![]() ![]() ![]() Perhaps aged even better, at least than the amontillado because amontillado, like all sherries-for amontillado is a variety of sherry despite Fortunato’s twice-uttered pejorative assertion that Luchesi “cannot tell amontillado from sherry”-gains nothing from the process of aging after its fortification. His tale is aged as finely as any of the wines in the Montresor family vaults. Every word, every cough, every jingle of the bells that adorn Fortunato’s conical cap and comically sound his death knell, every slight and delicate nuance of the Carnival evening is witchily conjured up by Montresor, whose images materialize before us like the parade of Banquo’s line. Perhaps the most chilling aspect of reading Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado” for the first time is not the gruesome tale that Montresor relates, but the sudden, unpredictable, understated revelation that the murder, recounted in its every lurid detail, occurred not yesterday or last week, but a full fifty years prior to the telling. ![]()
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