Poe unit and literary terms

The Raven Poem

-1st line "Once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary.." -major rhyme pattern~ hypnotic effect -sound devices stress speaker's state of mind (irrational) -isolation can lead to madness/obsessive behavior -strong use of symbolism (raven) -speaker accepts realization of his sorrow -death, loss, and suffering are inescapable _____________________________________________________________ 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 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 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 further 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 my sad 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 in 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!

simile

A comparison using "like" or "as"

irony

A contrast between expectation and reality

personification

A figure of speech in which an object or animal is given human feelings, thoughts, or attitudes

hyperbole

A figure of speech that uses exaggeration to express strong emotion, make a point, or evoke humor

satire

A literary work that criticizes human misconduct and ridicules vices, stupidities, and follies.

rhythm

A strong, regular, repeated pattern of movement or sound.

symbol

A thing that represents or stands for something else, especially a material object representing something abstract.

The Fall of the House of Usher (death tale) *summary*

-1st line "DURING THE WHOLE of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. -a tale of death -uses setting to enhance plot -scene is set for eerie, diseased and bleak tale -questions whether scene is unhealthy~ reflection of house in tarn (lake) is more distorted than it's actual state -setting functions as symnol~ "house of usher" means both family and home -personifies house "eye-like windows" -House is crumbling/family is crumbling -Duality of story~emotional and physical (Frederick=emotional + madeline=physical) -demise of family/families can pass on terrible traits as well as good ones -illness and natural phenomena explore theme of science versus superstition -physical collapse of house of usher is a supernatural phenomenon or scientific coincidence? (represents the collapse of the family of usher) _______________________________________________________________________________________ On a dark and gloomy autumn day, our narrator approaches the House of Usher, the sight of which renders the day even gloomier than before. He notes the house's "eye-like windows" and feels a "depression of soul" that is comparable only to the way an opium addict feels when he comes back to reality (1). He can't decide exactly why he feels so miserable, so he concludes that there are just some weird things in life you can't explain. The narrator approaches the tarn (read: lake) that lies near the house, and gazes down into it so as to examine the inverted reflection of the house rather than the house itself. But it's still creepy-looking. He again notes the "eye-like windows" which would suggest this is an important detail (1). He reveals that he's planning on spending a few weeks here. The owner of the house, Roderick Usher, is a boyhood friend of his. Recently, the narrator received a letter from Usher revealing Usher's illness, "a mental disorder that oppressed him." Usher begged his friend to come to the house and try to figure out what was wrong with him. So the narrator agreed. Although they were friends in childhood, the narrator actually knows very little about Usher, as he was always excessively and habitually reserved. His "very ancient family" is famous for its devotion to the arts - music and paintings - and has given a fair amount of money in support of these activities. (3). The narrator has also heard that the Usher family has no branches; that is, there is only a direct blood line from their ancestors. For this reason, the name of the estate, "The House of Usher," has come to refer both to the house itself and the family who owns it. There also seem to be similarities between the character of the house and the supposed characters of the Ushers. Looking up at the house, the narrator feels as though "about the whole mansion and domain there hung [...] an atmosphere [...], a pestilent and mystic vapour, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued" (4). More on the house: it's very old, but it seems to be in great shape - except for a very tiny crack that runs from the roof down the front of the house. But enough of that. The narrator rides his horse to the house and is greeted by a servant. He is taken by a valet to see Usher, and on the way determines that all the objects inside the house - carvings, tapestries, trophies - give him much the same feeling that the outside of the house did. When the narrator enters his room, Usher stands and greets his friend. The narrator is shocked at how much Usher has changed since they last saw each other. His skin is very pale, his eyes seem to glow, and his hair seems to float above his head (8). Usher has a nervous agitation that renders him largely incoherent. He launches in to a discussion of his illness. This, he says, is a family illness. It heightens all of his senses so that light hurts his eyes, he can only eat bland foods and only wear certain clothes, and most sounds make him miserable. Usher is a slave to terror, notes the narrator. He feels he will die from it, and quite soon. It's not even the illness itself that's so bad but the fear of all the events which may cause him pain. According to Usher, this fear is what will be the death of him. He is also, it turns out, a very superstitious fellow. Usher hasn't left his house in several years, and he's under the impression that his family's mansion has obtained an influence over his spirit, that it's the house's fault he feels so gloomy. On the other hand, he also feels gloomy because his sister, Madeline, his last living relative and his only companion for the last several years, has been ill for a long time and will soon be dead. As Usher is speaking, Madeline walks slowly in a distant part of the house and the narrator catches sight of her, though she does not notice him. Usher buries his head in his hands and cries with "many passionate tears." No one has been able to figure out why Madeline is so sick. The doctors think that she is just gradually wasting away and that she is partially cataleptical. The night the narrator arrived she took to bed. For the next several days the narrator tries to help Usher out of his melancholy. They paint, or read, or he listens to Usher play the guitar. But the closer they get, the more the narrator thinks his efforts are futile. The narrator was often awed by the artistic productions of Usher, which he can't really describe for his readers in words. He painted intense, abstract, mood-driven pieces. One painting in particular the narrator remembers vividly: a long corridor below the earth, bathed in eerie light though there was no light source to be found. Similarly, one of Usher's ballads stayed in the narrator's mind. He recounts the song stanza by stanza for his readers. It is called, perhaps unsurprisingly, "The Haunted Palace," and tells the story of a glorious, beautiful palace destroyed by "evil things" (19). This reminds the narrator: Usher firmly believes that his house is sentient, or capable of perceiving things. The evidence for his claim lies, he believes, in "the condensation of an atmosphere" which lies about the mansion (20). In addition to music and art, the two men spend a lot of time reading the books in Usher's library. One night, Usher informs the narrator that Madeline is dead. He's afraid that her doctors will want to autopsy or otherwise experiment on her, since her illness was so bizarre. So Usher wishes to entomb her underneath the mansion, in one of its many vaults, for two weeks, until her proper burial. The narrator agrees to help Usher move the body. The two men together carry Madeline to the vault. The narrator notes that the underground chamber lies directly underneath his own room in the mansion. As they place Madeline into the coffin, the narrator notes, for the first time, how similar she looks to Usher. Usher responds that they were in fact twins, and that they shared a connection which could hardly be understood by an outsider. The narrator also notes that Madeline's cheeks are flushed and her lips pink. Then they screw the coffin closed. Over the next few days, Usher's countenance changes. He neglects his ordinary duties, looks even more pale, and has lost the luster in his eyes. The narrator feels though Usher's mind is burdened with some oppressive secret. He stares into nothingness and seems to be listening to imaginary sounds. The narrator also finds that he himself is subject to Usher's superstitions. About seven or eight nights after putting Madeline in the tomb, the narrator feels nervous and scared and can't get to sleep. There is a storm raging, but in the quiet interludes he thinks he can hear eerie sounds coming from the mansion. He dresses and begins pacing back and forth. Then he sees Usher in the hallway. The man looks crazy, but the narrator figures any company is preferable to being terrified alone. Usher wants to know if the narrator has "seen it" (28). He throws open the windows to the raging storm outside, and huge, powerful gusts of wind begin raging through the room. Outside, the narrator can see an eerie, glowing, gaseous cloud surrounding the mansion. He tries to assure Usher that it is simply an electrical phenomenon, perfectly explainable through science. He then sits his friend down and begins to read aloud to him in order to pass the night away. The narrator begins reading "The Mad Trist" by Sir Launcelot Canning. After some time he gets to the part where Ethelred, the hero, tries to break his way into the dwelling of a hermit. As Ethelred breaks down the door in the story, the narrator and Usher can hear the sounds of a door being smashed through. Usher, meanwhile, has turned his chair around to face the door to the chamber. The narrator, for lack of a better option, continues reading. As he reads about the sounds of a shield clanging to the ground, he hears the actual sounds reverberating through the palace. Usher begins speaking. Yes, he says, Usher hears it too, has heard it for many nights now, yet dared not speak of it. Then he reveals to the narrator that they buried Madeline alive. These sounds they have heard are the sounds of Madeline breaking out of her coffin and making her way out of the underground vault. "Madman!" he screams, "I tell you that she now stands without the door!" (40). At just that (appropriate) moment, a gust of wind blows the doors to the bedchamber open, and indeed there stands Madeline, bloodied and bruised. She rushes forward and falls upon her brother, who collapses to the ground, dead. The narrator, a tad bit put off by all of this, runs terrified from the mansion. The storm outside is still raging. He sees a bright light on the path before him and turns around to the house to see where it is coming from. The moon, it seems, is shining through that tiny crack in the house that he noticed at his first arrival. As he looks back at the house, the fissure widens; the entire house splits in two and then falls, sinking into the tarn (lake) below.

The Pit and The Pendulum (tale of terror) *read summary*

-1st line "I WAS SICK--SICK unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted so sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me." -a tale of terror -story of torture, hope and persecution -the power of humans to inflict pain and suffering -the power of humans to hold on to hope __________________________________________________________________ When we first meet our narrator, he's not feeling so hot. "I was sick," he tells us, "sick unto death with that long agony" (1). Of course, he's got a good reason to feel bad: it seems he's just been sentenced to death by a group of black-robed, white-lipped judges. Yikes. Their lips, he tells us, are "whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these words" (1). We know, then, that he's survived the ordeal that he's narrating (that, or he's a rather talkative ghost). Now we find out that these judges are part of the Spanish Inquisition. Their voices merge together into an indistinguishable hum, then all goes silent. He can see their lips form his name, but he can't hear it pronounced. He notices all around him the waving of the black draperies that cover the walls of the room. Seven candles, placed on the table in front of him, seem for a moment like angels who have come to save him. Suddenly, he's overcome by nausea; the candles turn suddenly into specters (spirits) with heads of flame. He is overwhelmed by the thought of death, by the "sweet rest" that must come with it (1). The thought washes over our narrator, gently, but as soon as it enters his mind something strange happens. The judges disappear from view, as do the candles; he's plunged into total darkness, silence, and stillness. He had fainted, the narrator tells us, but he can't begin to describe the state he was truly in; he compares it to a dream. He tries to remember what happened after that - he can call up dim memories of "tall figures," a dizzying descent, and then a sort of total stillness, accompanied by damp flatness. (Sounds like some dudes carried him down a flight of stairs, right?) Suddenly, again, he's overcome by thoughts of madness. The stillness is interrupted by the beating of his heart, and all his senses begin to return to him. And then he regains consciousness, thought, the desire to understand his plight. But just as suddenly, he has the desire to lose sensation again. Yikes. His memory of the preceding events returns - he remembers the judges, the trial, the nausea, and the fainting. What this all about? A trial? Still, he hasn't opened his eyes. He can tell that he's lying on his back, that he's not bound. He reaches out and feels something damp and hard. The narrator sits that way for a while; he dreads opening his eyes, not out of the fear of what he might see, but out of the fear that he might not see anything at all. Eek! Quickly, he opens his eyes: all is darkness, as he feared. He remains on the ground, lying quietly. He attempts to figure out what's actually happened to him. Despite the darkness and the strange circumstances, our narrator knows that he isn't dead. He decides that he will not die any time soon - usually the condemned are killed at the "auto de fé," and he's sure that one was held the day of his sentencing. What's an auto de fé, you ask? Well, let's dig in to a little history snack. Basically, auto de fé was the public execution (i.e. burning at the stake) of a heretic during the Spanish Inquisition. The phrase literally means "act of faith." Wait, what? Burning someone at the stake is an act of faith? Not so much: the auto de fé was actually the moment when the heretic essentially apologized to everyone for his sins. Then, of course, he was killed for spectacle, so the phrase now implies the execution more than the apology. Back to the story. Our narrator knows, too, that his cell isn't typical: most have stone floors and a bit of light streaming in. His place has neither. He worries that he has been put into a tomb instead. He moves slowly forward, arms extended, hoping to catch even the smallest bit of light. After walking for a bit, he decides he has not been sealed in a tomb, at least. Our guy doesn't calm down, though. He begins to think of the rumors he's heard about the Spanish Inquisition - plenty of stories of strange deaths. Creepy. He worries about how he will be killed and when death will come. Eventually, he comes to a wall; it's made of stone and it's smooth, slimy, and cold. Mmm. He decides to follow it along its length. He realizes, though, that, in the darkness, he'll have no way of knowing when he's come back to the place where he started - the wall is simply too uniform. After thinking for a while, he decides to tear a piece of fabric from his robe and place it perpendicular to the wall at his starting place. (Smart guy, trying to figure stuff out.) He begins to move forward, but soon is overcome with fatigue. He falls to the ground and is soon asleep. When he wakes up (who knows how long he's been out), the narrator sticks an arm out and finds a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water next to him. Score! He eats and drinks quickly. Then he resumes his walk around the chamber. Having counted fifty-two paces before falling to the ground, he counts forty-eight more before encountering the piece of cloth. He guesses that the chamber is about fifty yards in circumference. (If you don't know what circumference is, well, don't bring that up in math class.) Now, he decides to travel across the room in as straight a line as possible. After about ten steps, though, he trips on his torn robe and falls to the ground. Oops. Upon getting his wits about him again, our narrator realizes something strange: though his chin is on the ground, his lips and the top of his head touch nothing. He feels a damp vapor and smells something like decayed fungus. Uh oh. Reaching his arm forward, he realizes that he's fallen on the edge of a circular pit of unknown size. He manages to knock a piece of loose masonry from the edge of the pit and listens as it falls into the depths - taking seconds before splashing into the water at the bottom. That's a long stinkin' drop. Suddenly, he hears what sounds like the opening and closing of a door up above and glimpses a faint gleam of light. Light! He sees that, had he moved one step farther, he would have fallen into the pit. Guess it's his lucky day... or not. At this point, he totally loses it: his nerves are shot, and he trembles at the sound of his own voice. He crawls back, shaking, to the wall. He'd rather die there than in the pit; after all, he has no idea if there are other pits, and he knows - having heard stories - that the inquisitors have no desire to give their prisoners a quick death. P.S. The inquisitors are the guys who carried out the Spanish Inquisition. Anxious, he stays awake for many hours, but eventually our narrator succumbs to sleep again. When he wakes up, he finds another loaf of bread and another pitcher of water. And once again, he eats and drinks quickly. No need for manners in a torture chamber. Soon he becomes drowsy: the water, he decides, must have been drugged. When he wakes up - after who knows how long - he can see the dungeon for the first time. He realizes that he estimated the size of the room incorrectly: it's actually about half as large as he thought. He wonders why he even bothered trying to figure out its size at all. (We were thinking the same thing.) The narrator also realizes it's a totally different shape than he first guessed. It's a square room, not at all strangely angled. Hmm, how'd that happen? The walls are covered in strange carvings of fiends and skeletons and other frightening things, although he has a hard time making out distinct shapes. In the center of the room is the one-and-only pit. Now the narrator finds himself on his back once again, tied down to a wooden frame by a single large strap. The strap is wrapped around his body in a strange and convoluted way, leaving only his head and left arm free. This small bit of freedom lets him reach a small plate of heavily-seasoned meat and another pitcher of water. Lunch. Looking up, he sees something thirty or forty feet above his head: on the ceiling above is a painted version of the figure of Time. Instead of carrying his usual scythe (you know, the thing the Grim Reaper carries?), Father Time seems to hold in his hand a huge pendulum. Gazing up, our narrator realizes that the pendulum is in fact in motion. He watches for a few minutes before turning away. He hears a small noise and turns to see a few huge rats on the floor; they've just come up from the pit, he realizes. As he watches, they continue to emerge. Gross. He attempts, with much effort, to scare them away from the meat. Some time later - a half an hour, an hour, he can't really be sure - our narrator looks back up. The pendulum has begun to swing faster, and in a wider arc. He also realizes that it has descended from the ceiling. Uh oh. This pretty much can't get any worse. Oh wait, yes it can! The narrator notices that the bottom of the pendulum is formed by a razor sharp crescent of steel (20). He can hear it hiss as it passes through the air. Oh. Crap. He realizes that, having escaped death once, he has been condemned to suffer a different kind of punishment by the inquisitors. He considers, for a moment, that perhaps this punishment is milder, but then he smiles at the absurdity of this thought. Now, he waits and watches for hours as the pendulum moves slowly down. Days seem to pass while he waits for it to take him; he prays that it will descend a bit more quickly. The worst part is knowing that it's coming. For a moment he is overcome by a feeling of calm; he descends into insensibility, but he recovers just as quickly. The poor narrator is overcome with nausea once again: he's sick and weak and, oh yeah, about to be killed. Still, he craves food. He stretches out his arm and grabs the small bit of food that the rats have left behind. Suddenly, just before popping the food in his mouth, he has a thought. He is filled, for a moment, with a kind of illogical hope. What does he have up his sleeve now? He looks up at the pendulum. It's positioned in such a way that it will hit him right across the heart. It will, he realizes, move with such steadiness that, for a while, it will merely tear apart the cloth of his robe. He wonders at this reality for a moment; he thinks about it super hard, as if by merely thinking, he might stop the movement of the pendulum. Hey, you never know. Still, it continues to get closer. He watches it, fascinated by its wide, swift sweep, and the hiss of its movement through the air. He laughs and he howls. He really is going nuts, huh? When the pendulum is only three inches away from his chest, he begins struggling to get his arm free. He thinks of grabbing the plate and using it to stop the movement of the blade. He quickly realizes that this is just plain dumb. It would never work. And so, he continues to watch the blade's descent. Death would be a relief, he thinks. His eyes open and close at random. But then he starts to quiver - with hope, he says. Hope? Seriously? Now he realizes that the blade only needs to make a dozen or more sweeps before it will touch his robe... Suddenly, he has a thought. It occurs to him that he might be able to untie the strap that binds him with his left hand. Still, he worries that the blade is now too close. He lifts his head to get a good look. He can see that the strap crosses his body everywhere except where the pendulum is meant to cut him. Hmm. Now he has another thought, however ill-formed. The frame, he tells us, has been swarming with the ravenous rats. He's pretty sure they're waiting until they can munch him up for dinner. He also notices that the rats have gotten so used to eating the spiced meat that they've started to nibble at his oily fingers. Ew! So, he takes the meat he has left in his hand and begins to rub the bandage that's tying him up. He then lies totally still. Wait, what's he doing? A couple of the rats, feeling super confident because of the narrator's stillness, hop up on him and smell his now-spicy bandage. Yum, spicy bandage. Suddenly, the rats - hundreds of them - jump on him en masse; they cover the narrator's body from head to toe. In a moment, he realizes he's been freed, cut loose from his bonds by the bandage-hungry rats. At this point, the pendulum has already begun to cut into his robe and the linen underneath. He can feel pain in every nerve. We're freaking out just thinking about it. Still, he manages to spring free from the bandage and out of the blade's reach - just in time. Phew. Almost immediately, the pendulum's motion stops, and the whole machine is raised up into the ceiling. Interesting. When this happens, he realizes that he's being watched. He's pretty sure, then, that he's jumped out of the fire - but will soon end up in the frying pan. (I.e., he's still going to die, just not by razor-blade pendulum death.) For a few minutes he's lost in thought. (Now's not the best time for that, buddy.) But soon, he notices the source of the strange light in the room. It comes from a break in the walls, about a half-inch in width. He attempts to look through the slot, but he can't see anything. He realizes, then, that the walls themselves are totally separated from the floor. He notices, too, that the figures on the wall, once blurry and indistinct, have become intensely brilliant. The demons and fiends take on a devilish glow. The whole scene becomes unreal. And, we might add, super creepy. Suddenly, he smells the scent of heated iron. (Does that smell like when we burn our clothes with the iron?) The walls begin to glow brighter. He realizes, then, what's happening. (We're pretty sure the walls are going to push him into that pit. Yeah.) He moves away from the glowing metal walls toward the center of the room, to the very edge of the pit. He shrieks and buries his head in his hands. All the while, the heat continues to increase. He looks up and notices another change. The shape of the cell is beginning to shift. The room, once square, is now deformed; the walls bent into the shape of a diamond. They continue to move, rumbling ominously all the way. The Inquisition, he decides, wants to make doubly sure he'll perish this time. Our narrator considers clasping the walls - "any death but the bottom of the pit!" he tells himself - but just as soon realizes that that's exactly what his captors want. Oh crap. The room continues to collapse upon itself until he has barely an inch to stand on. Teetering on the brink, he lets out a final scream and prepares to fall. Suddenly, he hears the hum of human voices, the blast of trumpets, and the rumbling of thunder. The walls recede and an arm reaches out to grab our narrator. It is the arm of General Lasalle, he tells us. The French have entered Toledo and ended the Inquisition. Whew.

The tell tale heart (revenge/murder tale) *read summary*

-1st line: "TRUE!--NERVOUS--VERY, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?" -a tale of revenge and murder -psychological thriller -1st person narrative (see from the eyes/mind of a killer) -the reason for the murder is arbitrary which leads to the fear factor -tries to convince us he is not mad by his methodical killing style -beating heart (old man or his own) -one's own psyche is powerful and uncontrollable _________________________________________________________________________________ The narrator is intensely nervous, but claims that he isn't insane. The narrator explains to us that he has a "disease" that makes his "senses" super powerful. According to him, this is different than an insane person, whose senses are completely gone, or at least very weak. "Hearing" is the narrator's most intensified sense, and claims to be able to hear everything going on in "heaven," "earth," and most of what's going on in "hell." Now, the narrator will further prove his sanity by telling the following story. (Note: When the narrator says "Hearken!" he means listen up.) The narrator's story begins with an "idea," an idea that turns into an obsession. (He doesn't yet reveal to us what this idea is.) There's no reason for it. In fact, the narrator "loved the old man," who has always been really cool. It isn't about the old man's money either. See, the narrator thinks it might have been the old man's freaky eye that started the idea: "He had the eye of a vulture - a pale blue eye, with a film over it" (2). Whenever the old man's eye looks at the narrator, the narrator's blood freezes. This has gotten to be too much for the narrator to handle. He decides that the old man had to die, so the narrator won't have to ever see the eye again. Now the narrator begins defending his sanity again. This time the argument is that insane people don't have any knowledge or skill, whereas the narrator plans everything well and is extremely careful. (In the text, "foresight" means you can predict things, or see them before they happen. "Dissimilation" means acting a certain way to hide the true feelings.) The narrator is super-sweet to the old man all week before the killing goes down. Each night of the week, at almost 12am, the narrator goes to the old man's room and cracks the door enough to put in a "a dark lantern" (3). The narrator's lantern is lit, but it has plates around it that can be opened and closed to control the amount of light coming out. The narrator has it closed so no light shines out. After the lantern, the narrator pokes in his head through the door. He's afraid of waking the old man, so it takes an hour for him to stick his head in the room. The narrator argues that this is proof that he's not insane. How could the he be insane, he asks, and be so careful at the same time? Next, the narrator opens the lantern, just enough to let a tiny bit of light shine on the old man's eye. But the narrator can't kill the old man, because he won't open up his eye. See, it's the man's "Evil Eye" the narrator has a problem with, not the man himself. Every morning, the narrator comes into the old man's room, and asks him how he slept. The old man would have had to be pretty "profound" (deep) to guess that the narrator had been spying on him while he sleeps. On the eighth night, the narrator repeats the process, opening the door more carefully than usual. He feels at the height of his "power" and can't even believe his own "sagacity." ("Sagacity" means quick and clever thinking. It also means an excellent sense of smell. These days, the word is only rarely used in that second way, but considering what the narrator said about his heightened senses, both meanings might apply.) Anyhow, the narrator feels intensely that he's going to win this game, and is really enjoying the fact that the old man is asleep and had no idea what the narrator is doing. The old man moves in his bed. The narrator doesn't draw back. The old man is afraid of "robbers" and keeps his "shutters" closed. The room is so dark that there is no way the old man can see the door opening. Just as the narrator gets his head through the door and is about to shine the light, he makes a little noise, and the old man jumps up and says, "Who's there?" So the narrator doesn't move for an hour. The man must still be sitting up, listening ("hearkening") to "the death watches in the wall" (4). ("Death watches" are beetles that often live in tunnels they make inside of walls. They hit their heads on the tunnel walls to attract mates. For more info, click here.) Then the narrator hears a "groan of mortal terror" (5). He knows it's a groan of terror because the narrator groans like that, too. He feels sorry for the man, but is laughing inside, knowing the old man is scared out of his mind and had been trying to convince himself there is nothing to fear. But, according to the narrator, the man knows there really is something to fear, and knows he's about to die. The narrator waits and waits, and then decides to open his lantern just a little bit. He opens it "stealthily" (that is, "sneakily") and then trains the beam on the man's "vulture eye" (6). It's open. The eye is open. The narrator gets mad when he sees it. Then he can hear, due to his heightened senses, the old man's heart beating dully. So the narrator doesn't move. He just keeps the light shining on the old man's scary eye. The heartbeat gets louder and faster as the old man gets more and more scared. The narrator reminds us to "mark" (or notice) that he was and still is a nervous person. Finally, the noise gets so loud the narrator is afraid the neighbors are going to hear it. So the narrator screams, opens the lantern all the way, then jumps into the old man's room. The old man only screams one time, and the narrator drags him off the bed and then yanks "the heavy bed over him" (7). The narrator smiles. The heartbeat continues, but soon stops. The old man is dead. The narrator moves the bed and checks out the body, just to be sure. He's definitely dead. The narrator says that if you still think he's insane, you won't after hearing what he does with the body. First the narrator cuts the arms, legs, and head off the body, then hide the body parts under some loose boards in the floor. ("The scantlings" means the limited space under the floorboards.) There isn't even any blood on the floor, because the narrator is too smart for that and cuts up the body in a bathtub. By then it's 4am and still dark. There's a knock on the door. Not worried, the narrator answers the door. Three policemen come in. The neighbor heard a scream and thought something bad was going on and called them. The narrator tells them he screamed during his sleep. He claims the old man is out of town and invites the officers to search the place, which they do. Finally, the narrator takes them to "the old man's chamber" (or bedroom) and even brings in some chairs for them all to sit down. The narrator puts his chair on top of the place where the body is hidden. The cops aren't suspicious anymore, and the narrator chats with them happily, but soon gets tired and wants them to go away. His head is really hurting, and there is "a ringing in [his] ears" (9). It gets louder and louder and the narrator talks to try to get rid of the sound. The police officers drone on. Uh-oh. The noise isn't coming from the narrator's ears at all. As the noise gets louder, the narrator talks more and more wildly. It sounds like the ticking of a watch wrapped up in cloth. The policemen don't seem to notice the noise. The sound torments the narrator, who starts getting out of control, arguing with the police officers, making wild "gesticulations" (or gestures), pacing, etc. But the noise just keeps getting louder. The narrator can't take it. He is convinced the police officers know everything and are just toying with him. The noise gets so bad the narrator will to do anything to make it stop, and to stop the lying police officers from smiling at him, pretending not to know what's going on. So the narrator blurts out, "Villains! [D]issemble no more! I admit the deed! - tear up the planks! here, here! - It is the beating of his hideous heart!'" (To "dissemble" is to pretend not to see or notice something.) And that's the end of the narrator's story - his proof that he's not insane.

the Cask of Amontillado (revenge tale) *read summary*

-1st lines "THE THOUSAND INJURIES of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge." -a tale of revenge and terror -story of pride and revenge -use of irony (cask, cough, mason, name....) -use of foreshadowing ___________________________________________________ "The Cask of Amontillado" is told in the first person, so we don't learn the narrator's name for some time. We'll call him "the narrator" until his name is revealed. Fortunato has hurt the narrator a thousand times, but when Fortunato almost insults him, the narrator swears there will be payback. The narrator claims that "you" (the reader, and maybe a specific person he's telling the story to) know "the nature of" his "soul," and therefore, you also know he's never told Fortunato he wants revenge. See, the narrator has to do two things: 1) make Fortunato pay, and 2) get away with making Fortunato pay. Things won't be made right if Fortunato can get revenge on the narrator after the narrator gets revenge on him. Things also won't be made right if Fortunato doesn't feel the narrator's wrath. Again, the narrator tells us that Fortunato doesn't suspect anything. As Fortunato follows the narrator, he has no idea that the narrator is smiling at him because he's imagining him...DEAD. Actually the word the narrator uses is "immolation." To immolate means "to destroy," "to offer in sacrifice," and to "burn up." Fortunato has a "weak point," his love of wine, but other than that, he's a "respected" and "feared" person. Even though he is Italian, and most Italians, says the narrator, are phonies who cater to rich British and Australian people. And, according to the narrator, like all Italians, Fortunato is a terrible painter, and doesn't know beans about fine jewels. But, again, he knows his fine wines, and so does the narrator. (Translation: they are both alcoholics.) At sundown on the night in question, the narrator meets his "friend" Fortunato. Fortunato already has a good drunk on, and he's dressed like a jester. (Notice the little bells on the hat!) The narrator is so happy to see Fortunato that he can't stop shaking Fortunato's hand. Hey Fortunato, he says, guess what I've got - a bottle of that fine alcoholic beverage, Amontillado! Fortunato can't believe that the narrator found a bottle of the stuff - right during the middle of Carnival. The narrator says he's not sure it's real Amontillado. He had wanted Fortunato's opinion, but Fortunato wasn't around, so he took a chance and bought it. He tells Fortunato that he's on his way to see Luchesi, who will be able to tell him if the Amontillado is the real thing. Fortunato says Luchesi doesn't have the refined taste buds to tell. The narrator says "some fools" think Luchesi and Fortunato are equals in the area of wine tasting. That's the last straw for Fortunato, who says, hey, let's go to your "vault" and check this stuff out. The narrator says that he wouldn't feel right about going when Fortunato is busy, and has a cold. He tells Fortunato it's wet in the vaults because of the "nitre" growing on the walls. Pshaw, says Fortunato, let's go. And then he grabs the narrator's arm. So the narrator puts on his black silk mask and wraps himself up in his "roquelaire" (which is a cloak) and leisurely leads Fortunato toward his place. Nobody is home. The narrator has told the people who work for him that he's planning to be gone overnight, and that they must not leave the house. So they have all left to go celebrate Carnival. Just as the narrator planned. The narrator picks up two "flambeaux" (which are torches), gives one to Fortunato, and then leads him to the entrance of the "catacombs of the Montresors." Catacombs are underground burial yards, famous in Italy and France. Fortunato is walking shakily, and the bells on his cap are jingling. He has only one thing in mind: the Amontillado. The narrator assures him they will get to it any minute. Fortunato starts hacking his lungs out, and the narrator asks him if he wants to go back. Regaining his breath, Fortunato declines, saying his cough won't "kill" him. The narrator agrees and gives him another bottle of wine. Fortunato makes a toast to the dead resting in peace around them, and comments on how big the catacomb is. The Montresors "were" a humungous family, the narrator tells him. "I forget your arms," Fortunato tells him. By "arms," he means the Montresor "coat of arms." The narrator claims that the Montresor coat of arms is a gigantic gold foot, smashing a snake in the blue grass. The snake's fangs are stuck in the heel of the foot. When Fortunato asks, the narrator tells him that the "motto" that goes with the arms is "Nemo me impune lacessit." That fancy looking Latin basically means: "You can't mess with me and get away with it." Fortunato heartily approves the motto, and narrator sees the wine in his eyes. They've just walked by "walls of piled bones." Booze barrels and "puncheons" (another name for casks) are all over the place. They near the furthest, deepest part of this underground graveyard. The narrator grabs hold of Fortunato's arm and they continue to walk together. Then he tells Fortunato that the catacombs are under the bottom of the river. The water seeps through the ground and drips down into the catacombs, causing the nitre to form, and preserving the bones buried there... He urges Fortunato to turn back, while he still can, for the sake of his health. Fortunato asks for more wine and the narrator give him a bottle of "De Grâve." Fortunato drinks it in one crazy gulp, and his eyes glow, and he laughs. Then he throws up the bottle and makes a wild gesture. The narrator has no idea what the gesture means, and, he finds it "grotesque." Fortunato takes his lack of comprehension to mean that the narrator is not of the brotherhood of the Masons. The narrator protests that he is too a mason (person who builds with stone), and pulls out his trowel (a masonry tool) to prove it. You must be kidding, says Fortunato, and then he insists that they continue the search for the Amontillado. Arm in arm, they travel to a stinking, rotting "crypt." The air is so nasty that it makes their torches "glow" instead of "flame." They move on to the next crypt, where the walls are decorated with "human remains," similar to the Parisian catacombs. There is also a big pile of bones on the floor. And there's a hole in the wall. It's four feet deep, three feet wide, and six or seven feet high. The back is solid granite. Fortunato tries to get into the hole, but can't. The narrator brings up Luchesi again. Fortunato says that Luchesi is an "ignoramus." Then the narrator pins Fortunato to the granite-backed wall of the hole. "Two iron staples" happen to be sticking out of the granite. One has a chain, the other a padlock. Shocked, Fortunato does not resist when the narrator chains him to the staples. Now would you like to go back? the narrator asks Fortunato. "The Amontillado!" Fortunato spews. "True," the narrator says, "The Amontillado." Then the narrator goes over to the bone pile and gets some "building stone and mortar," which he uses to start walling Fortunato in. But, Fortunato isn't drunk any more. The narrator can tell by the "low moaning cry." Then silence. Then a rattling of chains. The narrator chills on his bone pile, waiting for Fortunato to stop rattling his chain. When the noise stops, the narrator goes back to finish the job. When the seventh layer of bricks is completed, the narrator takes another break. The bricks are up to the narrator's chest. He shines his light in the hole, on Fortunato, who starts screaming in the narrator's face. Frightened for a second, the narrator jumps back, "unsheathe[s] his rapier" (a kind of sword) and pokes it in the hole. Fortunato's screams reach new heights. The narrator joins in and a total scream-fest ensues. At midnight, the narrator completes three more layers of brick. On the eleventh layer, only one brick remains before Fortunato is bricked in forever. Just as the narrator is about to put in the last brick, he hears a "low laugh" that makes his hair stand at attention. Then he hears "a sad voice" that doesn't really sound like Fortunato anymore. Fortunato makes sounds. This is all really funny, he says. Great prank. Um, can we go drinking somewhere now? "The Amontillado!" the narrator says. Fortunato says he should be getting back to "Lady Fortunato" and the other people. The narrator agrees that they should "be gone." And then, Fortunato says, "For the love of God, Montresor!" (Finally, we know the narrator's name!) To Fortunato's plea, Montresor responds, "Yes, for the love of God!" Fortunato makes no reply, so Montresor calls his name twice. When he still gets no response, Montresor shines his light in the hole, and then hears "a jingling of bells." His "heart" feels "sick" - because it's so wet down here. He wants to be done with his work, so he puts in the last brick, covers it with plaster, then sticks a bunch of bones on top of "the new masonry." "No mortal" has messed with Fortunato's tomb for fifty years. (Now we know that Montresor is telling the story fifty years after it happened.) The final line is more Latin: "In pace requiescat!" which means what it sounds like: "May he rest in peace."

The masque of the Red death (death tale) *read summary*

-a tale of death -constructed out as a set of symbols -allegory about life and death -not able to postpone death -rooms line up in a series which represents stages of life -East to west/a life cycle/ sun rises in the east and sets in west -Journey from birth to death -room colors are symbolic 1) blue 2)purple 3)green 4) orange 5) white 6) violet 7) black with red windows and ebony clock -clock reminds everyone of passing time -death is inevitable _________________________________________________________________ A horrible disease called the Red Death is ravaging the countryside. It's a terrible way to die: shooting pains, seizures, bleeding from all the pores, and then death. And it all happens within half an hour. Prince Prospero, the ruler of said kingdom currently being ravaged by the Red Death, is "happy" and "dauntless" and decides he doesn't want to bother with the disease. So he takes a thousand of his knights and maidens and shuts himself up with them in a hidden "castellated abbey" (that would be an abbey made over into a castle, with battlements). The doors of the abbey are welded shut, so no one can get in. But no one can get out, either. Prince Prospero is quite the party animal, and plans to have a good time while the rest of the world dies. The abbey (which Prospero designed himself) is filled to the brim with all the makings of an incredible party: lots of food, jesters, dancers, musicians, and wine. Five or six months after shutting himself up, Prince Prospero decides to have the biggest, weirdest masked ball anyone's ever seen. The narrator can't get over just how cool the setup is, and spends the next two pages raving about it. So, here's the setup: The ball is set in a suite of seven rooms, which run from east to west. Unlike most suites, they don't form a straight line, but are at odd angles to each other. Each room is a different color, too (thanks to a serious job on the wall hangings) - even the windows in the rooms are painted. The first room is blue, the second one purple, the third one green, the fourth one orange, the fifth white, the sixth violet. The seventh room is particularly interesting. It's hung entirely in black velvet, but the windows aren't black: instead, they're a deep blood red color. Mwahahaha...how ghoulish. As for the lighting? The windows of the rooms open on to a corridor, and the candles are actually put in the corridor, so the light can stream through the windows into the rooms. This lighting makes the black room so creepy that almost no one dares to go in. In the black room there's also an enormous black clock. The clock chimes at every hour with a note so strange that all the masqueraders are put on edge and stop whatever they're doing when they hear it, even the musicians. After the clock finishes, they all laugh nervously and go back to partying. After describing the duke's designs, the narrator admits that our man Prospero's a little on the odd side. So odd, in fact, that you might think he was insane, though his friends don't think so. But he does know how to throw one heck of a party. The party is one wild good time - it feels like a fantasy land. The masqueraders look like "dreams" and "fantasms." General revelry for all. The night wears on, and gradually the revelers get too nervous to even venture a foot into the black and red room. The other rooms are jam-packed with people. Midnight arrives, and the clock strikes twelve eerie strokes. Everybody stops what they're doing, as usual. Before the clock's done striking, some of the revelers start to notice a new guest has arrived, a guest who even in Prospero's crazy crowd seems to have gone just a little too far... The new arrival is dressed like a corpse in a burial shroud, with a terribly convincing mask that looks just like a dead person's face. If that were all, it wouldn't be such a big deal. But this guy's not just dressed like a corpse; he's dressed like someone who died of the Red Death. You can tell by the blood. Prince Prospero catches sight of the "spectral image" (ghostly figure), who's walking slowly and deliberately through the crowd. His first reaction is terror, but then he gets mad. Prospero demands to know who would dare to insult him so, and orders his guards to seize the guy in the Red Death getup, and unmask him - he'll be publicly hanged at sunrise. No one has the courage to seize the guest. Including Prospero. The Red Death masquerader passes right by Prince Prospero, who's in the blue room, and slowly makes his way from one room to another, heading towards the black room. Everybody shrinks away as he passes. Now Prospero's angry enough to get over his nervousness. In rage, he draws a knife and runs after the ghostly figure in the Red Death getup. Prospero passes from the blue room all the way down to the violet room, until he reaches the ghostly guest at the edge of the black room. The Red Death masquerader suddenly turns around and faces Prospero, who drops his dagger and falls down. Dead. Prospero's revelers, enraged enough to get over their fear, run into the black room and mob the masquerader. As they rip at it, they're horrified to discover that there's nothing underneath the mask and shroud. Uh oh. You know what that means... Everyone realizes that the Red Death itself has arrived at the party. Slowly, one by one, each person starts contorting, bleeding, and dying. The black clock dies too, and the candles go out... "And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all" (14).

The murders in the rue morgue (mystery) *read summary*

-a tale of mystery -use off deductive reasoning -knowledge of what to observe -regarded as a madman, but of a harmless nature ________________________________________________________________ "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" starts out with a proposition: there are two modes of untangling a problem. The first is that of the chess player, who looks at all the pieces on a board and decides, from the way everything is laid out, what to do next. The second is that of the whist player (whist, by the way, is like bridge, a game with four players that depends on working out what cards your opponents are holding). The whist player not only has to memorize the rules and moves of the game (like the chess player) but she also has to figure out, or deduce, from watching her fellow players, what cards they have. This kind of analysis takes both imagination and reason - and it's this kind of intelligence that we're supposed to see in this story. (Check out our "In a Nutshell" for more on Poe and "tales of ratiocination" to see why this argument is important.) If you're looking for someone who has this whist-player-style analytical intelligence, look no further than our young, sarcastic protagonist, Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin, a Parisian gentleman fallen on hard times. Dupin's love of detecting leads him to a case that both the newspapers and the police themselves have declared unsolvable: the murders in the Rue Morgue (a.k.a. Morgue Street). Here's what we know about this unsolvable case: In the middle of the night, the neighborhood of Quartier St. Roch is awakened by a series of screams coming from a house on the Rue Morgue. A bunch of concerned neighbors and policemen pry open the front door of the house. As they run up the stairs, they hear sounds of struggle and two weird voices, one gruff, the other shrill. Witnesses later agree that the gruff voice is that of a Frenchman, but the shrill voice could be a woman. She could be speaking English, Russian, Italian, or Spanish - none of the witnesses can agree. All the noises stop by the time they reach the second landing. Once the neighbors break into the fourth story apartment (where the screams came from), they find the rooms totally destroyed. The body of resident Mademoiselle L'Espanaye is stuffed up the chimney with bruises on her neck. Also found are two sacks of cash with four thousand francs, and the corpse of the murdered girl's mother is lying on the rear stone courtyard. The bones on Madame L'Espanaye's right side are shattered and her neck has been cut so badly that her head falls off when the neighbors try to lift her body. They also discover that both the room's windows are sealed from the inside, the doors are locked, and there's no way for anyone to have escaped without being seen by the neighbors coming up the stairs. The police are completely confused. Even though there's no evidence against him, they arrest a bank clerk named Le Bon, who brought the two women the four thousand francs three days before the murders. The police try to seem as though they're making progress, but they're not. There's no apparent motive, the murders were brutal, and no one can figure out what language was spoken or where the killer(s) went once the neighborhood posse arrived. This is one tough case. But Dupin laughs at the impossible. He thinks it might be impossible for people stuck in their ways, like the police, to solve this case, but it's not for him. Also, he owes Le Bon, the current suspect, a favor, so he uses his connections with the chief of police to get into the crime scene. Dupin identifies five points as essential to the killer's identity: he has a shrill voice with no words, the agility to get in through the window, superhuman strength, inhuman cruelty, and no motive. Using this evidence, Dupin comes to a conclusion that he proves to the narrator using the evidence of giant fingerprints on Mademoiselle L'Espanaye's neck. The prints are consistent with a certain species of ape native to Southeast Asia - the orangutan! (Or, as Poe spells it, Ourang-Outang.) The first voice of the Frenchman was from a man who witnessed the murders and who, although innocent, has not wanted to come forward with his story for fear of being implicated in his ape's activities. To lure the Frenchman out, Dupin places an ad in a newspaper popular with sailors advertising - get this - a found Ourang-Outang. The Frenchman (a sailor) duly comes by Dupin's house to pick up his lost ape, and Dupin says he can pick up the animal after the man tells all he knows about the murders in the Rue Morgue. The sailor decides to confess all, since he doesn't want to see an innocent man (Le Bon) punished: the orangutan is his. Here's his story: One night while the sailor is out partying with his buds, the ape escapes from its closet and starts playing with the sailor's shaving things. The sailor frightens the orangutan while it is holding a straight razor, and the orangutan bounds out through an open window, razor in hand. The sailor follows, but can't catch him. Attracted by the light on in Mademoiselle L'Espanaye's apartment, the orangutan climbs up a lightning rod, swings across to a the shutter, and enters the room through an open window. The two L'Espanaye women are sitting with their backs turned to the window, when the orangutan suddenly grabs the older lady's hair and starts pretending that he's her barber. This is the origin of the horrible screams that wake the neighborhood. Her visible fear angers the ape, who slashes her throat with the razor. The sight of blood angers him even more, and he turns on the daughter, strangling her with his bare hands. Meanwhile, the sailor has been watching all of this helplessly from the window. The orangutan sees him and suddenly becomes fearful. He tries to hide the bodies by putting Mademoiselle L'Espanaye in the chimney and throwing Madame L'Espanaye out the window. As the ape approaches the window, corpse in hand, the sailor is so freaked out that he slides down the lightning rod and runs away. And that's the sailor's story. Dupin and the narrator use the sailor's evidence to get Le Bon off the hook. The sailor finds his ape (we don't know how) and sells him for a lot of money to a zoo. The Prefect of Police is a little miffed that Dupin solved the case where he couldn't, so he accuses Dupin of butting in. Dupin is full of smug superiority and ends the story with some snarky comments about the police chief, saying that the chief is cunning in a way, but not imaginative. Dupin is clearly gloating on the inside at the end of the story. To be fair, though, if we were smart enough to figure out this tricky case, we'd be pretty full of ourselves, too.

The Gold Bug (mystery/death tale) *read summary*

-a tale of mystery -set ner charleston, south carolina -legend of captain Kidd's treasure -servant~Jupiter (largest and brightest planet) -use of cryptographs -poe's use of mnemonic puzzles _____________________________________________________ The narrator's friend William Legrand is a poor scion of a formerly wealthy family who leaves New Orleans and travels to Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. The small island is marsh-like and filled with myrtle shrubs, and on the western end of the island lie some small buildings for summer residents. Legrand builds himself a hut within a myrtle thicket on the eastern end. The narrator meets and befriends Legrand here, and he is fascinated by Legrand's intelligence, mood swings, and misanthropy. Legrand enjoys fishing and exploring, and he is always accompanied by his black servant Jupiter, who had been freed by their family but who insists on following and protecting Legrand. On a chilly October day, the narrator visits his friend for the first time in several weeks and, finding the inhabitants absent, lets himself in with the hidden key. They arrive after dark, and Legrand excitedly describes a new species of bug that he found and lent to Lieutenant G. for the night. The bug is golden with three black spots forming a triangle, and Jupiter insists that the bug's weight suggests that the bug is entirely made of gold. Legrand dismisses the comment and makes a rough sketch of the bug. After the narrator takes a moment to pet Legrand's Newfoundland dog, he says that if the sketch is accurate, then the bug looks exactly like a skull, and he asks where the antennae are. Legrand insists that he drew the antennae very clearly, but when he again views the paper, he grows first red and then pale before locking the paper inside a wallet, which he locks in his writing desk. For the rest of the night, Legrand appears preoccupied, and the narrator decides to leave. After a month, the narrator receives a visit from the distraught Jupiter, who tells him that Legrand is acting peculiar. Legrand seems nervous and sick, and he keeps writing things on a slate, and one morning he left before Jupiter woke up for the entire day. Jupiter wanted to give Legrand a beating for his nerve but decided to withhold his blows because of Legrand's ill appearance. The servant suspects that Legrand's behavior has something to do with the gold bug, since he knows that the bug bit Legrand. Jupiter wrapped the bug in paper and stuffed up the insect's mouth, but since then, Legrand has been speaking of gold in his sleep. Jupiter gives the narrator a note from Legrand, which asks the narrator to come immediately to his hut. Worried, the narrator agrees to accompany Jupiter to the island. When they reach the wharf, Jupiter shows the narrator the scythe and three spades that Legrand mysteriously requested that Jupiter buy. By three in the afternoon, they have sailed to the hut, and the highly-strung Legrand tells the narrator that he took the bug back from Lieutenant G. the following morning and that he has kept the bug for himself, since Jupiter was right in that it is made of gold and since he suspects that the gold will allow him to restore his fortunes. Jupiter refuses to bring him the scarab, so Legrand fetches it himself and tells the narrator that he wants the narrator's help, ignoring his friend's suggestion that he might be sick. He convinces the narrator to accompany them on an expedition to the hills after promising that he will see a doctor afterward. At four o'clock, the three men and the dog head out, equipped with the scythe, spades, lanterns, and bug, and by nightfall they reach a dreary area of hills. They use the scythe to cut away the brambles, and they reach a tall tulip tree. Upon Legrand's prompting, Jupiter agrees to climb the tree with the beetle, despite his fear of the bug. He follows Legrand's directions upward to the seventh limb, where his announcement that the limb is weakened by rot distresses Legrand, causing the narrator to make an unsuccessful attempt to coax Legrand back to the hut. However, Jupiter climbs to the end of the limb without incident and finds a skull with a nail fastening it to the tree. Legrand has him drop the beetle through the skull's left eye after the scythe clears a space beneath the insect on the ground. Legrand marks the spot of the bug's landing and clears a circle between the peg and another point fifty feet in the opposite direction from the tree. With the spades, they begin to dig. Knowing that he will be unable to convince Jupiter to disobey Legrand and drag him back to his bed, the narrator resigns himself to digging, concluding that he will have to wait to disprove Legrand's bizarre idea of finding a treasure. After two hours of digging, during which they end the dog's barking by tying up its mouth, they dig a five-foot hole but find nothing. They extend the circle and dig to seven feet, and the disappointed Legrand begins to lead the three home before he realizes that Jupiter must have mixed up his right and left. Legrand adjusts the digging markers, and they resume their labors while the narrator becomes more interested in their digging. The agitated dog digs up two skeletons, a Spanish knife, and some loose coins, and the narrator trips over a ring buried in the dirt. They increase their speed and find a perfectly preserved chest of wood, inside which is a heap of gold and jewels. Jupiter repents for his former distrust of the bug, and they move the treasure back to their hut before dawn. After taking brief naps, they look through the chest and estimate the treasure to be worth about one and a half million dollars (which has the same purchasing power as about forty-five million dollars in 2008 dollars), although later they find that their initial estimate is very low. After their investigations, Legrand explains how he figured out the location of the treasure. He had been insulted by the narrator's insinuations about his bad drawing skills, but when he looked at the scrap of parchment, he realized that in place of his drawing of a beetle was indeed a skull. He turned over the parchment and saw that his own sketch was on the reverse side of the parchment. Recalling that the parchment had not had a picture prior to his sketching of the beetle, he waited until the narrator left and Jupiter fell asleep to consider the affair. Legrand recalls that he first found the scrap of parchment after the bug bit him, when Jupiter found the scrap of parchment sticking up from the sand near the remnants of an old shipwreck. Jupiter used the scrap to capture the beetle, and Legrand had accidentally kept the scrap when Lieutenant G. had taken the insect for study at the fort. He connected the wreck with the parchment and skull image, which he recognized as a pirate's emblem. That the scrap was parchment and not paper was important because parchment is more durable but less convenient than paper. Its durability and shape suggested that that it was an important memorandum, and because no one could have altered the parchment without Legrand's knowing, he reasoned that the parchment's image must have been brought to light by the fumes of the fire when the narrator placed it on his lap to pet the dog. Legrand gave the entire parchment the heat treatment and saw the figure of a kid goat, which reminded him of Captain Kidd. Legrand began to feel very lucky, given the coincidences that had led him thus far. He could not recall hearing of anyone finding an important treasure on the South Carolina coast. He rinsed the parchment and, upon reheating, discovered a message written in code, which he assumed to be in English, since the pun on Kidd's name had been in the language. He counted the frequency of the symbols and used them to solve a simple substitution cipher, which revealed the message to be: "A good glass in the Bishop's hostel in the Devil's seat--forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes--northeast and by north--main branch seventh limb east side--shoot from the left eye of the death's-head--a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out." Concluding that "Bishop's hostel" referred to an old family named Bessop that gave their name to a rock called Bessop's Castle, Legrand had an old lady direct him to the rock, where he saw a ledge formation that resembled a seat. He sat in the seat and used a telescope to view forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes above the horizon in the stated direction until he found the image of a skull. He decided that he had to find the tree at that point and drop an object straight down the skull's left eye to find the fifty-foot diameter away from the tree in which he would have to dig. Observing that only someone in the exact angle of the seat could have seen the break in the foliage to find the skull, he returned home and sent for the narrator. He had only insisted on using the bug because he wanted to goad the narrator, who obviously believed him mad. Upon the conclusion of his tale, the narrator asks about the skeletons above the chest, and Legrand speculates that Kidd must have killed the people who help him bury the treasure in order to preserve his secret.

The Black Cat (revenge and murder tale)

-a tale of revenge and murder -discusses sanity -from infancy was a pet lover -married early and happily -in drunken state, stabs cat in eye -hung cat in tree -house burned up/imprint of cat left on wall -cat reappears -attempts to kill cat again and turns in a moment of rage and kills wife -buries her in basement -police arrive -he takes them to basement (returns to the scene of the crime) -Bravado causes him to slap wall -awakens cat who is buried inside with wife -cat "...with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire..."

Ligeia (arabesque (complex) love story/tale of death)

-narrators tale is blurry -pushes bounds of stereotypical beauty -leaves reader with many questions -a tale of death -first wife, ligeia, falls ill and dies -focuses on her beauty -remarries Rowena -Rowena falls ill -abuses opium -upon rowena's death, narrator greeted by lost love Ligeia -supernatural event or psychological disturbance

To Helen Poem

-speaker embarks on a journey/quest for beauty -deals with physical and metaphysical (sensibility) -religious overtones/ "holy land"- soul, immortality

Annabel Lee Poem

-written about love/death of wife -contains sound devices -uses afterlife imagery and anger at gods -demonstrates state of denial/isolation/trapped in past

characteristics of poetry

1. appeals to the senses 2. emotional content 3. artistic form 4. rhythm 5.imagery 6. ideas/ evolution of human experience

Gothic elements:

1. setting~almost always evening, dark, dreary, ominous 2. castles/mansions~ gloomy, dark, decaying, dungeons 3. weather: stormy, lightning, dark 4. gothic~characterized by use of desolate or remote settings, macabre, mysterious, or violent settings 4. macabre~having death as a subject, dwelling in gruesome and tending to produce horror

acrostic poetry style

1st letter of the line read downwards forms a word, phrase or sentence

metaphor

A comparison not using like or as

imagery

Description that appeals to the senses (sight, sound, smell, touch, taste)

alliteration

Repetition of consonant sounds

rhyme

Repetition of sounds at the end of words

mnemonic poetry style

aids in memory poe uses to send hidden messages

single effect

believes every character detail, and incident in a story, should contribute to the effect of the story, starting with the very initial sentence

consonance

repetition of consonant sounds (not a beginning of words)

Alliteration

repetition of initial consonant sounds

Assonance

repetition of vowel sounds

onomatopoeia

words reflect sounds