Fun Home by Alison Bechdel

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

 

I will confess, I mostly know Alison Bechdel from the litmus test that bears her name. 

 

If you aren’t familiar with the Bechdel Test, it was created by Bechdel to analyze movies. In order to pass, a movie has to have (1) at least two named women in it, who (2) talk to each other (3) about something other than a man. 

 

This is, obviously, a bare minimum, and yet somehow hundreds of movies fail to pass. Even really good movies. 

 

One can apply this to books or other art forms too, of course. 

 

I probably read an article or two written by Bechdel over the years, but wasn’t really all that familiar with her writing or art. 

 

So, I decided to grab a copy of Fun Home for a quick read on my most recent camping trip. 

 

The book is a graphic work, not a novel, but non-fiction. It is all about the author’s childhood, with a particular focus on her father. 

 

It is safe to say that the book isn’t nearly as “fun” as the title - it is very much sarcastic. 

 

In addition to the fact that quite possibly everyone in her family is on the autism spectrum, there was a lot of dysfunction. 

 

Her father could be violent and abusive, but mostly he was just emotionally absent. He was obsessed with the renovation and decorating of the old decrepit mansion he bought in his hometown, and intolerant of kids being kids. 

 

But there was more than that, as Alison eventually found out as an adult. Her dad was a closeted homosexual, who had a series of relationships with teen boys, nearly ending up in prison for one of the liaisons. During family visits to New York City, he would go out cruising, leaving the family behind. 

 

Alison didn’t have any idea about any of this as a child. It was well hidden, for the most part, and wasn’t talked about. 

 

What triggered everything happened when Alison went off to college. There, she realized she was a lesbian, and eventually came out to her parents. They weren’t horrible, but they weren’t entirely supportive either. 

 

Weirdly, her father wrote her letters that seemed to assume she knew his secrets, but since she didn’t they were just puzzling. At the same time, her mother decided she was going to file for divorce - again, something that Alison didn’t know. 

 

A few months later, her father was dead, hit by a semitruck. In Alison’s opinion, it was a suicide, but having read the book, there is plenty of grey. It could have been an accident. It could have been a spontaneous suicide. Or it could have been carefully planned. 

 

After this, all the secrets came out. 

 

I am skipping over a lot here, though. There is quite a bit more to the story. Alison and her father weren’t exactly close, but they did have the shared bond of literature. So many of the literary references were to books I have read and enjoyed - it would be a long task to list them all. 

Her mother was an amateur actor, in addition to teaching, and the scenes where she practices being Lady Bracknell are rather amusing. 

 

Oh, and I should mention that her father taught high school English, but also managed the family mortuary business part time. So, yeah, it was a weird upbringing even without the secrets. 

 

It is no wonder that Bechdel ended up with OCD and a few other tics. 

 

The incidents of childhood are told in such a recognizable way - any of us who remember being kids can see themselves in this family at least a little. 

 

The book is full of delightful illustrations - Bechdel is really good at portraying human emotion in simple drawing. The stories are fun, heartbreaking, and deeply human. 

 

 

The book has also been the target of bans, in significant part because of the gay themes, and the semi-graphic depictions of lesbian sex and masturbation. I say semi because there are naked breasts and butts and pubic hair, but no visible genitals.  

 

While I wouldn’t say the book is a light read, exactly, it is fast paced, and can be read in a single sitting if you wish. 

 

I was kind of surprised that the book was made into a musical, but at this point, what hasn’t? 

 

Anyway, I didn’t write any lines down, because it isn’t really that kind of a book. It needs to be experienced, not quoted, if that makes sense. I’d definitely give this one a read. 

 

And yes, it does in fact pass the Bechdel Test.

Couples by John Updike

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

 

Couples was my first experience of John Updike, who is generally considered one of the literary giants of the second half of the 20th Century. He is one of those authors that you vaguely feel you should read, but in my case had never gotten around to doing so. 

 

Interestingly, he was one of only four authors to have won the Pulitzer for fiction twice. I have read the other three: William Faulkner, Booth Tarkington, and Colson Whitehead. Thornton Wilder actually won three Pulitzers, but two of those were for drama, not fiction. 

 

I’m not entirely sure where to start with this post. Couples is a pretty long book and has a lot of detail in it. It is also a great snapshot of middle-class New England culture of the early 1960s. 

 

It is mostly about sex - specifically adultery - but while it is explicit enough, it isn’t particularly titillating. In a lot of ways, I found the people in the book to be tedious and even unpleasant. Which is different from finding the book to be tedious. Updike is a really good writer, and although the book did feel like it dragged at times, his descriptions and characterizations tend to draw you in. 

 

So perhaps I will start with this: I would consider being in this book as a character to be a peculiar form of hell. I would not like to hang out with these people. I would definitely not want to have sex with any of these people. I’d prefer to live a very different kind of life. 

 

But don’t think that Updike approved of his characters either. 

 

If anything, he makes a profoundly conservative argument: that the loss of a religious basis for sexual morality leads to a lack of meaning and direction to life. The hole that used to be filled with a certain culture and the religion it was connected to instead becomes filled with empty television, vapid dinner parties, and bored adultery. 

 

I looked it up after reading the book, and apparently Updike did go through a crisis of faith, before eventually landing on a kind of undefined “Christianity” that certainly wasn’t Evangelical or fundamentalist, but was complicated and inconsistent. 

 

On the one hand, I admire that his favorite Christian thinkers were Kirkegaard and Karl Barth - you could do a lot worse than that. He generally supported progressive politics, including strong support for diversity as an American value. On the other, like his characters, he was a serial adulterer throughout his life and left his first wife to be with one of his mistresses. His writing is also somewhat sexist, like most white males of his - or perhaps any - era. So, maybe someone you might like more at a distance than in person. 

 

Couples is about exactly what the name implies: a bunch of couples. And the ways they screw around. 

 

There are a total of ten couples, and they can be a bit difficult to keep track of. Some are more at the center of the story than others. 

 

All live in the fictional Massachusetts town of Tarbox (perhaps patterned after Ipswich.) They range from lower middle class - a construction contractor and an airline pilot - to upper middle class - scientists, a dentist, bankers. This class distinction, particularly who has a degree and who doesn’t, is part of the drama in the book. 

 

The age range is mostly in the mid-30s, with a few older and one couple - the new one - a bit younger. All have somehow entered that stage of life where boredom enters in, with or without kids. 

 

Their homes have fancy books they haven’t read, records with music from 10 years ago that they can dance to, and they get together for dinner parties with lots of drinking, impromptu sports games, and the usual civic activities. It’s very bourgeois, and very of an era. 

 

Honestly, I didn’t feel like I would have enjoyed these people, even though they are, more or less, my social class. I hang out with people, have dinner, enjoy adult beverages, etc., so I guess I am probably as boring as they are. 

 

It really is the stultifying conversations, the games, the small talk, that isn’t my cup of tea, I guess. 

 

And also, I really don’t find myself drawn to all the flirting and fucking. It seems like too much drama, too much intensity, too much risk-in-order-to-forget-the-ennui for my taste. 

 

The sex ranges quite a bit - it’s not all “cheating” as we tend to think of it. 

 

For example, we find out that the Saltz’s and Constantines have fallen into a foursome. And also that the women prefer each other to the men. 

 

The Applebys and the “little” Smiths start off with an affair initiated by Marcia Smith, then a retaliatory affair between Janet Appleby and Harold. But by the end of the episode, it has turned more into a spouse swap with everyone knowing about it. 

 

Then, there are some intentional affairs with consent, and plenty of old-fashioned sneaking. 

 

Perhaps Leonard Cohen was thinking of this book with his song:

 

Everybody knows that you love me baby

Everybody knows that you really do

Everybody knows that you've been faithful

Oh, give or take a night or two

Everybody knows you've been discreet

But there were so many people you just had to meet

Without your clothes

Everybody knows

 

There isn’t the usual protagonist in this book, with a more omniscient point of view, and switching perspectives, but the central character is probably Piet Hanema, the builder. I think he may be a bit of a stand-in for Updike, and he, um…gets around. 

 

The book starts with him fucking the dentist’s wife, Georgene. Until an accidental panty flash by “Foxy” Whitman, the pregnant wife of Ken, a probably autistic scientist. So they begin an affair while Piet remodels their new house. Oh, but later in the book, after he has tried to break up with Foxy, he has a fling with Bea Guerin. It gets complicated. 

 

I find Piet to be annoying and tedious, mostly because I dislike horndogs and guys who are always trying to find themselves in women’s beds. 

 

But Freddy, the dentist, is also one of the least likeable people in any book ever. He is acid, sexist, racist, cutting, amoral, offensive just for the effect. He also understands the others best, though, which makes him necessary to the story in addition to the requirements of the plot. 

 

I probably don’t have to say that things go sidewise by the end of the book, for pretty much everyone. 

 

There is no happy ending, although the ending isn’t exactly either a tragedy or a catastrophe. It just IS. The group of couples breaks up, as well as a few marriages, but there are other factors outside of the sex. Loss of jobs, geographical moves, a new set of “it” couples that take over the social scene. Life moves on. 

 

I will also note that in addition to the religious question - which Updike raises but doesn’t answer - there is also the profound social change brought on by female-controlled contraceptives. The pill. Which certainly changed the calculation for sex outside of marriage, whether before or during. 

 

I find it fascinating that, statistically speaking, the most promiscuous generation on record is the Baby Boomer generation, followed closely by the generation in this book: the Silent Generation. Those generations had first intercourse the earliest, had the most sexual partners, and the most teen pregnancies. Later generations have seen all of those decline. Each generation waits longer, has fewer partners, delays childbearing, and generally sleeps around less. So much for “the kids are all hooking up in ways we never did.” The opposite is true. 

 

For this book, the first flush of the feeling that all sex is possible affects all the characters. Suddenly, the risk of pregnancy need not be taken. Religion no longer binds those who do not believe - and even those who do seem to feel less guilt with less social pressure. What should one do? Is everything permissible now? 

 

Related, of course, is what a reasonable expectation is for a spouse. Prior to the sexual revolution, men could, naturally, sleep around as much as they liked, just not with other men’s wives. For wives, no such option was acceptable. So the real change here was the question of whether a man could rightfully complain if his wife fucked like he did. 

 

It’s all mixed up, and there are lots of emotions. That said, Updike dwells much more on the physical, and on the sexual desires of his male characters. Although the women aren’t left out exactly - and their drives are the cause of many of the hookups. I would say that it is more a male-centric perspective rather than an erasure of the women and their humanity. I certainly have read far worse, even in 21st Century literature. 

 

I’m not even going to try to link my favorite lines with the plot in this case. Rather, I think they stand alone as interesting. 

 

Piet, ironically, is one of the more religious characters - he and Foxy - which is why their affair is perhaps more fraught. He lost his parents all too early to a car accident, and this has driven him back to religion. 

 

Piet wondered what barred him from the ranks of those blessed who believed nothing. Courage, he supposed. His nerve had cracked when his parents died. To break with a faith requires a moment of courage, and courage is a kind of margin within us, and after his parents’ swift death Piet had no margin. 

 

Roger’s description of Tarbox:

 

“There’s nothing romantic or eccentric about Tarbox. The Puritans tried to make it a port but they got silted in. Like everything in New England, it’s passe, only more so.” 

 

The conversation between Harold and Janet regarding their spouses’ affair is pretty funny. 

 

“Well it’s the others I’m trying to talk about, Marcia and Frank. You keep talking about you and me going to bed. They are going to bed. What are you going to do about it, Harold?”

“Bring me some evidence, and I’ll confront her with it.”

“What kind of evidence do you expect? Dirty pictures? A notarized diaphragm?” 

 

Harold also has one of the most beautiful lines in the book, and one that I really find true of myself. 

 

Harold believed that beauty was what happened between people, was in a sense the trace of what had happened, so he in truth found her, though minutely creased and puckered and sagging, more beautiful than the unused girl whose ruins she thought of herself as inhabiting. 

 

If you know, you know. 

 

Another line really gets to the heart of the question at the core of the book. How much of “morality” is an internal sense of right and wrong, and how much is just a fear of what other people think?

 

For much of what they took to be morality proved to be merely consciousness of the other couples watching them.

 

This is true in other contexts too. What Trump has done to destroy the “morality” of white Evangelicals is to remove this fear of what other people think. He has blessed the evil that already existed, but was kept in check by fear of reputation loss. 

 

Related is what Piet asks Foxy after one of their trysts. 

 

“Piet. What will the world do to us?”

“Is it God or the world you care about?”

“You think of them as different. I think of them as the same.”

 

So often, in older books, I run across something I thought of as “modern” but turns out to have been done before. For example, remember the running of celebrity names together? “Bennifer.” “Brangelina.” 

 

Well, in this book, the quadrangle that is the Applebys and the Smiths become, in the parlance of the other couples, the “Applesmiths.” And the ménage à quatre between the Saltzes and Constantines becomes “the Saltines.” Yeah, terrible. But terrible long before I was born. 

 

Another question that factors in to the different affairs is the question of younger marriage. Ken and Foxy marry for the wrong reasons, as Foxy well knows. She was on the rebound from a Jewish man her anti-semitic parents disapproved of, and Ken checked all the boxes. This is from a conversation Foxy has with her mother, after confessing her affair. (Mom is divorced, and also complicated…) 

 

“You ask me about Ken. I think what’s wrong with him is that I didn’t choose him. You chose him. Daddy chose him. Radcliffe and Harvard chose him. All the world agreed he was right for me, and that’s why he’s not. Nobody knew me. Nobody cared. I was just something to be bundled up and got out of the way so you and Daddy could have your wonderful divorce.” 

 

It’s more complicated than that, and Foxy knows what she said about her parents isn’t the whole truth. But it also isn’t an untruth. 

 

For the final line, I have to give a spoiler. If you don’t want the spoiler, don’t read the next part. 

 

After giving birth, Foxy accidentally gets pregnant by Piet. They decide to procure an (illegal - this is 1963) abortion, and know Freddy has connections. But Freddy, if he is going to risk being an accessory to a crime, wants payment. What he wants is a chance to sleep with Piet’s wife Angela as a revenge fuck for Piet having fucked Georgene. 

 

This is where it gets a bit weird. Piet never explains why Angela should fuck Freddy, and she doesn’t demand the whole story. (Although she suspects.) But she also has something to add to the conversation. (Honestly, of all the women in the book. I think I’d take Angela.) 

 

The conversation goes a weird direction. Piet hints that he is in some form of trouble. Angela initially thinks he wants a divorce, but he tells her that what he needs from her would only take a night. 

 

“Sleep with Freddy Thorne,” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Isn’t it right?” 

Finally he repeated, “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s always told me he would get into bed with me some day. For years he’s been wanting to get a hold over you. Now does he have it?”

Piet answered, “Yes.” 

“And is that what he wants?”

His silent nodding made the bed slightly shudder.

“Don’t be shocked,” Angela went on, in a voice soft as the dark, “he’s been working on it for years, and would tell me, and I imagined I should laugh. What I always thought strange, was that he never just asked me, on his own merits, but assumed it had to be worked by bullying you. I don’t love him, of course, but he can be appealing sometimes, and I’ve been unhappy enough with you so that it might have happened by itself, if he’d just been direct.” 

 

It’s a really weird scene, but actually compelling and realistic. It is one of the glimpses we have into Angela, who feels she isn’t attractive to men - particularly to Piet at this point, but the others as well. Seeing her emotions, her dreams and desires, is fascinating, and she turns out to be someone very different from the boring housewife and mother the others think she is. As I said, she’s the woman in this book I would prefer. 

 

Having read this book, I don’t know if I will be reading more Updike. It was good, but also of its time in a way. I suppose I should probably read at least one of the Rabbit books. The writing made the book a good read, but the subject matter didn’t particularly speak to me. Your mileage may vary. 

 

Miscellaneous Poems by John Milton

Source of book: I own this

Milton was a complicated character, to say the least. 

 

He was devoutly religious - indeed a Puritan (or at least Puritan-adjacent). He served in Oliver Cromwell’s administration. Yet he was also nonconforming in both doctrine and practice. He was an Arian (anti-Trinitarian) who also believed in free will. And he seemed to get in some trouble with every political and religious establishment, perhaps because he insisted on a person’s right to interpret the Bible for themselves. 

 

He was in certain ways, well ahead of his times. He was an ardent advocate for freedom of speech and freedom of religion. He argued for the separation of church and state long before it was enshrined in constitutions. 

 

Many will be surprised that he also advocated - in the 17th Century! - for no-fault divorce. It was his belief that marriage was a mutual agreement by two people rather than a binding unbreakable contract. If the couple found they were incompatible, they should be free to admit their mistake and move on. Yeah, that’s pretty radical - California was the first no-fault divorce state starting in the….1960s. 

 

On the other hand, one of the reasons that he was pro-divorce was his own marriage. His first marriage resulted in his wife leaving him mere months into it. By all accounts, they both felt they had made a mistake. And also, there is evidence that Milton, for all his progressive ideas, was a bit of a sexist and preferred to be served by his spouse. 

 

They would eventually reconcile and have four children together, before she died from childbirth. His second wife would do so as well. The third time was the charm, apparently. By that time, Milton was blind, and she was by all accounts a devoted caretaker. 

 

I have previously written about two other works by Milton. Paradise Lost, of course - arguably the greatest epic written in English, and a work with the same complexity of morality and theology as its author. It never fails to fascinate me that he ended up making Satan seem like the hero of the story, and I wonder if to a degree, he realized at some unconscious level that he and the Satan of the story weren’t unalike. That tension is one reason the poem continues to resonate today, even with non-religious readers. 

 

The other work I read and discussed is Areopagitica, Milton’s brilliant pamphlet arguing in favor of freedom of speech and freedom of thought. Naturally, it was banned before its publication. I still re-post it for Banned Books Week every year. 

 

"And yet, on the other hand, 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."

Outside of Paradise Lost, Milton didn’t actually write that many poems. I was somewhat surprised to realize this. He lived fairly long for his era, but much of his time was taken by the longer works, the prose, and his other activities. Compared to, say, Wordsworth or Tennyson, he really only wrote a few. 

 

That said, what he did leave was pretty good. 

 

For this post, I read all of his other poetry except the Masques. 

 

These can be divided into various categories. There are a handful of juvenile poems in various forms. There are a number of excellent sonnets. And there are three collections of Psalms translated and set as modern English poetry. And a handful of others here and there. 

 

As one might expect, many of the poems are religious. One mid-sized example is “The Passion,” which is an unfinished fragment of eight stanzas, begun when Milton was a teen. Here is one particular stanza that I thought good.

 

The latest scenes confine my roving vers,

To this horizon is my Phoebus bound,

His godlike acts, and His temptations fierce,

And former sufferings otherwhere are found;

Loud o’er the rest Cremona’s trump doth sound;

            Me softer airs befit, and softer strings

Of lute or viol still, more apt for mournful things.

 

Another poem that stood out to me is this one:

 

On Time

 

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy, leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace,

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more than what is false and vain,

And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So litter is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,

And last of all thy greedy self consumed,

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss,

And joy shall overtake us as a flood;

When everything that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine

About the supreme throne

Of Him, t’whose happy-making sight alone

When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb,

Then, all this earthly grossness quit,

Attired with stars we shall forever sit

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.

 

Note the archaic reference to a “plummet” - what we would now call a plumb line. All are related to the Latin word for lead. So here Milton is referencing the previous line while insisting that lead’s pace is actually a fast fall. Time might as well fly, because the end of Time is the end of all that is earthly in death. 

 

Milton clearly felt the ticking of the clock, and his impending death - even while young. One of his early sonnets is a great example. 

 

On Being Arrived at Twenty-three Years of Age

 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud nor blossom shew’th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth

That I to manhood am arrived so near;

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th.

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven.

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-Master’s eye.

 

Here is another one that I liked: 

 

Song on May Morning

 

Now the bright morning-star, day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire,

Mirth and youth and warm desire,

Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

 

I’m not going to quote the whole thing, but I want to mention a line in “L’Allegro” that caught my eye. 

 

Come, and trip it, as you go,

On the light fantastic toe;

 

Did you ever wonder where “trip the light fantastic” came from? Well, there you go. Milton did it first. The phrase stuck, and even became the title of a Terry Pratchett fantasy. 

 

There are a few random translations in the collection. Some, like this one, are translations of whole poems, in this case, one by Horace, which he claims is fairly word for word, without rhyme, as in the original.  

 

The Fifth Ode of Horace

 

What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave.

Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he

On faith and changed gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms

Unwonted shall admire?

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold;

Who always vacant, always amiable,

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful. Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem’st fair! Me, in my vowed

Picture, the sacred wall declares t’ have hung

My dank and drooping weeds

To the stern God of Sea.

 

The reference to Pyrrha is best understood if you know the story. 

 

It might seem cliche, but I think that Milton’s most famous sonnet is an incredible, essentially perfect, example of the form. I first read it in high school, and it has aged well. I still think the last line is one of the most badass things ever written

 

On His Blindness

 

When I consider how my light is spent,

   Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

   And that one Talent which is death to hide

   Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

   My true account, lest he returning chide;

   “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”

   I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

   Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best

   Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

   And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:

   They also serve who only stand and wait.”

 

The Psalms are quite interesting. The first two were written when he was all of 15 years old. While I wouldn’t say they are good as his later ones, they are nonetheless impressive. As one who knows the Psalms in various English translations, I find his choices fascinating. Translation is an art, not a science, and poetry in particular is a compromise between form and meaning. Even the decision to attempt such a project is an effort of theological interpretation that reveals Milton’s beliefs. 

 

The two latter sets were written in a short period of time. The first is Psalms 1 through 8, each translated on a consecutive day in August of 1653 (with a break for Sunday, naturally.) The second set is Psalm 80 through 88, and were written a few years earlier, in 1648. 

 

I selected this one as my favorite of the bunch, although all of them are good. 

 

Psalm III

 

Lord, how many are my foes!

How many those

That in arms against me rise!

Many are they

That of my life distrustfully thus say,

‘No help for him in God there lies.’

But thou, Lord, art my shield, my glory;

Th’ exalter of my head I count:

Aloud I cried

Unto Jehovah; he full soon replied,

And heard me from his holy mount.

I lay and slept; I waked again:

For my sustain

Was the Lord. Of many millions

The populous rout

I fear not, though encamping round about,

They pitch against me their pavilions.

Rise, Lord; save me, my God! for thou

Hast smote ere now

On the cheek-bone all my foes,

Of men abhorred

Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord;

Thy blessing on thy people flows.

 

At the end of this collection are a few brief quotations, translated from ancient authors. I liked this one from Horace:

 

“Jesting decides great things

Stronglier, and better oft then earnest can.”

 

It has been a while since I read the really old English language poetry, and it was definitely time. I do think Milton was a great writer, and it is a shame he didn’t leave more poetry behind.