I don't know what it is, but I've always been someone who needed to touch things in order to fully understand them. I wouldn't consider myself to be a tactile learner. I don't necessarily remember algebraic equations better if I'm, say, pumping iron while reciting the Pythagorean theorem. However, whenever I'm looking at a work of art, or at a book, I have the overwhelming need to just touch it. As if that will make me understand it better. Perhaps that's why I'm such a stringent advocate of paper-books, and truly abhor the idea of a Kindle or any derivation thereof (though, the library-obsessed part of me can't help but think, "But then I could have THOUSANDS of books that I could take with me EVERYWHERE in one, portable tableau!!").
Anyway, the point of all this (and how it relates to Edgar Allan Poe) is that, when I see documents such as the image below, all I can think about is what it must feel like. What the brittle, yellow, stained paper must feel like to the touch. And what it would be like to hold the exact paper that Edgar Allan Poe once held. Creepy? Maybe. But somewhere in the back of my mind, it makes me believe that if I were to hold it, I would be able to better understand his brilliant, tortured mind.
The following is a hand-written excerpt from Poe's Marginalia, which I referenced earlier in the week . An interesting fact to note, Poe wrote extensively about graphology (or the study of handwriting). He was a keen analyst of the script of his contemporaries, and fueled much of his literary criticism with commentary on graphology. Which makes me curious to know what he considered of his own handwriting.
Also, click to find an awesome classifieds post from the 1909 New York Times in which someone is selling copies of Poe's letters.
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