"The Gold Bug and Other Stories" by Edgar Allan Poe: While not an official book, per se, we're using the title "The Gold Bug and Other Stories" as a means to discuss more works by Edgar Allan Poe. We're tricky like that.
"The Gold Bug" is another tale of mystery, except, despite undeniable similarities to the C. Auguste Dupin stories, the great Dupin is nowhere to be found. An unnamed narrator once again does the honors. This time, however, our hero is William Legrand, a young American from a wealthy New Orleans family who, after losing his fortune, retreats to tiny Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. Sound familiar? Legrand spends his days in leisurely bliss, hunting and fishing with his friend and former servant, Jupiter.
One day, while out strolling with Jupiter, Legrand spies an unusual gold beetle. Certain of having never seen such an insect, and positive of its worth to the scientific community, Legrand efforts to secure the specimen and receives a bite for his trouble. Jupiter, using a scrap of paper he finds on the ground, manages to corral the bug. As the duo is returning home, they encounter a friend who marvels at their newest acquisition. Legrand, always the affable fellow, allows the friend to borrow the beetle for the night so he can show it to others on the mainland. When Legrand and Jupiter finally make it back to their hut, the narrator is waiting for them, eager to hear all about the gold bug.
No longer in possession of the scarab, Legrand offers to draw the beetle for the narrator, doing his best to capture the unique details of the insect upon the very paper in which it was seized. The narrator is astonished to discover that Legrand has drawn a death's-head. This comes as news to Legrand. The two argue over the quality of Legrand's depiction until the insulted artist, frustrated at his inability to express the ideal, begins to crumple the paper before one final glance at the picture arrests his attention. He spends the next few minutes in silence, inspecting the parchment from all angles. His curious mood persists, influencing an early departure for the narrator.
Almost a month passes without word from Legrand. Jupiter eventually shows up to deliver a note to the narrator, prefacing the reading of the letter by saying that he fears for his master's sanity, mentioning how Legrand hasn't been the same since the day he was bitten by the gold bug. The narrator doesn't quite know what to make of Jupiter's concern, but has some suspicions of his own upon reading Legrand's written request to see him immediately on a matter of great importance.
The mystery, involving buried treasure and cryptography, deepens from there, with Legrand, Jupiter, and the narrator undertaking a mission that would later influence such Sherlock Holmes stories as "The Musgrave Ritual" and "The Adventure of the Dancing Men." Although not in the class of the philosophical Dupin, Legrand proves to be a brilliant detective in his own right, unraveling the knotted enigma of the gold bug with the Frenchman's same single-minded proficiency.
Leaving the mystery genre behind, "The Masque of the Red Death" is more in 70 Proof's wheelhouse, dealing with death and the tenuous state of existence.
Prince Prospero, fearing the rampant onrush of plague ravaging his kingdom, gathers a thousand of his closest friends and retires to a secluded castle, walling off the dying and diseased. The Prince, so delighted by his luxurious life of isolation, decides to throw a lavish masquerade ball. The party was to be held in seven rooms, with each chamber decadently decorated in its own vibrant color. For instance, the first apartment was in all blue, the second purple, the third green, and so on, culminating in a seventh room which was draped in black, yet, unlike the other monochromatic milieus, featured windows of crimson. The seventh compartment was also unique for the presence of a gigantic ebony clock that tolled the hour with a sound so clear and deep, it brought all the proceedings of the hedonistic happening to a halt.
The festivities rage on unchecked, with everyone having a grand old time, until the chimes of the clock strike midnight. Suddenly, the partygoers are made aware of a strange specter making its way through the crowd. The man, if it truly is a man and not a walking corpse, wears the sign of the dreaded Red Death, his waxen face dotted with blood. And he's come to see the Prince.
This is the short story form at its finest. Greatness is found in simplicity. Mr. Poe takes one simple theme, the tireless pursuit of Death, and, using profound symbolism, crafts a hauntingly memorable tale.
"The Pit and the Pendulum" proved to be a far less satisfying experience. A prisoner of the French Inquisition awakens to his dungeon tomb, completely unaware of his fate, or at least the means by which his fate will be delivered. He endeavors to explore his surroundings, tracing the cold, dank walls of the darkened chamber one fearful step at a time. After determining the perimeter of the cell, the man attempts to traverse the center of the room and barely escapes falling down a cavernous pit. His captors reward the good fortune with drugged food and water. When the man wakes up from his induced slumber, he's strapped to a table beneath a giant scythe that swings as a pendulum, inching closer to his chest with each deadly pass.
Sounds good, right? Well, it is, up to a point. Unfortunately, the ending is extremely weak, almost exasperatingly so. Remove the final few lines, in which Mr. Poe spoils the fatalistic atmosphere of the tale with a hackneyed Hollywood conclusion, and the story would be a marvelous existential comment on man's constant struggle to postpone the inevitable grip of Death. As it is, the common sweeps away all genius.
"The Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Imp of the Perverse" share similar plots. In the former, a man murders only to confess his crime when unable to deal with the subconscious guilt, manifesting itself in the form of the deceased's thumping heart. In the latter, a man murders and lives for years before realizing the only way he'd get caught is by confessing. This hint of danger, of the perverse, is so attractive; the man can't help but give in to its temptation.
Mr. Poe regarded "Ligeia," written in 1838, as one of the best examples of his work. When a man loses his one true love far too soon, she returns to him years later, emerging from the newly deceased body of his second wife. Sadly, the tale would foreshadow the author's own tragic loss of his beloved young wife, Virginia.
Mesmerism takes center stage in "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar," as a dying man is hypnotized in an attempt to ward off Death. It's an interesting, eerie read.
Even though it isn't as well known as some of his other creations, "The Man of the Crowd" belongs with Mr. Poe's best. The narrator is relaxing at a café, casually studying the many different figures walking the streets, when he sees a face of unnerving character. The narrator follows the man, pursuing him throughout the city. He notices the man to only be at ease when surrounded by others. The moment he's left alone he falls into a sort of panic that isn't alleviated until joining another crowd. The presence of a knife beneath the man's cloak transforms the behavior from merely puzzling to pernicious. And the story provides no definite motivation for the man, allowing his history and true intentions to be open for interpretation, closing with him continuing to stalk amongst the ignorant populace. It's absolute perfection.
Obviously, this is only a small sampling of Mr. Poe's short stories. If you're interested in learning the craft, his work should definitely be studied. All his texts can be found online, most notably at the always indispensable Project Gutenberg.
RATING: 