Like The Worm Ouroboros _Mistress of Mistresses_ is a book that only E. R. Eddison could have written and is one that is likely to garner an even smaller following than the admittedly obscure Worm. For my part I think that this book, and its subsequent sequels that make up the Zimiamvian Trilogy, is perhaps Eddison’s best work. It may not be as approachable as the Worm (and boy is that saying something!), but I think its greater depth and scope make for what amounts to a truly impressive achievement.The main character is Edward Lessingham, that enigmatic figure last seen in the prologue to the Worm whose dream sequence led us to Eddison’s Mercury and then, to most reader’s disdain and confusion, was promptly dropped. The only other obvious link between the works is in a short scene in the Worm with Lord Juss and Brandoch Daha after the two have climbed the mountain Koshtra Pivrarcha and look into the distance where they can see and ponder upon:…the fabled land of Zimiamvia. Is it true, thinkest thou, which philosophers tell us of that fortunate land: that no mortal foot may tread it, but the blessed souls do inhabit it of the dead that be departed, even they that were great upon earth and did great deeds when they were living, that scorned not earth and the delights and glories thereof, and yet did justly and were not dastards nor yet oppressors?This scene, I think, is key to understanding the trilogy, and indeed Eddison’s worldview which permeates all of his work; more on that later. As with the Worm we again have a prologue that moves from what seems to be our world to another and it may appear in some ways divorced from what follows, though this one is much more clearly linked to the fantasy world that makes up the rest of the book. In this prologue yet another character never to be seen again is introduced to us, a friend of Edward Lessingham’s who sits by the latter’s death-bed as the years catch up with him and reminisces about his meeting and subsequent adventures with the great man. A hidden portrait is revealed and an enigmatic poem is read and then the book proper begins as we are placed squarely next to a young Lessingham dreamily staring into a goblet of wine as his aide-de-camp Amaury berates him for a particularly impolitic deed. From here on in we will follow Lessignham in his adventures in the fabled land of Zimiamvia where an old and ruthless king has died and his somewhat less able son sits precariously upon the throne. The basic outline of the story that follows is of the simplest: varying groups are vying for power as the long-established stranglehold of the dead King Mezentius is loosened and opportunity arises for the powerful and the clever. What elevates this story above a mere kingdom-squabbling fantasy, in my mind at least, are the characters. As the story unfolds we are introduced to a large cast of characters, each vying in different ways to be masters of their circumstances and all of whom are to play significant parts in the intrigues that follow. These characters are almost all equally fascinating (with the one glaring exception of Antiope who is something of a pill) and they live, die, love and breath with such gusto and power that it is hard not to fall in love with them a little. In addition to the heroic and danger-loving Lessingham these characters include the Duke Barganax, an illegitimate son of the dead king whose martial prowess and valour are only superseded by his love of luxury and culture; Barganax’s lover Fiorinda, a mysterious and alluring femme fatale whose very being seems to harbour secrets about the nature of existence; Dr. Vandermast a strange old courtier of the Duke’s whose learning is almost as opaque to the characters of the novel as it is to the reader and whose role in the story is nearly as mysterious as that of Fiorinda; Princess Antiope, daughter of Mezentius and possible pawn to a host of would-be regents; and last, but best, of all Horius Parry, the Vicar of Rerek, cousin-german of Lessingham, and perhaps the most delightful (dare I say delicious?) villain I have ever encountered. Pug-faced and pugnacious, the Vicar is a man we love to hate (or maybe hate to love). Bull-necked, hot-blooded and quick-tempered, the Vicar can appear on the surface to be little more than a ham-handed thug, but beneath his bristly scalp is a clever mind able to take nearly any circumstance and turn it to his benefit. Almost as good are his sycophantic and sly major domo Gabriel Flores and his pack of man-eating hounds.Lessingham, much to the chagrin of his noble friend and lieutenant Amaury, has thrown in with his cousin the Vicar and has set himself on a knife’s edge path of trying to both fulfil his obligations to his cousin while steering these plans towards ends that will allow his own noble conscience to be satisfied. It’s a fascinating relationship as each views the other as perhaps his only valid peer and seems to hold the other in an equal amount of loving admiration and disdainful hatred. The back and forth of their machinations as each tried to retain the assistance of the other while maintaining the upper hand is fascinating and were probably my favourite parts of the book. Next would be the scenes in Barganax’s court where many of the intrigues revolving around the throne of Mezentius are hatched and we watch as the man viewed by many as a pleasure-loving fop shows himself to be a dangerous man to cross and whose role in the coming conflict will be pivotal. Spread amongst these conspiracies and outright battles runs a strange vein of philosophical and cosmological musing based on Eddison’s own eccentric flavour of Spinozan philosophy and centring on the figures of Vandermast and Fiorinda wherein all of the events of the novel seem to be nothing more than the manifestations of the desires of the goddess Aphrodite and her lover. This is where things get weird and I imagine most readers are lost. Hints and innuendo are constantly dropped throughout the story that Lessingham, Antiope, Barganax, and Fiorinda are each manifestations of these celestial figures for whom the world of Zimiamvia was brought into existence by Vandermast as a playground wherein they might be free to experience their heart’s desires free from the ennui of godhood and immortality. Thus heroic struggle, undying but dangerous love, and the chance to both fail and succeed epically are central to everything these characters undertake. Much like the conclusion to the Worm, wherein paradise was the ability to love, hate, and fight against the greatest odds, here we have the same philosophy writ even larger and expounded upon in some detail. As I noted many readers will likely be turned off by this, either because (like Tolkien) they may find Eddison’s morality distasteful, or they simply find the long-winded and opaque meanderings of Vandermast boring. I can’t say that these are my favourite parts of the book, but upon multiple readings I have found them to be essential to the tale, and they certainly give to what might otherwise be seen as little more than an adventure power-fantasy an essence that elevates it into something a bit more substantial. The story proper of _Mistress of Mistresses_ ends in media res, and in a way that would be fully unexpected of anyone save Eddison, for here the worm ouroboros again rears his scaly head and the endless cycle of death and life, the movement from one pinnacle of great deeds leading to a paradise wherein they are re-enacted or even bettered, is again brought forth. It’s great, heady, and very weird stuff.
I was fascinated last year when I read Eddison's The Worm Ourobouros, and started looking around for the rest of his work. I found a copy of Mistress of Mistresses, but found it a bit of a slog to get through compared to the quasi-masterpiece of Ourobouros. A lot of this came down to the different language styles of the two books -- Ourobouros was written in an archaic early modern English reminiscent of Shakespeare and translations of Beowulf, while Mistress of Mistresses is in a more flowery, Romantic-era style. But also I think that Mistress of Mistresses was just a bit more boring? It didn't have the epic scope and grandeur of Ourobouros and seemed more like ordinary old fantasy lit, only harder to read.Still, I liked it and will eventually read the rest of the weird Zimiamvian Trilogy. I feel like I might as well keep going, maybe someday I will have read all the pre-WWII fantasy literature that exists.
What do You think about Mistress Of Mistresses (2001)?
Originally published on my blog here in April 2002.To read Tolkien and Eddison in close succession is to realise just how much the latter is the better writer. This is his second fantasy novel, loosely connected to the first and best known, The Worm Ouroboros, and beginning a trilogy ending with the unfinished The Mezentian Gate. Although the earlier novel is better known, this is the better one and Eddison's talent clearly developed in the nine years since the publication of The Worm Ouroboros.When strong king Mezentius of the Three Kingdoms dies, his heir Styllis is a weak young man, unable to handle two particularly powerful subjects, his illegitimate brother Barganax and the sinister Honorius Parry. Styllis soon dies, poisoned, leaving a will guaranteed to sow further discord in the vagueness of the terms by which Parry is appointed guardian of his sister Antiope, now queen. The other major character is Parry's cousin, Lessingham, whose honour makes him someone that Barganax can trust as long as he can keep Parry from breaking the agreements he makes.This plot is closely modelled on the themes from real medieval history, one of which is the continual rivalry between monarchs and their most eminent subjects. A regency presented lots of opportunities to the unscrupulous, as so much of the state consisted in the person of the ruler, and could be guaranteed to disturb the balance between these groups. This could even happen in England, one of the most stable states in Western Europe, as when John of Gaunt was guardian to Richard II. Most fantasy is based on Tolkien's ideas, which in turn come from the literature of the medieval period in which quests undertaken by individuals or small groups with a spiritual dimension are common; in using real life as his source, Eddison prefigures modern authors with an interest in politics, such as George R.R. Martin, though Martin's brutal setting from his Songs of Ice and Fire series is replaced with something more gentle, a dreamlike medieval world as seen through a pre-Raphaelite lens.People often admire the descriptions in Tolkien's novels, but to me Eddison is superior in this as in many other aspects of his work. What he describes is not so definite, perhaps, but it is infinitely more poetic and suggestive. To me, this invitation to use my imagination is much more satisfying than merely acquiescing in that of the author. Eddison natually also scores in areas where Tolkien is weak: his characters are much less stereotyped, and he can portray interesting women; he introduces a sexuality which is truly erotic; and even includes a hint of homoeroticism.There is a spiritual side to the stories too, which is more of the things not being the way they seem variety than the overt magic more common in fantasy. The way that this is done is rather reminiscent of George MacDonald, even though it lacks the Christian allegory of, say, Lilith.Mistress of Mistresses should be more widely recognised as a classic of the genre, but for some reason it remains little known.
—Simon Mcleish
This, I think, is the best of Eddison’s novels — and I like all of them. Less of a straight-forward adventure than ‘The Worm Ouroborus,’ not as inclined to wander down odd avenues of philosophy as ‘A Fish Dinner in Memison,’ and, of course, more finished than ‘The Mezentian Gate,’ ‘Mistress of Mistresses’ pulls all the best strains of the author’s thoughts together into one narrative.This is not to say there is not a great deal of adventure and quite a bit of philosophy to be found in the book. Much of that philosophy deals with completion and balance, male-female, mind-spirit, and, ultimately, Barganax and Lessingham who apparently are the two halves of a much greater man.There are also a number of long-winded yet beautifully written passages of ‘laundry list’ description scattered through the novel, essentially little (or maybe not so little) prose poems. Ultimately, I find them a tad tedious and distracting — they do little to advance the narrative. But they are lovely, it must be admitted!It must be admitted, as well, that Eddison was very much an elitist and that it shows. The ‘great men’ who populate his world are not inclined to be observant of the laws and mores of those around them. Here, that is romanticized. In real life, most would condemn such men as tyrants and oppressors.Under it all, there runs a good story, a tale of dynastic struggle, of love and loss, of friendships and betrayals, of war, of death, of life, focused keenly on a few key individuals with whom we can identify. ‘Mistress’ can certainly be enjoyed just on that level. Add in the ideas that accompany the adventure and we have one of the greatest of all fantasy novels.
—Stephen Brooke
I do love Eddison's high fantasy - I though this first volume of this series is not as focused as The Worm Ouroboros but stuck with it - Antiope is an interesting character drawn by Eddison from several strands of Norse and Classical mythology. The more I read Eddison the more I agree with Tolkien that Eddison's 'peculiarly bad nomenclature' (Letters, p. 377) is 'slipshod and often inept' (Letters, p. 258). But I am sure I will return to the other two volumes in this trilogy (now on Kindle) and also Eddison's Styrbiorn the Strong in 2015. Certainly the G.R.R. Martin of his time!
—Dr. Andrew Higgins
