Despite the hundreds—maybe thousands—of people appearing in it, “The Man of the Crowd” is a story full of loneliness and isolation. The city of London is practically the only feature of the story that has a name; the narrator, the old man, and the countless people of the crowds are never named or given any real identity beyond their outward, everyday appearance. No lines of dialogue are shared between characters, and the two principal characters never meaningfully interact with each other. The narrator spends plenty of time speculating about the personal details of the strangers passing by the coffee-house window, but their true selves can’t really be known from a quick glance. Even these individuals in the crowds are alone, despite being surrounded by people; they’re each alone in their own private worlds, in a sea of strangers. All of these elements come together to create a sense of lonely alienation in teeming 19th-century London. Despite sharing a city and sometimes an occupation, class status, or other personal traits with each other, Londoners appear isolated, unable or unwilling to form meaningful connections with one another.
Worse, this sense of alienation threatens to erode people’s connection to themselves as well. In this bewildering urban setting, it seems easier to follow the crowd than to stop and self-reflect. For example, as he walks endlessly through the crowds and “refuses to be alone,” the old man appears to be isolated from any personal sense of identity and purpose, smothering his own existence in the busy activities of others. As life in the city wears on, Poe suggests, maybe it’s only a matter of time before more and more “[people] of the crowd” become alienated from themselves and others in this way.
Related Themes from Other Texts
London, Crowds, and Urban Alienation ThemeTracker
London, Crowds, and Urban Alienation Quotes in The Man of the Crowd
Others, still a numerous class, were restless in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked and gesticulated to themselves, as if feeling in solitude on account of the very denseness of the company around.
They all had slightly bald heads, from which the right ears, long used to pen-holding, had an odd habit of standing off on end. I observed that they always removed or settled their hats with both hands, and wore watches, with short gold chains of a substantial and ancient pattern.
By and by he passed into a cross street, which, although densely filled with people, was not quite so much thronged as the main one he had quitted. Here a change in his demeanor became evident. He walked more slowly and with less object than before —more hesitatingly.
“This old man,” I said at length, “is the type and the genius of deep crime. He refuses to be alone. He is the man of the crowd. It will be in vain to follow, for I shall learn no more of him, nor his deeds.”
