Before Batman, before any literary villain, there was Satan, and in Milton's hands, he became something far more terrifying than a mere adversary. He is brilliant, wounded, raging against a heaven that cast him out, and yet somehow still magnificent. Paradise Lost opens in medias res, with Satan and his rebel angels writhing in Hell after their failed coup, and from this moment of cosmic defeat, the poem unfurls its magnificent argument about free will, obedience, and the nature of evil itself. Milton's real daring lies in making us understand Satan, even as we recognize his damnation. The poem then turns to Eden, to Adam and Eve in their innocent garden, and to the serpent's patient corruption of mankind, rendered with such sensuality and psychological acuity that the Fall feels less like divine punishment than like a tragedy of genuine, devastating choice. This is a work that justified its own subtitle: the "ways of God to men," wrestled with on every page through ten thousand lines of the most muscular blank verse in the English language. It is both a theological argument and a masterpiece of narrative art, its Satan heroic in his defiance and tragic in his self-destruction, its Adam and Eve startlingly human in their curiosity and vulnerability. It ends not in despair but in hope, man expelled, yes, but carrying the promise of redemption. Four centuries later, it remains the foundational text of English literature, the poem against which all others are measured.
