The Mystery behind Horror Writer Poe

Edgar Allan Poe, born on January 19, 1809, is one of most famous American authors, widely regarded for his tales of mystery and macabre. I first came across his work thanks to a morbid classmate in 6th grade who decided to recite "Annabel Lee." While his work was written more than a century ago, his work still brings shivers in this day and age. Here are excerpts from the said piece:

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea.


Edgar Allan Poe became quite famous after the success of "The Raven and other poems" in 1845. He continued to write critical essays, short stories and poems in later years. Yet for all his genius as a writer, he generally lived a very unhappy life. He lost his parents at a young age, and was adopted by a wealthy businessman whom he became estranged with because financial disagreements (some say unsettled gambling debts). He married his young cousin Virginia, but lost her to an illness after only 10 years of marriage. Read more about his life from The Literature Network and Poe Museum.

After succumbing to a drinking problem because of his woes, he was mysteriously found on a street in a sorry state, and brought unconscious to Washington College Hospital. He died shortly after on Oct. 7, 1849. Reposts cite that he was insane, but there were various speculations on the cause of his death from murder, rabies, to alcoholism.


Now however, there is a new theory thanks to Matthew Pearl, author of The Poe Shadow. After doing 3 years of research, he believes he uncovered proof that Poe had a brain tumor. This would explain the strange hallucinations and lapsing in and out of consciousness. Read more about it here from Guardian Unlimited.

In the end, there will always have an air of mystery wrapped around his name and his short life. People will find it hard to forget his chilling words and tales of the night, as captured by his greatest work:

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 shadows on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted--nevermore!

Photos from baddict.wordpress.com, foothilltheatre.org, art-shrines.com, and crissimon.wordpress.com.