The Black Cat - by Edgar Allan Poe
Today I finished reading my first 'Poe'...
Heathen, you may say, but I am English. In England, teachers only ever teach you about English authors; at least that was what it was like in my youth. In fact, during a recent visit to my library in England, I was met by no Poe on the shelves and left disheartened. And so it is my Sister-In-Law, bless her heart, has scoured the world of the secondhand and bought me a number of his works. What a trick missed by a narrow-minded syllabus. I loved it. Perhaps it was better made by more recent reads. These have tended to be weak, or indeed wholly horrible (not in a good way), but I think not. 'The Black Cat' was brilliant. The horrible tale of a brutal man, the words flow like a song or a river, simple and just meant to be. They dance as if penned yesterday, such is the language used, fresh on the page even though Poe wrote them fifty years and more before the days of the Ripper. That, for me, is the mark of a genius. A man before his time. I cannot wait to read more!