Highly derivative of previous authors' works. Predictable ending. Doesn't rhyme. Still probably the best epic poem in the English language (except perhaps Dryden's translation of the Iliad). Worth a read.

Interesting story behind this: I went into Strand hoping to find either a cheap, used copy of the Norton Critical Edition of Frankenstein or an even cheaper copy of Paradise Lost with decent notes. I was more interested in the former than the latter, which is only tangential research for my current story project. I couldn’t find a single Norton Critical Edition and the copies of Paradise Lost cost way more than I was willing to spend on a whim. Fortunately, I took the long way out of the store and happened by the shelf of cheap old mass market paperbacks…which included this copy of the book for less than $4. Score!

I took an interesting approach to reading this: I was doing so with Frankenstein’s creation in mind. He’s a big fan of Paradise Lost and sympathizes with God, Adam, and Satan—a bit more the latter, though he’s achingly aware of how far from perfect the comparison is (most heartbreakingly, because even Satan was not alone when he fell). I loved the moments in Nick Dear’s theatrical adaptation when he quoted the book and, well, I had other reasons:

• I’ve wanted to read Paradise Lost since I first read Frankenstein as a freshman in high school, and one of my great college tragedies was not fitting Professor Stephen’s course on the book into my schedule.
• I like to challenge myself by reading something difficult at least once a year.
• At the time I went looking for the book, I had not yet fixed my computer—I was fresh out of a sprint through Shakespeare’s Henry VI/Richard III series and figured that, since I was so steeped in the language style, it would be a good time to go for it.

One more note before I get into my “review” proper. I was talking with my parents about my reading so far over Columbus Day weekend (I think I’d only read a chapter or two) when one of them asked how hard I found it to separate faith from self-aware fiction. The question surprised me—regardless of my beliefs, it simply hadn’t occurred to me that some might struggle to appreciate Milton’s work without the context of their own religious views. I guess I’ve always been good at distinguishing sets of realities from one another. When I took a course on the New Testament in college, I wasn’t naïve enough to think that it wouldn’t impact my religious understanding, but talking about the imperfect translations and gnostic gospels never troubled me as much as it did a friend who believed very deeply. Without even thinking about it, in both these cases, I approached fact as fact and fiction as fiction while leaving the bits that might impact my personal faith for consideration at a different time.

So when I talk about Paradise Lost, I’m talking only about Paradise Lost—I’m not making statements about the Bible or any of the religions that draw on it. It’s my tendency to spot holes and be irreverent, especially with things that I enjoy (like this book), but I don’t want anyone to mistake these comments as applying to anything more than these pages.

So, with that said, shall I start with how much I sympathized with Satan? Guy’s one of the top angels in heaven when God’s like, “Hey y’all, here’s me #2. He’s awesome and obviously my favorite, so you all have to obey him now.” And Satan, well, he’s not so thrilled with this whole new nepotism thing when he’d been doing pretty well in the meritocracy. Can you blame him, as a character, for being disgruntled? This is, in fact, the kind of thing that has started actual wars, something that still happens (albeit on a much smaller scale).

Plus, well, Milton starts out with him, with his fall and his fight to survive and settle his forces in Hell—and the visuals are really cool. He’s our main character, he’s working hard, he’s listening to his followers, and he’s the only one brave enough to take action to change the situation. In a lot of ways, he’s what we expect in heroes in our modern stories. Of course, as Milton keeps reminding us, he is, you know, the devil.

It’s an interesting move to start out with Satan, follow his flight out of Hell, and only then see Earth and Eden, Adam and Eve and the angels. All of Satan’s battle with heaven is told in flashback, recounted to Adam and Eve by an angel sent to warn them that the devil is probably going to try something (more on that later). Having read all those essays in the Norton Critical Edition of Frankenstein, I was keenly aware of the narrative framing, though it was less obviously nested (in part, I think, because it is a poem and we expect lots of verbal and narrative play in poems).

But forget the narrative structure for a moment—that battle is freakin’ awesome! The whole book is full of fantastic descriptions and crystal-clear imagery, describing the kinds of things that wow us when we go to see films by Chris Nolan or James Cameron. It’s incredibly cinematic.

Take, for example, one of my favorite parts: the second day of the battle between good and evil in Heaven. Satan’s army suffered a terrible rout the first day, so he essentially invents the cannon overnight. The Angels aren’t expecting this, and their armor makes them too heavy to dodge the missiles…so they start tearing it off to give themselves room to move and use their extensive power. Since they can’t attach the cannons head-on, they pull up the hills and fling them onto the cannons and their crews. But again, the demons don’t die, so they fight their miserably painful way out from under the mounds and, when their cannons are no match, return fire in kind. The hills of heaven go flying through the air, crashing into each other. Tell me that isn’t something you wouldn’t be surprised to see in the next Avatar movie!

Of course, there’s also the language element. I struggled surprisingly little—most of the really difficult vocabulary had notes, and what didn’t was almost always obvious by context (though I did start noting down words after a while). But the really remarkable thing was that almost every line had a word that could be interpreted in at least two different ways.

Take this random line I opened to: “Gentle to me and affable hath been / Thy Condescension” (VIII:648-649), said by Adam to an angel who’s been speaking with him. “Gentle” can mean “calm” and “careful”, but it can also refer to the angel’s nobility of being and bearing, since “gentle” was used as shorthand for “gentleman” and “gentlewoman”. “Condescension” refers not only to Adam’s feeling that the angel has humbled himself by speaking to a later-made, lesser being, but to the fact that the angel literally came down from Heaven to speak to Adam on earth, at his level. And those were just the two most obvious ones to jump out at me!

When I expressed my awe that this hadn’t been made into a movie to a coworker who’d also read it, we said almost simultaneously that it would be such a shame that the language, the most remarkable element of the poem, would be lost.

Of course, as the poem goes on, we get to meet Adam…and Eve. And then we approach the fall and the sexism gets worse and worse. Keeping in mind that last pre-review caveat, I couldn’t help thinking that God was more than a bit of a jerk. Mister all-seeing knew exactly what would happen and how and why and he still didn’t say to his messenger, “Hey, maybe instead of dismissing Eve after she serves you lunch, you should talk to her specifically about why the devil is after humanity.” And he tests Adam and Eve’s obedience/goodness without giving them knowledge of good and evil. Without that, how is Eve to recognize that this talking snake might be more than it seems? And, really, you plant the tree of knowledge right next to the tree of life? Even humans don’t plant foxglove in the herb garden.

On top of all that, humanity gets the seriously short end of the stick after the fall. Satan was hunting them down to lead them astray, deliberately goading them to break God’s rule, using all his super-human (if sub-angelic) power to trick them, and what does he get? Thousands’ of years’ rule in Hell, the run of the earth, and a couple days as a snake each year. What do Adam and Eve get? Mortality, pain and hard labor, removal of easy conversation with God and his messengers, no one fighting to protect them from supernatural harm, banishment from paradise, all of their unborn descendants equally cursed, and the hatred of the aforementioned. Every time Adam and Eve think it can’t get worse, it does. With the deck so heavily stacked against them, why should their punishment be so harsh?

The failure of internal logic is interesting, because a modern fictional take would probably work to close those gaps. Milton, of course, doesn’t try. That’s not the point.

I did get annoyed with Milton in a few places for more ordinary narrative sins. Paradise Lost is, essentially, a work of fan fiction, and commits one of my pet peeves when he narrates a few sections of exposition almost word-for-word from the Bible. And it’s not just a shout-out, “And it was good”—it’s verses at a time. This is especially annoying in the final two books, which are basically Cliff Notes for the Bible. After all the gorgeous original work he did, getting this shoehorned highlights tour kind of kills the momentum. I actually compared it to the epilogue of the seventh Harry Potter: yeah, I guess I see why it’s there, but narratively it would have been better off ending earlier.

But Milton’s not just out to tell a story, he’s telling one of THE stories that shaped the Christianized world. Narrative coherence is not at the top of his agenda.

I’m going to cut this review short, since there will be quite a few quotes with commentary, plus I want to squeeze in my vocab. Thanks for sticking with me this far! I loved reading this, and if you’re into Shakespeare and Homer, you’ll probably like this, too.


Quote Roundup is on Tumblr, since I broke the Goodreads character limit like woah. ( )

I should read poetry more often. However, just fyi, I didn't have time to read the second epic. I only read about the losing of paradise. And that, my friends, is worthy of the "classic" label. ( )

Thou Spirit who ledd'st this glorious Eremite
Into the Desert...
inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted Song else mute...
to tell of deeds
Above Heroic, though in secret done...

The Tempter who once deceived humankind in the Garden of Eden is back, generations later, to tempt the Son of God in the wilderness in Paradise Regained by John Milton.

I read the preceding epic poem, Paradise Lost, some years ago and finally read its coda here for the first time. That is, I initially didn't know it was more of a coda and was thus surprised to find it so much shorter than the first poem, which is, of course, the length of a novel.

I now have a better idea of why Paradise Lost so often stands alone. It involves more characters and does tell more of an epic story, sweeping between heaven and earth with terrestrial business and celestial war.

Still, the poetess in me was again absorbed in Milton's way with verse.

"Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules
Passions, Desires, and Fears, is more a King;
Which every wise and virtuous man attains:
And who attains not, ill aspires to rule
Cities of men...
Subject himself to Anarchy within..."

Though I'll admit I got more of a thrill watching the Son as the dominant warrior in the first poem, it was also great listening to him outwit his artful adversary here. Then, after his deeds Above Heroic done before none but an audience of praising angels, what else does the Son do but have a meal, leave the site of triumph, and privately head back to his mother's house?

Hm. What else indeed.

"...and now thou hast aveng'd
Supplanted Adam, and by vanquishing
Temptation, hast regain'd lost Paradise...
on thy glorious work
Now enter, and begin to save mankind." ( )

struggle to try to read this. It is a hard style. It might be better to listen to, or read slowly out loud (which doesn't work while eating). ( )

Milton's poems describe, respectively, The Fall of Man and The Temptation of Christ. I first read them when I was a very young man and got little out of them. Re-reading and hearing them in my late middle age, I loved and revered them. I admired Milton's art both as a poet and a dramatist. His version of the The Fall is a tragedy as much as an epic, with scenes of high drama and psychological insight as well as of poetry and theology. I saw the personal as well as the spiritual damage that the heroes, Adam and Eve, sustained, and was glad that they and their kindred were given their hope of redemption. I did find Milton's Satan an excellent villain, nothing more, despite claims by those who apparently only read the first half of the story.

I was surprised that I was more than half convinced by Milton's justification of the works of God. I accepted, during the reading, at least, the Father's reasons for not doing more to protect his special creation. In the sequel, I agree with the Son's refusal to be impressed by what the Tempter had made of the world and his promise to reclaim it and rebuild it.

As for the narrator, Griffin has made a specialty of the classical and the epic, and his reading of this English epic is as good as anything he has done. ( )

Truly inspiring. If you told me 10 years ago that I would love teaching these poems, I'd have laughed in your face. But Milton has a beautiful way of taking a few, sparse Bible verses and turning them into a human narrative that you can understand and relate to. Book Three of Paradise Lost is, in my opinion, nothing short of inspired genius. ( )

Paradise Lost is an epic poem in the same tradition of Homer, Virgil, Dante and Shakespeare. Milton, like many of his time, wrote about (or against) religion, thus incurring the wrath of the church. It doesn't matter, though, for Milton's account of the fall of man is far better than Gensis. Although it may be hard to read, it should be read-- especially because it sparked Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. I read Paradise Lost alongside His Dark Materials in order to get a clear picture of the main story and the deviations each author took. ( )

John Milton's Paradise Lost is a monumental poem that crystallizes the basic Christian doctrines of Creation, Satan's rebellion, humanity's Fall, and the prophesied Savior who would redeem His people — and does it all with a gripping story told in powerful language. Because of its immense scope and imagination, Paradise Lost has served for centuries as a jumping-off place for other writers working through these doctrines and ideas to create art in the Western context. It's a work I have been meaning to read for some time, and it did not disappoint.

All I knew of Milton before coming to this poem was the oft-quoted "Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n," one of the most succinct descriptions of Satan that I've ever read. So on a purely stylistic level, Milton was very new to me. But as a Christian, I was very familiar with the poem's subject matter, and found it a rich experience to read. I think that my faith added an extra dimension to the poem; for me, the characters are fictionalized representations of real beings, the events described really did happen, and the ramifications affect me personally. Wow! I was again and again surprised by the utter believability with which Milton realizes his characters, working from the spare narrative laid out in Scripture. Paradise Lost is a Christian wandering through his vast doctrines, goggling at them, and turning his mind to make art of them. This "subcreation" is an act of worship.

And the implications have been profound for Christian thinkers and writers ever since. C. S. Lewis was a big fan of the poem, and I could see many places where it influenced him, even in little things. For instance, there is a flattering councillor in Lewis' Prince Caspian named "Glozelle" — and here "glozing" is a verb used in the poem for "flattering." Another character's name, Fledge, means "feathered," and this is perfect because the character is a winged horse. I love this stuff! The whole idea behind The Screwtape Letters and Our Father Below must have had its inspiration in the scenes of Satan and his followers taking counsel together how best to defeat God. And Milton's descriptions of Hell certainly turned Lewis' thoughts in the direction that led to The Great Divorce. I'm sure there are many more connections that escaped me on this my first read, but it was fun to find the ones I did.

Paradise Lost is a classic in that it continues to spark controversy among academics to this day, with multiple interpretations hotly debated. Much has been made of William Blake's view, that Milton is "of the Devil's party without knowing it," that he unconsciously admires Satan and portrays him as a sympathetic character. I think this is a valid reading, as the story begins with Satan and spends a lot of time with him. He is evil and heartless and depraved, but there is something grand in his tragic defiance, something oddly powerful. I felt that pull, too.

There is another school of thought that argues that Milton's seemingly heroic depiction of Satan is deliberate, as a mirror to the attraction Satan naturally has for sinful humans. This theory holds that when we are drawn to Milton's Satan, we are displaying our human tendency to be deceived. This is probably where I come down, because of my background. We filter everything through our presuppositions. Milton may very well have been an unconscious admirer of Satan's grand rebellion, but for me this confirms that part of us that always wants to rebel. Our art is not free of it — and Satan would not be nearly so effective if he wasn't wily and beautiful (and not just to Adam and Eve). Naturally the notion that Satan is deceptively attractive to us because we are easily deceived isn't popular among non-Christians. I can understand why many readers embrace the idea that Satan is the real hero of the poem; there's evidence for it, definitely. But I see textual support for the other view as well, and where you fall (ha) is dependent on your personal theology.

And then there is the problem of Eve. I found Milton unfair in his treatment of Eve, blaming her for Adam's fall and making Adam all noble in his sacrifice to eat the apple. Good grief, Adam wasn't tempted by a master deceiver as Eve was, and still he ate! There was nothing noble about it, and indeed in Scripture original sin is attributed to Adam, not Eve. I know there is the criticism that in Christian doctrine, woman is always inferior to man, the scapegoat and bearer of shame, the dark side of humanity. Maybe some of this comes from Milton, who later in the poem brings out his "Fair Atheists," the loose women who tempt godly men to sin. Because women are pure evil, of course. But as a Christian myself (yes, I know I'm totally biased, but so is everyone), I think the opposite is true: the Bible talks about sin entering the world through one man (Adam), with no mention of Eve at all as the principal scapegoat. This creates a parallel in Christ, the perfect Man who brought us righteousness. So Adam is noble and self-sacrificing in his sin? — yeah right. He gets off way too easily in the poem, if you ask me.

Milton gets his theology a bit skewed again in Paradise Regained. Satan gets an inordinate share of the limelight. Paradise is regained via the battle with Satan that Christ wins — instead of the ultimate test of Christ's obedience, the Cross. I understand that there is a parallel between Satan's temptations of Eve/Adam and Christ; indeed, this is a core doctrine of the Christian faith, that Christ should triumph where we failed. But it wasn't Satan that Christ died to save us from. Christ died to take our share of the Father's wrath. Satan is not God's executioner, partying down in Hell. And Christ's resistance to Satan's temptations did not save us, though it was necessary. Paradise was not truly regained until the Cross and Resurrection. I wish Milton had treated those subjects too!

I think what surprised me most about reading this poem was the utter fun of it. I loved the language — who wouldn't rejoice in a line like "Of all his flattering Prophets glibb'd with lies"? I loved the immense scope of the thing, the visualizations of Chaos and Hell and the Garden, of the war in Heaven and its final conclusion. How great, to listen in on imagined conversations between the Father and the Son taking counsel with one another — and of course Satan doing the same with his consorts in Hell. I was also surprised (though I shouldn't have been, I suppose) at the constant allusions to classical mythology, with all those mythical gods being referred to as real. I know a lot of secular readers will be laughing at me because to them, *all* the characters in the poem are mythological. But hear me out — it's fascinating because it demonstrates a fusion between the pagan and Christian. I personally love it because it is pagan ideas being used in service of the Christian God; fragments of truth in world legends redeemed, to paraphrase Lewis. But even without my bias, it's fascinating to see these disparate stories being woven together.

So should you read Paradise Lost? Absolutely! Sure, there is a lot of archaic language and the sentences can go on for pages and pages, but if you can get past that and into the alien feel of the poem, looking at the vastness of its landscape and the craziness of its characters, you can enjoy it. It isn't just a work for the academics to wrangle over. Non-Christians can get a lot out of it too, because Christianity is foundational to Western culture and so has affected the world. Paradise Lost is an important poem with far-reaching influence, but besides all that it is a rich reading experience in itself. I enjoyed it very much. ( )