J. M.

For Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them… unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth, but a good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.

-- John Milton

When I was fresh out of school in the early nineties and still over brimming with academical ambitions, I took a stab at some English history, figuring it would give me a fuller context for understanding early American history. I can be so cute like that sometimes! And the seventeenth century looked like a target-rich environment, a time of civil war and the beheading and restoration of kings. Since little of what I read sticks in memory, in addition to getting to know the Paradise poems better by better knowing the poet, I picked up the biography of Milton with the hope of getting another shot at some of that English history, and in this I was not disappointed. That’s one of the things I love about books: unlike real life in meatspace, or even e-life in cyberspace, good books seldom disappoint.

William Riley Parker, the biographer, actually seems a little apologetic that Milton did not play more of a key role in those tumultuous events, as Milton fans apparently have been given to take the grandeur of the poetic accomplishment and to assume that he must have played a driving role in his historic times. I must say that my own expectations were not running so jauntily. Knowing so little of the man, I was more inclined to think that he was probably just one of history’s many bystanders, taking an easy life in the English countryside to converse in peaceful solitude with his muse. After all, he was blind, right? Surely it is enough to be the English Homer, without having to go out and lead revolutions. Besides, he did not even rate a mention in my past reading of the period. But I should have paid more heed to the idea that great art is often born of great pain and terrible chaos, with the wonder of the artist being his ability to turn madness into breathtaking beauty.

( By the way, if anyone is getting turned on by Paradise Lost, I strongly recommend Stanley Fish's 'Surprised by Sin', because I don't believe you are reading PL as deeply as you can if you have not read this landmark work in Milton studies. )

J. M.

For Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them… unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth, but a good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.

-- John Milton

When I was fresh out of school in the early nineties and still over brimming with academical ambitions, I took a stab at some English history, figuring it would give me a fuller context for understanding early American history. I can be so cute like that sometimes! And the seventeenth century looked like a target-rich environment, a time of civil war and the beheading and restoration of kings. Since little of what I read sticks in memory, in addition to getting to know the Paradise poems better by better knowing the poet, I picked up the biography of Milton with the hope of getting another shot at some of that English history, and in this I was not disappointed. That’s one of the things I love about books: unlike real life in meatspace, or even e-life in cyberspace, good books seldom disappoint.

William Riley Parker, the biographer, actually seems a little apologetic that Milton did not play more of a key role in those tumultuous events, as Milton fans apparently have been given to take the grandeur of the poetic accomplishment and to assume that he must have played a driving role in his historic times. I must say that my own expectations were not running so jauntily. Knowing so little of the man, I was more inclined to think that he was probably just one of history’s many bystanders, taking an easy life in the English countryside to converse in peaceful solitude with his muse. After all, he was blind, right? Surely it is enough to be the English Homer, without having to go out and lead revolutions. Besides, he did not even rate a mention in my past reading of the period. But I should have paid more heed to the idea that great art is often born of great pain and terrible chaos, with the wonder of the artist being his ability to turn madness into breathtaking beauty.

( By the way, if anyone is getting turned on by Paradise Lost, I strongly recommend Stanley Fish's 'Surprised by Sin', because I don't believe you are reading PL as deeply as you can if you have not read this landmark work in Milton studies. )