Supernatural Elements

Welcome to Celebrate Poe - This is episode 379 - Supernatural Elements

Well How are you, Mr. Poe - and waiting to begin our conversation

Very tolerable, Mr. Bartley -and most eager to share our thoughts.

Mr Poe - It seems that you often employ eerie and decaying settings to create an atmosphere of dread and suspense.  For example, in The Fall of the House of Usher, the crumbling mansion mirrors the psychological decay of its inhabitants. The house itself becomes a character, embodying themes of isolation and impending doom.  Your settings often include elements like dungeons, vaults, and desolate landscapes, which are staples of Gothic literature.

Ah, yes, Mr. Bartley - I attempted to delve deeply into the human psyche, focusing on madness, guilt, and obsession. Stories such as The Tell-Tale Heart and The Black Cat feature unreliable narrators whose deteriorating mental states drive the narrative. These characters' inner turmoil aligns with Gothic themes of psychological horror and moral ambiguity.  And I would like to think that my use of first-person narration intensifies the sense of unease by immersing readers in the disturbed thoughts of my protagonists.

Thank you for experiencing Celebrate Poe.

Transcript

Mr. Poe - bold text.   

Mr. Bartley - plain text

 Welcome to Celebrate Poe - This is episode 379 - Supernatural Elements

Well How are you, Mr. Poe - I am waiting to begin our conversation

Very tolerable, Mr. Bartley -and most eager to share our thoughts.

Mr Poe - It seems that you often employ eerie and decaying settings to create an atmosphere of dread and suspense.  For example, in The Fall of the House of Us her, the crumbling mansion mirrors the psychological decay of its inhabitants. The house itself becomes a character, embodying themes of isolation and impending doom.  Your settings often include elements like dungeons, vaults, and desolate landscapes, which are staples of Gothic literature.

Ah, yes, Mr. Bartley - I attempted to delve deeply into the human psyche, focusing on madness, guilt, and obsession. Stories such as The Tell-Tale Heart and The Black Cat feature unreliable narrators whose deteriorating mental states drive the narrative. These characters' inner turmoil aligns with Gothic themes of psychological horror and moral ambiguity.  And I would like to think that my use of first-person narration intensifies the sense of unease by immersing readers in the disturbed thoughts of his protagonists.

   While I often blur the line between reality and the supernatural, my works frequently incorporate ghostly or otherworldly phenomena. For example, In Ligeia, the title character seemingly returns from the dead, challenging the boundary between life and death.

The supernatural in your stories often seems to be symbolic, reflecting deeper fears or obsessions rather than being purely fantastical.

Ah yes, Mr. Bartley, death itself is also a central theme in my works, often portrayed as both terrifying and beautiful: In poems such The Raven and Annabel Lee, as well as stories like Ligeia, lost love and mourning are explored through a Gothic lens. These works emphasize the haunting power of memory and grief.  For example, in “Ligeia” I attempted to delve deeply into supernatural themes by portraying a woman who seemingly conquers death through sheer force of will. The narrator recounts his first wife Ligeia as almost otherworldly from the start:

"I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia.”

After Ligeia’s death, her influence persists in the narrator's life. When his second wife Rowena dies under mysterious circumstances, Ligeia appears to return by taking possession of Rowena's body. This climactic moment is steeped in supernatural horror:

"And now slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before me. ‘Here then,’ at least I shrieked aloud, ‘can I never—can I never be mistaken—these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes—of my lost love—of the Lady—of the Lady Ligeia!’”

This resurrection certainly defies natural explanation and one might say that it embodies my fascination with themes of life after death and human willpower transcending mortal limits. I intended for this story to leave readers questioning whether this event is truly supernatural or a hallucination born from grief and obsession.

Most interesting, Mr. Poe.

Ah, Mr. Bartley in “Ligeia,” I attempted to blur the line between reality and fantasy.

Yes, Mr. Poe - is is almost like asking “Are these events genuinely supernatural or psychological manifestations of grief?”

Precisely, Mr. Bartley - both works address humanity's fear of death and desire for immortality. In “Ligeia,” this is literalized through resurrection; where in a poem such as “The Raven,” it takes symbolic form through eternal despair.

Physical decay is also prominent; for instance, in The Fall of the House of Usher, the deterioration of the house parallels the decline of its inhabitants.

Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinising observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn.

Mr. Poe, It appears that you also masterfully builds suspense through vivid descriptions, rhythmic language, and an emphasis on mood.

You frequently incorporates grotesque imagery and uncanny situations to unsettle readers.  And by uncanny I mean strange or mysterious, especially in an unsettling way.  In stories such as the Oval Portrait, you explore themes of obsession with beauty to tragic ends, blending elegance with horror.  Would you be so kind as to grace us with a portion of the story, The Oval Portrait.

Certainly, Mr. Bartley.

"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and having already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to pourtray even his young bride. But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day. And he was a passionate, and wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret withered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter (who had high renown) took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from canvas merely, even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many weeks bad passed, and but little remained to do, save one brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one moment, the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought; but in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, 'This is indeed Life itself!' turned suddenly to regard his beloved: -- She was dead!

Mr. Poe, it appears that some of your characters are often physically or emotionally isolated, or completely as exemplified by The Pit and the Pendulum. This isolation heightens their psychological torment and reflects Gothic preoccupations with loneliness and isolation.

Yes, Mr. Bartley - and note this excerpt from The Pit and the Pendulum.

Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to remember; amid earnest struggles to regather some token of the state of seeming nothingness into which my soul had lapsed, there have been moments when I have dreamed of success; there have been brief, very brief periods when I have conjured up remembrances which the lucid reason of a later epoch assures me could have had reference only to that condition of seeming unconsciousness. These shadows of memory tell, indistinctly, of tall figures that lifted and bore me in silence down -- down -- still down -- till a hideous dizziness oppressed me at the mere idea of the interminableness of the descent. They tell also of a vague horror at my heart, on account of that heart's unnatural stillness. Then comes a sense of sudden motionlessness throughout all things; as if those who bore me (a ghastly train!) had outrun, in their descent, the limits of the limitless, and paused from the wearisomeness of their toil. After this I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is madness -- the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things.

Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and sound -- the tumultuous motion of the heart, and, in my ears, the sound of its beating. Then a pause in which all is blank. Then again sound, and motion, and touch -- a tingling sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere consciousness of existence, without thought -- a condition which lasted long. Then, very suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest endeavor to comprehend my true state. Then a strong desire to lapse into insensibility. Then a rushing revival of soul and a successful effort to move. And now a full memory of the trial, of the judges, of the sable draperies, of the sentence, of the sickness, of the swoon. Then entire forgetfulness of all that followed; of all that a later day and much earnestness of endeavor have enabled me vaguely to recall.

Mr Poe, One might say that your unique contributions to Gothic literature included your focus on psychological depth and your ability to blend Romanticism with macabre elements:

Now while earlier Gothic writers like Ann Radcliffe relied on "explained supernatural" phenomena, you embraced ambiguity, leaving readers uncertain about what is real or imagined. His works helped shape American Gothic literature by emphasizing internal conflict over external threats.

In other words, your works exemplify Gothic literature through their dark settings, exploration of psychological torment, use of supernatural elements, and themes of death and decay. Your mastery of atmosphere and symbolism has made you one of the most influential figures in the genre, and masterful writers in all literature.

Perhaps even more important, is your exploration of the subconscious mind as a defining feature of his contribution to Gothic literature. By delving into themes such as madness, guilt, obsession, and repressed fears, you are able to align with the Gothic genre's focus on psychological depth and the darker aspects of human nature. 

I know that the Gothic genre often portrays characters grappling with mental instability, and you take this further by immersing readers directly into the minds of his disturbed protagonists such as in the famous opening passage from The Tell Tale Heart.

Ah, Mr. Bartley - I am quite familiar with the passage to which you refer.

TRUE! -- nervous -- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses -- not destroyed -- not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily -- how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees -- very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! --would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously --oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

The narrator’s descent into madness is vividly depicted through his obsessive thoughts and auditory hallucinations (the imagined beating of a heart). This intense focus on inner turmoil reflects Gothic preoccupations with mental disintegration.

Similarly, in The Black Cat, the narrator’s guilt and paranoia manifest as violent outbursts and delusions, blurring the line between reality and imagination.

Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!

Mr. Poe, It seems that you frequently use unreliable narrators to explore the subconscious mind, a hallmark of  Gothic style:

These narrators often deny their madness while simultaneously revealing it through their irrational behavior and fragmented thought processes. For example, in The Fall of the House of Usher, the narrator’s perceptions are distorted by fear and dread, creating an unsettling ambiguity about what is real. This narrative technique draws readers into the characters’ subjective experiences, heightening the psychological intensity that is central to Gothic literature.

Your characters are often haunted by repressed emotions or unresolved guilt, which resurface in destructive ways: In The Cask of Amontillado, Montresor’s meticulous planning of revenge suggests an obsessive fixation on a perceived insult. His calm demeanor masks a deeply disturbed psyche.

 In Ligeia, the narrator’s opium-induced visions blur reality and fantasy, reflecting Gothic themes of otherworldliness and psychological instability.

The dreamlike quality of many of your works creates an uncanny atmosphere where readers are unsure whether events are supernatural or products of disturbed minds.

And your  fixation on death—particularly premature burial, decay, and resurrection—often ties into subconscious fears.Stories such as The Premature Burial explore primal anxieties about being buried alive, a fear rooted deep in the human psyche.

Ah, Mr. Bartley - you seem to be referring to my words - To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. That it has frequently, very frequently, so fallen will scarcely be denied by those who think. The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? We know that there are diseases in which occur total cessations of all the apparent functions of vitality, and yet in which these cessations are merely suspensions, properly so called. They are only temporary pauses in the incomprehensible mechanism. A certain period elapses, and some unseen mysterious principle again sets in motion the magic pinions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was not for ever loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably broken. But where, meantime, was the soul?

Apart, however, from the inevitable conclusion, a priori that such causes must produce such effects --that the well-known occurrence of such cases of suspended animation must naturally give rise, now and then, to premature interments --apart from this consideration, we have the direct testimony of medical and ordinary experience to prove that a vast number of such interments have actually taken place. I might refer at once, if necessary to a hundred well authenticated instances. One of very remarkable character, and of which the circumstances may be fresh in the memory of some of my readers, occurred, not very long ago, in the neighboring city of Baltimore, where it occasioned a painful, intense, and widely-extended excitement. The wife of one of the most respectable citizens-a lawyer of eminence and a member of Congress --was seized with a sudden and unaccountable illness, which completely baffled the skill of her physicians. After much suffering she died, or was supposed to die. No one suspected, indeed, or had reason to suspect, that she was not actually dead. She presented all the ordinary appearances of death. The face assumed the usual pinched and sunken outline. The lips were of the usual marble pallor. The eyes were lustreless. There was no warmth. Pulsation had ceased. For three days the body was preserved unburied, during which it had acquired a stony rigidity. The funeral, in short, was hastened, on account of the rapid advance of what was supposed to be decomposition.

Thank you, Mr. Poe - your words are very powerful.

Yes, Mr. Bartley - I felt it was important to frequently examines the duality of human nature—the conflict between rationality and irrationality or good and evil—through his characters’ subconscious struggles:

Ah, yes, Mr. Bartley and do not forget The Raven.  One might say that the bird  serves as a manifestation of grief and despair, reflecting the narrator's inability to escape his mourning.

Yes, Mr. Poe, and in true Gothic fashion, it seems that you often use external settings to mirror your characters’ inner turmoil:

Ah yes, Mr. Bartley, the oppressive atmosphere in stories such as The Pit and the Pendulum reflects not only physical danger but also psychological torment. The interplay between external threats and internal fears creates an immersive exploration of the subconscious.

Mr. Poe - that is a unique way of stating the interplay of threats and fears.

Join Celebrate Poe for episode 380 - More Supernatural Elements

Sources include: Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography by Arthur Hobson Quinn, The Poe Log: A Documentary Life of Edgar Allan Poe by Dwight R. Thomas and David K. Jackson, The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe by Edgar Poe, Evermore by Harry Lee Poe, and the online site of the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore.

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Poe.