Book Review: THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER, by Edgar Allan Poe

I came by this one by Paul Theroux's recommendation: in The Old Patagonian Express, Theroux reads many books on many different trains, and throws not a few of them into the literary dustbin. Among the few to survive his no-nonsense critique is Poe's The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, Poe's only full-length novel, which was happily included in USHER, a collection on Poe's stories.

Now, I read "The Tell-Tale Heart" in freshman English, so I was at least dimly familiar with the creepiness of Poe, but I'd forgotten how downright spooky his stories can be--rotting corpses, demonic cats, the whole bit. I'd also forgotten how much the guy can talk and talk while setting up a short story, and how the first three pages of each story can be dedicated to a plea on behalf of the main character's sanity (a paraphrase: "The story I have to tell is so strange, so unnatural, that it shall surely bring my sanity to question, but I swear by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin that I am a good man, that my friends will support me when I claim to be completely, soundly, rock-solidly not mad")--in a seven-page story, this can take up quite a lot of story-telling time, so I ended up skipping a few stories with such openings in order to hurry up and read Pym. Was it worth it?

Heck yeah.

In a 100-page-plus novel, there's room for a bit of that reflection on behalf of the character. And once Poe gets that out of his system, the spookiness begins, and oh, boy. I was amazed at how quickly I got sucked right into Pym's narrative, particularly during his time spent in the hold of the Grampus, and though Pym does have its lulls, there are scenes from this book that will surely haunt me for a long time, in a satisfying sort of way.

I will say that a very strong aversion to deep water of any sort (I've been known to pull my sweatshirt over my face during previews for Poseidon) made the story triply alarming, and only thinly bearable in spots--a bit like Life of Pi, actually.

Speaking of Pi, did anybody else catch the appearance of one Richard Parker in Pym? Coincidence? I think not.

RATING: 3

Book Review: THE OLD PATAGONIAN EXPRESS, by Paul Theroux

In 197_, Paul Theroux hopped on a train in Medford, Massachusettes, with an itch to see how far south the train would take him. A few months of tough train travel later, he found himself in Esquel, Patagonia--though obviously, he switched trains often, since no train runs top to bottom on both American continents. The idea was to travel all that distance without ever leaving the ground, since he states several times (and I have to say I agree) that air travel reduces a trip to its destination, rather than allowing it to be a coherent and vivid journey of scenery and experience. Nobody writes about the journey, Theroux protests.

THE OLD PATAGONIAN EXPRESS is solely travel--what it took to get from Medford to Esquel by train--and Theroux is the perfect narrator to tell the story. At first I was put off by his blunt, opinionated attitude and the way he manages to offend or ridicule or stoutly disagree with nearly everyone he encounters, but over time it became endearing. He's the sort of guy a like to read about, but am glad I don't know personally.

I haven't the stamina to go into his sassiness now, though. I'm sorry, but the review is being cut short by sleepiness and the new Ian McEwan novel (in paperback!) that is draped alluringly over the arm of my couch. It beckons to me. I must go.

But I will say first that I really enjoyed PATAGONIAN, even if it seemed to drag on at times (scenery, scenery, scenery, brief dialogue, scenery, commentary on poverty/tourism/your issue here), and I very much enjoyed Theroux's criticism of the books he read while travelling. My reading list has pathetically lengethened after reading this book, as I must now add Pudd'nhead Wilson (Twain), The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (Poe), some Thomas Hardy poems, and the short stories of Kipling.

I will also add that it was an odd experience to be reading about the South America of thirty years ago, as Theroux's biting prose has undoubtedly marked the way I view certain cities and countries, even though they might be politcally, economically and geographically very, very different now.

(This wasn't short at all.)

RATING: 3