Story analysis : “The Tell Tale Heart”

The “The Tell Tale Heart” is one of the famous short stories created by a well-known American Poet, Edgar Allan Poe. It was punished at The Pioneer in the January 1843 edition, and was been reprinted by The Broadway Journal in the August 23rd, 1845 issue. This story is a first person narration that confesses a murder, which has a psychological complexity matter and is completely similar to the authors’ deal of his life. The protagonist insanity is seen prior in the story where he tells about his madness, what have disturbed him, and what made him do a motiveless crime.Poe’s writings like the “The Tell Tale Heart” mirrored to his personal life, family, and habits. Poe is an orphan raised by his uncle John Allan, who never fostered him for his college and who turn out to be the reason of his depression and triggered him to end up being alcoholic, addicted to drugs, and delivered certain judicious axiom, and finally his sexuality. Not only that, it upsets him as well from the effect of the death of his wife, Elizabeth Poe, on their “gifted son. Since then, most of Poe’s writings are all about death and mysteries.

In the story the narrator speaks in which he defends his obsession of his psychotic self however admit to have killed a man. He stated in the beginning of the story that he loved the old men that he never wronged him, that he think its is the eye that made him go insane, where as he describe it as “the eye of the vulture–a pale blue eye, with film over it”. Furthermore, this madness made him ambush to the old mans chamber and each nightly mysterious visits grow profound. His insanity becomes absolute where he decided to take the old mans life. This persuasive logic of time tells us his determination in getting rid of the cause of his frenzies. Captivating his mentality in scrutinizing his victim gradually thorough him and his lunatic personality.

In some countries the eye symbolize as an evil eye that this might made the narrator having phobia in seeing it from the old man. Some people believed that this evil eye have the power to harm people not only physically of their own but also their possessions as well as those people that surrounds him by just merely looking at them. This also gives misfortune and unidentified illnesses. Thus, this initiates him to think that this old mans eyes evokes a dark hidden side. Regardless of some understanding of the word “eye”, some critics thought, as it is a letter “I” that identifies as him. The internal “I” that represents his loneliness, death, problematic state of his relationship towards his self-consciousness and self-unconsciousness.

The narrator never implies the details on how he murdered the old man. He just stated that he “pulled the heavy bed over him”. Hence, at the end of the passage it one by one said what he did to the old mans corpse. To be able not to detect any wrongdoing or foul play, the narrator had dismembers the dead body in a tub so that there is no mess or bloodstains to clean up afterwards. He buried the cut pieces of arms, limbs, and head, underneath the floorboards of the old man’s room. This psychotic action perceives his mentality that he has to hide the unlawful operation that he planned for about eight perplexing nights.

The idea of the title of the story implies to what had happen in the parable that came to the fact on how he turn over himself and confess to the authorities of what he had done early that evening. The strange sound that he had heard beneath the old mans chamber made him panic and think that it is the old mans heart that arise his guilt and strongly drives him unto his collapse insanity. However, not literally he heard the heart beat of the old man but to a certain extent it is his own heart, which he had heard. When his success takes its place, his very being separate him from illusion and reality. He gain his consciousness, his normal being stands up in his entity where it made him realize the good and bad and subjective himself to pay for what he had done.

Angel

angelWhenever a good child dies, an angel of God comes down from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his great white wings, and flies with him over the places the child has loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers that he carries up to the Almighty that they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives a voice and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss.
An angel of God spoke these words as he carried a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as it in a dream. Then they passed over well-known spots where the little one had often played, and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.
“Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted there?” asked the angel.
Close by grew a slender, beautiful rosebush, but some wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-open rosebuds hung all faded and withered on the trailing branches.
“Poor rosebush. Then he kissed the child, and the little one half-opened his eyes. The angel gathered also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and heartsease.
“Now we have flowers enough,” said the child, but now the angel only nodded. He did not fly upward to heaven.
It was night and quite still in the great town. Here they remained, and the angel hovered over a small narrow street in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweeping from houses of people who had moved away. There lay fragments of plates, pieces of plaster, rags old hats, and other stuff. Amidst all of this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flowerpot, and to the lump of earth that had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field flower that had been thrown amongst the garbage.
“We will take this with us,” said the angel. “I will tell you why as we fly along,”
And as they flew, the angel related the history.
“Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, living a poor sick boy. He had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the room the room on crutches once or twice, but no more. During some days in summer the sunbeams would lie on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot the poor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine and watching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held the before his face. Then he would say he had been out, though he knew nothing of the green forest in its spring verdure till a neighbor’s son brought him a green bough from a beech tree. This he would place over his head, and fancy that he was in the beechwood while the sun shone and the birds caroled gaily. One spring day the neighbor’s boy brought him some field flowers, and among them was one to which the roots still adhered. This he carefully planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots, and blossomed every year. It becomes a splendid flower garden to the sick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it and cherish it, and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself even in his dreams. For him it bloomed: for him it spread its perfume. And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death, when the Lord called him. He has been one year worth God. During that time the dower has stood in the window, withered and forgotten, till cast out among he sweepings into the street, on the day the lodgers moved. And this poor flower, withered and faded as it is, we have added to the nosegay, because it gave more real joy that the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen.”
“But how do you know all this?” asked the child whom the angel was carrying to heaven.
“I know it,” said the angel, “because I myself was the poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower well.”
Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy. And God pressed the dead child to His heart, and wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel, and in hand.
Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to His heart. But He kissed the withered field flowers, and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song of the angels, who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant circle, but all equally happy, and small-the good, happy child and the poor field flower that once lay withered and cast away on a heap of garbage in a narrow dark street.