Heather Adams, "Liar, Liar: Questioning the Narrator in Poe’s “The Black Cat”
First published in 1843, “The Black Cat” is Edgar Allan Poe’s chilling, yet brilliant gothic narrative of superstition, alcoholism, murder and revenge—a chain of events centered on the most curious of characters: the black cat. Poe’s clever use of foreshadowing and traditional gothic elements does not disappoint, as the narrative successfully keeps the reader on edge. Further emphasizing the appeal of the narrative are the ways in which a narrator of questionable morality leads, or rather, misleads the reader through his story, creating a narrative voice that is anything but reliable—a quality which, given the complex narrative structure of the story, the reader should keep in the forefront of their minds.
The narrator begins his tale by offering that his primary focus in the telling of his story is not to scare, but to bare his soul to the reader: “to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburden my soul . . . my immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events” (203). For me, this statement should be unnecessary—why would a narrator feel the need to begin his tale by convincing his readers that he is telling the truth, unless he was hiding something and knew without a doubt that the reader shouldn’t believe him? Furthermore, why would the narrator be facing execution for “a series of mere household events?” His early attempt to sway the reader to his side before he even presents his story creates one simple question: “Is the narrator lying?” The first and most obvious answer to this question is addressed within these first few statements as, despite the narrator’s assertions, no story is told without some degree of bias—he cannot tell his story without putting his own favorable spin on the events. I am in complete agreement with Richard Badenhausen when, in his article ”Fear and Trembling in Literature of the Fantastic: Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’,” he asserts his skepticism of the narrator’s intentions: “Despite pledging to tell his tale ‘without comment,’ the narrator is constantly qualifying, correcting, and explaining, in the hope that the audience will see events from his perspective” (488). Indeed, the first few statements of the narrative are an obvious attempt to shape the reader’s perception of the narrator, as he emphasizes the tenderness of heart (evidenced in his love for animals) that followed him from infancy, through childhood, and carried into adulthood. Looking deeper into the introduction, it becomes quite apparent that this misleading self-construct is a desperate attempt by the narrator to create a bond of trust—no matter how false—with the reader, as he knows that the remainder of his story will most certainly prove his unreliability. In her article “Untold Story: The Lying Narrator in ‘The Black Cat’,” Susan Amper takes these early indicators of the questionability of the narrator quite seriously, advising the reader to proceed with caution throughout the remainder of the narrative and asserting that the reader must be weary of “devising statements that leave a false impression, but are literally true. (A child accused of breaking an object, for example, may protest, ‘I never touched it.’ His statement is true: he did not touch it, the hammer did.)” (478). I couldn’t agree more, as it becomes quickly apparent that the narrator wishes to persuade the reader into believing that his tender nature and love for animals is a sure indication that he could never purposefully commit violent acts, which is altogether untrue. Moreover, in later scenes, he tends to gloss-over his own horrific actions or shift the blame elsewhere when he knows that he is at fault.
The narrator continues to mislead the reader by emphasizing his tender nature in his love for animals and for his wife who shares in his affections and graciously indulges him in his love for animals, allowing every pet imaginable to pass under their roof. Enter the black cat. He makes a point to note that his wife, in regards to their black cat, possessed some superstition: “[my wife] made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise . . . not that she was ever serious upon this point” (203). Although Poe’s italicization of the word “serious” initially evokes a tone of sarcasm, it also lets the reader know that this superstition is something to pay attention to, providing a lens through which the rest of the narrative can be read. In his article “Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’ as Psychobiography: Some Reflections on the Narratological Dynamics,” Ed Pacientino asserts, “In his telling of the story, the narrator employs a manner of planting clues, some of which seem deliberately ambiguous, their ambiguity in part attributable to the narrator’s perceived unreliability” (161). By mocking his wife’s ideas about black cats, he is actually emphasizing them, purposefully planting clues, while keeping the reader confused as to what his intentions and beliefs truly are. His mocking tone should also provide a clue for the reader that the narrator himself believes in the superstitions to which he accuses his wife of subscribing. After all, is it not human nature to mock or delineate things that frighten and disturb us?
In the paragraphs following, the narrator describes his close relationship to the black cat (named Pluto), emphasizing that he was responsible for every element of the cat’s well-being and thoroughly enjoyed caring for it. However, the narrator confesses that over the period of several years, his temperament begins to change and his heart turns from its tender, loving state to a dark and selfish with one desire: alcohol. He states, “I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others” (204). Although he devotes the better part of a paragraph explaining how this change negatively affected his animals, he conveniently devotes only a few words to the violence with which he treated his wife—an attempt to gloss-over the preliminary indicators of his violent nature.
The narrator goes on to say that, during this time, the animals begin to avoid him—further irritating his broody and violent disposition. His frightening behavior continues to increase and one night, in a drunken rage, he comes home to look for Pluto and, when he finds the cat, carries out an unthinkably heinous act: “I took from my waistcoat-pocket a penknife . . . and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket” (204). Although it initially seems as though the narrator is, for once, being totally honest with the reader when relaying this portion of the story, this incident does call into question the narrator’s honesty with himself and, inherently, with the reader—why can’t the narrator face his problems, instead of substituting self-confrontation with violence action towards others? In his article “Poe and the Powers of the Mind,” Robert Shulman provides this intriguing response: “the narrator consistently suppresses his awareness of the specific nature of this dark, threatening side of his personality, and in cutting out the eye of the black cat, perhaps he is also irrationally seeking to ‘root out’ and deny his own unacceptable insights into his nature” (257). I must agree that the narrator’s refusal to acknowledge his own dark nature is, indeed, further evidence that this man cannot be trusted—by the other characters in the story or by the reader. This idea is further evidenced in the paragraphs that follow, as the narrator’s mood worsens exponentially (most likely due to his denial of his own intentions) and, for no other reason because he knows that he shouldn’t, he ends Pluto’s life by hanging the cat from a tree by a noose. At this point, there is no longer a simple question of the narrator’s truthfulness, but a question of his mental state. The killing of Pluto the cat seems in no way proportionate to anything that the cat could possibly have done to the narrator, and begs the reader to consider the narrator, not simply as untrustworthy, but as a ticking time-bomb, capable of anything. His irrational and terrifying actions completely annihilate any credibility that the narrator possibly has left.
Later on in the story, the narrator relates his coincidental befriending of another black cat with striking similarities to Pluto and, though subtly, attempts to coax the reader into believing that his interaction with the cat is somehow associated with the prevalent return of his dark nature and the feelings of rage and hatred that he claims drove him to his previous violent acts. The irony of this portion of the narrative is that, despite the narrator’s previous proof of unreliability, the sincerity of his current assertions actually tempts the reader into sympathizing with him. In his article “Motive and Meaning: The Mystery of the Will in Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’,” Joseph Stark reflects on this curious development:
When he blames his crime on human depravity, we are skeptical of this solution, simply because he offers it. Having said this, we need not dismiss the idea outright to make the point. Even in the narrator’s explanation of his perversity, he admits of a troubling mystery. Not only does philosophy fail to account for this possibility, but he himself offers no ultimate explanation for the cause behind [his dark nature]. Hence, both in our skepticism and possible acceptance
of the narrator’s position, we find ourselves without a thorough explanatory cause. (260)
In other words, although the reader has been given no real reason to believe that the narrator is anything less than an outright liar, it is also bothersome that there is no definitive cause for this state of being. This series of events and lack of justification definitely call into question the narrator’s mental stability, as it is unlikely that a completely sane person would behave in this manner.
Although the previous section gives the narrator a brief moment of relief from reader’s scrutiny, any sympathy that the reader might have developed for him is automatically dissolved with the conclusion of the narrative. One dark afternoon, surrendering to his dark nature, the narrator attempts to kill the new black cat with a blow from his axe, but is stopped by his wife, who then becomes a victim of his rage: “Goaded by the interference into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain” (207). His wife dies immediately and, after considering his options, the narrator decides to hide her body in the cellar wall and is confident that she will never be discovered. Quite obviously, the gruesome nature of his wife’s murder, especially considering his lack of remorse over her death, again calls into question narrator’s trustworthiness. Amper asserts her opinion quite forcefully: “Obviously the man is lying . . . His tale is a fabrication, by which he seeks to conceal the true nature of his crime, exactly as he sought in walling up his wife’s body to conceal the fact of the crime” (475).
Although I do agree with Amper to the extent that Poe has proven himself an unreliable narrator, I have to wonder why she chooses to use this portion of the narrative to make such a bold assertion, when it does not appear as though the narrator is lying about killing his wife or placing her body in a wall. In my opinion, his truthfulness in this section is the most bothersome element—how can he relate his murder of his wife with such a lack of emotion? Regardless of his intentions, a remorseless murderer does not qualify as a reliable narrator—the reader, at this point, must question every part of this gruesome tale.
After his wife’s death, the narrator is more insistent than ever that the black cat must die, but can find it nowhere. Coincidentally, the black cat makes his final appearance on the day on which the policeman have decided to search the narrator’s house for his wife’s body, releasing a bone-chilling cry from the wall in which it has been entombed with her body: “a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell” (209). The policemen swiftly tear down the cellar wall to reveal the corpse of the narrator’s wife, atop which sits the black cat, reveling, the reader is invited to assume, in its ultimate revenge: “Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder” (209). With his assertion that the black cat made him commit murder, the reader, now thoroughly convinced of the narrator’s unreliability, must also revisit the question of his mental stability (or lack thereof.)
Whether through the identification of points of outright deception, a troubling event glossed-over in a few short phrases, or a lack of justification for horrific actions which call into question even the narrator’s sanity, it is quite apparent that the narrator of “The Black Cat” is completely unreliable. In questioning the narrator’s reliability, it becomes necessary for the reader to take a deeper look into each event in this story, and in doing so, the reader cannot help but consider thoughtfully the true horror of the situations presented within its pages—a result with which I believe Poe would be greatly satisfied.
Works Cited
Amper, Susan. “Untold Story: The Lying Narrator in ‘The Black Cat’.” Studies in Short Fiction. 29.4 (1992): 475-485. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
Badenhausen, Richard. ”Fear and Trembling in Literature of the Fantastic: Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’.” Studies in Short Fiction. 29.4 (1992): 487-498. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
Piacentino, Ed. “Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’ as Psychobiography: Some Reflections on the Narratological Dynamics.” Studies in Short Fiction. 35.2 (1998): 153-167. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
Poe, Edgar A. “The Black Cat.” Edgar Allan Poe: Complete Poems & Stories. New York: Castle Books, 2002. 203-209. Print.
Shulman, Robert. “Poe and the Powers of the Mind.” ELH. 37.2 (1970): 245-262. JSTOR. Web. 6 October 2009.
Stark, Joseph. “Motive and Meaning: The Mystery of the Will in Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’.” Mississippi Quarterly: The Journal of Southern Cultures. 57.2 (2004): 255-263. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
The narrator begins his tale by offering that his primary focus in the telling of his story is not to scare, but to bare his soul to the reader: “to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburden my soul . . . my immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events” (203). For me, this statement should be unnecessary—why would a narrator feel the need to begin his tale by convincing his readers that he is telling the truth, unless he was hiding something and knew without a doubt that the reader shouldn’t believe him? Furthermore, why would the narrator be facing execution for “a series of mere household events?” His early attempt to sway the reader to his side before he even presents his story creates one simple question: “Is the narrator lying?” The first and most obvious answer to this question is addressed within these first few statements as, despite the narrator’s assertions, no story is told without some degree of bias—he cannot tell his story without putting his own favorable spin on the events. I am in complete agreement with Richard Badenhausen when, in his article ”Fear and Trembling in Literature of the Fantastic: Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’,” he asserts his skepticism of the narrator’s intentions: “Despite pledging to tell his tale ‘without comment,’ the narrator is constantly qualifying, correcting, and explaining, in the hope that the audience will see events from his perspective” (488). Indeed, the first few statements of the narrative are an obvious attempt to shape the reader’s perception of the narrator, as he emphasizes the tenderness of heart (evidenced in his love for animals) that followed him from infancy, through childhood, and carried into adulthood. Looking deeper into the introduction, it becomes quite apparent that this misleading self-construct is a desperate attempt by the narrator to create a bond of trust—no matter how false—with the reader, as he knows that the remainder of his story will most certainly prove his unreliability. In her article “Untold Story: The Lying Narrator in ‘The Black Cat’,” Susan Amper takes these early indicators of the questionability of the narrator quite seriously, advising the reader to proceed with caution throughout the remainder of the narrative and asserting that the reader must be weary of “devising statements that leave a false impression, but are literally true. (A child accused of breaking an object, for example, may protest, ‘I never touched it.’ His statement is true: he did not touch it, the hammer did.)” (478). I couldn’t agree more, as it becomes quickly apparent that the narrator wishes to persuade the reader into believing that his tender nature and love for animals is a sure indication that he could never purposefully commit violent acts, which is altogether untrue. Moreover, in later scenes, he tends to gloss-over his own horrific actions or shift the blame elsewhere when he knows that he is at fault.
The narrator continues to mislead the reader by emphasizing his tender nature in his love for animals and for his wife who shares in his affections and graciously indulges him in his love for animals, allowing every pet imaginable to pass under their roof. Enter the black cat. He makes a point to note that his wife, in regards to their black cat, possessed some superstition: “[my wife] made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise . . . not that she was ever serious upon this point” (203). Although Poe’s italicization of the word “serious” initially evokes a tone of sarcasm, it also lets the reader know that this superstition is something to pay attention to, providing a lens through which the rest of the narrative can be read. In his article “Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’ as Psychobiography: Some Reflections on the Narratological Dynamics,” Ed Pacientino asserts, “In his telling of the story, the narrator employs a manner of planting clues, some of which seem deliberately ambiguous, their ambiguity in part attributable to the narrator’s perceived unreliability” (161). By mocking his wife’s ideas about black cats, he is actually emphasizing them, purposefully planting clues, while keeping the reader confused as to what his intentions and beliefs truly are. His mocking tone should also provide a clue for the reader that the narrator himself believes in the superstitions to which he accuses his wife of subscribing. After all, is it not human nature to mock or delineate things that frighten and disturb us?
In the paragraphs following, the narrator describes his close relationship to the black cat (named Pluto), emphasizing that he was responsible for every element of the cat’s well-being and thoroughly enjoyed caring for it. However, the narrator confesses that over the period of several years, his temperament begins to change and his heart turns from its tender, loving state to a dark and selfish with one desire: alcohol. He states, “I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others” (204). Although he devotes the better part of a paragraph explaining how this change negatively affected his animals, he conveniently devotes only a few words to the violence with which he treated his wife—an attempt to gloss-over the preliminary indicators of his violent nature.
The narrator goes on to say that, during this time, the animals begin to avoid him—further irritating his broody and violent disposition. His frightening behavior continues to increase and one night, in a drunken rage, he comes home to look for Pluto and, when he finds the cat, carries out an unthinkably heinous act: “I took from my waistcoat-pocket a penknife . . . and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket” (204). Although it initially seems as though the narrator is, for once, being totally honest with the reader when relaying this portion of the story, this incident does call into question the narrator’s honesty with himself and, inherently, with the reader—why can’t the narrator face his problems, instead of substituting self-confrontation with violence action towards others? In his article “Poe and the Powers of the Mind,” Robert Shulman provides this intriguing response: “the narrator consistently suppresses his awareness of the specific nature of this dark, threatening side of his personality, and in cutting out the eye of the black cat, perhaps he is also irrationally seeking to ‘root out’ and deny his own unacceptable insights into his nature” (257). I must agree that the narrator’s refusal to acknowledge his own dark nature is, indeed, further evidence that this man cannot be trusted—by the other characters in the story or by the reader. This idea is further evidenced in the paragraphs that follow, as the narrator’s mood worsens exponentially (most likely due to his denial of his own intentions) and, for no other reason because he knows that he shouldn’t, he ends Pluto’s life by hanging the cat from a tree by a noose. At this point, there is no longer a simple question of the narrator’s truthfulness, but a question of his mental state. The killing of Pluto the cat seems in no way proportionate to anything that the cat could possibly have done to the narrator, and begs the reader to consider the narrator, not simply as untrustworthy, but as a ticking time-bomb, capable of anything. His irrational and terrifying actions completely annihilate any credibility that the narrator possibly has left.
Later on in the story, the narrator relates his coincidental befriending of another black cat with striking similarities to Pluto and, though subtly, attempts to coax the reader into believing that his interaction with the cat is somehow associated with the prevalent return of his dark nature and the feelings of rage and hatred that he claims drove him to his previous violent acts. The irony of this portion of the narrative is that, despite the narrator’s previous proof of unreliability, the sincerity of his current assertions actually tempts the reader into sympathizing with him. In his article “Motive and Meaning: The Mystery of the Will in Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’,” Joseph Stark reflects on this curious development:
When he blames his crime on human depravity, we are skeptical of this solution, simply because he offers it. Having said this, we need not dismiss the idea outright to make the point. Even in the narrator’s explanation of his perversity, he admits of a troubling mystery. Not only does philosophy fail to account for this possibility, but he himself offers no ultimate explanation for the cause behind [his dark nature]. Hence, both in our skepticism and possible acceptance
of the narrator’s position, we find ourselves without a thorough explanatory cause. (260)
In other words, although the reader has been given no real reason to believe that the narrator is anything less than an outright liar, it is also bothersome that there is no definitive cause for this state of being. This series of events and lack of justification definitely call into question the narrator’s mental stability, as it is unlikely that a completely sane person would behave in this manner.
Although the previous section gives the narrator a brief moment of relief from reader’s scrutiny, any sympathy that the reader might have developed for him is automatically dissolved with the conclusion of the narrative. One dark afternoon, surrendering to his dark nature, the narrator attempts to kill the new black cat with a blow from his axe, but is stopped by his wife, who then becomes a victim of his rage: “Goaded by the interference into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain” (207). His wife dies immediately and, after considering his options, the narrator decides to hide her body in the cellar wall and is confident that she will never be discovered. Quite obviously, the gruesome nature of his wife’s murder, especially considering his lack of remorse over her death, again calls into question narrator’s trustworthiness. Amper asserts her opinion quite forcefully: “Obviously the man is lying . . . His tale is a fabrication, by which he seeks to conceal the true nature of his crime, exactly as he sought in walling up his wife’s body to conceal the fact of the crime” (475).
Although I do agree with Amper to the extent that Poe has proven himself an unreliable narrator, I have to wonder why she chooses to use this portion of the narrative to make such a bold assertion, when it does not appear as though the narrator is lying about killing his wife or placing her body in a wall. In my opinion, his truthfulness in this section is the most bothersome element—how can he relate his murder of his wife with such a lack of emotion? Regardless of his intentions, a remorseless murderer does not qualify as a reliable narrator—the reader, at this point, must question every part of this gruesome tale.
After his wife’s death, the narrator is more insistent than ever that the black cat must die, but can find it nowhere. Coincidentally, the black cat makes his final appearance on the day on which the policeman have decided to search the narrator’s house for his wife’s body, releasing a bone-chilling cry from the wall in which it has been entombed with her body: “a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell” (209). The policemen swiftly tear down the cellar wall to reveal the corpse of the narrator’s wife, atop which sits the black cat, reveling, the reader is invited to assume, in its ultimate revenge: “Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder” (209). With his assertion that the black cat made him commit murder, the reader, now thoroughly convinced of the narrator’s unreliability, must also revisit the question of his mental stability (or lack thereof.)
Whether through the identification of points of outright deception, a troubling event glossed-over in a few short phrases, or a lack of justification for horrific actions which call into question even the narrator’s sanity, it is quite apparent that the narrator of “The Black Cat” is completely unreliable. In questioning the narrator’s reliability, it becomes necessary for the reader to take a deeper look into each event in this story, and in doing so, the reader cannot help but consider thoughtfully the true horror of the situations presented within its pages—a result with which I believe Poe would be greatly satisfied.
Works Cited
Amper, Susan. “Untold Story: The Lying Narrator in ‘The Black Cat’.” Studies in Short Fiction. 29.4 (1992): 475-485. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
Badenhausen, Richard. ”Fear and Trembling in Literature of the Fantastic: Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’.” Studies in Short Fiction. 29.4 (1992): 487-498. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
Piacentino, Ed. “Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’ as Psychobiography: Some Reflections on the Narratological Dynamics.” Studies in Short Fiction. 35.2 (1998): 153-167. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.
Poe, Edgar A. “The Black Cat.” Edgar Allan Poe: Complete Poems & Stories. New York: Castle Books, 2002. 203-209. Print.
Shulman, Robert. “Poe and the Powers of the Mind.” ELH. 37.2 (1970): 245-262. JSTOR. Web. 6 October 2009.
Stark, Joseph. “Motive and Meaning: The Mystery of the Will in Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’.” Mississippi Quarterly: The Journal of Southern Cultures. 57.2 (2004): 255-263. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 October 2009.