At the age of three, little me toddled to the edge of another world. It was a mighty volume on Bosch, and in truth, it was my first book to contemplate. I fell into it and it fell into me, and every crack, cranny or crevice of my soul was imbued with its visions; Owls and crows, crawly things of every kind, knights, saints, beggars, above them truth-announcing-trumpets within angelic effulgence, and to the south a land of congealed darkness populated with legions of back-stabbers, madmen, and demons. Oh, my Bosch! Ever since, I aspire by his heavens and render judgment by his hell, but at my heart, just like in an earthly panel of his, I am watchful not to forget the incurable condition of my humanity.
Alpha and Omega! A thousand years later, we now arrive at the current edition by Taschen. It feels like returning to my birthplace: The gallows are still standing, the peddler gives me the same frown as always, and the dog with the spiky collar is ever more furious at me. I am greeted by a throng of old friends and a great feast commences for the next 300 pages. I find this book most excellent. There is much to behold and there is much to learn. Even an amateur scholar of the subject like me, could still find something new. Therefore, from the spire of my position, of an admirer, of a follower, a medieval man in spirit, I proclaim this book worthy!