3. The Philosophy of Composition

In Episode 3 of Hope is Kindled, we delve into the shadowy brilliance of Edgar Allan Poe through his essay The Philosophy of Composition and his iconic poem The Raven. This episode examines Poe’s claim that great writing is not born of mystery but of meticulous design, as he walks readers through the calculated steps behind his most famous work. We explore the tension between artifice and emotion, grief and imagination, as Poe guides us through the psychology of loss and longing. With reflections on the poetic construction of melancholy and the search for beauty in darkness, this episode invites listeners to consider how even the most haunting works can illuminate the soul. The episode balances literary analysis with personal insight, uncovering hope in the deliberate crafting of sorrow. 

Transcript

Welcome to Hope is Kindled, the podcast where we take a closer look at literary works that have moved us, unsettled us, and, at times, reshaped us.

Some stories comfort us. Others unsettle us. But the best ones, the ones we return to again and again, do something deeper: they help us understand ourselves.

Today, we’re exploring one of the most iconic poems in American Literature, The Raven, and its lesser-known companion: Edgar Allan Poe’s essay The Philosophy of Composition.

Poe is often misunderstood as merely a master of horror. But in this essay, he lays bare his method. He explains — not hypothetically, but step by step — how he wrote The Raven. And in doing so, he gives us something rare and remarkable: a roadmap for transforming feeling into form.

Who Was Edgar Allan Poe?

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Eighteen O Nine, orphaned at three, and haunted by loss and instability throughout his life. His beloved wife Virginia died young, and Poe battled poverty and addiction for most of his career.

But he was also a literary innovator — a pioneer of detective fiction, science fiction, and psychological horror. More than anything, he was a technician of emotion. As critic Jules Zanger put it:

“Poe was the first American writer to insist that literature must be conscious of its methods … that art is artifice, not accident.”

Poe’s life was marked by precarity: he struggled to find stable employment, was often misunderstood by his contemporaries, and died alone and destitute at the age of forty. And yet, his legacy is vast. From the birth of the modern mystery story in “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” to the haunting rhythms of The Raven, Poe changed how we think about emotion, tone, and structure in literature.

He also left an indelible mark on the American imagination. His influence can be seen in the works of H.P. Lovecraft, Emily Dickinson, Shirley Jackson, and even in the psychological terrain of Dostoevsky, whose Notes from Underground shares Poe’s fascination with madness and self-deception.

The Raven tells the story of a grieving man visited by a raven — an ominous, speaking bird that answers every plea with one devastating word: “Nevermore.”

The man spirals into despair, asking the bird whether he will see his lost Lenore in the afterlife, whether there is hope or solace. The raven, unmoving, simply replies “Nevermore,” becoming a mirror of the man’s own mental unraveling.

It’s more than a ghost story. It’s a psychological descent rendered with precision. You can almost feel the candlelight flickering. The shadows stretching. The heartbeat quickening.

As a teenager, I remember reading The Raven late at night. It was one of those poems I didn’t fully understand, but I felt it. The musicality. The sorrow. The almost theatrical beauty of it. I didn’t yet know how Poe constructed it. But it haunted me. And I wanted to know why.

That’s where The Philosophy of Composition becomes such a revelation.

Poe begins his essay with a bold claim:

“Nothing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name, must be elaborated to its denouement before anything be attempted with the pen.”

In other words: Start with the end.

Before he wrote a word of The Raven, Poe decided on the emotional effect he wanted to produce in the reader: melancholy.

“Of all melancholy topics, what, according to the universal understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy? Death — was the obvious reply. And when is this most melancholy? When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death … of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.”

From this logic, the story of The Raven emerged: A man grieving the loss of his beloved. A midnight visitor. A final, inescapable word: Nevermore.

In crafting The Raven, Poe’s process wasn’t just about theme, it was about structure. He writes:

“The refrain … should be brief, and at the same time sonorous and susceptible of frequent repetition.”

He chose Nevermore not just for meaning, but for sound. It’s heavy, emphatic, final. It lands like a tolling bell. It reverberates, echoing the man’s emotional decay.

But Poe didn’t just repeat the word for effect. He escalated its meaning.

“It is this latter effect which I have here called the province of the refrain.  Its repetition being varied, in application, through the progress of the poem, so as to suit the changing mood of the narrative.”

At first, the narrator shrugs off the word as a random utterance. Then he teases it for answers. Then he begs. And finally, he is crushed beneath it.

Poe designed this arc intentionally. He teaches us that a single word, when used deliberately, can trace the shape of a descent, or reveal the mind’s own unraveling.

It’s like a musical motif in a symphony, returning with greater weight each time.

Many young readers, and writers, believe that inspiration must come first. That great stories are born of sudden brilliance or mystical vision.

Poe argues the opposite.

“Most writers, poets in especial, prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy … They would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes.”

He insists that the beauty of a poem lies not in chaotic inspiration, but in calculated design.

For students, this is empowering. It means you don’t have to wait for lightning. You can learn technique. You can practice effect. You can build beauty.

As T. S. Eliot said of craftsmanship:

“Art never improves, but the material of art is never quite the same.”

Poe reminds us that great writing comes not just from feeling, but from form.

Emotion + technique = lasting impact.

Poe's fingerprints are everywhere.

In music, the structure of The Raven inspired composers from Rachmaninoff to The Alan Parsons Project. In modern literature, his insistence on psychological depth prefigures the fragmented narrators of Faulkner and Sylvia Plath.

In pop culture, Poe appears in places both reverent and ridiculous — from The Simpsons to Doctor Who to the Netflix series Wednesday. Even Batman’s Gotham owes something to Poe’s shadowy, haunted vision of the human psyche.

His legacy is not limited to darkness — it is about clarity within darkness. A mind that said: “Even the abyss can be measured. Even despair can be composed.”

Poe’s work can feel bleak. But the method behind it is full of light.

He shows us that we don’t have to be consumed by our emotions. We can work with them. Shape them. Transform them.

In a world full of noise, his essay is a quiet reminder that art is intentional. That beauty and sorrow are not enemies. And that the darkest feelings can become our most meaningful creations — if we build them carefully.

The next time you read The Raven, listen to the sound beneath the sorrow. Listen for the design. Notice how repetition creates rhythm. How form shapes emotion.

And if you are a young person with a voice waiting to emerge, take heart:

You don’t have to wait for inspiration. You can begin with purpose. With a feeling. With a word.

As Poe once wrote:

“Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.”

That’s what writing is for.
That’s what reading is for.
To open us, challenge us, and change us.

Looking ahead, hold onto your curiosity, because we’ll be entering the realm of science and wonder with one of the most joyful minds of the 20th century: Richard Feynman.

His book The Pleasure of Finding Things Out reminds us that truth and discovery aren’t just for laboratories — they’re a lifelong adventure.

From midnight dreariness to quantum cheeriness, we’ll be here to explore it all.

Until then, keep reading,
 keep growing,
 and keep the fire alive.

Live the journey. For every destination… is but a doorway to another. Good journey.

Primary Texts:

• Poe, Edgar Allan. The Raven. Originally published in The Evening Mirror, January 29, 1845.
  
  
  
• Poe, Edgar Allan. The Philosophy of Composition. Originally published in Graham’s Magazine, April 1846.

Biographical Sources:

• Meyers, Jeffrey. Edgar Allan Poe: His Life and Legacy. Cooper Square Press, 1999.
  
  
  
• Silverman, Kenneth. Edgar A. Poe: Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance. Harper Perennial, 1992.
  
  

Critical and Scholarly Works:

• Zanger, Jules. “Poe and the Theme of Forbidden Knowledge.” American Literature, vol. 49, no. 4, 1978, pp. 533–547.
  
  
  
• Peeples, Scott. The Afterlife of Edgar Allan Poe. Camden House, 2004.
  
  
  
• Eliot, T. S. Selected Essays. Harcourt Brace, 1932.
  
  
  Referenced quote: “Art never improves, but the material of art is never quite the same.”
  
  
  

Comparative Literary References:

• Dostoevsky, Fyodor. Notes from Underground. Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Vintage, 1993.
  
  
  
• Dickinson, Emily. The Poems of Emily Dickinson. Edited by R. W. Franklin, Belknap Press, 1998.
  
  
  
• Lovecraft, H. P. Supernatural Horror in Literature. 1927.
  
  
  
• Plath, Sylvia. The Bell Jar. Harper & Row, 1971.
  
  
  
• Faulkner, William. The Sound and the Fury. Random House, 1929.
  
  
  

Cultural References and Adaptations:

• The Simpsons: Treehouse of Horror. Segment 1: The Raven. Directed by David Silverman, written by Sam Simon. Aired October 25, 1990. Featuring narration by James Earl Jones.
  
  
  
• Stir of Echoes. Directed by David Koepp, performances by Kevin Bacon. Artisan Entertainment, 1999. Inspired in part by Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart.
  
  
  
• Wednesday. Created by Alfred Gough and Miles Millar. Netflix, 2022. (Includes Nevermore Academy, a direct homage to Poe.)
  
  
  
• Batman: The Animated Series. Created by Bruce Timm and Eric Radomski. Warner Bros., 1992–1995. (Stylistic and thematic influence from Poe’s gothic sensibilities.)
  
  
  
• Doctor Who. Various episodes influenced by gothic horror traditions; Poe referenced in themes of psychological unraveling and literary homage.
  
  Masters of the Universe. Directed by Gary Goddard, performances by Dolph Lundgren and Frank Langella. Cannon Films, 1987.