presented a little bit about Poe the critic. Regular readers of this blog will likely get a full helping of Poe's reputation as a critic as 2009 progresses. Here's a place to start.

On January 15, 1836, an editor for the Newbern Spectator expressed his disapproval of the criticism being printed in the Southern Literary Messenger in Virginia. The critic was Poe, of course, and the editor referred to Poe's "unnecessary severity". Poe would earn the nickname (and accompanying reputation) as a "Tomahawk" man.

It is really as a critic that Poe first becomes a well-known figure in American letters. He popularized (I won't say "created" because that's tough to prove) a new type of literary review which was (shockingly) based on sincerity on the part of the reviewer. These honest opinions were presented even if they were negative - which likely surprised readers used to the puffery system. This system, which fellow critic Margaret Fuller later referred to as the "mutual admiration society" (specifically in reference to Boston), was always positive. In other words, reviewers only wrote positive reviews.

People like Poe (and Fuller) took issue with this because it did not push for the betterment of American writing and instead allowed poor writing to pass unchallenged. Poe broke those rules because he couldn't stand the false compliments. Reading reviews of the day, as Poe said, would convince you that "all our poets are Miltons." Poe may have been a bit over-the-top in his criticism partly to add balance to the excessive praise.

On a personal note, I will be out of town celebrating Poe's big day (and doing some personal traveling) for the next week or so. If things are quiet on this blog it's because I've become too entranced in real-life Poe to spend time in my digital Poe world. My apologies in advance!