Text: David Ketterer, “Devious Voyage: The Singular Narrative of A. Gordon Pym,” Studies in Poe's Pym (1975), pp. 21-33 (This material is protected by copyright)

[page 21:]

I

Any interpretation of the densely multiplex Narrative of A. Gordon Pym must now take some account of the detailed findings in the article, “Chartless Voyage: The Many Narratives of A. Gordon Pym” by J. V. Ridgely and Iola S. Haverstick.(1) These two investigators discern five stages in the composition of the work: 1) The Messenger text — Chapter I through to the end of the third paragraph of Chapter III (late in 1836); 2) the rest of Chapter III through to Chapter IX (April-May, 1837); 3) Chapter X to Chapter XV (1837-1838); 4) Chapter XVI to the final chapter (March and May, 1838); 5) Chapter XXIII and the end note (July, 1838). On the basis of these findings, Ridgely and Haverstick extravagantly deduce that any unified reading of the story is necessarily mistaken.

It is hoped that the following pages will clearly demonstrate the error of this conclusion. As shall become apparent, Pym is a highly unified work, structured, in fact, to a quite extraordinary degree. Some gage is provided here by the prior existence of “MS. Found in a Bottle” which is thematically a microcosm of Pym and displays direct verbal similarities and plot parallels. For example, Pym's extraordinary transference from the Ariel to the Penguin is reminiscent of the miraculous exchange from one ship to the other in “MS. Found in a Bottle.” Once aboard the strange new ship, the writer of “MS. Found in a Bottle” finds it necessary to conceal himself as Pym does aboard the Grampus. In addition, Pym concludes with a reference to “some immense and far-distant rampart in the heaven” (III, 241) which matches talk of “ramparts” at the end of “MS. Found in a Bottle” (II, 13-14) and also in “A Descent into the Maelström” (II, 227).(2)

As for the overall thematic correspondence, in the three sea tales, the narrator journeys through the material world of multiple deceptions towards an apocalyptic vision of “arabesque” CL reality — and here I use the term “arabesque,” as I believe Poe intended, as descriptive of an idealistic state of being. It is true, of course, that this movement is basic to all of Poe's creative work. Fundamental to Poe's philosophical framework is the rationale that man lives in a condition of total deception as a consequence of the imprisoning co-ordinates of time, space and [page 22:] self. In the grotesque tales particularly Poe parades the evidence which might support this reading of the human condition. It appears that man misinterprets the nature of the universe because he can-not see his portion of it in relation to the whole and that portion he distorts because he cannot help but see it in relation to himself and the distorting grid of his dissecting reason.

By means of the blurring perspective of the “half-closed eye” (Poe's image initially for the imagination and later for the imagination plus reason, or intuition), he aims, primarily in the poems and arabesque tales, at dissolving the various barriers which constitute the material state — including the line which divides the living from the dead — and revealing fluid arabesque reality. “We can, at any time, double the time beauty of an actual landscape by half closing our eyes as we look at it” (XVI, 164), Poe directs in his “Marginalia.” Any fusion-oriented technique, whether it be synesthesia, a stress on indefiniteness and unity or symbolism, which might encourage this extra awareness is eagerly employed. In practical terms, Poe recommends shutting oneself in a dizzying room curtained from top to bottom with psychedelic arabesque tapestries. The same vertiginous understanding might also be gained by falling off a cliff.

Since this transition with its attendant features is basic to the design of Pym there can be no question of Poe beginning the work unaware — at least in a general sense — of the way in which it was to end. Furthermore, readers of “Chartless Voyage” should note that Pym was written in less than two years. If the five stages of development occurred over a period of, say, five years, Ridgely and Haverstick might have a stronger case.

However, Ridgely and Haverstick are, I believe, correct in their analysis of the Introductory Note. The Narrative was planned as a hoax to appear under the authorship of A. G. Pym but the first two episodes in the Messenger were attributed on the Contents page to Poe, possibly as a result of the bungling of Thomas White, the editor. It would appear that the reversals and convolutions of “Pym's” Note are largely an attempt to salvage the story's credibility by explaining how Poe came to write the first parts of Pym's story. The effect of this curious “exposé,” as Pym ironically calls it, is to multiply confusion concerning the truthfulness of the narrative and give a further twist to the turns of deception. Indeed, as Patrick Quinn and Edward H. Davidson conclusively demonstrate, deception is the dominant theme in Pym.(3) There is no need at this point in time to rehearse in detail all the incidents and maneuvers involving deception: the hoodwinking of relatives by Pym and his friend, Augustus; Pym's concealment in the hold of the Grampus; the mutiny including Pym's masquerade as a corpse;(4) the treachery of the natives from whom Pym and his second companion, Dirk Peters, conceal themselves. Not only is every turn of the plot motivated by, or illustrative of, deception but the word itself constantly recurs. I shall concentrate instead on Poe's deceptive technique including what is perhaps the most illusive element in the work, its structural integrity. [page 23:]

II

An important aspect of Poe's technique of deception is the pseudo-crisis, or “red herring.” I am referring to all those incidents in Pym and in much of Poe's work where a dire situation is survived, almost magically. In Chapter I, which is a kind of microcosm of the whole, Pym and his friend, Augustus, quickly regret their decision to go for a night sail in Pym's boat, the Ariel: “A fierce wind and strong ebb-tide were hurrying us to destruction” (III, 9). Pym is ready to die: “I recommended myself to God” (III, 10). However, the next moment he is safely aboard the Penguin, as is Augustus, who expresses his relief with “alternate laughter and tears” (III, 11). Apparently, “our deliverance seemed to have been brought about by two of those almost inconceivable pieces of good fortune which are attributed by the wise and pious to the special interference of Providence” (III, 12). Pym was discovered fastened (almost umbilically) against the hull (perhaps it should be flanks) of the Penguin while Augustus was still attached to the floating deck of the cuddy where Pym had tied him. The theme of rebirth, the sense that all may be a dream (Pym is in bed on the verge of a drunken sleep just before the escapade) or a hoax, the equation of survival or sustenance with descent (the area below deck, or the subconscious, and Pym's “down under” destination) carry through the entire narrative.(5) Pym can be read consistently and convincingly in a number of different ways. Some of these readings are complementary; where they are not, where the nature of the reality of the narrative is in dispute, Poe requires his reader not to choose but to maintain such interpretations deceptive unity. It must, however, be admitted in a state of fluid co-existence on the basis of a that this is a position that makes it often impossible to distinguish between what is Poe's deliberately deceptive technique and plain error.

Pym's explanation as to why, after his nightmarish experience, he still hankered after the sea, is fraught with reversal and contradiction. “In no affairs of mere prejudice, pro or con,” he writes, “do we deduce inferences with entire certainty” (III, 17). The one week after the adventure “proved amply long enough to erase from my memory the shadows, and bring out in vivid light all the pleasurably exciting points of color, all the picturesqueness, of the late perilous accident.” Augustus's stories, “more than one half of which I now suspect to have been sheer fabrications,” appealed to Pym's “enthusiastic temperament, and somewhat gloomy, although glowing imagination.” It now appears that it is precisely “the shadows” “which most strongly enlisted my feelings”:

In anticipation of this perverse destiny, Augustus is represented as fusing with Pym, having “thoroughly entered into my state of mind” to the extent of involving “a partial interchange of character” (III, 18).(6)

Thus driven, Pym arranges with Augustus to hide in the after-hold of the Grampus, a ship commanded by his friend's father. The after-hold appears to symbolize both the subconscious and Poe's view of the human state containing, as it does, “a complete chaos of almost every species of ship-furniture, together with a heterogeneous medley of crates, hampers, barrels, and bales ...” (III, 23). The “iron-bound box,” “nearly four feet high, and full six long,” in which Pym is to be hidden, is, of course, suggestive of a tomb and takes its place in that reading of Pym which sees it as an oneiric drama from death to rebirth, or a series of such cycles. The actual narrative covers nine months, from mid June, 1827, to February, 1828, while the full course of Pym's adventure, which we do not hear about, covers “nine long years” (III, 109). In the after-hold, Pym is necessarily in a state of deception as to what is going on around and above him and has to grope his way through innumerable “windings” (III, 25, 31, 37). He loses track of time because Augustus's watch runs down, as does the watch of the Norwegian in “A Descent into the Maelström.”

At the same time Pym dreams of “calamity and horror.” Limitless deserts give way to “wide-spreading morasses” which “concealed” the roots of “Immensely tall trees.” These “strange trees seemed endowed with a human vitality, and, waving to and fro their skeleton arms” (III, 28), to be crying in despair. Later, in a different but equally unhappy situation this dream state re-curs, “a state of partial insensibility during which the most pleasing images floated in my imagination; such as green trees, waving meadows of ripe grain, processions of dancing girls, troops of cavalry, and other phantasies. I now remember that, in all which passed before my mind's eye, motion was a predominant idea” (III, 102). When he recovers, he imagines himself back in the hold, the situation of the earlier dream. Both dreams involve visions of fluid arabesque reality but they also support the possibility that much of what happens in Pym may be a dream. Safely aboard the Jane Guy, much later, Pym looks back on the past events with ambiguous feelings:

In conjunction with the pattern of reversal in Pym, this sounds very much like a statement of Poe's artistic intention. [page 25:]

To return to Pym's dream in the hold: he fancies that a “fierce lion of the tropics” is about to attack him. He awakes to find “The paws of some huge and real monster were pressing heavily upon my bosom — his hot breath was in my ear — and his white and ghastly fangs were gleaming upon me through the gloom” (III, 28). Pym “breathed a faint ejaculation to God” and resigned to die. But, once again, this is a false alarm, a “red-herring.” The animal is Pym's “Newfoundland dog Tiger,” who does, at least, have a dangerous name: “I experienced a sudden rush of blood to my temples — a giddy and overpowering sense of deliverance and reanimation” (III, 29). But, shortly afterwards, the dream does become a reality. Tiger emits “a slight snarl,” then a “singular hissing sound”(7) and suddenly “sprang with a loud growl towards my throat” (III, 43-44). Pym hurls the animal, presumed to be dying, from him. Soon afterwards, without reason, Tiger “appeared to have recovered in some measure his faculties” (III, 73). The next related detail occurs when drifting and starving, the sailors agree on holding a lottery to decide on a victim to be cannibalized. Pym confesses: “At this moment all the fierceness of the tiger possessed my bosom, and I felt towards my poor fellow-creature, Parker, the most intense, the most diabolical hatred” (III, 128). This strange metamorphosis suggests that Tiger's reality is a metaphorical indication of the unreliable tigerism of the world.

Tiger had not been mentioned previous to his appearance in the hold and, because he is not accounted for concretely later, critics like Ridgely and Haverstick, who find the work totally disorganized, include him among the “loose ends” as evidence for their argument. There are other examples of “errors” which may be aspects of Poe's deceptive technique. At one point, Pym refers to information received from Augustus after “Many years elapsed,” but Augustus dies in Chapter XIII. There would appear to be a contradiction here unless it is precisely Augustus's death which allows for “a more intimate and unreserved communion” (III, 64). Episodes are anticipated but do not take place. However, in view of the picture of reality which Poe is building up, it is not, I believe, just special pleading to maintain that promises of actions which never occur, confusing shifts in characterization and discrepancies in factual detail contribute, although perhaps not intentionally, to the overall effect. Like the writer of “MS. Found in a Bottle” and the Norwegian of “A Descent into the Maelström,” Pym discovers that rational explanations are not forth-coming. The reader makes a similar discovery. An example of inconsistent characterization may be the fearsome figure of Dirk Peters, who replaces Augustus as Pym's companion or, perhaps, doppelgänger.(8) He is a hybrid with bowed arms and legs which “appeared to possess no flexibility what-ever” and whose extended 1ips seemed “to be devoid of natural pliancy.” Several critics cannot reconcile his displeasing appearance and role in the mutiny with his basically benevolent role in the remaining action.(9) But Poe's technique depends on defeating expectations and the issue is that of appearance versus reality, as in the case of Melville's Queequeg. Furthermore, there is [page 26:] evidence to link Peters with the sea and, if the unstructured fluidity of the sea approximates the real nature of things, to reveal that Peters has an especial awareness. As well as being ugly, he is short, “not more than four feet eight inches high” (III, 51). Two paragraphs later, we learn “a short and ugly sea was running” (III, 54). Like the elements, his conduct “appeared to be instigated by the most arbitrary caprice alone” (III, 73). If Augustus represents the uselessness of Augustan reason, Peters represents the power of imagination.

As Pym and Peters journey towards the South Pole, the deceptive nature of reality appears to resolve itself into the contraries of black and white. Charles 0’Donnell's interpretation of the color symbolism, is, I believe, correct.(10) White is “the omni-color” (XIV, 170) and represents unity. But, since the attainment of unity involves death and often bloodshed, white is often associated with red. Black, a non-color and the antithesis of white, represents the deceptiveness of man's material existence. The association of red and white is apparent from this description of a dead bear: “His wool was perfectly white, and very course, curling lightly. The eyes were of a blood red ...” (III, 176). Subsequently, they come across “a bush, full of red berries . . and the carcass of a singular-looking land animal. It was three feet in length, and but six inches in height, with four very short legs, the feet armed with Tong claws of a brilliant scarlet, and resembling coral in substance. The body was covered with a straight silky hair, perfectly white. The tail was peaked like that of a rat, and about a foot and a half Tong. The head resembled a cat's, with the exception of the ears — these were of the same brilliant scarlet as the claws” (III, flapped like the ears of a dog. The teeth were 179-180). In keeping with the connotations of whiteness, the animal, as Patrick Quinn notes, is “a fusion of fidelity and perfidy.”(11) As a hybrid, Peters is able to mediate between the black and the white and perhaps, within the symbolic color scheme, the reference to Peters and Pym as “the only living white men upon the island” (III, 209) is not the error it may at first appear.

As in the case of Moby-Dick, Pym contains a good deal of factual ballast. Poe derived this from a number of sources including A Voyage to the Pacific (1784) by Captain James Cook and James King, Benjamin Morrell's Narrative of Four Voyages to the South Seas and the Pacific, 1822-1831 (1832), Jeremiah N. Reynolds’ Voyage of the Potomac (1835) and his Address, on the Subject of a surveying and Exploring Expedition to the Pacific Ocean and South Seas (1836), R. Thomas's The Mariners Chronicle, Remarkable Events and Remarkable Shipwrecks (1836), Irving's Astoria (1836), Stephen's Arabia Petræa (1837) and possibly John Symmes's account of a subterranean polar world, Symzonia (1820).(12) A certain amount of the “factual” material seems to be designed simply to help the hoax along, but some of it can be justified punningly or allegorically — the section on the “shifting” cargo (III, 69-72) for example. The same may apply to the practice of “lying to,” which Poe spends time explaining (III, 82-84). Certainly, as Joel Porte argues, the six paragraphs [page 27:] describing the albatross, one “of the gull species” and the nest, or “rookery” (III, 154-155), which it shares with the penguin are not without their hidden significance.(13)

The incident involving Augustus's fragmented message is extremely labored unless it can be taken as somehow allegorical of Poe's narrative technique in Pym. Upon first finding the paper strung around Tiger's neck, Pym is at a loss as to how to read it. Finally, he illuminates the paper with the aid of phosphorous, only to find it blank. Note what again appears to be an inconsistency here. It subsequently transpires that Augustus used “a duplicate of the forged letter from Mr. Ross” (III, 60). Presumably, then, there would have been writing on both sides. Pym tears the paper into “three pieces” (III, 39; emphasis mine) and throws them away, before realizing that the message may be on the other side. But all is not lost. Tiger noses out the three pieces of paper and, after feeling for the uneven surface, Pym makes out “three sentences ... For I saw there were three.” (Emphasis mine.) In his anxiety, however, he only reads “the seven concluding words, which thus appeared — ‘blood — your life depends upon lying close’” (III, 41) written, as later stated, in Augustus's blood. In view of the extreme amount of deception in Pym, in it is very likely that the phrase, “lying close,” contains a pun. The mystifying business of Pym's only reading seven words constitutes a further “red herring.” As it is, he is filled with “indefinite horror” by the fragmentary warning, “particularly” by the word “blood” — ”how chilly and heavily (disjointed, as-it then was, from any foregoing words to qualify it or render it distinct) did its vague syllables fall, amid the deep gloom of my prison, into the innermost recesses of my soul” (III, 41). To a considerable extent, the disjointedness of the narrative accounts for its effectiveness — an act of imaginative completion is required from the reader.

This piece of paper rewards further scrutiny. Poe's three key colors are present: presumably the paper is white, the message is red and the duplicate letter is written in black ink. I have emphasized the figure “three,” as Poe does, because I believe he is attempting to prod the attentive reader into solving the problem of the phosphorous at first revealing a blank sheet of paper. This is a three-sided piece of paper. Pym and the reader are encouraged to entertain this illogical reality as analogous to the ultimate realm beyond reason and writing where Pym is headed. This instance of deceptive language may be related to other details in the text. Jean Ricardou has argued that the strange water of Tsalal, “made up of a number of distinct veins” (III, 187) and claimed as “the first definite link in a chain of apparent miracles” (III, 186), represents the printed page.(14) This water is presumably responsible for the formation of the hieroglyphic gorges — a message which should be paired with that of Augustus and which Pym fails uttery to decipher. The emphasis on black and white, especially black characters (the natives) gains obvious new meaning in this context. Thus it is possible to read Pym as a journey through the illusory solipsistic world of print to the end of the page which is, of course, arabesque white.(15) [page 28:] Pym must see beyond the writing on the wall.

I have digressed from and now return to the chronicle of pseudo-crises. The circumstances of Pym's release from the hold abound in the generation of unjustified anxiety. With a “single gill of liquor” remaining, “I felt myself activated by one of those fits of perverseness which might be supposed to influence a spoiled child in similar circumstances, and, raising the bottle to my (1 lips, I drained to the last drop, and dashed it furiously upon the floor” (III, 44). But what is really perverse about this action is that it does not lead to the expected consequences. The next minute Augustus is on the scene. However, when Pym hears someone calling his name, he is unable to reply: “Had a thousand words depended upon a syllable, I could not have spoken it” (III, 45). But fortunately, a carving knife drops with a rattle to the floor and Augustus hears it.

III

During the period between Peters's gaining control of the Grampus and the appearance of the Jane Guy, the pseudo-crisis really comes into its own. Chapter VIII ends with a huge wave “sweeping the companion-way clear off, bursting in the hatchways, and filling every inch of the vessel with water” (III, 98). All are safe, however, we learn in Chapter IX, because, “Luckily, just be- “ fore night, all four of us had lashed ourselves firmly to the fragments of the windlass” and Pym now realizes “a vessel with a cargo of empty oil-casks would not sink.” He records, “hope revived within me” (III, 99). Until Chapter XIV, hope and despair oscillate repeatedly. The main problem is food, and Peters, with a rope around his waist, attempts to swim through “a narrow passage” (III, 107) into the store room. After nearly drowning, Peters discovers the door is locked and the company gives way to despair, then prays to God.

Suddenly an incident occurs “replete with the extremes first of delight and then of horror” (III, 109). Augustus is seen to be agitated and Parker distressed by the appearance of “a large hermaphrodite brig, of a Dutch build, and painted black, with a tawdry gilt figurehead.” Presumably the element of fusion implied by the word “hermaphrodite” prepares for the hermaphroditically named Jane Guy. The company do not realize at first that it is a death ship which is bearing down on them. They account for the ship's erratic course “by supposing the helmsman to be in liquor” (III, 170). suddenly they become aware of an awful stench and the truth is evident. A sound, “so closely resembling the scream of a human voice that the nicest ear might have been startled and or deceived,” emanates from a sea-gull fastened upon the back of a corpse, “busily gorging itself with the horrible flesh, its bill and talons deep buried, and its white plumage spattered all over with blood” (III, 112). The now exposed teeth give the appearance of a smile. The scene is fateful: black brig, red blood, white teeth. The sea-gull drops “a portion of clotted and liver-like [page 29:] substance” (III, 113) at Parker's feet. Parker is to urge that one of their number be a victim of cannibalism and, when the straws are drawn, he turns out to be the candidate.

Two days after eating Parker, Pym has “an idea which inspired me with a bright gleam of hope” (III, 130). He remembers that he had taken an axe into the forecastle and, with this, the store-room door could be cut through. The attempt is successful “beyond our utmost expectations” (III, 131). In other words, cannibalism was unnecessary. But two days later, “To our great grief” (III, 136), much of the food is washed overboard and the brig is threatening to overturn. There is no more food in the store-room, which discovery “filled us with despair” (III, 137). And the brig does roll over: “I scarcely made a struggle for life and resigned myself, in a few seconds, to die. But here again I was deceived, not having taken into consideration the natural rebound of the hull to windward” (III, 142). Nevertheless, all the provisions have now been swept overboard and, accordingly, “we gave way both of us to despair” (III, 143). However, “the accident proved a benefit rather than an injury.” It is an example of sustenance below. The keel was “thickly covered with large barnacles, which proved to be excellent and highly nutritious food” (III, 144). But, three days later, a sail is sighted — it is the Jane Guy. Before the rescue, Poe throws in an additional “red herring”: “We now became alarmed, for we could hardly imagine it possible that she did not observe us, and were apprehensive that she meant to leave us to perish as we were. ... In this instance, however, by the mercy of God, we were destined to be most happily deceived ...” (III, 146-47).

There seems to be little reason in the Jane Guy's meandering course until it is decided, in Chapter XVI, to head for the South Pole. Time is spent describing Desolation Island with its “deceitful appearance” (III, 152), and its penguins whose “resemblance to a human figure is very striking, and would be apt to deceive the spectator” (III, 154). It is likely that Harry Levin and Leslie Fiedler are correct and that such indirections serve to disguise an allegory of the south-ern United States.(16) Hence the description of Captain Guy as “a gentleman of great urbanity of manner, and of considerable experience in the southern traffic, to which he had devoted the greater portion of his life” (III, 148); and this reference to a strange land: “In approaching it from the northward, a singular ledge of rock is seen projecting into the sea, and bearing a strange resemblance to corded bales of cotton” (III, 176). Moreover, after passage through ice fields, the further south they voyage the warmer it gets. And there are black men. Poe, who approved of slavery, would seem to be issuing a direct warning of Negro insurrection while making the Negro emblematic of man's treacherous nature. At the same time if Poe's ideal region is a sphere where opposites are united, the existence of heat where cold is expected and the confusion of place are also aspects of Poe's fusion strategy.

While Pym and Peters are entombed under fallen rock, a consequence of the natives’ treachery, [page 30:] the pattern of hope and despair continues. They finally extricate themselves and Pym, looking at the flames leaping from the Jane Guy, says, “We now anticipated a catastrophe, and were not disappointed” (III, 216). Such precision of prediction is only possible this once in the novel. The ship does indeed blow up, killing large numbers of the savages. The narrative ends gnomically with Pym and Peters in a canoe moving through milky water and “a chaos of flitting and indistinct images” (III, 241-42) towards the white figure in the chasm.

The writer of the end note takes up the matter of the mysterious hieroglyphics and deduces the Ethiopian, “‘To be shady’ — whence all the inflections of shadow or darkness,” the Arabic, “‘To be white’ whence all the inflections of brilliancy and whiteness” and, in Egyptian, “The region of the south” (III, 244). “To be shady” is also an equivalent of “to be deceptive.” The note concludes with the biblical dust within the rock” (III, tones, “I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the rock” (III, 245). It seems likely that Poe's current interest in such veiled biblical pronouncements received an impetus from his reading of Stephen's Arabia Petræa, which he reviewed in the New York Review for October, 1837. The previous year, it may be noted, Poe had written the article, “Palestine,” for the Messenger. Is there then an explanation in Poe's reading as to why, once out of the chasms, the country reminds Pym “of those dreary regions marking the site of degraded Babylon” (III, 280-81)? Is there evidence here to suggest that Pym is destined to discover an interior world like that described by John Symmes in Symzonia (1820) and inhabited by the lost tribes of Israel!(17)

IV

Two of the more problematical aspects of Pym are the question of its overall structure, if any and if complete,(18) and the mechanism of Pym's ultimate rescue. Clearly, he must survive the apocalypse, with which the book concludes, if he is to write the narrative. That he has died since then is merely convenient. These two problems are, in fact, related, and the solution to the one provides the solution to the other.

Edward Davidson discerns five structural divisions, whereas there are actually seven.(19) Davidson's fifth division breaks down into three parts. By missing this, Davidson misses an important clue to Poe's intention in Pym. Charles O’Donnell first revealed the basic structure of the book, and I offer the following table in corroboration of his hypothesis that Pym, after the prologue chapter, breaks into parallel halves (see the figure in p. 31).(20) The second half of the an novel does not balance the first in terms of length but, as the table indicates, there is an exact balancing, episode for episode, in terms of chapter allotment and theme. It is also worth noticing that the Grampus overturns at the end of Chapter XIII. The underside of a boat saved Pym in the first chapter and now the underside of another boat is topside. This movement suggests the momement [[movement]] of bouleversement, described in “Hans Pfaal” and Eureka, when the force of repulsion gives way to the force of attraction. And it is this moment that forms the hinge whereby the [page 31:] second half of Pym may be folded back over the first half.

CHAPTERS

NO. OF CHAPTERS

THEME

VESSEL CONCERNED

1.

I

Microcosm of whole

Ariel

2.

II-VI

5

}

Confinement and release

}

3.

VII-IX

3

}

12

Treachery

}

Grampus

4.

X-XIII

4

}

Lack of direction and privation

}

5.

XIV-XVII

4

}

Lack of direction and security

}

6.

VII-IX

3

}

12

Treachery

}

Jane Guy

7.

X-XIII

5

}

confinement and release

}

O’Donnell notes some of the episodic parallels. In the first half of the book, Simms, “being very much in liquor,” falls from the foretop sail” (III, 76) of the Grampus and drowns. In the second half, Peter Vredenburgh — the second Vredenburgh in the narrative — slips “over the bows” of the Jane Guy and dies “between two cakes of ice” (III, 174). More frequently remarked, is the parallel between Pym's confinement in the after-hold of the Grampus and the entrapment of Pym and Peters after the land fall.(21) Both experiences are a kind of burial. But, granted this rigid parallelism, to what purpose is it directed? O’Donnell's view is, I believe, the correct one.(22) Poe wished to conclude his novel with what appears to be a vision of the apocalypse. At the same time, it was necessary that his hero survive the event, in order to be able to write his story. Poe had already used the not very plausible manuscript in a bottle device and the expedient of a return from the brink which is not quite consistent with the sense or hope that arabesque reality is a desirable state. This time Poe's solution is altogether more ingenious and satisfactory. Rather than spoil a climax by explaining how Pym survives yet again, Poe's thematic and structural parallels, plus the pattern of miraculous escape, allow the reader to infer the means of Pym's deliverance. If the structural parallelism is to be complete the reader must, in his imagination, supply an epilogue chapter to balance the prologue chapter. There is already the canoe at the end of Chapter XXV which corresponds to the Ariel.(23) In the prologue, it will be remembered, Pym “tumbled headlong and insensible upon the body of my fallen companion” (III, 10), before being, in-credibly, transferred to the Penguin. As O’Donnell argues, Poe attempts to trigger a series of associations in the reader's head enabling him to envision or manufacture that unwritten final chapter containing a similar reversal after the book's ostensible conclusion. A few pages before the [page 32:] end, in a passage which culminates the theme of perversity and draws together the use of deception as content and as technique, Pym falls into Peters's arms, recalling the earlier occasion when he fell on top of Augustus:

If the reader is alert, he should have the earlier episode in mind when he comes to read of the figure blocking Pym's path, whose skin “was of the perfect whiteness of the snow” (III, 242). It may be that Pym is seeing a sail. Thus an acute reader is provided with all the material necessary to construct a Chapter XXVI which echoes Chapter I. And the return to Chapter I is further indication that Pym's narrative is not dual, as Cecil argues, and certainly not quintuple, Ridgely and Haverstick's suggestion, but decidedly if bewilderingly singular.

Concordia University Montreal

[page 32, continued:]

Notes

1 “Chartless Voyage: The Many Narratives of A. Gordon Pym,” Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 7 (1966), 63-80. See also Sidney p. Moss, “Arthur Gordon Pym, or the Fallacy of Thematic Interpretation,” University Review, 23 (1967), 299-306; and L. Moffitt Cecil, “The Two Narratives of Arthur Gordon Pym,” Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 5 (1963), 231-41.

2 All parenthetical references are to The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, 17 vols., ed. James A. Harrison (New York, 1902).

3 Quinn, The French Face of Edgar Poe, (Carbondale, Illinois: Southern I1linois University Press, 1957), pp. 169-218; Davidson, Poe: A Critical Study (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, Harvard University, 1957), pp. 156-80.

4 Compare the strikingly similar episode in Melville's Israel Potter.

5 For the example par excellence of the rebirth interpretive slant, see Marie Bonaparte, The Life and Works of Edgar Allan Poe: A Psycho-Analytic Intrepretation [[Interpretation]] tr. John Rodker (London: Imago 1949), 290-352; for an account of the dream quality, see Walter G. Bezanson, “The Troubled Sleep of Arthur Gordon Pym,” in Essays in Literary History, Presented to Milton French, ed. Rudolph Kirk and C. F. Main (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1960), pp. 145-75; and for the above/below dichotomy, see Richard A. Levine, “The Downward Journey of Purgation: Notes on an Imagistic Leitmotif in The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym,” Poe Newsletter, 2 (1969), 29-31. [page 33:]

6 The perverse is a further element which carries through the narrative. See Joseph J. Moldenhauer, “Imagination and Perversity in The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym,” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 13 (1971), 267-80.

7 The name, met with later, of the savages’ king, Tsalemon, and the name of their island, Tsalal, commenced “with a prolonged hissing sound ... which was precisely the same with the note of the black bittern ...” (III, 239).

8 The name of Dirk Peters, in combination with Arthur Gordon Pym, evokes King Arthur and the sword Excalibur buried in stone.

9 Ridgely and Haverstick, “Chartless Voyage,” 73.

10 Charles 0’Donnell, “From Earth to Ether: Poe's Flight into Space,” PMLA, 77 (1962), 87.

11 The French Face of Edgar Poe, p. 191. Cf. the delicacy, biche de mer, which is not quite fish, animal or bird but a bit of each: “by their elastic wings, like caterpillers or worms, they creep in shallow waters” (III, 197).

12 See Robert Lee Rhee, “Some Observations on Poe's Origins,” Texas University Studies in English, 10 (1930), 135-45; D. M. McKeithan “Two Sources of Poe's Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym,” University of Texas Studies in English, 13 (1933), 116-37; J. 0. Bailey, “Sources for Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym, “Hans Pfaal’, and Other Pieces,” PMLA, 57 (1942), 513-22; Keith Huntress, “Another Source for Poe's Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym,” American Literature, 16 (1944), 12-25; Randel Helms, “Another Source for Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym,” American Literature, 41 (1970), 572-75; and Daniel J. Tynan, “J. N. Reynolds’ Voyage of the Potomac: Another Source for The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym,” Poe Studies, 4 (1971), 36-37.

13 The Romance in America: Studies in Cooper, Poe, Hawthorne, Melville, and Jones (Middletown, Conn., 1969), p. 92.

14 “Le caractère singulier de cette eau,” Critique, 24[23] (1967), 718-33. It should be noted that the land is also stratified and that the natives make use of this fact in their treachery.

15 See Patrick F. Quinn's review of Ricardou's article, “Arthur Gordon Pym: ‘A Journey to the End of the Page’?” Poe Newsletter, I (1968), 13-14.

16 The Power of Blackness (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1955), pp. 120-23, Love and Death in the American Novel, revised edition (New York: Stein and Day, 1966), pp. 397-400.

17 See J. O. Bailey, “Sources for Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym, ‘Hans Pfaal,’ and Other Pieces,” 513-22; and Sidney Kaplan, Introduction to The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (New York, 1960), pp. vii-xxv.

18 The end-note maintains that the manuscript is incomplete. Jules Verne wrote a sequel, entitled, The Sphinx of the Ice Fields and H. P. Lovecraft a sequel entitled At the Mountains of Madness.

19 Poe: A Critical Study, pp. 163-64.

20 “From Earth to Ether,” 89. Harry Levin also notes the division at Chapter XIII. See The Power of Blackness, pp. 114-15.

21 For example, see Patrick Quinn, The French Face of Edgar Poe, pp. 187-88.

22 “From Earth to Ether,” p. 89.

23 Trudy Stevenson, one of my ex-graduate students, observes in her MA thesis “The Sea Tales of Edgar Allan Poe” that there is a progression in terms of the degree of control Pym is able to exercise over the vessels with which he is associated. At the end he is able to “paddle his own canoe,” so to speak.