Watermarks The Importance of Not Knowing: Examining Memory and Knowledge in Edgar Allan Poe's "Ligeia" by Lauren C. Mason

The literary world's capacity to discover new ways to approach Edgar Allan Poe's "Ligeia" seems to be limitless, a fact that is substantiated by the sheet volume of criticism that has been amassed on the tale since its first public appearance in 1838. However, although critics have approached "Ligeia" through myriad literary theories, ranging from the traditional textually-oriented formalism to more recent, less textual approaches, such as postcolonialism and psychoanalysis, their arguments generally fall into different schools of thought. Collectively, regardless of the approach taken, literary criticism on "Ligeia" is typically divided on the issue of whether to read the tale literally or allegorically. In effect, what changes through the use of various approaches is the manner in which each critic attempts to support his or her argument for a literal or allegorical reading.

"Ligeia" is often considered, by those who support a literal reading, to be a tale of horror, terror, supernatural or simply highly stylized Gothicism. Those who argue for a literal reading tend to agree that the theme is an attestation to the power of human will to transcend death. In his essay, "A Plea for Literalism," Joseph Lauber explains how the Glanville epigraph encourages a literal reading and develops the theme when he contends, "[The Glanville epigraph] indicates that it announces the major theme‹the power of the human will and its capacity to triumph over death. It is a theme that can only exist within the context of a literal reading" (28). Lauber then goes on to say, "Ligeia makes perfect sense when read literally, and Poe gives no clear hint that it should be read otherwise" (32). Alternately, a small number of critics agree on a slight variation of Lauber's theme, believing that the tale embodies the idea of the supernatural transcending reality. Critic Charles A. Sweet embraces this idea and pleads for a literal reading of the tale when he asserts, "Ligeia's death serves for the narrator as both confirmation of the existence of a supernatural dimension and the impotency of normal man and God in confronting this realm" (85). Similarly, Brad Howard claims, "For Poe the imagination strives to reach toward the supernal, to transcend the mundane" (43).

Another pattern that seems to emerge among those who believe that "Ligeia" should be read literally is their dismissive treatment of the many inconsistencies and gaps in the story. That the tale is fraught with confusing and seemingly inexplicable events, omissions, and gaps without pattern is a fact that most critics acknowledge from the outset of their essays. Critic Yoshua Shi asserts, "To compound the ambiguities resulting from language's failure to represent 'reality,' there are many more enigmas, mysteries, gaps, and indeterminancies in the story" (493). In his essay, which attempts a literal reading, Peter Obuchowski contends, "The fictional elements do not fit together nor can they be made to fit without purposely overlooking other important details" (59). However, many literal critics, such as James Schroeter, claim that the ambiguities present in "Ligeia" are a result of the narrator's admittedly poor memory and addiction to opium, both lending to the supernatural tone of the tale. It appears then, that in order to restrict oneself to reading this text literally, one must be willing to view any textual incongruities as deliberate, put in place to enhance the text's supernatural feel, or simply as small, insignificant blunders made by a forgetful, drug-influenced narrator.

Since those who support a literal reading of the text are not interested in the many inconsistencies and gaps throughout the text--as they believe all the necessary facts are presented on the surface--they often pay very little attention to Ligeia, the character, or fail to go into depth about the relationship between her and the narrator, because these aspects of the story are the most fraught with omissions and contradictions. It is at this point that we can turn to those critics who argue that "Ligeia" is an allegorical tale, and that the characters and theme can be interpreted as symbols. These critics have developed a pattern among themselves in their approach to the characters of "Ligeia." There seems to be a consistent effort to relate Ligeia with something that is commonly repressed, oppressed, and/or possessive. Unlike the literal critics, these critics often attempt to develop their arguments by looking beyond the surface text and resist reading any part of the tale literally. As a result, several critics have argued for Ligeia as a symbol of the exotic "otherness" of the Orient, fighting against the West's, as represented by the narrator, attempts to exert control over its identity. In her essay, "Remembering Ligeia," Grace McEntee contends that Ligeia is actually the narrator's "Muse," and that he is on a "quest to unlock the secret of Ligeia's 'exquisite beauty,' as therein lies the secret to his own creativity" (75). In her well known psychoanalytic criticism of "Ligeia," Claudia Morrison examines Ligeia as a mother figure to the narrator and attributes the narrator's obsessive behavior toward her as Poe's misdirected feeling for his dead mother (237).

When one considers the set of criticisms that resist a literal reading of the text, one can see a pattern emerge in which these critics are naturally drawn to unraveling the dynamics behind Ligeia's and the narrator's relationship. That these critics consistently see Ligeia as a symbol of the oppressed and the narrator as a symbol of power indicates that, below the surface text on which those who read it literally rely, perhaps there is some female objectification, or female/male power conflict present. In this same vein, I find it disconcerting that those who the text literally consistently fail to expand on these issues upon detection, simply because they do not fit into a literal reading of the surface text. There seems, then, to be a common assumption that, when read literally, Poe's text cannot account for the unbalanced relationship between the narrator and Ligeia other than as it serves to enhance the supernatural tone of the tale. Paradoxically, those who wish to expand on the problematic relationship between the two seem to feel that they most move far beyond the text to support their arguments. It is my goal to find a median between these two groups of criticism that will allow one to examine the relationship between the narrator and Ligiea as it may embody themes of female objectification, the struggle for self-assertion, and gender conflict within traditional patriarchal relationships, without moving far from the text.

I contend that "Ligeia" contains inconsistencies, gaps, overt omissions, and contradictions carefully interwoven throughout the text to play an integral part in conveying its themes. In effect, what is not being said works to enhance, rather than contradict, what is being said just as what the narrator has forgotten is vital to understanding what he had been able to recount. In other words, the omissions, gaps, and inconsistencies that so many critics have cited this text are not obstructions that confuse the narrative, or elements that enhance the supernatural feel of the tale; rather, they are vital elements of the narrative that work hand in hand with the surface text to convey underlying themes of female objectification, the need for self-identity and recognition, and the conflicts that arise from traditional patriarchal relationships.

In the first paragraph of "Ligeia," the narrator indicates the unreliability of his "feeble" memory, and thus alerts the reader that his recollection of Ligeia may not be entirely accurate, or rather, complete. It is ironic that a story about Ligeia opens with the narrator's admission of how much he cannot remember about her, as he begins the story, by claiming, "I CANNOT, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the Lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering" (225). However, he then goes on to offer an alternative for his excuse of poor memory, by suggesting that such facts about Ligeia had simply been "unnoticed and unknown," having been blotted out by her erudition, beauty, and "the thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low musical language" (225). This is our first indication that the narrator's memory is not necessarily more "feeble" than it is selective, because, while he cannot recall basic facts about Ligeia, he is certainly capable of recalling very specific facts about her appearance, her knowledge, and even the sound of her voice‹aspects that all refer to her external being.

Arguing for a literal reading of "Ligeia," James Schroeter accounts for the narrator's failure to recall completely everything about Ligeia by asserting, "Poe is constructing a picture of Ligeia as a being 'above and apart from the earth.' Consequently, no highly specific 'external' details about her origin are appropriate. Indeed, specific details could only mar the kind of picture Poe is trying to create" (401).

To this explanation, I would counter, why then is the narrator so preoccupied with the fact that he doesn't know or cannot remember these "specific details" about Ligeia? It would seem that, if Poe wanted to omit such trivialities about Ligeia in order to create her as "above and apart from the earth," he would not have drawn attention to their omission, in effect, suggesting that these trivialities are indeed crucial to the tale. Instead, we have a narrator who is obviously disturbed by his inability to remember basic facts about Ligeia, and consistently reminds the reader throughout the tale that what he is recounting is not the entire story. The narrator's constant struggle to "remember," in effect, extends to the reader, as he or she will also feel inclined to attempt to discover what the narrator has forgotten.

This struggle to "remember" or "know" is only strengthened in the end of the first paragraph, when the narrator admits that he had "never known the paternal name of her who was my friend and my betrothed, and who became the partner of my studies, and finally the wife of my bosom" (226). The paternal name is often associated with the most fundamental element of a woman's identity, particularly during the time in which the tale is set, because it established the woman's heritage, her background, in effect, who she fundamentally is. That the narrator never actually knew the "true" identity of Ligeia, but is yet able to feel "passionate devotion" toward her, and that he himself is disconcerted by this fact, indicates to the reader that something is unusual or off-balance about this marital relationship (226). It is not something to be overlooked, nor does it have the effect of creating an image of her "above and apart from the earth" in the reader's mind. If anything, at this point in the text, the narrator is calling into question the authenticity of his dreamlike image of Ligeia as he attempts to recall basic elements of her identity that he had never before considered. In effect, the reader is encouraged by the text to work with the narrator in questioning why he cannot remember or how it is that he never even thought to question basic key aspects about Ligeia. More importantly, the narrator's determination to "remember" and "know," in the beginning of the tale, is a red flag signaling to the reader that what has been "forgotten" or undisclosed must be uncovered by both the narrator, and the reader, if the tale is to be fully understood.

Having been forewarned that the narrator's memory of Ligeia is marred by uncertainties about the fundamentals of her identity, we must approach the narrator's description of Ligeia with the understanding that it is given by a person who only knows her as she appears to him. Because the narrator cannot attach the most fundamental elements that make up a person's identity to Ligeia, such as origin and paternal name, his description focuses on her external appearance and demeanor. He describes he demeanor as "quiet ease," and likens her movements and language to a "shadow" and her beauty as the "radiance of an opium dream," suggesting that she is an ethereal beauty of calm and docile temperament (226).

However, what is notable about this portion of the text are the difficulties that arise when the narrator attempts to move beyond an external description of Ligeia. He can convey with ease facts about her beauty and demeanor, but when he detects any interruption in Ligeia's unassuming and refined image, any hint that the way he perceives her may be inaccurate, he loses command of his speech. Following his passage about the "strangeness" of Ligeia's eyes, the narrator claims, "The 'strangeness,' however, which I found in the eyes, was of a nature distinct from the formation, or of the color, of the brilliancy of the features, and must, after all, be referred to the expression. Ah, word of no meaning!" (228). Later on, when the narrator attempts to convey the "expression" he saw in Ligeia's eyes, he finds that his language fails him again. He is only able to describe the expression through images that it evokes in his mind‹not through actual words. Ironically, Ligeia's expression reminds him of things that are associated with life, vitality, or motion, such as "a moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of running water" (229). As the narrator views Ligeia, herself, as an image or object, he does the same with the aspects of her character that he cannot understand, thereby further denying her expression, her inner self that has remained hidden from him, directly to her, he is refusing to acknowledge that such a part of her exists--it remains in images and objects. That the narrator seems to lose touch with Ligeia and his ability fully to convey her through words, when she does not fit into his image of her as placid, docile, and flawlessly beautiful suggests that he is unwilling or unable to allow anything to interrupt his image of her.

In this portion of the text, more than anywhere else, the narrator displays his tremendous determination to see Ligeia as an object, rather than as a person. When he is unable to find the words to explain her eyes, which symbolize the internal, suppressed Ligeia, we must rely on the images that he conjures up in their stead. Once again, omissions play a large part in understanding Ligeia, as we must determine what he is saying about her by what he is unable to say about her. He says that her expression reminds him of "one of two stars in heaven [... that is] double and changeable" and then goes on to discuss how her expression always reminds him of a quote by Joseph Glanville:

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield him to the angels, not unto death entirely, save only through the weakness of his feeble will. (229)

The narrator's likening of Ligeia to a star that is "double and changeable" is perhaps one of the most telling images in the tale. While the narrator has chosen to view Ligeia in the one-dimensional image that he has created for her, he is subconsciously aware that her character is more complex than he is willing to acknowledge. The parts of Ligeia that form the identity he cannot or will not comprehend seem to him unreachable, like a star, and they make her multifaceted, or "double and changeable"; she is both the flawless object of his affection, yet she is also something that repeatedly defies objectification. That image is directly followed by the famous Glanville quote that many literalists attribute to the narrator's, or alternately Ligeia's, will to transcend death. However, in the context of this essay, perhaps the quote is more effectively interpreted as an attestation to Ligeia's will to "dieth not" until the narrator is able to understand her as a person, as opposed to gazing upon her as an object. Although he has refused Ligeia the right to create her own identity within their relationship, Ligeia's determination to do so asserts itself to the narrator in the form of the Glanville quote.

The most pivotal point in the first portion of the tale is a portion of Ligeia's death scene that most critics ignore. My discussion of it shall be brief, yet it is crucial to understanding Ligeia as the objectified female, as well as the narrator's continued resistance to her identity as a person. Beside Ligeia's deathbed, as she begins to speak to the narrator, he becomes alarmed as her voice gets lower and she speaks freely to him. He says of her words, "--yet I would not wish to dwell upon the wild meaning of the quietly uttered words" (232). The reader is alerted that, once again, the narrator wishes to "forget" or "not know" something about Ligeia, and that we must discover what it is that he wishes not to "dwell upon." The narrator recounts Ligeia's dying confessions of "passionate devotion amount[ing] to idolatry," and then says,

How had I deserved to be so cursed with the removal of my beloved in the hour of making them? But upon this subject I cannot bear to dilate. Let me say that... I at length recognized the principle of her longing with so wildly earnest a desire for life which was now fleeing so rapidly away. (232)

Two crucial things happen at this point in the tale. First, one can gauge the sheer imbalance of the relationship between Ligeia and the narrator because only now, after the narrator has described a perfect, blissful marriage, do we see that he never even knew that Ligeia loved him. Once again, what was omitted becomes crucial. As the narrator has professed his profuse love and adoration for Ligeia, only now do we realize that he never once said that the love was mutual. We can trace back to what the narrator calls "stern moments of passion" and recognize those moments as Ligeia's failed attempts to make her feelings, her true self, known to the narrator--moments that were consistently blocked by his "wish not to dwell upon the wild meaning of quietly uttered words." The second thing that happens is that Ligeia is, for the first time, able to make the narrator aware that she must be seen as a vital living thing, rather than as his object--that she not only has a "desire for life--but for life" (italics mine) outside of the one he has established for her.

At this point in the story, the power of will shows itself to be "double and changeable," as the narrator's will to keep Ligeia as possession and object now becomes her will to make him "know" and "remember"; that is, to see her as a person and relinquish the creation of her identity over to its rightful owner. Ligeia's dying words, a variation on the Glanville quote, embody her newfound strength of will, "--shall these things be undeviatingly so?--shall this Conqueror be not at once conquered? Are we not part and parcel of Thee? Who knoweth the mysteries of the will with its vigor?" (234). Ligeia's dying words to her husband symbolize her desire to be released from the restraints of a patriarchal relationship, making her more possession than person. She questions whether her femininity should make denial of self-identity "undeviatingly so," designating her forever as object to man, as she too is "part and parcel of thee," with the same desire as man--to be seen as an individual--to have "life." She proclaims that her "will with its vigor" may be strong enough to break the strong chains of a patriarchal society that has kept her bound in a marriage with a man who can only describe her as one would describe a vase or a painting.

Ligeia's hold over the narrator is evident in the second half of the story, as he begins life anew in "one of the wildest and least frequented portions of fair England" (234). Just as the narrator found himself speechless when he wanted to convey the internal in the first portion of the story, he denies the external a direct address in the second half of the story. Once again, the reader is challenged to understand what he is attempting to "forget" or "not know." In the first half of the story, the narrator made a concerted effort to ignore Ligeia's internal being, as he was only subconsciously aware of her "double and changeable" nature and her "tumultuous passion." In the second half, he struggles to recover these very same things by ignoring the external, by attempting to recreate these things in his immediate surroundings. He give "little alteration" to the outside of his home, while he "gives way, with childlike perversity, and perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a display of more than regal magnificence within" (235). In an attempt to recapture the part of Ligeia's self-identity that she struggled to make known to him, he decorates the inside of his home with the most exotic and garish ornaments possible, duplicating the "fits of passion" and wild nature that he saw in her. In addition to this, he abuses opium, which is another way for him to ignore or "forget" the external. Finally, the narrator takes a wife in whom he has no interest, and who is therefore incapable of drawing him to external beauty.

Many critics have faulted Poe for his lengthy description of the narrator's home, claiming that it is boring and unnecessarily long. However, if we understand this portion of the story as it galls into the narrator's pattern of overstating one aspect in order to obscure another equally or more important aspect, this scene illustrates the power of Ligeia's will over the narrator. The draperies in his bedchamber, which he refers to as "the chief phantasy of all," symbolize his recognition of Ligeia as "double and changeable," as a complex person rather than the one-dimensional object that he had viewed her as before; like the draperies, she was "changeable in aspect" (236). Likewise, the array of items in his home and the decor are garish, wild, and exotic, and everything is distinct and unique in design, symbolizing his understanding of Ligeia as a unique individual of untamable spirit. Most importantly, they contrast completely with the elegant and serene image of Ligeia's external appearance and demeanor given by the narrator in the first portion of the tale, as the narrator is now concerned with embracing her inner spirit. Even after her death, Ligeia has fulfilled her dying proclamation: to make her husband acknowledge her identity as a complex person, and recognize her internal nature as well as her external appearance.

Ligeia's final act of will takes place in the conclusion of the story. Many critics choose to elaborate on this portion of the story, but I believe that it is this portion that needs the least attention, certainly not because it is unimportant, but because Ligeia's will to be seen as a person, not a possession, and her desire to claim her identity are expressed so clearly and concisely that this section needs little interpretation. As the narrator watches Ligeia, whom he thought was Rowena, struggle back to life, he notices that, when "betook [him]self to the task of restoration" with "redoubled ardor" (242), the body ceased to exhibit signs of life. It is only when he "had long ceased to struggle or to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions," that the body begins to come fully alive (243). If we consider that it is Ligeia's will being exerted in the second half of the story, it follows that she will resist coming to life with the narrator's help. She would fully restore herself only when the narrator is not involved in her restoration, but rather a "helpless prey" who must simply wait and watch. In her final act of self-assertion, she must be in control of her own restoration.

Finally, when the narrator realizes, for the first time, that the body that has come back alive does not completely resemble that of Rowena, he is initially unable to grasp what is taking place. Ironically, he recognizes first, that the wrapped body is taller than Rowena, and second, that the hair is black, not light, but it is not until he sees the eyes of the figure that he is able to recognize that the body belongs to Ligeia. He exclaims, "Here then, at least, can I never--can I never be mistaken--these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes--of my lost love--of the lady--of the LADY LIGEIA" (244). Finally, Ligeia has been able to accomplish what she has attempted to do throughout the tale, and that is to make the narrator recognize her as a person, rather than as a thing. It is fitting that the one part of Ligeia that he had found indefinable--her eyes--was the very thing by which he was able to recognize her. The only portion of herself that Ligeia was able to keep the narrator from completely possessing was what she used to make herself known to him. In a fitting gesture of reverence, the narrator gives back to her what he had "forgotten" in the beginning: a title. However, this time, in calling her "Lady Ligeia," he is acknowledging that the title is one that she has earned, rather than one that is used simply to denote her lineage and connect her to yet another patriarchal relationship.

In his essay, Lauber says of criticism that attempts to examine this text's many inconsistencies and gaps, "Even if these interpretations were more convincing, however, they could be dismissed because they are unnecessary. 'Ligeia' makes perfect sense when read literally, and Poe gives no clear hint that it should be read otherwise" (32). On the contrary, I would submit that Poe, whether intentionally or unintentionally, gives every indication that he wants this story to be read otherwise. We are given a carefully constructed tale that is laden with gaps, and a narrator begging us at every turn to help fill in those gaps. When one examines this tale literally, and chooses to ignore the gaps and omissions in order to force the story into a set structure, this reader will invariably find the tale superficial, ambiguous, and self-contradictory. In effect, "Ligeia" really does become a simple horror story, or at best, an example of highly stylized Gothicism when read literally. However, when one works with the flow of the structure, and seeks to discover what is behind or underneath the many things that the narrator claims he has "forgotten" or "never knew," one is able to see how the underlying text can move in a harmonious give-and-take relationship with the surface text to produce provocative themes relating to female objectification, the destructive nature of traditional patriarchal relationships, and/or the need for self-identity. Poe constructed this story in the same way that most people construct the stories that they recount to friends in everyday life--one-sidedly and distorted by selective memory. And, as readers, we must sometimes do what we would do as the friend hearing the story--listen to what they tell us, and try to figure out what they left out.

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