The Adventures of Nassali Teresa

are finished!! At least, the first draft is.

A huge and total hooray for NaPo. No way would I ever have made it this far with such a project without the daily NaPo prod.

I’m labeling this post “verse novel,” recalling this semi-prophetic post on verse novels from last August. But The Adventures of Nassali Teresa is not a verse novel — at 3,769 words and 18 pages it’s way too short for that.  But it’s still pretty long for a NaPo project.  And it’s definitely a story and definitely mostly in verse. Verse story?

It still needs a lot of work. I’ll probably work/rework it all the way through this weekend and then let it sit for a while and see how it hits me in a  month or so.

Then I’ll be looking for victims volunteers to pass judgment on it, so watch out…

(A happy bonus is that the tale includes 45 lines of blank verse, which definitely count towards the BV 1000 challenge. Up to 954 lines — only 46 to go! Hey, it’s only been two years since I started it…)

a jangling noise of words unknown

That’s Book 12, l. 55. I didn’t find myself gripped by much else in this last book.  After all the excitement of Book 10 and previous, Book 11 began a trend towards the ho-hum and Book 12 defnitely consolidated it.

(No more Lucifer, of course, which probably explains it.)

So that’s it for boring endless posts with great chunks of Paradise Lost.

Thank you for your patience.

all the cataracts of Heav’n

More grist for the brilliant movie mill. Here’s the Flood:

Meanwhile the Southwind rose, and with black wings
Wide hovering, all the Clouds together drove
From under Heav’n; the Hills to their supplie
Vapour, and Exhalation dusk and moist,
Sent up amain; and now the thick’nd Skie
Like a dark Ceeling stood; down rush’d the Rain
Impetuous, and continu’d till the Earth
No more was seen

Paradise Lost, Book 11, l. 738-745

most annoying theme in Paradise Lost


But still I see the tenor of Mans woe
Holds on the same, from Woman to begin.


From Mans effeminate slackness it begins,
Said th’ Angel, who should better hold his place
By wisdome, and superiour gifts receav’d.

Paradise Lost, Book 11, l. 632-636


dæmoniac phrenzie, moaping melancholie

Not sure whether this is funny or wonderful, or both. One of the many and varied of scenes of future human misery Michael lays out for Adam. It reads like an engraving from the Inferno. Kind of.

Immediately a place
Before his eyes appeard, sad, noysom, dark,
A Lazar-house it seemd, wherein were laid
Numbers of all diseas’d, all maladies
Of gastly Spasm, or racking torture, qualmes
Of heart-sick Agonie, all feavorous kinds,
Convulsions, Epilepsies, fierce Catarrhs,
Intestin Stone and Ulcer, Colic pangs,
Dæmoniac Phrenzie, moaping Melancholie
And Moon-struck madness, pining Atrophie
Marasmus and wide-wasting Pestilence,
Dropsies, and Asthma’s, and Joint-racking Rheums.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans

Paradise Lost, Book 11, l. 477-488

his bright appearances

Adam and Eve have been told by Michael that they’re being evicted from Eden, where they had hoped to be able to live out their disgrace, although in deep disgrace. Here’s Adam prefiguring multi-layered nostalgia, just too aching:

here I could frequent,
With worship, place by place where he voutsaf’d
Presence Divine, and to my Sons relate;
On this Mount he appeerd, under this Tree
Stood visible, among these Pines his voice
I heard, here with him at this Fountain talk’d:
So many grateful Altars I would reare
Of grassie Terfe, and pile up every Stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memorie,
Or monument to Ages, and thereon
Offer sweet smelling Gumms and Fruits and Flours:
In yonder nether World where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or foot step-trace?
For though I fled him angrie, yet recall’d
To life prolongd and promisd Race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory, and farr off his steps adore.

Paradise Lost, Book 11, l. 317-333