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My father's library contained a fascinating collection of books. At the age of thirteen, having digested some of his lighter novels, I turned my attention to the macabre. Under cover of bedclothes and with only a torch for light, I furtively delved into Edgar Allan Poe's "Tales of Mystery and Imagination". If Poe's purpose in these horror stories was to induce fear in his readers, along with the occasional nightmare, I would not have disappointed him. "The Pit and the Pendulum", "A Descent into the Maelstrom", and "The Premature Burial", in particular, held a horrible fascination for me.

It was not until later that I came across his poetry. "The Raven", first published in 1845, so affected me that for many years I could not look a black crow in the eye without seeing evil intent. Back then Poe's techniques of alliteration, assonance and internal rhyme were lost on me, although I realize now that they increased the macabre effect.

Through repetitive sounds such as "the silken sad uncertain rustling", the reader can virtually hear the sound of the moving curtains, while internal rhyme as in
"But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token.
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore!'"
adds to the feeling of measured suspense.

Throughout the poem the rhythm is not unlike that of a human heartbeat. One can almost hear one's own heart beating in time with his words as the pace quickens.

The haunting repetition of the raven's whispered word Lenore', hardly distinguishable from the wind, gradually gives way to the even more haunting Nevermore' which takes the reader right up to the final ghastly conclusion.

Poe's technique, whether in his short stories or in poems such as "The Raven", of moving slowly, stealthily and inevitably up to the final climax, is unnerving but extremely effective. I would never want to plumb the darkness of his mind, even if that were possible. There was obviously an extremely sinister side to his personality. Perhaps this is why he lived only forty years (1809 to 1849) and the cause of his death is unknown, although drugs, rabies, suicide and brain congestion are among the suggested causes.

Nevertheless, poet and master of suspense and horror he most assuredly was, as is attested by the fact that what I read under the bedclothes at the age of thirteen is with me still. I only hope that, when his short life was ended, he was himself able to rest in peace, untormented by the horror with which he garnished his literary masterpieces.

Learn more about this author, Ann Johnstone.
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