Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was a whining maggot.

Just finished a biography on this man who wrote such amazing stories.

He spent his entire life begging people for money so he could survive; family, friends, even mere acquaintances. He was never able to support himself through his writing.

Always breaks my heart when I learn of situations like that but it happens often in the world of creativity. Creative people are often ahead of the curve and artistically and intellectually superior to the rest of us. They bust their ass to be seen, heard and appreciated and die trying.

Posthumously, fame caresses their corpse (cut me some slack, I'm talking about Edgar Allan Poe) which does them no good.

From what I read Poe was not a man of character. He borrowed money without repaying it. He was always whining about being sick or weak, always making excuses for his failures.

His desire was for recognition in the literary world, but when he realized it might not happen his big dream became publishing his own magazine.

Magazines became huge during Poe's time (1809 - 1849). They were a new thing. After they were introduced they caught on and a ridiculous number of magazines were published in this country, Playboy not among them.

Literary giants published and popularized their writing through magazines. They were considered a viable way to get culture to the great unwashed.

Poe worked for a number of magazines and became obsessed with publishing his own. His goal was to appeal to intellectuals rather than to the masses. He felt there was enough good writing out there and enough intelligent people to make this happen. He tried and failed over and over again to establish his own magazine, failure being largely of his own making.

He would lure investors in with promises of huge circulation and then fail to line up subscribers.

The man was a dreamer, not a businessman.

He first attracted attention as a critic. Apparently being a critic was a big deal during these times and he was good at it. He was also caustic and cruel. He routinely ripped apart the big names of the time like Longfellow, Emerson, and Whitman, largely out of jealousy over their success. Then he would turn around and ask them for money when he was trying to establish a magazine.

Interesting fellow.

His critiques in general though were considered informative, and his point of view was respected as knowledgeable.

He is credited with writing the first detective story. The Murders In The Rue Morgue. He established the genre and set the standard.

He is credited with writing the first poem, The Raven, that was accessible to and appealed to the masses. It was a huge success and every time he gave a lecture he had to recite the poem. People loved it.

His collection of horror stories is tasty stuff. I read every one of them. My father had a collection of those stories which he gave to me. I remember them vividly. The books were black bound and cool. I remember lapping up every story with relish.

What became of those books is beyond my ability to recollect, which exposes a weakness inherent in my and probably your nature, which is an inability to recognize the value of something at precisely the right time.

I cherished those books.

The biography is titled Edgar A. Poe - Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance. I'm glad I read it. I learned a lot about the man and the times. I did not gain any respect for him as a man but I deepened my respect for him as an author, a creative spirit, another amazing talent who suffered for his sanity.