My grandmother had this book in her library. THE COLLECTED STORIES OF EDGAR ALLEN POE. This image scared me and all my friends, but even more terrifying was another with rats tearing at a captive man's flesh. My grandmother bequeathed this book to me. I loved Edgar Allan Poe. Especially The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. The idea of swirling to an unexpected doom was thrilling to my 10 year-old mind and I loved taking out the book to show the illustrations to my visitors to east 256 10th Street #3E. I moved from my apartment in 2002 and wrapped this book in plastic for a purgatory in a storage facility along the East River. 4 years of paying $150. I expected everything to be there. Missing were my photo slides, ink proofs of Gaetano Liberatore, and THE COLLECTED STORIES OF EDGAR ALLEN POE. I could have mourned the loss.
It was too late.
BUt I remember the horror.
No one can steal that from me.
Poe died in Baltimore; the cause of his death is unknown and has been variously attributed to alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, rabies, suicide, tuberculosis, and other agents.[3]
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