"The Tell-Tale Heart" Analysis

The two big questions that Edgar Allen Poe leaves the reader with: Did the narrator really kill the old man that he claimed to have loved? Is the narrator actually a madman?

He (assuming the narrator is a man) starts off admitting that he is "nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous" but denies that he is crazy, much too defensively, in my opinion. He is determined to convince the reader of this, especially when he says that his condition "sharpened his senses, not destroyed, not dulled them", and when he explains that it was the old man's eye that drove him to kill the man, it made the murder seem even less reasonable.

The narrator goes into great detail of his meticulous actions that lead up to the murder. He emphasizes his patience and care when he gradually makes his way into the old man's room, watching him sleep for eight nights, each night at the same time. These details, however, are not descriptive in the appearance his surroundings, but more in the manner of how his actions are carried out. The murder itself is very simple and quick. He describes his "wise precautions" afterwards, when he hides the body beneath the floorboards of the old man's room. I believe the narrator mistakens his paranoia for cleverness and intellect. He has a distorted view of his surroundings, having multiple hallucinations in Poe's short story. At the very end it becomes very obvious that the narrator is quite indeed mad when he sits down with the police officers and beings to hear a faint ticking sound that grows louder and louder. He starts becoming agitated; he believes the ticking was coming from underneath them, from the dead-man's heart. Likely it was his own heartbeat he was hearing. He became violent; he wondered why the policemen could not hear what he was hearing. Finally he confesses by saying "'Villains! Dissemble no more! I admit the deed!--tear up the planks!--here, here!--it is the beating of his hideous heart!'"

Of course, the narrator being a madman, this could have possibly been a hallucination in itself. I like to think that Mr. Poe intended it to be that way, so the reader can decide for his/herself. Though the last line does somewhat imply that a man had died that night, the narrator's nervous self keeps truth a mystery, all the while Mr.Poe questioning what exactly IS sanity and what is not.

"Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." — Les Brown

The familiar blue of the night sky was beginning to fall on the city. Warm summer air gently brushed past my bare arms and legs as I stepped onto the sidewalk outside of my grandparents' house. I looked down Poplar Avenue. There was a baseball game going on at the park. All around the field stood cheering clutters of parents here and there, shouting words of encouragement to their children. Wouldn't that just pressure them even more? I thought. The sound of the ball digging into a mitt. "STRIKE!" I heard someone yell.

                                                                                                                                      

The metal gate rang as my mom pulled it shut. We began our daily stroll after dinner in silence, taking in all that summer still had left to offer while it lasted. The sky grew darker, and no one noticed as the tall lamps illuminated the street. It was only when the mosquitoes decided to begin their nocturnal hunt for blood that people saw the tiny frantic specks in the light of the lamps, and realized it was getting late.

My mom broke our silence. "Ah, summer is coming to an end. School is going to start soon," she commented in Chinese. I nodded and muttered a "Mhmm..." hoping that she took the hint. She didn't.

"What have you accomplished this summer?" again in Chinese, this time looking me in the eye. I shrugged. "I worked....um, I hung out with my friends..."

"Have you done any schoolwork?" Her eyes stayed as they were.

What? I knew I probably should have done something educational this summer, but it was summer. I spend about nine months in school. I don't see how that still is not enough.

"I didn't have any."

We were now making our way around the park. Teenagers, parents, grandparents, toddlers, were all there, running around, chatting, enjoying themselves. I wanted to run there to see if I could find someone I knew. The park had many regular visitors. You're bound to run into someone.

The entrance to the Hill, as everyone calls it, was just a short walk across 29th street from park. It lived up to its name: grassy and green, and not at all flat. At the top of the hill there was a little island of concrete where you get the best view of the sunset in the neighborhood. I decided I wanted to go there. Then I realized it would only prolong this conversation.

"Why didn't you look for some practice work? How are you going to catch up with the others?"

I knew by "others" she had specific people in mind.

I thought back to the time when all I did was for the sake of satisfying my mother's high expectations. I was to be the girl that was good at everything, the perfect little Asian, a future doctor or lawyer, something that is well respected and pays well. Whether it was out of a change in my thinking or laziness, or both, I no longer wanted to live that way. I decided that I wanted to find my own path, a focus, and work from there. I did not want to conform to what others wanted me to be. I felt that I would get more out of life if I went about it not aiming for perfection and towards a goal that I didn't have any interest in accomplishing. I had learned to accept being mediocre (or at least a non-perfectionist) and not expect what is completely and obviously out of my limits.

I didn't reply. After a short silence, my mother pushed on. "What do you plan to study in college?"

I took a deep breathe. It had rained the day before, and there was still a slight hint of the damp, sweet-smelling air lingering around us. It calmed me. "I don't know, Mom."

She'd asked me this question countless times, not that I tried to count; I knew this question would keep coming until I reached college. There was my focus in piano, but it wasn't what I wanted to study and do for a living. I thought back to the people I saw at the park. Why couldn't I just live simple lives like they did?

We went down the hill and exited onto Halsted Street. The whoosh of slowing evening traffic ironically complimented the peaceful summer night. The passing lights flashed by one by one and glittered in the distance, as if to make up for the missing stars in the city sky.

The moon was out though, the observer of the night. I stared at it, taking in the beauty of its bright, flawlessly round form, wondering how something so beautiful can exist from so far away and look no less stunning millions of miles away.

Deciding that it would be better to hurry home before the mosquitoes began to attack, we turned in the middle of the block at an alley right next to the edge of the baseball field