Reading Paradise Lost — Book 1
Why read Paradise Lost in the modern world?
Because I love language and stories. Over 10,000 lines of poetry, sometimes described as the greatest poem in English. I read some of it as a teenager, and was struck by the imagery, but persevering all seemed a bit like hard work then.
Having now worked full time for nearly 10 years, I’m ready to reassess my teenage definition of hard work and give it another go.
Oh, and I guess this quote has been echoing round my mind for a while:
“Imaginative poetry produces a far greater mental strain than novels. It produces probably the severest strain of any form of literature. It is the highest form of literature. It yields the highest form of pleasure, and teaches the highest form of wisdom. In a word, there is nothing to compare with it. I say this with sad consciousness of the fact that the majority of people do not read poetry.”
― Arnold Bennett
Always struck me as a tad pretentious but it does have that awful ring of truth. Let’s see if he’s right.
Preamble
In keeping with the modern age, if you want any background — use Google. All you really need to know is it’s an epic poem, telling the Biblical story of the Fall of Man. It famously follows the best of literature in making the bad guy (e.g. Satan), a rounded and fascinating character.
In writing this, I’m generally going to avoid a few of the normal things people do when they discuss literature. I won’t use academic language where it isn’t helpful, I won’t talk much about the surrounding cultural context, and I won’t focus on its great influence on other artists or the world.
What I want to do is communicate what it felt like to read it.
I am either reading it out loud to myself, or listening to random free audiobook versions on YouTube, and following along with the text.
Let’s start.
Book 1:
After two somewhat defensive prefaces explaining why rhyming isn’t necessary for poems, and a slow introduction to the story as a whole, Milton kicks things off mid-action after Satan and his huge army of minions have just rebelled against God, lost the battle of heaven horribly, and been forced to retreat. They’ve been driven into what Milton initially claims is ‘chaos’ rather than hell but it is then immediately described as hell about 20 times.
Right from the beginning, there is a lot of memorable language, as he depicts their new surroundings:
“At once as far as angels ken’ he views
The dismal situation waste and wild
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible”
I’ve seen this very widely quoted. And it’s on page 5. It is of course brilliant, but the cynic in me speculates not everyone quoting it finished the book.
The edition I’m reading from has an extremely in-depth companion commentary volume, which I won’t be referring to too much, as it takes away from the fun of the whole thing to check notes every two lines. However, it did have a hilarious comment about these dark flames, slagging off T.S Eliot’s own comment on them:
“Oddly censured by T.S Eliot as ‘difficult to imagine’ when obviously not meant as physical description.”
Ha, I love it. ‘Obviously’ indeed. You tell him.
…
Everyone spends a bit of time bemoaning their fate, gathering their senses and commenting on the situation, and at this stage it is easy to get confused between the different speakers. I had to go back a couple of times to see when it was Beelzebub and when it was Satan.
The descriptions of Satan himself are fascinating — first described in bulk as “large….[as]…that sea-beast Leviathan.” And when he gets up and takes flight:
“Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames
Driv’n backward slope their pointing spires, and, rolled
In billows, leave I’ th’ midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air”
In the same way that you are asked to imagine the impossible dark flames, Milton plays with scale, with each of the descriptions not quite making sense if you take it literally, but giving you an overall sense of something greater.
With Satan described, he tries to rally the troops. But he has to do it with eloquence, not force. So what does he offer his battered army? What can he possibly say to those who’ve just followed him into a losing war and are now in a pit of dark fire? Well, he manages an inspiring speech which almost works as a standalone poem, and to me is the centrepiece of the whole first book:
“Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,
Said then the lost archangel, this the seat,
That we must change for heaven, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid
What shall be right: furthest from him is best
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell happy fields
Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell
Receive thy new possessor: one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; the almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in hell
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
A lot of the language and arguments used here are very resonant for a modern reader — characterising God as someone as “above his equals”, but without more reason, just more force. Counselling stoicism, and the ability of the mind to “make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven”, and then the final appeal to freedom, to being one’s own man. That’s the stuff.
Unfortunately, after this timeless brilliance, things start to drag a bit, when every one of the different leaders and different groups of the various legions in hell gets introduced, along with their historical background and 400-year-old cultural references to stories I largely don’t know. Ugh:
“Next Chemos, the obscene dread of Moab’s sons
From Aroer to Bebo, and the wild
Of southmost Abarim; in Hesebon
and Heronaim, Seon’s realm, beyond
The flowery dale of Simba clad with vines,
and Eleale to the Asphaltic Pool.”
Then I realised what it reminded me of. That awful bit in the Iliad, where the same thing happens — and all the different groups participating in the Trojan War get listed out. Glancing at the commentary book, I found a note saying that this was intentional! Milton was apparently paying tribute to Homer by referencing the most boring part of his poem. Mmm. Some of it is still fun, but it’s hard work.
Things pick up again with a great description of the building of their palace, Pandæmonium. I particularly enjoyed the musical elements, evoking a dark Disney scene:
“…formed with the ground
A various mould, and from the boiling cells
By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook,
As in an organ from one blast of wind
To many a row pipes the sound-board breathes.
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet…”
The first book concludes, with the spirits gathered in the finished palace, as their council begins.
…
So, how was it?
Well, skim over the descriptions of the armies and some (all?) of the more obscure references, and it’s a strong start, which makes me want to read more. The first ten to fifteen minutes are perhaps a bit grating, as you acclimatize to reading a poem, but you quickly get used to it, helped by the strong rhythms in Milton’s writing.
Above everything, it’s the language and imagery that keeps standing out. It just sounds great as it is read out loud.
You can finish the whole first book in an hour or so, though it’s tiring, and feels better to take slowly, rereading your favourite passages as you go.
11 books to go.