#i felt like a modern day edgar allan poe while writing that first part i dont know where the hell that came from! ksnmsmsmnsms

[bloodyearn]

𓂃 continued from here.

°   ꔛ      knows   like   the   back   of   palm   the   extreme   schedule   athlete   found   herself   attuned   to.   with   skills   femme   possessed   one   supposes   parents   not   capitalizing   off   talent   borders   on   sheer   blasphemy   —   a   cruel,   astonishing   attempt   to   snuff   out   mere   star's   light   prior   to   reaching   full   luminosity.   while   it   appears   other   has   barely   gotten   the   chance   to   spread   her   wings,   his   own   wings   tire   from   flight.   experiencing   too   much   of   all   the   luxuries   life   offers   to   the   point   of   gluttony   keeps   few   happy   for   long.   ❛   if   i   knew   you   were   going   to   be   addicted   to   powder   sugar,   i   would   have   suggested   you   got   something   else.   ❜   own   laughter   easily   filling   the   space   they   occupy   to   distract   himself   from   the   fact   he   wouldn't   mind   getting   lost   in   this   —   getting   lost   in   her   if   possible.   then   homme   pulls   his   hand   away,   crimson   lightly   dusted   across   the   expanse   of   cheeks   when   mumble   reaches   him.   ❛   what   ?   i'm   simply   doing   my   good   deed   for   the   night   by   not   letting   you   walk   around   looking   funny.   there's   kids   around,   yanno   ?   they   would've   laughed   at   you.   ❜   jest   almost   sounds   similar   to   a   smooth   overexplanation,   but   one   refuses   to   allow   himself   to   get   caught   up   when   their   night   had   just   begun.   there   was   more   than   enough   time   to   fumble   uselessly   over   words   or   get   caught   staring   at   glossed   lips.   ❛   then   if   you   expect   so   much   of   me,   it   would   be   a   crime   to   let   you   go   home   empty   handed.   where   should   we   try   first   ?   the   balloon   popping   or   the   water   guns   ?   ❜   eyes   leaving   other   for   what   feels   like   the   first   time   tonight,   already   searching   for   a   booth   to   venture   off   to   next   as   he   gets   to   his   feet. @sunbrews

[mediaeval-muse]

Book Review

The Raven’s Tale. By Cat Winters. New York: Amulet Books, 2019.

Rating: 2.5/5 stars

Genre: YA historical fiction, supernatural

Part of a Series? No.

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Edgar Poe counts down the days until he can escape his foster family—the wealthy Allans of Richmond, Virginia. He hungers for his upcoming life as a student at the prestigious new university, almost as much as he longs to marry his beloved Elmira Royster. However, on the brink of his departure, all his plans go awry when a macabre Muse named Lenore appears to him. Muses are frightful creatures that lead Artists down a path of ruin and disgrace, and no respectable person could possibly understand or accept them. But Lenore steps out of the shadows with one request: “Let them see me!”

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: verbal/emotional/financial abuse, morbid thoughts

Overview: In the author’s note at the back of this book, Winters states that she tried to “offer reader’s a window into Poe’s teenage years” and “root the book in [Poe’s] reality while also immersing the story in scenes of Gothic fantasy that paid homage to his legendary macabre works.” Regarding the first bit, I don’t think the concept is itself a bad one - writing about the early life of a major cultural figure is a great way to get a YA audience (who may be teenagers themselves) to connect with them. Regarding the second bit, I don’t think this story came across as “Gothic” so much as it was more “magical realism.” I wouldn’t call this story “macabre” in any way, nor do I think Winters used any elements that were evocative of Gothic fantasy in the literary sense. Even if we abandon the idea that The Raven’s Tale is supposed to be “Gothic,” I do think Winters could have used the concepts she established to a greater effect than she did, such as using Poe’s muses more allegorically to talk about things that matter to modern-day readers (like the value of art, how darkness can be comforting and can help process emotions, etc). But as it stands, this book mostly reads like Poe stumbling around, trying to find his feet as the poetic genius that he’s destined to be - something I don’t think is as interesting.

Writing: Winters alternates between using her own prose style and mimicking Poe’s sense of meter and rhyme. In some cases, she does very well. I was impressed by the way she was able to use her vocabulary to mimic what she thought Poe’s young voice might sound like, and the intertextuality within this book shows how she was cognizant of Poe’s education and background.

I do think, however, that Winters misused repetition. There are some moments when a phrase, sentence, or group of sentences are repeated, perhaps in the attempt to create emphasis on a concept, but to me, they felt tedious. I can’t tell how many times we’re told that Poe is a swimmer, and in one scene, artistic inspiration is portrayed as the same phrases being repeated two or three times until the words are written down.

I also don’t think that, despite the rich vocabulary, Winters makes use of language to create evocative settings or convey emotion well. No matter how many turns of phrases I read, I didn’t quite connect with the characters or feel invested in their well-being.

Finally, I found the genre of this book to be a little strange, given the author’s intention to infuse the story with tributes to “Gothic fantasy.” In my opinion, the tone wasn’t sufficiently gloomy enough to warrant the book as a whole being characterized as “Gothic” or “dark fantasy,” nor were the defining characteristics of Gothic literature present. At most, you could say there was a tyrannical antagonist and some dark imagery, but I don’t think the atmosphere was pushed into the realm of Gothic or even horror. Rather, I think the story is more rooted in magical realism in that we get magical elements in a real-world setting without much explanation as to how or why muses are able to take physical form and everyone accepts that. I don’t think that magical realism is a bad choice or inferior genre, just that Winters’ intention doesn’t quite match up with her results.

Plot: The plot of this book follows a young Edgar Allan Poe as he leaves home to go to college, enduring abuse from his adoptive father as well as financial trouble. Along the way, he comes face-to-face with Lenore, his “dark muse,” who urges him to shrug off his foster father’s influence and embrace his destiny as a writer. I think the potential for something interesting was there - student loan debt is definitely something many young people grapple with, so in some ways, Poe could have been made more relatable to modern readers. I don’t think, however, that the plot itself as it stands was very engaging, primarily because the focus was entirely on cultivating Poe’s “literary genius.” If the story wasn’t talking about whether Poe should write macabre tales or satires, it was focused on Lenore’s desire to “be seen” and “evolve.” Artistic genius is something very few people possess, and the righteous struggle of embracing art no matter the real-world consequences doesn’t quite acknowledge how those real-world consequences have a real effect on a person’s well-being. True, this book does mention that Poe struggles financially and resorts to drinking and gambling and taking out enormous loans to cover his debts, but they felt like afterthoughts in that not much time is given to exploring them compared to Poe’s literary journey. I would have liked to see Poe’s story brought down to a level that more people could connect to, such as using Lenore as a sounding board for exploring more complex ideas like the value of art, how art is used to rebel against oppressive power structures, the cost of following one’s dreams in a world that doesn’t value them, or how darkness and morbid imagery can be a source of comfort (rather than wholly an indicator that something is wrong with someone).

Characters: This book is told in first person, alternating between Poe’s perspective and Lenore’s. Poe is supposedly a teenager obsessed with death yet afraid of dying, yet that defining characteristic comes up so few times that it’s easily forgettable. Poe is also a little hot-and-cold towards his muse, Lenore, sometimes caring for her and desiring her presence, other times pushing her away out of shame. I think the struggle to overcome internal shame could have been interesting if more was done to explore the concept, but as the book stands, it doesn’t seem like young Poe does much except react to the whims of his muses and lament his financial and family situations. 

Lenore, Poe’s “Gothic muse,” is a strange figure in that’s she’s a concept made flesh. Representing Poe’s macabre side, she follows Poe around, demanding that she “be seen” so she can evolve into her final form, a dark-winged raven. As much as I liked having half the book narrated by a female character, I don’t think her perspective enhanced the story much. Her perspective demystified Lenore in ways that I think undercut the book’s intended mood, and even the scenes in which she delivers poetic inspiration aren’t very gripping or fantastical.

Poe does have a second muse named Garland O’Peale, who represents Poe’s satirical and witty side. The real Poe was a master literary critic in addition to horror-smith and poet, and it was great to see this part of the literary giant’s career explored in some capacity. Garland is frequently in conflict with Lenore, claiming that focusing on dark imagery and the macabre is “childish.” I think there was some potential here for a deeper dive into why certain literary genres are valued more than others, as well as a more complex rendering of Poe’s mental characteristics being externalized and turned into an allegory. However, because not much is done with this allegory, both Garland and Lenore read a little flat.

Supporting characters are likewise a little underdeveloped. I didn’t get the sense that Poe truly connected with any of his friends and classmates, and I didn’t see why he loved Elmira (other than he tells us so). His adoptive father is sufficiently evil for the purposes of this story, but again, John Allan’s obsession with snuffing out Poe’s literary impulses in favor of turning him towards “real work” could have been taken up as a central theme of the book and made more complex.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re interested in the life and work of Edgar Allan Poe, 19th century America, dark or Gothic literature, the concept of artistic inspiration, and magical realism.

[occultspirits-blog]

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” influenced Modern Art, here’s how.

Hi all and welcome to Spirit’s blog. Today I wanted to discuss one of my favorite poems, “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe. This poem is a Romanticism literature piece, that has a talking bird, sorrow, loss, and a bit of delirium. If you have never read it in it’s entirety, keep reading, and if you have and love it like me, well enjoy.

The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —

This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you” — here I opened wide the door; —

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” —

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore —

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before —

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of ‘Never — nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —

Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting —

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted — nevermore!

Now that we are all on the same “page” 😉. Edgar Allan Poe was an American author, editor and literary critic. He was born in Boston,MA, on January 19, 1809. He wrote “ The Raven” in January of 1845, and it was instantly popular. He was one of the first writers to ever make a living wage as a writer. He published many short stories and poems in his life. He was also a major contributor of bringing Romanticism to the United States.

For those who do not know Romanticism was an art movement that started in Europe in the 18th century. It focused on emotion in art and individuality of man. There is also connection to the scientific advancements of that time pertaining to nature. There was special attention to the emotions of fear, shock, awe and apprehension, before this time period there was mostly only religious figures and artifacts as art. This was the time for man and all his inner workings to be in the “lime light”.

This time period saw many talented artists across all forms of medium. For example: William Blake (poet/painter), Francisco Goya (painter), Eugene Delacroix (painter), J.M. W. Turner (painter), Edgar Allan Poe (author) and many others. These artists were pioneers in the era of man, to say, they paved the way for man to be self aware.

So now you may wonder how this pertains to our time. Well, any form of art is composed with a viewer in mind, the job of an artist is to cause the viewer to have the intended emotion. If you see a picture of someone scared, you scan the scene to find out why and become fearful when you find the source. This is the entire point to modern art, to convey emotion. Even TV commercials rely heavily on the basics of art, to sway people into buying their product or service. So if what we strive to achieve is emotion, then the Romanticism movement is the first introduction to combining art and emotion. They were the forefathers of modern art. So the next time you see art, and feel something, remember that started in the 18th century. Blessed be.

*If you would like more posts like this one, please tell me in the comments, I would be more than happy to write them.