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Poe uses the relationship between light and dark throughout the novel to develop the theme of Appearance Versus Reality. While the light/dark dynamic is sometimes used literally, it more frequently carries symbolic weight, representing a struggle between good (life) and evil (death). However, the vagueness of many of Pym’s scenes causes even this fairly straightforward symbolic correspondence to become somewhat confusing, particularly toward the end of the novel.
In the first half of the text, darkness conveys or represents fear in a number of scenes: when Pym is trapped in the hold of the Grampus, for example, he describes the space as “so intensely dark that I could not see my hand, however close I would hold it to my face” (23). Additionally, the terrifying Dutch ship—a veritable embodiment of death—is painted black (68). On both of these occasions, a dark object or location is directly associated with terror or anxiety and amplifies the textual atmosphere of fear. However, from the moment the Jane Guy crosses the Antarctic Circle, light and dark are simultaneously more important and less readable as symbols. The crew stumbles upon mysterious, frightening animal carcasses that are almost entirely white, reversing the association of light with life and, instead, aligning it with death. The island of Tsalal is described largely in terms of darkness, with the sea around it being “an extraordinarily dark color,” the local people wearing skins of “an unknown black animal” and carrying clubs of a “dark” wood, and the village being full of domesticated black albatrosses (113, 119). Given their eventual betrayal of the Jane Guy crew, the villagers’ depiction as dark, evil figures living in a sinister place is consistent with the plot. However, Pym’s time spent on Tsalal also marks a personal triumph for him: he is obsessed with exploring and documenting a previously unknown—to the US and Europe, at least—region near the South Pole, which he is able to do because of the island’s existence.
Light and dark become even more symbolically intermingled after Pym and Peters escape: They sail into “milky” waters, above which hang a “light gray” vapor and into which falls a strange “white powder” (149, 150). However, even as they move closer to the white “cataract,” the darkness around them increases. It is “relieved only by the glare of the water thrown back from the white curtain” before them (151). The shrouded figure whose skin is “the perfect whiteness of the snow” is never identified or explained, but its presence seems to have killed Nu-Nu (151). Pym and Peters have fled a place where darkness maintains a traditional association with evil—in fact, some critics believe Tsalal represents the Christian hell—and ended up in a place where white also symbolizes death. Thus, the light/dark dynamic throughout Pym is ultimately unstable and unpredictable, but it is always associated in some way with the dynamic between life and death.
Throughout the novel, Poe uses birds to represent the complicated relationship between nature and the human social world. Most notably, the seagull on the Dutch ship and the albatross/penguin communities in the Kerguelen Islands allow the text to build on its larger theme of monstrosities in nature. However, by using birds to symbolize humans within this thematic framework, the text also draws attention to the monstrousness inherent in humans.
When Pym, Peters, Augustus, and Parker see the Dutch ship approaching, they see a sailor they initially believe is nodding at them; however, they soon realize that it is a corpse whose movements are controlled by a seagull perched on its back. When it sees them, “the bird, with much apparent difficulty, drew out its crimsoned head, and after eyeing [them] for a moment as if stupefied, arose lazily from the body” (70). It then hovers directly over them, as if with a clear intention, and drops a piece of the man’s flesh at Parker’s feet. This is the first occasion on which Pym—and, it is implied, the others—consider cannibalism; the seagull encourages them to mimic its own violent, unnatural behavior, and the men understand the message.
Later, when the Jane Guy stops at the Kerguelen Islands, Pym refers to the “singular friendship” that exists there between the albatross and the penguin and even notes that the detailed description he is about to provide is important to the larger narrative. The birds, he reports, work together to clear their shared space of rubbish and to construct smooth, narrow pathways connecting all the nests. The penguins “[pass] to and fro in the narrow alleys, some marching, with the military strut so peculiar to them, around the general promenade” (98). He adds that while penguins and albatrosses are the most common residents of these rookeries, other oceanic birds often enjoy “all the privileges of citizenship” (98). Thus, Pym frequently uses terms associated with human settlements, particularly large cities, as well as human forms of governance and social identities, to describe the birds’ behavior. There is nothing, Pym concludes, “more astonishing than the spirit of reflection evinced by these feathered beings” (98). In other words, birds, like humans, have the capacity for self-awareness and self-regulation as individuals and as a society. However, like birds, humans have the capacity for terrible, unmediated violence. In these scenes, the same mutual, overlapping tendencies may seem either natural or monstrous, depending on who is exercising them.
Much like the birds, the Dutch ship—often referred to by critics as a “death ship” or “ghost ship”—symbolizes the monstrous or grotesque nature of the everyday world. It is a familiar object whose change is only visible when one is very close to it, but from a distance, it is deceptively ordinary. Although it appears only in Chapter 10, it has a profound and lasting effect on the narrative: indeed, Pym asks himself whether he shall “ever forget the triple horror of that spectacle” (69).
The ship is simultaneously mundane and horrifying, a phenomenon echoed in the multitude of extreme emotions felt by the survivors of the Grampus upon witnessing it. Although it is no longer being directed by anyone, it is still sailing, thus fulfilling its primary function. The survivors confirm, with some confidence, that it is a Dutch brig. Pym even explains away its strange, erratic movements by assuming that this “singular conduct” is simply the result of a drunk helmsman (69). The ship is still populated, but only by a crew of the dead, an inversion that makes Pym’s and his compatriots’ shouts for help even more haunting: “We plainly saw that not a soul lived in that fated vessel! Yet we could not help shouting to the dead for help! Yes, long and loudly did we beg, in the agony of the moment” (70).
In the same way in which they are able to justify the unnatural motions of the ship, they justify their own unnatural behavior by citing the extreme misery of their experience. Pym also cites this as the reason they are not able to learn more information about the ship: “We might have easily seen the name upon her stern, and, indeed, taken other observations [...] but the intense excitement of the moment blinded us to everything of that nature” (71). While the everyday details about the ship’s identity are still technically available to the witnesses, they are subsumed in and erased by its grotesque, terrifying attributes.
The ship’s appearance erases the men’s ability to function in normal ways. Pym writes that the encounter weakens their intellects and causes them to sit in “a condition of stupid lethargy” for the rest of the day (71). Ultimately, the ghost ship represents the inability of humans to confront what is most unnatural or monstrous within themselves and in the wider world. She embodies the violent irrationality at the heart of many of Poe’s characters.
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By Edgar Allan Poe