Mistress of Mistresses: A Vision of Zimiamvia

I was completely fascinated last year when I delved into Eddison's The Worm Ourobouros. It was like opening a door to a magical world that left me spellbound. This led me to embark on a quest to find the rest of his work. I managed to get my hands on a copy of Mistress of Mistresses.

However, compared to the quasi-masterpiece that is Ourobouros, getting through Mistress of Mistresses was a bit of a slog. A significant part of this can be attributed to the different language styles of the two books. Ourobouros was penned in an archaic early modern English that vividly recalled Shakespeare and translations of Beowulf. On the other hand, Mistress of Mistresses adopted a more flowery, Romantic-era style.

But I also think that Mistress of Mistresses was just a touch more boring. It lacked the epic scope and grandeur that made Ourobouros so captivating. Instead, it seemed more like ordinary old fantasy literature, only with the added difficulty of a more complex language. Still, I did like it to some extent and I am determined to eventually read the rest of the weird Zimiamvian Trilogy. I feel as if I might as well keep going on this literary adventure. Maybe, just maybe, someday I will have read all the pre-WWII fantasy literature that exists.

Reading this book was an experience like attending a fancy party populated by elegant and outlandish nobles. I knew them only slightly, and they were far too dignified to explain themselves to me. I drifted through it, overhearing things and only half-understanding, as if in a dream that Eddison was having for me. Then, upon waking, I couldn't quite piece everything together.

It's an extremely mystical book. Like The Worm Ouroboros, it begins with a heady and entrancing frame story involving Lessingham. However, this time the frame is more integrated into the story, acting as a sort of parallel universe, a perpetually twilit world that sometimes shifts just enough to touch Zimiamvia. I believe it's significant that it's called an "Overture" rather than a "Prelude," as it doesn't merely set a mood for what's to come but, in a way, gives a fleeting sampling of the entire novel.

Much of the book is concerned with half-remembered things and feelings pushing through from a forgotten past. The politics often made my head spin (and Eddison's bizarre nomenclature didn't help), but the impressions were rapturous. Also like The Worm, Eddison lavishes in highly sensual details of natural landscapes and opulent man-made halls. If you enjoy reading pages upon pages of mountains, gardens, and mosaics, this is the book for you.

However, Mistress of Mistresses has a much more romantic bent, as hinted by the Baudelaire poem at the beginning, from which it takes its title. Throughout the book, there are very evocative images of women, existing simultaneously as both male and female, or as both human and animal. This is especially evident in the character of the Duke, who, in an overture with the Lessingham we're introduced to in the prelude, applies his obsessive nature to paintings of his lover, which he then destroys.

In addition, chapters like the overture, "A Spring Night In Mornagay," and "A Night-Piece on Ambremerine" are so exquisitely beautiful that they could function as separate tableaux. Just one example of the spectacular prose found therein is the description of pale cliffs in the mist and darkness, with fires burning like corpse-fires, and icy mountains above, and lava streams sizzling in the water, all witnessed by Lessingham as he sees faceless figures on the cliffs.

Though the style is more florid and romantic than in The Worm, Mistress of Mistresses also showcases Eddison's talent for using odd and resonant vocabulary, especially verbs, drawn from archaic English and French. It's an undoubtedly heavy and often confounding book, but for all its density, it's irresistible.

More archaic prose from the master of The Worm Ouroboros, which is his masterpiece. This work is truly a gem that showcases the author's remarkable talent. The archaic prose adds a unique charm and authenticity to the story, transporting readers to a bygone era.

Don't let this book turn you away from Eddison. Instead, embrace it and embark on a journey through the pages of The Worm Ouroboros. Discover the richly detailed world, the complex characters, and the captivating plot that will keep you hooked from beginning to end.

Read the Worm and experience the magic of Eddison's writing for yourself. You won't be disappointed!

On reflection, I was probably very bored.

I remember those days when time seemed to pass so slowly. There was not much to do, and I found myself constantly looking for something to occupy my mind.

I would sit around, daydreaming or staring into space. My thoughts would wander aimlessly, and I would feel a sense of restlessness.

I tried various activities to combat the boredom, but nothing seemed to hold my interest for long. Reading a book would only keep me engaged for a short while before my mind would start to drift again.

I realized that boredom can be a powerful force, capable of making even the simplest tasks seem tedious and uninteresting. It was a feeling that I didn't enjoy, but one that I had to endure until something more exciting came along.

Looking back, I can see that those moments of boredom were also opportunities for self-reflection and creativity. Maybe I should have made better use of that time, instead of just waiting for something to happen.

I wanted so badly to like this fantasy written by a contemporary of Tolkien who was said to be just as good. However, I can't quite see it.

I do see the man's talent. At times, his superb imagery and imagination truly inspire. But at other times, his endless descriptive adjectives slow the storyline down to such a crawl that one loses track of what was going on to begin with.

Where the storyline does bleed through, it is a good one. It mostly centers around an anti-hero named Lessingham. His devotion to his truly evil cousin, known as the Vicar (and the story's villain), borders on madness. One can't help but root for Lessingham to find the light, as he seems like a decent man working for a bad boss.

The book, when it works, is a collage of beauty, culture, legend, love, and violence. Eddison (like George RR Martin) isn't afraid to kill off popular characters to move his story forward.

The fantasy setting for this story seems like an alternate Earth where magical creatures exist but are not prominent.

This book is the first of a trilogy. The title character, a perfect Latin beauty of Iberia and concubine of one of the leading Lords, has great influence and looks to figure prominently in the volumes ahead. However, after slogging through this first part of the trilogy, I just don't feel motivated enough to continue; at least for now.

Maybe with a bit more patience and a closer look, I might discover the hidden gems within this book that others seem to have found. But for now, I'm left with a sense of disappointment and a feeling that there are other fantasies out there that might better capture my imagination.

Maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mind for dialogue straight out of a Jacobean drama.

It was as if I had been thrust into a foreign world, one filled with archaic language and complex turns of phrase.

I found myself struggling through each sentence, trying to make sense of the words that seemed to dance just out of my reach.

The rhythm and cadence of the dialogue were unfamiliar, and I had to constantly remind myself to slow down and really listen.

Despite my initial difficulties, I began to appreciate the beauty and elegance of the Jacobean style.

The words had a power and a charm that modern language often lacks, and I was drawn into the story despite my struggles.

As I continued to read, I found myself becoming more immersed in the world of the drama, and I began to understand the characters and their motivations on a deeper level.

Although it was a challenging experience, I'm glad I persevered and gave myself the opportunity to explore this unique form of literature.

The character is truly special.

It stands out from the crowd with its unique traits and qualities.

Perhaps it has an extraordinary appearance that catches everyone's attention.

Or maybe it has a personality that is both charming and unpredictable.

This special character has the ability to leave a lasting impression on those who encounter it.

It may have a story to tell that is full of adventure and excitement.

Or it could possess a talent or skill that is rare and remarkable.

Whatever the reason, the character's specialness makes it a fascinating subject to explore.

We can't help but be drawn to it and want to know more about its secrets and mysteries.

Whether it's a fictional character in a book or a real person in our lives, the special character always manages to capture our imagination and make us believe in the extraordinary.

2025 re-read: 5 stars

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this trip to Ziniamvia more than any other journey I’ve ever taken. As Varvatos Vex so eloquently put it, “it was glorious!” It was so remarkable that I felt compelled to upgrade it from my previous four-star rating to a full five. Truly, it is a classic of the genre, albeit an obscure and admittedly strange one.

Touted as a difficult work by a difficult writer, one who is arguably out of step with his own era’s culture, let alone ours, I found my passage through the land of Zimiamvia this time to be as smooth as silk. Perhaps I’ve simply read it often enough, but somehow none of the ‘difficulty’ of Eddison’s text, whether it was the obscure vocabulary, archaic speech patterns, or abstruse philosophy, was an obstacle to me or my enjoyment this time around. I was simply able to immerse myself in the world he created, wandering amongst the multifarious gardens of Eddison’s lush prose.

To illustrate, who else could describe the play of firelight upon a sleeping form like this: “The firelight saw her as its own, spirit of its spirit, dream of its dream, that which itself would become, might it but be clothed upon with the divinity of flesh: a presence secure, protective, glad, warm, fancy-free; and so it made sure of her, touching with trembling sudden fingers now her breathing bosom, now a ringlet of brown hair that rested curled on her shoulder, now a ruby warm against her throat.” You either love that kind of thing or you hate it. I, for one, took it as a much-needed and heady draught of the best vintage.

More than simply a wish fulfillment adventure (though it is that), the Zimiamvian books allowed Eddison to expound a philosophy that is, like the story, both tragic and hopeful. He seems to be attempting to square the circle of life’s mysteries primarily through an examination of the harmony of opposites. In attempting to answer (or at least explain) the riddle of human life, happiness, and suffering, he finds an intriguing, if not exactly comforting (or perhaps even believable) answer. I can’t say I’d be truly comfortable in his world, or that I think all of his ideas are justified, but man, are they gorgeous…and gorgeously conveyed. No action is small here, or perhaps better to say that even the smallest action has weight, worth, and meaning.