Tell-Tale Heart...Ingenius or Insane?

Summary and Analysis of "TheTell-Tale Heart"

by  Trent Lorcher (54,388 pts ), Edited by SForsyth
Published on Dec 22, 2009
Read more: http://www.brighthub.com/education/homework-tips/articles/59915.aspx#ixzz1MSpBmbdZ

Symbolism in "The Tell-Tale Heart"

The next step in our analysis of "The Tell-Tale" Heart is a look at symbolism in "The Tell-Tale Heart."

1. The Eye - There are many symbolic interpretations of the old man's eye: (1) The eye represents the "I"; that is, it represents the essence of the old man; (2) The eye holds mysterious powers, according to the narrator, and may symbolize the inability of the narrator to hide his secret sins; (3) The old man's eye is "pale blue, with a film over it," indicating a lack of visual clarity and reliability. In this sense the eye symbolizes the narrator insomuch that all the information we receive comes through his distorted mind, much in the same way everything the old man sees is filtered through his distorted eye. Furthermore, the story is told through the narrator's perspective, who claims his actions are on account of the distorted eye, which suggests the point of view is literally and symbolically filtered through the old man's eye.
2. The Heart - Traditionally the heart symbolizes the emotional center of the individual. In "The Tell-Tale Heart," it symbolizes the narrator's guilt. He hears the heart twice, immediately before killing the old man and when the police are investigating the crime. Is it possible the narrator hears his own heart?

More Symbolism in "The Tell-Tale Heart"

Let's continue our analysis of "The Tell-Tale Heart" with a look at more symbolism in "The Tell-Tale Heart."

1. The Old Man's Bedroom - The narrator's intrusion into the old man's bedroom violates honorable conduct (especially when you take into account the whole murder thing). Speaking of violating someone, take a look at how the narrator describes his entrance into the room: "When I had made an opening sufficient for my head...I thrust in my head. Oh you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly--very, very slowly" (173). The narrator recounts on the eight night, "I heard a slight groan...It was not a groan of pain or of grief--oh, no!--it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe" (174). What does this description sound like to you?
2. Watches - Poe loves clocks and watches (see "The Masque of the Red Death" and "The Pit and the Pendulum"). Clocks, watches, and time symbolize the approach of death. The narrator, who literally controls the time of death for the old man, compares himself to a watch's minute hand. He also mentions the "death watches in the wall." For those who didn't know, death watches are a species of beetles that live in walls and bang their heads to attract mates (see violating the old man above).

Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Tell-Tale Heart." The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Tales. New York: Signet, 1998. 172-177.

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My Take A Tell-Tale Heart

            The story was ingenious because it was eerie and captivating. The narrator’s obsession with the old man’s eye drove him into a frenzy of unstable behavior that lead in the death of the old man. But was it really the eye that drove him mad? Maybe it was the reflection of the narrator’s evil self that was shown through the eye in some way that drove him over the edge. This denial to prove that he was not crazy and that he could really hear the man’s heartbeat under the floor boards gave the reader a sign that he had some sort of guilt. Perhaps, it was from killing the old man or it could be that he could not kill the real thing that was evil…himself. In all actuality I believe that the narrator was trying to kill something in himself that he saw present in the eye. The eye was different, incomplete and disturbing. It was fake but not hidden from the outside world. Maybe the narrator felt that it was not fair that the eye’s nature and use did not have to be hidden but the narrator’s true nature had to be.   

The Last Day of School

The yellow old run down school bus, began to turn the corner to the red brick modern day school building. It had to be 20 feet tall and twice that in width. The school’s doors had no handles except for the front door that only had one. I glanced at the ripped seat in front of me that was covered up by a piece of gray duct tape, that was old and falling off. The dark brown wide bus seat was worn and peeling. The black pen marks left from the ones before me. Stained with vandalism that is common from elementary school kids.

                As the bus pulled up in front of Austin O. Sexton, I began to cringe at the smell that the exhaust gave off. Sitting in the back of the bus had its disadvantages. The bus came to a jerky halt. I stood and bent my neck from the low ceiling of the bus. Being 5’9 on a bus with a ceiling that was 5 feet tall was pretty difficult. But I still could not help and smile at the smiling faces looking at me. They happily waved goodbye to me and another year.

                Walking up the aisle and reaching the top of the stairs to my exit, my eyes met those of the bus driver’s. I never really paid much attention to him in my last year of grammar school but it seemed appropriate to say goodbye to him as well. He was a stout man, who looked to be 5’8. He had a bald head and cleanly shaven face. His dark skin contradicted with his blue eyes. His eyes a deep sea blue that you only saw in the ocean. Had had a medium build and demanding features that no one would expect from and elementary school bus driver. He smiled a perfect set of white teeth with a small gap in between his front two teeth. His dimples drilled deep into his muscled cheeks. He wished me good luck on next year and a safe summer. I smiled back with a similar gap in my teeth as his and thanked him.

                I walked down the stairs rubbing my neck from bending it the whole time. I stepped off the bus and onto the crowded sidewalk busy with excited kids, happy with the ending of the school year. I leaned on a fully grown tree that was ready for summer just as much as I was. I watched the children for a while. I watched them jumping over the black newly painted 4 foot tall gate that separated the school property from the sidewalk. One group of kids I became fascinated by had five or six in their circle. They all held hands and bowed their heads out of respect. They all were unified by their khaki pants and blue uniform shirts. But an unseen unification seemed to be present as well.

                Only one girl moved her lips. She had burnt red hair and olive color skin with grown freckles that graced her cheeks. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail as though she just pulled it up to get it out of her face to bow her head.  She had a small round nose and small pink lips that mumbled a last word that was more than familiar to a church goer like me. Amen. Meaning it is so. They all looked up and smiled. I had not even noticed that a smile had crept up on my face. The four girls and two guys dropped hands and hugged before departing from each other.

                The red haired girl remained present and turned towards me. She looked at me with piercing green-hazel eyes but with a timid glaze. I smile and nodded out of respect and courage. She smiled back. The smile reaching her eyes making them sparkle even more. She turned and skipped to a lady with matching red hair and eyes. The girl ran to her arms. The woman released, but not without the little red haired girl grabbing her hand to lead them to a red four door car. The clean candy red paint job and more than likely black leather interior kept everyone staring until they skidded down the street, out of sight.

 I heard my name called, which broke my gaze from the direction where the car left. I turned to find my sister standing with her arms folded. She was almost as tall as I was.  She was leaner than I, but with proportional curves in her hips, thighs, and bust that showed well in her graphic tee and blue jean shorts. Her nose was narrow but big enough to know her ancestry was Native American. Her eyes though behind glasses, were big and dark brown just like mine. We shared only similar features in the face and hair. Our lips that was big and full like that of our mother and father.

                She impatiently tapped her foot, giving me a look that was both annoyed and frantic. I removed my body from the comfortable leaning position on the tree. We began to walk side by side down the sidewalk that was almost barren.  I looked up toward the sun marveling at its beauty and power. I stared at it and thought of how it could change someone’s behavior and mood just by doing what it did best. Giving energy to the world.

King Still King?

I would like to think that Dr. King is still King but really how relevant is he? His message and lifestyle about equality and civil disobedience still rings in the ears of genenations around the U.S. and maybe even around the world. But to me he's been the only figure that we as a people have had to look at and he's become pretty overrated. Black history has been revolved around him and a few others. Of course what he did and believed was extraordinary but I believe it is time to let a new King reign. There are quite a few others who I feel could be king or even queen. More modern day people like Oprah or Barack Obama should have their time now. They have influenced the lives of not only the american people but also people across the globe. But even they are just a footnote in the change of role models for the generations to come. Even people in our generation are doing outstanding things everyday and nobody knows about them. Now I won't fully admit that Dr. King is not king anymore but don't you think it's time for a different reign? Do you think we just take pity and sympathize on the fact that he was killed and we keep him in reign?

Children of the Sea...Are Me.

"They say behind the mountains are more mountains."
Children of the Sea starts off with a very bold and figurative statement. Sure there is a literal side to it being that there are alot of mountains in one place. But I feel they were mostly trying to say that behind the struggles and hardships that they have already overcome, there are still more "mountains" to cross over. When people came to the Americas, they sought to be free and independent but they just got hit with more discrimination and labor. They may have religious freedom and no dictatorship but is it really worth living in horrible sleeping quarters and getting paid little to no wage for the work that nobody wants to do? But hey, somebody has to do it...right?

Now this may be a little earlier in time before this book was published but the expectations haven't changed that this is an American. An American is someone who has to earn their way up to where they feel is comfortable for them unless priveleged to be born into a family who already built a name for themselves and all that needs to be done is maintain it. I really feel that that is what an American really is. A person who works hard and does the disturbing things no one else would so that they may earn enough or leave their children enough so they don't have to struggle like they did. And that doesn't just include the typical father and husband that works in a mineshaft around deadly gases just to try and put food on the table and a college fund for the kids. I'm more so refering to how generations before us paved a way for us so that we wouldn't have to go through the same stuff they did. Like learning from slavery, the depression, labor strikes, segregation, discrimination, racism, sexism, etc,. Yes, some of the categories listed above do still exist but they are not as bad as they were because people saw that it was unjust, spoke up, and put their beliefs into action. Now if that is not American, then tell me what is?

I Believe

The blizard outside
Scare the childern inside
For fear of no santa this year.

But i hold them tight
All through the night
Reminding them to have no fear.

As i finish putting them all in bed
I ran to a noise sounding of someone that fled
And of course there was no one in sight.

But on the roof
I could hear the small hoof
Of impossible things that go into flight.

Tearing open the window
I threw up a small symbol
That represented a farwell and thanks.

He waved to me a small bye
As i leaned with a sign
For that round old man restored my faith.

I AM A......Plow?

Plow: an agricultural implement used for cutting, lifting, turning over, and partly pulverizing soil.

2.

any of various implements resembling or suggesting this, as a kind of plane for cutting grooves or a contrivance for clearing away snow from a road or track.

I am a Plow. I am a useful instrument on farmland. Helping to fertilize soil for the crops is my specialty. Without me there is not fertilized ground for the seeds to be planted on and then everyone starves. So you can say I’m pretty important. I also have cousins who push snow and other things out of the way. Yes sir we Plows sure are a proud instrument. Never cocky though.

I am a plow. A hard working push over who does what they are told to keep peace with everyone. I am an invisible person who no one ever really sees. I hide the real me behind the smile and the shy personality. That’s why I look away when someone tries to look at me. So they don’t see the truth in my eyes. I am the forgotten but never the lost. I am a plow. I am me.

Mind Enslavement

Slavery was apart of the building of the United States and though we have abolibished it does not mean it has disappeared. Like energy it has transfered from one type of slavery to another. Instead of big iron shackles on our legs, arms and neck they have placed it around our minds. When blacks were in slavery they were forbidden to be taught how to read and write so they can keep them as they saw them, as property. And today, instead of taking full advantage of the oppotunity that many slaves didn't have, we bring ourselves down by dropping out of school, getting poor grades, trying to chase an unreachable goal or living life to much in the fast lane and in the end it catches up with you. And this doesn't even just involve blacks. Teens period have not set a higher goal than to live life in the now and do what I want to do. But I think this has a lot to do with what we as teens take into our systems.

Music and pop culture has put such a thick chain around us that we don't even want to learn or at least just want to reap the benefits without doing the work that comes along with it. All tv and things of that nature shows us or we hear about is material possessions. We see the fast money, girls and cars and are brainwashed into thinking that rapping, being an athlete, actress, entertainer etc., is the only way to make it. And its not.

But to tie it all together. My point is because of the past we as a people have moved from one slavery to another. Whether it be in our culture, to the government, or even to people still, it is a state of mind that we have been set in to belittle us and keep us under control. To keep us so preoccupied by the things that aren't really important so that we can't see what's wrong with our "United" States. To keep us from asking the simple question....why?