Dante's Inferno

With the exception of the Holy Bible I think this is the oldest book I have read in a long time. Written at the beginning of fourteenth century, this is the tale of a man in a mid-life crisis that wanders off one day into an allegorical vision of a journey through hell in order to finally reach salvation.

The author casts himself as the character in question and the events of the book are written in the first person. Dante was the son of a wealthy Florentine family and a politician, and as such many of the characters that he encounters in hell are contempories of his own life. As he descends further and further down into hell the author exacts his revenge on those he has despised in life by casting them in more and more loathsome dispositions in that dark eternal afterlife.

Dante is accompanied and guided on his journey through hell by the long defunct poet Virgil. Virgil's ghost has dwelled in hell for some time, in the outer circles because of his pagan life, a life that did not (indeed could not) know Christ. Virgil is familiar with the entirety of hell however and will show Dante every corner on their journey. From time to time the way is barred against them both, and at such times angelic visitations from God intervene and secure passage for the two. The powerful creatures found at the bottom at most of the circles of hell (which spirals down to the center of the Earth) are compelled to act as conductors for the pair, transporting them across whatever impasse might bar their way.

As the circles of hell become deeper and deeper the punishments of the incarcerated souls becomes greater and greater. Those least sinned, who couldn’t decide to believe in anything in life, for example (this is a sin?) must merely run around after a blank banner for all time. This pales into insignificance beside the lowest darkest circles where souls stand head down in rivers of feces.

I'll take the blank banner, thanks.

Much of the descriptive element of this book follows a common formula from level to level…Dante describes the level, Virgil explains who gets to go there, Dante asks who might be there that he knew up in Italy, he meets and talks to some regretful soul there, and describes their punishment in detail, then the "boss" of that level, some monster or other transports them to the next circle.

Thus, really proceeds the book…character after character from both the life of Dante in Italy, and from the history of the world come before us. I found that for the most part the characters were opaque to me because of my ignorance of ancient history, and because the "local" characters were only infamous in Dante's only time and place. What I did quickly gather was that Dante was busy lampooning people that he didn't like. I found this a rather childish display of passive aggression, akin to a schoolchild drawing a picture of a hated teacher being blown up or whatever other torture they might fantasize. In short, the characters from Dante's own life added nothing to my appreciation of the scenes they inhabited.

Again, though I freely confess that the cause is my own ignorance, many of the characters from Classical history were too obscure for me to grasp their significance (the significance usually lying in the nature of their offence to heaven.) Whatever the reason, they likewise added little to my appreciation of the scenes where they were depicted. The characters usually spend most of their dialogue telling Dante either how much they despise what has happened to them, or giving him messages for their loved ones or descendants above. Somewhat dull really.

I did enjoy the descriptions of the circles of hell themselves. These were fairly colorful and the punishments being inflicted were really not awfully graphic, and certainly would not offend anyone who could tolerate even the tamest of today's horror movies. There is the occasional piece of "bad language" usually relating to misplaced bodily functions, but for the most part this book could be read by anyone.

However, though you could read it, I really can't say that I would recommend that you do. For me, this book was not as poetic as I had occasionally heard it made out to be, and the reading of it was not worth the effort of time. Some florid fantasies on the subject of an antiquated hierarchy of right and wrong, a gallon of boiled pitch from the bitter heart of a passive aggressive, all distilled into a stewed and over-aged drawl on the pains of the fear of death and vengeance. Not my cup of tea.