Purgatorio

The main thing I learned is that the best time to read (or reread) this classic is during Lent. Who knew?

Like the rest of the Commedia, the poem is meticulously structured. The three parts are the arrival at Mount Purgatory (the only landmass opposite the inhabited continents of the known Earth), then the climb up the mountain around the seven cornices of purification, then the allegorical pageant of the blessed in the Earthly Paradise. Unlike the descent into Hell, Dante and Virgil complete their ascent over the course of a few days after Easter AD 1300, and because they may not make upward progress while the Sun is down, there are enforced rest (and dream) periods. This time when Dante interviews the souls they have an orientation show more toward Heaven; they are already saved, and submit to their trials voluntarily, as a sort of ultimate self-improvement. The stories are sometimes quite similar to what we saw in Inferno, with the addition of a sincere repentance and absolution at the end. At the same time, Dante the pilgrim is changing, having his sins erased from his brow as he grows lighter and lighter on his trip up the mountain. The way Dante understands what he sees when he arrives in Eden is Scholastic, not psychological, and it takes a fair amount of exertion to get into the proper frame of mind to appreciate the symbols and allusions packed into these scenes. This kind of work is not for everyone, probably, but there are moments of great beauty for the reader who can make the journey. show less

There are two kinds of people who read Dante. The first kind gets all excited about people stuck head down in piles of shit, and wishes that the adulterers and libertines could just keep on doing what they did in the real world, because it's so romantic. The second kind gets all excited about griffins pulling chariots, the relationship between the political and the religious, and the neoplatonic ascent from beautiful woman to Beauty and God. I am the second kind; I can see the pull of the first kind, and I understand it, but really. The whole thing just gets better the further on it goes. Hell is like a decent TV drama with an episode each week, say, House. Purgatorio (and, from memory, Paradiso) are to Inferno what The Wire is to show more House. Sometimes you just want to watch 45 minutes of cool stuff; sometimes you want something a bit less immediately gratifying, but a more substantial. And this is the substance.

Luckily, the Hollanders are here to translate this thing for you and to give you the insider knowledge you'll need to get a hold of that substance. It isn't easy, unless you're a medievalist who knows the psalms by heart in latin, which I am not and, I'm guessing, neither are you. Because those people are not writing or reading goodreads reviews. They are studying ancient manuscripts and debating whether that letter there is an iota or a lambda. Good for them. Good for the head in a bucket of shit loving people. Good for all. show less

I recently heard a lecture by Roberto Manguel at my local museum. During the question and answer period, he mentioned that he reads a canto from Dante every morning as part of his routine. Having already read *Inferno* last year, I decided to experiment with Manguel's meditative approach as I continued with *Purgatory*. I must confess only a limited success here: admittedly, I am too far removed from Dante's 14th century Italian world to enjoy his poetry in a 'spiritual' or deeply aesthetic, contemplative sense. (Perhaps this makes me a pagan in the world of literature?) To be sure, I *do* appreciate the *Divine Comedy*, but it requires no small degree of effort to grasp the context and backgrounds of the historical characters Dante show more employs. Perhaps one day, you know, when I can speak and read Italian like Manguel (and go get a degree in medieval history), I will be able to appreciate Dante as a transcendent muse... but for now, I can only appreciate Dante like a student awes at the complexity and multidimensional properties of a distant text.

To this point of entering Dante's world as an outsider, I continued to appreciate Mark Musa's translation and editorial efforts with this volume. After reading his translation of *Inferno* and comparing it with a few others, I decided to continue on with him for *Purgatory* and *Paradise* (which is presently sitting on my bookshelf as well). In addition to the helpful, substantive introductions to each volume, he begins each canto with a brief outline of what is about to happen in the narrative, and then concludes each canto with a relatively comprehensive commentary. For me, this commentary was absolutely vital: I'm not sure if I would have understood/appreciated a fraction of what I've been able to take away from Dante so far without it.

One final note about Dante: I can't help but marvel at the depth to which Dante's vision of the afterlife influenced the evolution of Christianity. Of course, Dante himself was deeply influenced by medieval church thought (and especially, indelibly, by Thomas Aquinas), but encountering his interpretations of, say, the stories of Cain and Able or the Tower of Babel leaves one to wonder at just the extent to which Dante influenced later theological endeavors. In hindsight, many of the images and assumptions I had as a young child about heaven and hell didn't necessarily come from the Bible directly -- they actually came from Dante, but I certainly didn't realize it at the time. show less

After Dante’s journey through Hell in the Inferno, Dante’s guide, Virgil, leads him through Purgatory. This second part of Dante’s Divine Comedy didn’t wow me as much as the Inferno. I think it’s because I don’t have a doctrinal foundation for purgatory with my Protestant background. I can relate to heaven and hell, but apparently purgatory is based on passages in deuterocanonical books that are not part of the Protestant Bible. This was unfamiliar territory for me, so the commentary was essential to my understanding of the book.

Speaking of the commentary, I read Dorothy Sayers’ translation. Sayers is most famous for her Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries. However, she also wrote several theological works, and she brought this show more knowledge of theology to her translation of Dante. show less

When I hear discussion about the Divine Comedy, mostly I hear references to Inferno. It’s all Grr Argh suffering. Look the angst. The pathos. The humanity of it all.

Hello, everyone is damned. Great story, but everyone is in hell. Now Purgatorio is something I can sink my teeth into. Sure people are suffering. However, instead of reenacting the results of their errors over and over, they are purging away the sin itself.

Purgatory is about hope. The suffering isn’t about making people, well, suffer. Purgatory isn’t about punishment. The suffering is God’s way of helping sinners wrap their brain around why and how that sin hurts them. Hurts others. Basically, it’s God showing a little tough love. Purgatory is hopeful because show more eventually, Purgatory will be empty. There is the promise that one day, each sinner will have a place in paradise.

Purgatory is also about people. They aren’t damned and they aren’t saved. They weren’t saints. Most of them screwed up at some point or another. That’s why they are there.

Casella, who sings in the sweet new style. Okay, so he waited a bit to long to reform, but at least he reformed. Save me, but not yet.

La Pia, who was filled with envy, the mean old woman on her porch making fun of people. Now she sits with her eyes sewn shut, talking with others. Learning to listen. Learning to lean on others for support.

Statius, who hid his Christianity out of fear. And okay, you gotta love a guy who starts out by saying that Virgil is his hero and you, the reader, know Virgil is standing right there. And Dante the character starts to lose it. Okay, it’s couched in poetic language. But come on, his eyes are filled with mirth and he’s dying to tell Statius, hey your hero, he’s standing right next to you. Lovely moment.

Although, there is a thread of sadness that runs through the narrative. Virgil. He’s damned through no fault of his own. Over and over Dante returns to a question that clearly bothers him. How can Virgil, brave, noble, Dante’s literary father, be damned. Which as I think of it is an another example of Dante’s damned fathers, saved sons theme.

There is something so fresh and poignant about that moment, when upon seeing Beatrice, Dante is struck by confusion. Turns to ask Virgil what he should do, but Virgil has slipped away all unnoticed to return to his blameless place in hell.

I first read Purgatory for my favorite class in college, "Dante", and lo these years later, I still like to return on occasion to climb up the mountain. show less

A translation just as readable as Musa's previous translation of the first canticle of the Divine Comedy, although one which also falls pray at times to similar errors of historical facts in the notes.

I like this canticle a lot less than I do Inferno. The higher Dante and Virgil climb, the more overwhelming the theological aspects of the work become, the more dogmatic it becomes, and the less awe-inspiring the set-pieces become. Perhaps this is just because I am approaching it from the viewpoint of an Atheist Who Still Has Lashings Of Catholic Guilt, but it makes it much less engaging for me.

Though I suppose that begs the uncomfortable question of why I would find the section devoted to the eternal punishments of Hell more engaging than show more the promise of eternal salvation. Still with the Catholic guilt thing, I guess. show less

This is the second part of Dante's Divine Comedy. The first took us through Hell, and this part takes us through Purgatory--the realm where Catholics believe those souls not saints spend time purging their sins before entering Heaven. And that's the key difference: Hope. Dante famously has the gateway into Hell read "Abandon All Hope." The punishments in Hell are purposeless and its denizens are without hope they'll ever see an end. So Purgatory is less dark, less grotesque, and alas, less memorable.

There is beautiful poetry to be found here and gorgeous imagery and use of classical and biblical materials. But the fact is that without refreshing my memory with a reread there is so much of Hell I remember. The eternal scorching wind of show more the first part with Francesca Rimini and her lover. Gianni Schicci in the Circle of Impersonators, Dante's friend who is eternally condemned for being a homosexual, Mohamed among the schismatics, and Judas, Brutus and Cassius in the lake of ice in the lowest circle being chewed on by Satan.

With Purgatory I did remember Dante's architecture--the seven ledges in the Mountain each dealing with punishing and purging one of the Seven Deadly Sins. But I didn't remember the people, outside of Dante's guide Virgil and the wrench I felt when he was replaced with Dante's love Beatrice. Dante's Hell admittedly has the advantage of being echoed in both popular and elite culture. Gianni Schichi and Francesca di Rimini both have operas of that name; I can remember a book--I think it was by Piers Anthony--where Mohammed complains about winding up in a Christian Hell. And haven't we all heard of the Ninth Circle? Dante's Purgatory doesn't have that advantage.

Don't get me wrong. This is still amazing and worth the read. Recently I read Moby Dick and though it had powerful passages I found it self-indulgent and bloated and devoutly wished an editor had taken a hatchet to the numerous digressions. There is no such thing as digressions in Dante. I don't think I've ever read a more carefully crafted work. The number of cantos, the rhyme scheme--everything has a meaning. Nothing is incidental or left to chance here. All in all, like Dante's Hell, this is an imaginary landscape worthy of Tolkien or Pratchett, both in large ways and small details. I found it fitting how Dante tied both sins and virtues to love--a sin was love misdirected or applied. Then there are all the striking phrases, plays of ideas and gorgeous imagery that comes through despite translations.

I loved The Divine Comedy so much upon my first read (I read the Dorothy Sayers translation) I went out and bought two other versions. One by Allen Mandelbaum (primarily because it was a dual language book with the Italian on one page facing the English translation) and a hardcover version translated by Charles Eliot Norton. Finally, before writing up my review and inspired by Matthew Pearl's The Dante Club, I got reacquainted by finding Longfellow's translation online. Of all of them, I greatly prefer Mandelbaum's translation. The others try to keep the rhyming and rhythm of the original and this means a sometimes tortured syntax and use of archaic words and the result is forced and often obscure, making the work much harder to read than it should be. show less