Although some seem convinced it is so, I do not flatter myself that I have fully covered everything appertaining to Hell and Purgatory in my first two books. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I have voyaged through them, recording what I saw along the way. Which means there is but one book left for me to write—but one region left for me to explore: Paradise. One reader of the Comedy of Agony has said that my Hell is so much like Paradise to him that he would be happy to bathe in the healing balm of its flames forever. For such contentedly damned souls as this there is nothing more I can do. He who has found his Paradise in Hell needn’t waste his time looking for it elsewhere. Anyway, I am more concerned right now with those whose welfare I have neglected. I speak of those whom paradox is powerless to delight and who reject exultation in torment as an incomprehensible pastime. Adhering as they do to more traditional ideas about happiness and suffering, would they not prefer a different sort of Paradise than the one where you burn eternally? I think so. And I consider it my final task to bring into being a book that provides access to this far more mellifluous realm in whose landscapes of delight they may luxuriate: a book that promises nothing but page after page of pure bliss: a book like an infinite unfolding of light that at once inspires and lulls, dazzling the senses while plunging the mind into a dream.
(To be continued.)