The Fourth Last Thing Revisited Peter Heinegg The Penguin Book of Hell. By Scott G. Bruce, New York, NY: Penguin Random House, 2018. xvi + 279 pp. $17 (paper) It might seem strange that a professor of medieval history at Fordham who has written three books about the Benedictine abbey of Cluny should have compiled this lively, eccentric pop anthology of excerpts on hell, beginning with Hesiod and ending with William Blake—not the poet, but a prisoner who has served over twenty‐five years of solitary confinement in various New York State “correctional facilities.” But Bruce is also the editor of The Penguin Book of the Undead (2016), which, its publisher tells us, “teems with roving hordes of dead warriors, corpses trailed by packs of barking dogs, moaning phantoms haunting deserted ruins, evil spirits emerging from burning carcasses in the form of crows, and zombies with pestilential breath.” So, Bruce's interests are less theological than literary‐imaginative, not to say horripilative. His second‐longest section, after various cantos from the Inferno, comes under the heading “Hell for Children,” and derives from the sadistic pen of an Irish priest, John Furniss (1809–1865), who both mocks and terrorizes his target audience (actually teens rather than toddlers): What a good bargain you made to take the pains of eternity in exchange for the sin of a day, an hour, a moment. You cry now for your sin, but your crying comes too late. You liked bad company; you will find bad company enough here. Your father was a drunkard and showed you the way to the public‐house; he is still a drunkard. Look at him over there drinking red‐hot fire! You were too idle to go to Mass on Sundays. Be as idle as you like now, for there is no Mass to go to. You disobeyed your father, but you dare not disobey him who is your father in Hell. Look at him, that great chained monster; disobey him if you dare! Twenty pages of this, one wonders, but not a line, paragraph or chapter from Augustine's treatment of Hell in Books XXI and XXII of The City of God? (e.g., XXI, 11, “Whether it is just that the punishment of sins last longer than the sins themselves.”) Nor are there any citations from Paradise Lost, the greatest English text, bar none, about Hell; but on the other hand, Milton is not talking about pain meted out to humans, but to demons, who are in their own way heroically superhuman. Everything about them, like their palatial headquarters, Pandemonium, is grand and willy‐nilly evokes wonder rather than condemnation or pity. We get nothing of Jonathan Edwards’ immortal “Sinners in the Hand of an Angry God” (1741), and only a passing reference to Ignatius Loyola's searing meditation on Hell from the First Week of The Spiritual Exercises (1522–1524) or its famous panic‐stricken echo in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916). Well, perhaps those pieces have been overanthologized. In any case, we can be grateful for Bruce's uncovering of the Jesuit Giovanni Pietro Pinamonti's Hell Opened to Christians to Caution Them from Entering it (1693), a collection of sermons considerably more eloquent and sophisticated than Ignatius’ spare summary: So … we may say that eternity not only every moment tortures the damned, but that to the damned every moment is turned into many eternities. For, since evil is unavoidable, the expectation thereof is most certain, the fear of it perhaps more cruel than any executioner and the anticipation every moment redoubles the pain. You recoil to read these things and yet not to sin. If so, you fear a painted precipice, but fear not to cast yourself from a real one. Other valuable unfamiliar items in Bruce's menu include the anonymous Vision of Tundale (1149), an exceedingly graphic tour of Hell, provided as a warning to an errant Irish knight. Among other things, we learn here that the genitals of gluttons are “tortured with great wracking pains and corrupted with putrefaction that gushed with worms.” There is also a fine sermon, which Bruce labels “The Sharp Pangs of a...