Contest Review 1/5
Author:Nikola~No Pony Agiain!  
Title: Dearly Beloved
DEARLY BELOVED
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
-- Edgar Allen Poe
I like the intro with “The Raven”. The poem always brings such a chilling mood/tone when I read it
A loud banging brought Ed out of his quiet reverie.
"Dang kids!" he muttered, slowly rising from his chair.
He snatched the large dish of candy from the hall table before opening the door to an array of little characters. awww, it’s Halloween!
"Trick or treat!" chanted a miniature Batman, Spiderman, is that a purple dinosaur? where is this thought coming from? Ed? The narrative? and hobo.
Ed smiled wearily, dropping candy into their outstretched plastic pumpkins and shopping bags. The children chanted their rehearsed "Thank you," and disappeared into the night.
Closing the door, he sat the dish on the table and shuffled back to his comfortable old chair where his open book awaited him. The collection of poems had been a gift from Rosie on their tenth wedding anniversary. Ed's favorite had always been Poe's "The Raven." It had become his special ritual to read the poem every Hallow's Eve. kind of an interesting parallel…what with visitors entreating his chamber door…though they want candy and not the “entrance” that comes next in Poe’s poem 
Picking up the book, he settled deeper into his chair, with a creak of his old bones. A racking cough shook him. He knew he had taken a chill this morning, but he'd had them before and thought nothing of it now. hmm…he thinks nothing of it, and yet, it is important enough to get into the narrative…there must be something going on here He lowered his eyes to the words on the page.
..."Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Another loud knock made Ed start. He slowly made his way to the door once more. This time, he was visited by two little witches, a ghost and a princess. He passed out the candy and they ran off to the next house. Ed hardly realized he had closed the door and sat the dish down. He felt cold--chilled to the bone. The cough hit him again, nearly sending him to his knees. Making his way back to his chair, he reached for the afghan that Rosie had crocheted for him and wrapped it around himself. He could still smell her in it. bittersweetness…how it tears at my heart!
Rosie and Ed had meet while they were teenagers. Entranced with one another from the get-go, it was assumed they would marry. Ed loved Rosie with his entire being and she had felt the same. They had never had children, only each other and they had been fine with that.
Rosie had always been the strong one of the two, or so Ed thought. When she passed away two years back, he had been devastated. He didn't know how he could ever go on without her.
Take Halloween. She had always passed out the candy while Ed read his poem. She had loved the kids and their varied costumes. Ed preferred to stay in the background. Now that she was gone, he just couldn't see turning the kids away. They had meant too much to her. He decided that, the comma here jarred me a little bit—it broke up the rhythm in an unexpected spot even though it’s grammatically/technically correct if it took him all night he would cover candy duty and still get his poem read.
Before Ed could settle back into his poem, the kids were at the door again. Now, there was a steady stream of cartoon characters, goblins, royalty and ghosts. He leaned against the doorjamb for support. He was getting colder and the night air wasn't helping. His cough was worsening. Soon enough, the kids and the candy had vanished. Turning out the porch light, he could settle in and read his book.
A loud rap sounded at the door.
"Who could that be? The light is off and it's too late for the little imps to be out now," he grumbled.
Darkness there and nothing more.
Ed peered into the darkness. There was not a soul in sight.
"Must be those damn teenagers, trying to scare an old man!" is he actually saying this out loud? Seems strange…I’d buy that he’s saying it quietly to himself, but the ! suggests he’s saying it forcefully…and if he is, you may want an extra clue that he’s shouting it into the night to show the darn kids that he’s not scared of them. Just a thought
Slamming the door, he once again hunkered down in his chair to read his poem. A few more lines into it and there was a loud crash on the front porch. you’re getting creepier and creepier! I like it. Especially since Ed is thinking nothing of it Disgusted, Ed limped as quickly as he was able in an effort to catch the troublemakers. He threw the door open to find the wind had picked up and had caused a flower pot flowerpot one word to fall from the porch railing. It now lay laid? I’m never sure on this lay/lie/laid issue, but if it’s past tense, I think it’s always laid…and we are in past tense, right? Maybe I’m way off…wouldn’t be the first time shattered, black dirt scattered. shattered/scattered…normally that’s something I wouldn’t recommend, but with the poem interwoven as it is, I find this extremely appropriate. I was wondering if it was intentional…and if it was, I was wondering why there wasn’t more of it…it’d be an interesting experiment anyway…long story short, I like the rhyme!
'Tis the wind and nothing more!
"I'm just being a jumpy old fool! I'm letting this Halloween business get the best of me."
He wrapped himself tightly in Rosie's afghan. He couldn't seem to get the chill out of his bones. The comfortable old chair wrapped around him like a warm hug. He picked up his book but just couldn't seem to concentrate.
Rosie had been the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. He had been surprised when he asked her out and she'd said yes. They had gone to the soda shop and ordered burgers and malts. Rosie was as smart as she was pretty. She had kept up her end of the conversation and hadn't played those silly games the girls ususally played. He knew that day she would be his wife.
"Oh Rosie! I sure do miss you!" he said to the empty house.
Ed tried to go back to his reading, but his reminisces of Rosie wouldn't allow him his peace. She was so strong in his mind that he could almost feel her with him. Almost. dude, where does he think the deep cold is coming from
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did pour.
Ed coughed again, wracking his frail body with spasms. The chill was getting worse and he was sure he felt a fever coming on. He thoughts kept drifting back to his beloved.
Their wedding day hadn't been a fancy affair. Ed liked it that way. He knew Rosie would have liked something nicer but they simply couldn't afford it.
She had worn an ankle length champagne-colored dress that she had made herself. It wasn't made of silk or satin, but Ed thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. He had worn his best suit. The preacher was an old friend of both families and had agreed to perform the ceremony as a gift. When told he could kiss his bride, Ed had been so nervous he nearly missed Rosie's lips altogether.
He had been the happiest man in the world.
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore...
Rosie had been a good wife. The first several years of their marriage were ones of bliss. the transition here was a little rough for me from the poem to “Rosie had been a good wife”. Not exactly sure why, but it seems suddenly as if we’re been told instead of shown the story. There isn’t an intro or moment that we see spark this memory for Ed, or even to tie him into this bit of the story.
Then, Rosie took ill. She would be tired, ache and feel cold. She began to lose weight and then her strength. The doctor couldn't find a suitable diagnoses diagnosis, singular for her condition. He just told her and Ed that she should rest and do nothing that would tire her.
Ed cared for his ill wife the way only a devoted husband would. He cooked for her, cleaned the house and performed his own chores. It wore him to the bone but he never complained. He loved Rosie with all his heart and wanted her to be comfortable.
She managed to live to an old age before the illness took her. “an old age” is so ambiguous, and you would think that Ed would remember the exact one…it would also give us a clue as to how old Ed is, as I don’t think we’ve had quite enough clues to know whether he is 65 “old” or 85 “old”, and that can be a big difference in a readers’ interpretation of the character
Ed remembered the night well. It was a cold, blustery night. Rosie had been coughing all day. She told him she was tired and wished to lay “lie” here, I think down. Ed went to check on her a half hour later and she was gone. He had sat in disbelief. She had left him alone. and he didn’t feel her go? None of that romanticized ideal of being so connected that he knew the instant she was gone? How could he go on without her? He would never hear her laugh or her voice again. and yet, here he sits! I’m going to go out on a limb and say that if I had to guess, we’re going to be visited by Rosie in some form or another before this story is over
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."
Ed was hit with another coughing fit that doubled him over. His chest was hurting and the cold settled into his very bones. He tugged at the afghan, seeking comfort in the fact that Rosie had lovingly made it.
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer...
An odor caught in Ed's nostrils. He stiffened from the recognition of it. Rose water! He had bought Rosie a bottle of it on their first anniversary as a joke. He felt it was a clever play on her name. Rosie, however, thought it perfume from the gods. Every year thereafter, she received rose water and a dozen roses.
But there was no rose water in the house anymore. Ed had poured it all out in a fit of grief after his precious Rosie had died. Time had passed how much time? This feels overly ambiguous and it wasn't possible for the aroma to linger.
"Maybe it's because she's all I've been thinking of," he told himself.
A rustle near the curtains caught his attention at the same time he was hit with another cough. When the spell subsided, he opened his eyes and gasped. By the open window stood an iridescent figure. ROSIE! Something was familiar about it but Ed couldn't quite put his finger on it. Another waft of rose water refreshed his bewildered memory.
"Rosie?"
Did the figure smile? I’m confused by this in light of the “was that a purple dinosaur” thought earlier in the story…I’m not sure if I’m supposed to think that Ed is thinking this or if this is coming from the narrative
"Rosie girl, is that you?"
She stood by the window, as if waiting on him. The pain in his chest was growing worse. He began coughing again. This time flecks of blood splattered his gnarled hands. sad…Ed’s dying
He looked once more to the waiting figure. The forgotten book fell to the floor, open to the poem he had been trying all night to read. Ed slumped in his chair.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
I liked the way you used “The Raven” as a framework for this piece. The only complaint that I would have is that anyone who is familiar with the poem will probably guess early on what is going to happen. Which is not necessarily a bad thing—it just means that you have to put that much more work into making the intermittent story more intriguing—kind of like “Titanic”—you know that in the end the boat’s going to sink, but you get caught up in the story all the same and at the end wish that maybe it wouldn’t go down (well, if you liked that particular movie…it was just a good example) There were parts that I felt were more exposition than story, and I think that fleshing those sections out a bit more would create that feeling of intrigue I was just mentioning. I know I stated this before, but the instance in the narrative where you had shattered/scattered at the end of a block of narrative just before you went back into “The Raven” seemed almost like a stylistic effort, but I didn’t catch any other such instances, so I assume it wasn’t intentional. Either way, I like it. And ditto for the whole piece!
|
| (3.5)
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
It's a good thing. The memorable one is the giant, when he jumps on top of the Redwing's body to hide it and tells the rest to go--this painted a very vivid picture in my mind, and now this scene with mother & daughter sobbing on the pantry floor. You break my heart!