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  1. The Censor Keeps a Copy

    Twenty years ago, give or take, a friend told me a story he expected me to admire. He was a Latter-day Saint who worked in technology, and he was, as I understood it then, the bishop of his ward, an unpaid office the church gives to laymen who keep their day jobs, so he kept a company's hours all week and presided over a congregation on Sundays. There was a Mormon bookstore he went into often, and one day he walked in and found a new display for Goosebumps, the paperbacks with the dripping green logo about haunted masks, a ventriloquist's dummy with a mind of its own, and a werewolf in a Florida swamp. He spoke to the owner. The owner told him the books were selling well and that those sales were keeping the store alive. My friend pressed him on content, judged the whole series blasphemous, an invitation to the occult at a child's price, and let it be understood that if the titles stayed on the shelf a report would go to the stake president. A week later he came back. The books were gone, the owner was distant and cold, and my friend bought a couple of books, in his own phrase, to make up the difference. He told me this the way another man might tell you he had coached his kid's team to a championship. He was proud. The word I have settled on, twenty years later, is forensic: he had investigated, prosecuted, and won, and he walked out of that store on the high of it. […]

    bolesblogs.com/2026/09/05/the-

  2. The Censor Keeps a Copy

    Twenty years ago, give or take, a friend told me a story he expected me to admire. He was a Latter-day Saint who worked in technology, and he was, as I understood it then, the bishop of his ward, an unpaid office the church gives to laymen who keep their day jobs, so he kept a company's hours all week and presided over a congregation on Sundays. There was a Mormon bookstore he went into often, and one day he walked in and found a new display for Goosebumps, the paperbacks with the dripping green logo about haunted masks, a ventriloquist's dummy with a mind of its own, and a werewolf in a Florida swamp. He spoke to the owner. The owner told him the books were selling well and that those sales were keeping the store alive. My friend pressed him on content, judged the whole series blasphemous, an invitation to the occult at a child's price, and let it be understood that if the titles stayed on the shelf a report would go to the stake president. A week later he came back. The books were gone, the owner was distant and cold, and my friend bought a couple of books, in his own phrase, to make up the difference. He told me this the way another man might tell you he had coached his kid's team to a championship. He was proud. The word I have settled on, twenty years later, is forensic: he had investigated, prosecuted, and won, and he walked out of that store on the high of it. […]

    bolesblogs.com/2026/09/05/the-

  3. OUCH! The Translator of #TheOdyssey Just Slammed #ChristopherNolan’s Movie

    “I would be ashamed to have written any part of this script,” wrote #EmilyWilson, the first woman to translate The Odyssey into English.

    By Josh OsmanPublished: Jul 27, 2026 1:20 PM EDT

    Excerpt: "Throughout her piece, the scholar notes that no adaptation should necessarily follow an original exactly. (In fact, she praises some radically reinterpretations of The Odyssey, including #MargaretAtwood's #Penelopiad, #MadelineMiller's #Circe, and other literary classics that riff off the text, including those of #Euripides, #JohnMilton, and #JamesJoyce.)"

    Read more:
    esquire.com/entertainment/movi

    #ClassicsBookClub #Classics #Movies #Homer #AncientGreece #ReadABook

  4. OUCH! The Translator of #TheOdyssey Just Slammed #ChristopherNolan’s Movie

    “I would be ashamed to have written any part of this script,” wrote #EmilyWilson, the first woman to translate The Odyssey into English.

    By Josh OsmanPublished: Jul 27, 2026 1:20 PM EDT

    Excerpt: "Throughout her piece, the scholar notes that no adaptation should necessarily follow an original exactly. (In fact, she praises some radically reinterpretations of The Odyssey, including #MargaretAtwood's #Penelopiad, #MadelineMiller's #Circe, and other literary classics that riff off the text, including those of #Euripides, #JohnMilton, and #JamesJoyce.)"

    Read more:
    esquire.com/entertainment/movi

    #ClassicsBookClub #Classics #Movies #Homer #AncientGreece #ReadABook

  5. Satan, nyss nedstörtad i helvetet efter sitt uppror mot Gud, samlar sina fallna änglar för att rådgöra vad som bör göras. Ett nytt anfall av himlen eller kanske be om nåd?
    Då det ryktas om att Gud planerar en ny skapelse smids så planen; Satan färdas genom Kaos fram till Jorden för att korrumpera de nya varelserna.
    I hans spår följer hans två barn, Döden och Synd, och bygger en bred och bekväm väg.

    Svinbra den här.

    "Långt hellre djupens kung än slav i himmelen!"

    #bok #boktips #johnmilton

  6. Satan, nyss nedstörtad i helvetet efter sitt uppror mot Gud, samlar sina fallna änglar för att rådgöra vad som bör göras. Ett nytt anfall av himlen eller kanske be om nåd?
    Då det ryktas om att Gud planerar en ny skapelse smids så planen; Satan färdas genom Kaos fram till Jorden för att korrumpera de nya varelserna.
    I hans spår följer hans två barn, Döden och Synd, och bygger en bred och bekväm väg.

    Svinbra den här.

    "Långt hellre djupens kung än slav i himmelen!"

    #bok #boktips #johnmilton

  7. Belial Speaks…

    This is an excerpt from Book 2 of Paradise Lost by John Milton. Belial (a fallen angel) is speaking at a “Consultation” held in Pandemonium chaired by Satan (i.e. a meeting of the local Governing Authority):

    I should be much for open war, O Peers,
    As not behind in hate, if what was urged
    Main reason to persuade immediate war
    Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast
    Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
    When he who most excels in fact of arms,
    In what he counsels and in what excels
    Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
    And utter dissolution, as the scope
    Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
    First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled
    With armed watch, that render all access
    Impregnable: oft on the bordering Deep
    Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing
    Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,
    Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way
    By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise
    With blackest insurrection to confound
    Heaven’s purest light, yet our great Enemy,
    All incorruptible, would on his throne
    Sit unpolluted, and th’ ethereal mould,
    Incapable of stain, would soon expel
    Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
    Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope
    Is flat despair: we must exasperate
    Th’ Almighty Victor to spend all his rage;
    And that must end us; that must be our cure—
    To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,
    Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
    Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
    To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
    In the wide womb of uncreated Night,
    Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows,
    Let this be good, whether our angry Foe
    Can give it, or will ever? How he can
    Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.
    Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,
    Belike through impotence or unaware,
    To give his enemies their wish, and end
    Them in his anger whom his anger saves
    To punish endless? “Wherefore cease we, then?”
    Say they who counsel war; “we are decreed,
    Reserved, and destined to eternal woe;
    Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
    What can we suffer worse?” Is this, then, worst—
    Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
    What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
    With Heaven’s afflicting thunder, and besought
    The Deep to shelter us? This Hell then seemed
    A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay
    Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse.
    What if the breath that kindled those grim fires,
    Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage,
    And plunge us in the flames; or from above
    Should intermitted vengeance arm again
    His red right hand to plague us? What if all
    Her stores were opened, and this firmament
    Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
    Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
    One day upon our heads; while we perhaps,
    Designing or exhorting glorious war,
    Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled,
    Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey
    Or racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk
    Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,
    There to converse with everlasting groans,
    Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,
    Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse.
    War, therefore, open or concealed, alike
    My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile
    With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye
    Views all things at one view? He from Heaven’s height
    All these our motions vain sees and derides,
    Not more almighty to resist our might
    Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
    Shall we, then, live thus vile—the race of Heaven
    Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here
    Chains and these torments? Better these than worse,
    By my advice; since fate inevitable
    Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,
    The Victor’s will. To suffer, as to do,
    Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust
    That so ordains. This was at first resolved,
    If we were wise, against so great a foe
    Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.
    I laugh when those who at the spear are bold
    And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear
    What yet they know must follow—to endure
    Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,
    The sentence of their Conqueror. This is now
    Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,
    Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit
    His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,
    Not mind us not offending, satisfied
    With what is punished; whence these raging fires
    Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames.
    Our purer essence then will overcome
    Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel;
    Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed
    In temper and in nature, will receive
    Familiar the fierce heat; and, void of pain,
    This horror will grow mild, this darkness light;
    Besides what hope the never-ending flight
    Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
    Worth waiting—since our present lot appears
    For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,
    If we procure not to ourselves more woe.

    I’ve posted this here not only because it seems topical, but also because it contains a phrase associated with a TV drama series that I’ve been watching on DVD. Feel free to offer a guess of the name of the series through the comments box.

    #Belial #JohnMilton #literature #Pandaemonium #ParadiseLost #Poetry #Satan
  8. Belial Speaks…

    This is an excerpt from Book 2 of Paradise Lost by John Milton. Belial (a fallen angel) is speaking at a “Consultation” held in Pandemonium chaired by Satan (i.e. a meeting of the local Governing Authority):

    I should be much for open war, O Peers,
    As not behind in hate, if what was urged
    Main reason to persuade immediate war
    Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast
    Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
    When he who most excels in fact of arms,
    In what he counsels and in what excels
    Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
    And utter dissolution, as the scope
    Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
    First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled
    With armed watch, that render all access
    Impregnable: oft on the bordering Deep
    Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing
    Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,
    Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way
    By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise
    With blackest insurrection to confound
    Heaven’s purest light, yet our great Enemy,
    All incorruptible, would on his throne
    Sit unpolluted, and th’ ethereal mould,
    Incapable of stain, would soon expel
    Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
    Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope
    Is flat despair: we must exasperate
    Th’ Almighty Victor to spend all his rage;
    And that must end us; that must be our cure—
    To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,
    Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
    Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
    To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
    In the wide womb of uncreated Night,
    Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows,
    Let this be good, whether our angry Foe
    Can give it, or will ever? How he can
    Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.
    Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,
    Belike through impotence or unaware,
    To give his enemies their wish, and end
    Them in his anger whom his anger saves
    To punish endless? “Wherefore cease we, then?”
    Say they who counsel war; “we are decreed,
    Reserved, and destined to eternal woe;
    Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
    What can we suffer worse?” Is this, then, worst—
    Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
    What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
    With Heaven’s afflicting thunder, and besought
    The Deep to shelter us? This Hell then seemed
    A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay
    Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse.
    What if the breath that kindled those grim fires,
    Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage,
    And plunge us in the flames; or from above
    Should intermitted vengeance arm again
    His red right hand to plague us? What if all
    Her stores were opened, and this firmament
    Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
    Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
    One day upon our heads; while we perhaps,
    Designing or exhorting glorious war,
    Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled,
    Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey
    Or racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk
    Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,
    There to converse with everlasting groans,
    Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,
    Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse.
    War, therefore, open or concealed, alike
    My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile
    With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye
    Views all things at one view? He from Heaven’s height
    All these our motions vain sees and derides,
    Not more almighty to resist our might
    Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
    Shall we, then, live thus vile—the race of Heaven
    Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here
    Chains and these torments? Better these than worse,
    By my advice; since fate inevitable
    Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,
    The Victor’s will. To suffer, as to do,
    Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust
    That so ordains. This was at first resolved,
    If we were wise, against so great a foe
    Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.
    I laugh when those who at the spear are bold
    And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear
    What yet they know must follow—to endure
    Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,
    The sentence of their Conqueror. This is now
    Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,
    Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit
    His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,
    Not mind us not offending, satisfied
    With what is punished; whence these raging fires
    Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames.
    Our purer essence then will overcome
    Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel;
    Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed
    In temper and in nature, will receive
    Familiar the fierce heat; and, void of pain,
    This horror will grow mild, this darkness light;
    Besides what hope the never-ending flight
    Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
    Worth waiting—since our present lot appears
    For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,
    If we procure not to ourselves more woe.

    I’ve posted this here not only because it seems topical, but also because it contains a phrase associated with a TV drama series that I’ve been watching on DVD. Feel free to offer a guess of the name of the series through the comments box.

    #Belial #JohnMilton #literature #Pandaemonium #ParadiseLost #Poetry #Satan
  9. Vince is back with our #WeeklyPicks in time for your weekend reading!

    𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 ✨

    A Book You’ve Been Meaning To Read: The Underground Railroad by #ColsonWhitehead

    The Engine House by #RhysDylan ( #DCIEvanWarlow Series)
    How We Learn by #StanislasDehaene
    The Cleaner by #MarkDawson ( #JohnMilton Series)
    The Mothers by #BritBennett

    Read all of Vince’s picks online at our site. 📚

    🔗 Link in Comments #bookstodon

  10. Vince is back with our #WeeklyPicks in time for your weekend reading!

    𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 ✨

    A Book You’ve Been Meaning To Read: The Underground Railroad by #ColsonWhitehead

    The Engine House by #RhysDylan ( #DCIEvanWarlow Series)
    How We Learn by #StanislasDehaene
    The Cleaner by #MarkDawson ( #JohnMilton Series)
    The Mothers by #BritBennett

    Read all of Vince’s picks online at our site. 📚

    🔗 Link in Comments #bookstodon

  11. Visiting the Frankenstein exhibition in Selfridge's and they've got a first edition of Paradise Lost on display (among many other cool things). #maryshelley #johnmilton #paradiselost #frankenstein

  12. Visiting the Frankenstein exhibition in Selfridge's and they've got a first edition of Paradise Lost on display (among many other cool things). #maryshelley #johnmilton #paradiselost #frankenstein

  13. These were the weeks in 1649 when #JohnMilton was writing the tenure of #kings and #magistrates pointing out that many #people love a #tyrant because they love not #freedom but #license which never hath more scope or more indulgence than under #tyrants
    t.me/crapitalism/252

  14. 'O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,
    Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings!'
    – MILTON

    Excerpt From
    Daniel Deronda
    George Eliot

    "The epigraph reflects the importance of maintaining faith and hope during moments of moral or emotional trial."

  15. 🔴 📖 🎥 **The HARDEST BOOK I Ever Read and ... How ANYONE Can Read It**

    Rob Pirie - The Cause

    _“The poem is written in blank verse in iambic pentameter. The poem makes music when read correctly which allows the poem to have a charm and enchantment I have never experienced in any other book.”_

    #Video length: six minutes and forty-three seconds.

    🔗 youtube.com/watch?v=nFikiP4g-f

    #English #Poetry #Literature #JohnMilton #Milton #Read #Reading #Book #Books #Bookstodon @poetry @literature @bookstodon

  16. Lera Auerbach: Lost Paradise Regained

    • The Russian Lera Auerbach (1973) does not shy away from major challenges. And that is an understatement. Recently she made a big impression with her cycle Goetia 72: in umbra lucis, a setting of the names of 72 demons for the Netherlands Chamber Choir and Quatuor Danel. At the same time a CD appeared with 72 Angels: in splendore lucis, in which she set 72 names of angels for the same choir and the Raschèr Saxophone Quartet.

    Her music often has a spiritual element. In addition to the above-mentioned full-length choral cycles she composed impressive works such as Dialogues on Stabat Mater (2005); the large-scale Requiem: Ode to Peace (2012) and the forty-minute Violin Concerto De profundis (2015).

    Auerbach regularly spices up her music with electronic instruments such as the theremin and the ondes martenot. Both were developed in the 1920s and produce an otherworldly sound midway between a human voice, a singing saw and a violin. Thus making it the ideal musical representative of her often esoteric subject matter.

    In 2011 Auerbach made her debut in the Friday concert series with ‘ordinary’ instruments when the Radio Chamber Orchestra played her Serenade for a Melancholic Sea for violin, piano, cello and string orchestra. In 2019 she composed Evas Klage, a joint commission from RSO Wien, Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and AVROTROS Vrijdagconcert. This will have its Dutch premiere on 28 February with the Radio Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by their brand new chief Karina Canellakis. The previous night they will present a foretaste in the series Pieces of Tomorrow.

    In Evas Klage, too, the ondes martenot play a major role. A thunderous orchestral introduction is succeeded by softly wailing sounds, like the weeping of a desperate ghost. The wistfully descending and ascending lines of the ondes martenot run like a thread through the piece. You automatically associate this with the voice of Eva, who is lamenting her fate. Regularly the orchestra tries to silence the fragile whimpering with ferocious outbursts of brass and percussion.

    The sometimes violent atmosphere is explained by the subtitle: O Blumen, die niemals blühen werden. Auerbach quotes this verse from Paradise Lost by John Milton in German, because the first performance took place in Vienna. For the composer, this sentence symbolises the oppression of women throughout the centuries. Rarely, if ever, did they have the opportunity to develop their talents: their voices were stifled.

    In Evas Klage, the ondes martenot – Eve’s voice – is continuously in danger of going under. But towards the end her singing ascends to heaven, leaving the orchestra behind on earth. Yet there is not only doom and gloom, for Auerbach weaves fragments of early music through her score. Both reference Henry Purcell.

    Quite in the beginning we hear a quotation of his witty song What Can We Poor Females Do? To which an answer comes in the form of the well-known Music for a While. The message: the ladies may enjoy themselves with music. – Be it only as a momentary diversion.

    The ethereal finale leaves no doubt that this Eve won’t be bullied into making ‘music for a while’. She brilliantly overcomes all obstacles, as is powerfully illustrated by a constantly rising melodic line at the end. ‘Perhaps the answer is to rise, to stay above, to remain above it all’ writes Auerbach. Thus we may keep a glimpse of the lost paradise, ‘as the inner light of childhood when the world was still undefined and everything was possible’.

    Eve frees herself from her subordinate place ‘in umbra lucis’ – in the shadow of light, and self-confidently chooses a place ‘in splendore lucis’ – in bright light. In doing so she turns her lost paradise into a paradise regained.

    The reviews of the world premiere in Vienna in October 2019 were unanimously laudatory. ‘The piece has a motivic richness that is both intellectually and sensually accessible’, opined the Wiener Zeitung. I wholeheartedly agree. – Hope to see you at the concert!

    #AVROTROSVrijdagconcert #JohnMilton #KarinaCanellakis #LeraAuerbach #ParadiseLost #PiecesOfTomorrow #RadioFilharmonischOrkest