Most people treat The Faerie Queene like a literary ghost. They know it’s haunting the shelves of English departments, they’ve heard it’s impossibly long, and they probably know it involves some guy named Redcrosse. But honestly? Most readers—even the ones with literature degrees—usually just skim the SparkNotes and call it a day. That's a mistake. Edmund Spenser’s 16th-century monster of a poem isn't just some dusty relic of the Elizabethan era. It’s a psychedelic, violent, and deeply weird fantasy world that makes Game of Thrones look like a bedtime story.
Spenser was trying to do something crazy. He wanted to write the Great English Epic. He wanted to out-do Virgil and Homer while sucking up to Queen Elizabeth I. It’s a massive project. Incomplete, too. He planned twelve books but only finished six (plus some fragments). If you’ve ever felt the frustration of waiting for George R.R. Martin to finish a series, just imagine being a fan in 1596.
What's actually happening in The Faerie Queene?
Basically, it's a bunch of knights going on quests. Each book focuses on a specific virtue. Book I is Holiness. Book II is Temperance. Book III is Chastity. It sounds like a Sunday school lesson, but it’s really more of a fever dream. Spenser uses allegory, which means everything represents something else. A monster isn't just a monster; it’s "Error" or "Hypocrisy." But don’t let that bore you. The descriptions are lush. They’re vivid. Sometimes they’re gross.
Take the character of Error in Book I. She’s a half-woman, half-serpent living in a dark cave. When the Redcrosse Knight fights her, she literally vomits up books and papers (a jab at Catholic propaganda). It’s visceral. Spenser wasn't just writing about abstract ideas; he was writing about the physical struggle of being a "good" person in a world that feels like it’s trying to kill you.
It's complicated. You've got Prince Arthur wandering through the whole thing, looking for the Faerie Queene herself (Gloriana, a stand-in for Elizabeth). You've got Britomart, a female knight who represents Chastity but spends most of her time kicking butt in a suit of armor. She's easily the coolest character in the whole poem. She sees her future husband in a magic mirror and sets out to find him. It’s a subversion of the "damsel in distress" trope written centuries before it was cool to do so.
Why Spenser's language feels like a hurdle (and how to jump it)
The first thing you'll notice when you open The Faerie Queene is that it looks weird. Spenser used "Spenserian Stanza." It’s a specific rhyme scheme: ABABBCBCC. The last line is longer than the others—it’s an alexandrine.
📖 Related: Isaiah Washington Movies and Shows: Why the Star Still Matters
- It creates a rolling, hypnotic rhythm.
- It forces you to slow down.
- It makes the poem feel older than it actually was.
Even in 1590, Spenser was using "archaic" language. He used words like "wight" and "eyne" because he wanted the poem to feel like it belonged to the age of King Arthur, not the London of William Shakespeare. It was a stylistic choice. He was world-building. Think of it like a modern fantasy writer inventing a dialect for their elves. It’s immersive. Once you get the "groove" of the stanza, it actually starts to flow quite naturally. You stop seeing the weird spellings and start seeing the imagery.
The Politics of Faerie Land
You can't talk about The Faerie Queene without talking about the mess that was 16th-century politics. Spenser was living in Ireland during much of the writing, working as a colonial administrator. This is the dark side of the book. While he’s writing about "Justice" in Book V, he’s basically justifying the brutal English crackdowns on Irish rebels.
Scholars like Stephen Greenblatt have spent decades unpacking how Spenser’s poetry intersects with power. It’s not a "pure" fairy tale. It’s a political tool. Gloriana is Queen Elizabeth. The various villains often represent the Pope, Philip II of Spain, or Mary, Queen of Scots (represented by the character Duessa). When Duessa is put on trial and stripped of her fine clothes to reveal a withered, disgusting form, that’s Spenser doing political character assassination. It's savage.
This is why the book still matters. It’s a masterclass in how art is used to craft a national identity. Spenser was trying to tell the English people who they were: Protestant, brave, and destined for greatness. But he also reveals the anxieties of the age. He’s worried about decadence. He’s worried about the Queen never getting married. He’s worried that the world is inherently "mutability"—that nothing stays good or beautiful for long.
The Mutability Cantos: A Glimpse of the End
At the very end of the fragments we have, there are these things called the "Mutability Cantos." They are some of the most beautiful lines in English literature. In them, a titaness named Mutability challenges the gods for control of the universe. She argues that change is the only constant. Even the seasons change. Even the stars move.
👉 See also: Temuera Morrison as Boba Fett: Why Fans Are Still Divided Over the Daimyo of Tatooine
Spenser seems to be wrestling with his own aging and the eventual end of the Elizabethan era. It’s a moment of profound doubt. After thousands of lines trying to define "virtue" and "order," he admits that everything eventually falls apart. It’s a heavy realization. It gives the poem a layer of sadness that balances out the knights-and-dragons heroics.
Common Misconceptions about The Faerie Queene
People think it's a slog. They think it's just a long list of "thou shalts." It really isn't.
Honestly, the poem is remarkably sexy and violent. Book III is basically a meditation on desire. Spenser explores different kinds of love—from the toxic lust of Malbecco to the "pure" love of Britomart. He describes the Garden of Adonis, which is this lush, fertile place where souls are born. It’s incredibly sensual. Spenser wasn't a prude. He was a Neo-Platonist who believed that physical beauty was a reflection of spiritual beauty, but he definitely enjoyed describing the physical part.
Another myth? That you have to read it all at once. You don't. Spenser designed it so each book stands somewhat on its own. If you want a classic "knight vs. dragon" story, read Book I. If you want a feminist-coded action adventure, skip to Book III. If you want a weird, psychedelic trip into the nature of reality, read the Mutability Cantos.
How to actually read it in 2026
Don't buy a massive "Complete Works" edition with tiny font and no notes. You’ll give up by page ten. Instead, find a good annotated version. The Longman Annotated English Poets edition is the gold standard, though it's pricey. If you're just starting, the Penguin Classics version edited by Thomas P. Roche Jr. is solid.
✨ Don't miss: Why Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy Actors Still Define the Modern Spy Thriller
- Read out loud. The rhythm of the Spenserian stanza is meant to be heard. If you read it silently, you might get lost in the sub-clauses. If you say it, the music carries you.
- Look at the art. Spenser has influenced everyone from the Pre-Raphaelite painters to modern illustrators. Looking at how artists like Walter Crane imagined these scenes helps solidify the imagery in your mind.
- Don't obsess over the allegory. If you spend every second trying to figure out "Who does the Dwarf represent?", you'll miss the story. Just let the imagery wash over you first. The "meaning" usually reveals itself.
- Embrace the "B-Movie" moments. There are parts of this poem that are genuinely campy. There's a giant who carries people around in a net. There’s a guy who turns into a personification of Jealousy and lives in a cave eating his own heart. It’s over the top. Lean into it.
The Faerie Queene is a mountain. You don't climb a mountain because it's easy; you do it for the view. The view from the top of Spenser’s imagination is unlike anything else in the English language. It’s a bridge between the medieval world of Chaucer and the modern world of Milton and beyond. It’s the DNA of fantasy literature. Without Spenser, we don't get C.S. Lewis (who was a huge Spenser scholar) or J.R.R. Tolkien.
To start your journey, pick up a copy of Book I. Focus on the Redcrosse Knight’s journey through the Wood of Error and his eventual battle with the dragon. It’s the most accessible part of the poem and serves as a perfect "pilot episode" for the madness that follows. Don't worry about finishing the whole thing this month. Just start. Spenser didn't finish it either, and he's still one of the greatest poets to ever live.
The best way to engage with the text is to track the "House" structures. Spenser loves architecture. Every book features a "House"—The House of Pride, The House of Holiness, The House of Temperance (which is actually a giant allegory for the human body). Mapping these out as you read provides a structural anchor for the wandering knights. It turns the poem into a sort of architectural tour of the human soul. Stop looking for a linear plot and start looking for a map.
Practical Next Steps for the Aspiring Spenserian:
- Download a digital copy: If you want to test the waters for free, the entire text is available on the Poetry Foundation website or Project Gutenberg.
- Listen to the "Great Books" podcast episodes on Spenser: Hearing experts discuss the political context of the 1590s makes the "boring" parts much more interesting.
- Focus on Book III: If you find the religious allegory of Book I too heavy, jump straight to Britomart in Book III. It is widely considered the most "modern" and engaging section for contemporary readers.
- Check out "The Spenser Encyclopedia": If you get stuck on a specific character or weird word, this is the ultimate reference guide used by scholars.