The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe Narrated by Brian kelly

Overview

When a modern film script draws inspiration from a poem written more than a century ago, readers can judge its impact on our collective imagination. Such is the resonance of the poem "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.

First published in 1845, "The Raven" is a masterpiece of atmosphere, rhythmic quality and use of language. Constructed in narrative form, it tells the story of a young man who is mourning the loss of his beloved. One December night as he wearily sits up browsing through a classical volume, a mysterious tapping against his window disturbs him. When he opens it to investigate, a strange and mournful raven enters his room and perches on the bust of a Greek goddess inside. The rest of the poem deals with the melancholy and mournful one-sided conversation between the two. The narrator desperately questions the Raven about Lenore, his lost love, but the Raven only gives a single dismal word "Nevermore" in reply. What happens to the narrator in the course of this conversation makes up the rest of the poem.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

(Price's pictures) do a great job of evoking the brooding guilt, terror, and love in Poe's famous poem ... lengthy appended notes will spark discussion on both the poem and the art.—Booklist

Price's vision of The Raven not only haunts, but also brings Poe's work back to life. An ideal resource for teachers and students.—School Library Journal

Price's illustrations make the viewer pause and consider the cracks in the narrator's mind, and they provide glimpses into the strange, violent story behind his torment.—Toronto Star

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169461305
Publisher:	Oregan Publishing
Publication date:	10/01/2017
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

Videos