It has to be one of the coolest literary rituals ever. And one particularly
fitting the honoree.
Every year, on Edgar Allan Poe’s birthday, a mysterious figure shows up in
the dark, early morning hours and leaves three roses and a half-full bottle
of cognac at the writer’s grave in Baltimore.
Poe fans come from far and wide to shiver in the cold and wait for the “Poe
Toaster” to arrive.
But this past Tuesday, Poe’s 201st birthday, the Toaster didn’t show for the
first time in at least 60 years. The disappointment had some Poe fanatics
ready to surrender to the pendulum.
Check out the AP story.
I’m sure there are other traditions like this. I’m aware of the annual
Bloomsday celebrations, although I’ve always been too chicken to try reading
“Ulysses”; and when I went to New Orleans several years ago, I had just
missed the “Stella!” shouting contest at the annual Tennessee Williams
festival. I also know that if ever in Key West, you have to go visit the
descendants of Hemingway’s six-toed cat.
But that’s about it as far as my knowledge of literary traditions is
concerned.
Anyone know any others?
