WEBVTT

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True, nervous - very very
dreadfully nervous - I have
been, and am, but why will

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you say that I am mad?
The narrator grabs
you right in the first

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sentence - something like,
"Mad? You think I am mad?
You know, people say I'm

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mad - I'm not mad." And then
he's clearly mad, and yet
he's telling you this story

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that's mad and sane at the
same time. Poe is talking
about the subject that

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makes it so universally
interesting. Except for
sex, you can't get anything

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more human and fundamental
than fear. Poe wanted Americans
to understand what was

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strange about their own
culture. He saw that
strangeness - the strangeness

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that most people didn't see.

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I scribble all day and
read all night so long as

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the disease endures.

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I intended to put up with
nothing I can put down.

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To be appreciated, you must
be read. Most of the people

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that Poe loved died of
consumption. It is the sad
tragedy of human existence in

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nineteenth-century city.
How melancholy an existence.
Once Upon a midnight

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dreary while I pondered
weak and weary over many a
quaint and curious volume of

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forgotten lore...

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in C. Auguste Dupin, Poe
invents the detective that we've
been living with ever since.

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Holmes is a rip off of
Dupin and so is pretty much
everybody else - so is Hercule

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Poirot, so is House,
on television.

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It seems very strange that
a man like Edgar Allan
Poe could just vanish but

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that's exactly what happened
for about five days. Who
was the real Edgar Allan

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Poe? I feel like he slips
further away from me the
more I know about him.