In former times it was a simple place,
Where one could read without a blushing face,
With thickly bound and edifying titles,
Like Noble Greeks, and red highlighted Bibles,
And Shakespeare (sans Andronicus), and Mark Twain,
Whose humor, though defiant, was humane.
Today it’s more permissive, and diverse,
Though who’s to say it’s better, or it’s worse.
Now crammed beside the Good Book, mere shelves over,
Are bloody tales as chilling as October,
And novelettes as lurid as those scenes
Displayed in certain grownup magazines.
—J. P. Celia
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Nature’s God is Not Enough
In the Republic, Plato writes that unless liberated by philosophy, by the awakening of the divine part…
Letters—December 2026
In “The Left Is Right About the Bible” (October 2026), Mark Bauerlein makes a strong case that…
Will America Survive the Twenty-First Century?
Last year, the good folks at Canon Press asked me to contribute to a volume: Five Views…
