Text: Anonymous, “[Review of The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe],” Weekly North Carolina Standard (Raleigh, NC), vol. XVII, no. 867, May 14, 1851, p. 2, col. 6

[page 2, column 6:]

The works of the late Edgar Allan Poe, with notices of his Life and genius by N. P. Willis, J. B. Lowell, and Rufus Griswold, in three volumes. For sale by Pomeroy.

This is the first attempt to collect the entire works of Edgar A. Poe. His Tales, Poetry, notices of the Literati, and essays are so universally known, through the medium of the various magazines to which he was at different times a contributor, that we shall not attempt any criticism of them, but confine ourselves to a few words respecting the life of this remarkable and unfortunate genius, which is prefixed to the third volume, by R. W. Griswold.

Poe's well known inability to restrain himself from the immoderate use of stimulants, has often been commented upon by the different papers of the day; and more than once have we heard the remark :that he only wrote under the influence of gin.” We have seen it stated that “The Raven,” so remarkable for its originality, subtle conception and great simplicity of detail and description — “The Bod Bug,” with its masterly method and ingenuity — “The horrors of the Descent into the Maelstrom, and the “Fall of the House of Usher,” with its solemn and stately gloom, were all conceived and penned when he was more than half drunk. And we doubt not that the prevalence of this opinion has caused many an author to cloud the brightness of his intellect, in the vain effort to give clearness to argument and brilliancy to wit, by the excitement of intoxicating drink.

We are therefore happy to see that both Griswold and Willis have done away with this falacy, by plainly stating that it was only when perfeetly [[perfectly]] sober, that Poe was the high-minded, refined, intellectual gentleman, which some of ths productions of his pen prove him to be. Willis goes so far as to say, (putting words in italics,) “that a single glass of wine seemed to raise a demon in his breast, and caused him to appear the bitter misanthropic character, which he too often has the credit of being.

Griswold's memoir of him is a warning to all young men, particularly those who are ambitious of literary distinction, to abstain from all intemperance. Left a destitute orphan at an early age, he was adopted by a wealthy gentleman, who, but for his continued intemperance and ill conduct, would doubtless have left him, at his death, independent. As it was, his name was not mentioned in his adopted Father's will, and he was obliged to support himself by his pen. T. W. White of the Southern Literary Messenger, Mr. Burton of the Gentleman's and Mr. Graham of Graham's Magazine, were all obliged, though charmed with Poe's genius, to dismiss him from their employment on account of his intemperance. He was more than once raised by those who respected and admired his abilities, from the depths of degradation and waste only to fall back, if possible, still lower.

His death is a warning to all drunkards, and shows the danger of even one single lapse after a partial reformation. He had joined the Temperance Society in Richmond, Va., and showed by his conduct the earnestness of his intention to reform. For some time he continued steady, and was on his way to New York, to make arrangements for his second marriage, when, stopping in Baltimore for a few hours he entered a hotel, and finding some acquaintances there, was induced to take a single glass of wine. The usual consequences ensued, and after a night of insanity and intoxication, he was carried to a hospital and died a few days after. The subtle demon of intoxication wound his serpant-like [[serpent-like]] folds around him until he was crushed in its Anaconda coils.

His writings are remarkable for their original ingenuity and intricate mechanism, and we forget the improbability of some of his Tales, in our admiration of the simplicity of style, minuteness of description, and apparently scientific explanation he gives of his man wonders and horrors. In his own account of the composition of the “Raven,” we perceive the method with which he wrote, and cannot suppose it possible for him to have carried out that method while under the excitement of gin.

While we deplore his faults, we cannot but admire his genius. There is as much excuse for his intemperance as can ever be arged [[argued]] for any one. Feeble in body, he was yet obliged to coin his brain for daily bread, and write whether he felt like it or not. If overcome by exhaustion, he flew to stimulants for relief. One glass aroused a demon whose thirst was insatiable. Let his fate be a warning to all young men.

Notes: The idea that Poe wrote solely or chiefly only when under the influence of drink is, of course, nonsense.