And books that were published in much larger numbers than

When Peter Sotos wrote, “And books that were published in much larger numbers than Selfish, Little are hard to find. And publishers who wanted to publish my last few works have them stuck in limbo while new distribution ideas and legal issues and fears are blown away,” he was not merely describing the trials of an author — he was revealing the eternal struggle between art and fear, between creation and censorship. His words arise from the world of the writer who dares to step beyond comfort, who confronts the forbidden, and who discovers that the pen, though free in spirit, is forever bound by the invisible chains of law, morality, and fear of consequence. Beneath his lament lies the ancient cry of every truth-teller: that the world demands honesty, yet punishes those who give it.

The origin of this quote comes from Sotos’s own experience as a controversial author, whose works explore the darkest recesses of human thought and behavior. His book Selfish, Little — like much of his writing — stirred discomfort and outrage, for he sought to reveal not beauty, but the shadowed truths that society hides from itself. Yet in doing so, he collided with the walls of legal restriction and social taboo. Publishers hesitated, distributors withdrew, and his creations — though written — remained “in limbo”, silenced not by censorship’s hand alone, but by fear itself. Thus, his words are not the complaint of vanity but the sorrow of one who has seen that freedom of expression, though declared sacred, is never absolute.

From the time of the ancients, this tension between artistic boldness and societal restraint has shaped the fate of creators. In Athens, Euripides faced outrage for his plays that exposed the hypocrisies of gods and men. In Florence, Galileo was silenced by the Church for speaking truths the heavens themselves confirmed. And in Rome, poets such as Ovid were banished for works that dared to challenge moral boundaries. Sotos’s lament echoes these ancient voices — not in grandeur, but in solitude. He too found that when an artist’s work mirrors humanity too closely, showing its hidden hungers or its cruelty, society recoils as from a mirror that reflects too much truth.

His mention of “legal issues and fears” is especially telling. It speaks not only to the written word, but to the age in which we live — an age where art is entangled with law, where every creation must pass through gates of liability and public scrutiny. The artist is no longer judged solely by merit, but by the courage of those who dare to publish him. Sotos’s works, unsettling and transgressive, challenge the comfort of moral certainty — and in doing so, awaken the ancient dread of chaos, that fear that if too much is revealed, the order of society might unravel. Thus, publishers retreat, not out of hatred, but out of terror — the same terror that has always silenced prophets and visionaries alike.

Yet within his sorrow lies an unyielding truth: that art which is feared is art that lives. Books “hard to find” often endure far longer than those easily sold, for they become relics of defiance. History proves this again and again. The writings of Dante, once condemned, shaped the spiritual imagination of the West. The novels of D. H. Lawrence, burned for obscenity, now rest in libraries as treasures of insight. And the banned verses of Sappho still echo with longing across millennia. What Sotos calls “limbo” is but the temporary silence before rediscovery. Every work suppressed by fear eventually finds its voice — for truth, like a buried seed, will break the ground when the season of repression passes.

There is also wisdom in his acceptance. When he says that publishers wait until “fears are blown away,” he acknowledges that time itself is the purifier of courage. The wise artist understands that he cannot force the world to be ready for his truth — he can only create it faithfully and let the winds of time scatter it. Laws change, minds evolve, and what was once condemned becomes revered. The author who endures must learn patience — for art, like justice, is often delayed, but never truly denied.

Thus, the lesson in Peter Sotos’s words is one for all who labor in truth: create without expectation of acceptance. Understand that fear will always stand between your work and its audience, yet create nonetheless. For the artist’s duty is not to appease the moment, but to serve eternity. Let not rejection dishearten you, nor law silence you, nor fear diminish your resolve. Every generation needs its Sotos — the one who dares to speak when silence is demanded. And so, let his words remind us that though art may rest in limbo, truth itself never dies; it merely waits for courage to return.