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                               The Raven
                                  and
                     The Philosophy of Composition

[Illustration]


[Illustration:

  _Copyright 1906 by The Harwell-Evans Co._

  _Lenore_
]

[Illustration]




                               The Raven
                                  and
                     The Philosophy of Composition


                                   By
                            Edgar Allan Poe

                      Quarto Photogravure Edition
             Illustrated from Paintings by Galen J. Perrett
                    The Decorations by Will Jenkins

[Illustration]

                         Paul Elder and Company
                       San Francisco and New York




                                Contents


                     Foreword
                     The Philosophy of Composition
                     The Raven

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                Foreword


The initial intention of the publishers to present “The Raven” without
preface, notes, or other extraneous matter that might detract from an
undivided appreciation of the poem, has been somewhat modified by the
introduction of Poe’s prose essay, “The Philosophy of Composition.” If
any justification were necessary, it is to be found both in the unique
literary interest of the essay, and in the fact that it is (or purports
to be) a frank exposition of the modus operandi by which “The Raven” was
written. It is felt that no other introduction could be more happily
conceived or executed. Coming from Poe’s own hand, it directly avoids
the charge of presumption; and written in Poe’s most felicitous style,
it entirely escapes the defect—not uncommon in analytical treatises—of
pedantry.

It is indeed possible, as some critics assert, that this supposed
analysis is purely fictitious. If so, it becomes all the more
distinctive as a marvelous bit of imaginative writing, and as such ranks
equally with that wild snatch of melody, “The Raven.” But these same
critics would lead us further to believe that “The Raven” itself is
almost a literal translation of the work of a Persian poet. If they be
again correct, Poe’s genius as seen in the creation of “The Philosophy
of Composition” is far more startling than it has otherwise appeared;
and “robbed of his bay leaves in the realm of poetry,” he is to be
“crowned with a double wreath of berried holly for his prose.”




                     The Philosophy of Composition.

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[Illustration]

                     The Philosophy of Composition


Charles Dickens, in a note now lying before me, alluding to an
examination I once made of the mechanism of “Barnaby Rudge,” says—“By
the way, are you aware that Godwin wrote his ‘Caleb Williams’ backwards?
He first involved his hero in a web of difficulties, forming the second
volume, and then, for the first, cast about him for some mode of
accounting for what had been done.”

I cannot think this the precise mode of procedure on the part of
Godwin—and indeed what he himself acknowledges, is not altogether in
accordance with Mr. Dickens’ idea—but the author of “Caleb Williams” was
too good an artist not to perceive the advantage derivable from at least
a somewhat similar process. Nothing is more clear than that every plot,
worth the name, must be elaborated to its dénouement before anything be
attempted with the pen. It is only with the dénouement constantly in
view that we can give a plot its indispensable air of consequence, or
causation, by making the incidents, and especially the tone at all
points, tend to the development of the intention.

There is a radical error, I think, in the usual mode of constructing a
story. Either history affords a thesis—or one is suggested by an
incident of the day—or, at best, the author sets himself to work in the
combination of striking events to form merely the basis of his
narrative—designing, generally, to fill in with description, dialogue,
or autorial comment, whatever crevices of fact, or action, may, from
page to page, render themselves apparent.

I prefer commencing with the consideration of an effect. Keeping
originality always in view—for he is false to himself who ventures to
dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable a source of interest—I
say to myself, in the first place, “Of the innumerable effects, or
impressions, of which the heart, the intellect, or (more generally) the
soul is susceptible, what one shall I, on the present occasion, select?”
Having chosen a novel, first, and secondly a vivid effect, I consider
whether it can be best wrought by incident or tone—whether by ordinary
incidents and peculiar tone, or the converse, or by peculiarity both of
incident and tone—afterward looking about me (or rather within