Annabel
Lee:
The
Story of a Woman, Written By Herself
by
Christopher Conlon
Genre:
Historical Gothic
Everybody
knows Edgar Allan Poe’s “Annabel Lee”—but who was she really?
In this haunting and evocative novel, Christopher Conlon (“one of
the preeminent names in contemporary literary horror”—Booklist
)
imagines a life for one of literature’s most renowned characters.
Hers is a chronicle even more thrilling, doom-haunted, and tragic
than Poe himself could have conceived, for here Annabel Lee tells her
own story in her own words...for the first time.
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Christopher
Conlon (b. 1962) is best known as the editor of the Bram Stoker
Award-winning anthology "He Is Legend" (Gauntlet/Tor), a
tribute to author Richard Matheson which was reprinted by the Science
Fiction Book Club and in multiple foreign translations. His novel
"Savaging the Dark" was included in Booklist's "Top
Ten: Horror" for 2015 (starred review) and acclaimed by Paste
Magazine both as one of the 21 Best Horror Books of the 21st Century
and as one of the 50 Best Horror Novels of All Time. Two of his
earlier novels, "Midnight on Mourn Street" and "A
Matrix of Angels," were finalists for the Stoker Award, and he
has written numerous collections of stories and poems along with two
full-length stage plays. A former Peace Corps Volunteer, Conlon holds
an M.A. in American Literature from the University of Maryland and
lives in the Washington, DC area.
GUEST POST
I
and My Annabel Lee
by
Christopher Conlon
copyright
2019 by Christopher Conlon
“You
mean the
Annabel
Lee?”
I’ve
received this response several times now after telling people that
the title of my newest novel is Annabel
Lee (with
the subtitle The
Story of a Woman, Written by Herself).
Almost everyone has encountered the poem by Edgar Allan Poe at some
point, most typically in school. It’s a basic American classic,
with its wonderfully lilting language and storyline of aching
romantic doom. The narrator and his girlfriend Annabel surely stand
as one of the great Gothic couples, alongside other such passionate
lovers of the period as Heathcliff and Catherine of Wuthering
Heights and
Rochester and Jane of Jane
Eyre. Why
tinker with a masterpiece?
What
occurred to me in thinking recently about “Annabel Lee”—which I
first read and loved as a child—is that, for all its unforgettable
imagery and emotion, the reader never experiences a single moment of
the poem from Annabel’s own point of view. The entire piece is
narrated by the nameless young man who tells us that they “loved
with a love that was more than love,” but he alone defines this;
Annabel’s own thoughts and feelings are never given voice at all.
We know what he
says
about her and their relationship; but what might she
have
said?
My
novel sets out to answer that question, and in so doing goes into
some strange and unexpected places—including an appearance from Mr.
Poe himself. How successful my imaginings are, of course, is for the
reader to decide....
Annabel
Lee
It
was many and many a year ago,
In
a kingdom by the sea,
That
a maiden there lived whom you may know
By
the name of Annabel Lee;
And
this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than
to love and be loved by me.
I
was a child and she
was a child,
In
this kingdom by the sea,
But
we loved with a love that was more than love—
I
and my Annabel Lee—
With
a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted
her and me.
And
this was the reason that, long ago,
In
this kingdom by the sea,
A
wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My
beautiful Annabel Lee;
So
that her highborn kinsmen came
And
bore her away from me,
To
shut her up in a sepulchre
In
this kingdom by the sea.
The
angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went
envying her and me—
Yes!—that
was the reason (as all men know,
In
this kingdom by the sea)
That
the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling
and killing my Annabel Lee.
But
our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of
those who were older than we—
Of
many far wiser than we—
And
neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor
the demons down under the sea
Can
ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of
the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For
the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of
the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And
the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of
the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And
so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of
my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In
her sepulchre there by the sea—
In
her tomb by the sounding sea.
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