I recently borrowed Selected Tales by Edgar Allan Poe from the local library. I am sure I have read something by Poe before while at school – that dreadful place to get acquainted with literature. I also remember an actor that came to our school to do a monologue that must have been a story by Poe. What I am trying to say is that I am fairly unacquainted with his writing and it was partly because of that that I pick up the book.
What I do know about Poe is his reputation for writing gruesome horror poems. This, however, was short-stories. The first few stories I did not like very much; to be honest, I found them tedious. All of them mused on a woman, the story told by a man in love with her – at least at the start of the story. Maybe I would have liked them better, if I had not read one after the other. Now it felt like I read the same story over and over.
I had given up on the book and had decided to get a new book from the library when there followed a few stories of another character – even a Sherlock Holmes-style detective story. I liked these more intellectual and action based stories better than the previous. Reluctantly, I exchanged books at the library, vaguely wondering if I ought to give Poe another chance.