A Preface to Paradise Lost

by C.S. Lewis

As for the style of the poem, I have already noted this peculiar difficulty in the meeting the adverse critics, that they blame it for the very qualities which Milton and his lovers regard as virtues. Milton institutes solemn games, funeral games, and triumphal games in which we mourn the fall and celebrate the redemption of our species; they complain that his poetry is ‘like a solemn game’. He sets out to enchant us and they complain that the result sounds like an incantation. His Satan rises to make a speech before an audience of angels ‘innumerable as the starrs of night’ and they complain that he sounds as if he were ‘making a speech’. It reminds us of Aristotle’s question—if water itself sticks in a man’s throat, what will you give him to wash it down with? If a man blames port wine for being strong and sweet, or a woman’s arms for being white and smooth and round, or the sun for shining, or sleep because it puts thought away, how can we answer him?