Lessingham was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.

Lessingham, as you may recall, was the English gentleman whose dream(?) served as the wafer-thin framing story for The Worm Ouroboros. You may also remember that at one point in Worm, our heroes, from a distant mountain, caught sight of the fabled land of Zimiamvia and wondered if it was indeed the abode of the souls of the blessed.

The answer is...complicated.

As mentioned, the book commences in England around Lessingham's deathbed. He had lived to a ripe old age and accomplished great deeds. But then the scene shifts to Zimiamvia, which is perhaps less paradisiacal than was believed. In fact, it feels much more like Renaissance Italy. The King, Mezentius, is dead. His heir, King Styllis, is also deceased. Next in line of succession is Queen Antiope, although power is exercised on her behalf by the Vicar of Rerek, Horius Parry, ably assisted by his cousin Lessingham, a great captain of men. (Is it the same Lessingham, at a much younger age? It's difficult to say, at least at this distance...) The Vicar is, well, not a nice man ('twas ever thus), and others, including Mezentius' bastard son Barganax, rise up in rebellion. Lessingham may, in some ways, sympathize with their cause, but he is honor-bound to uphold the Queen (and, by extension, the Vicar).

This is a less adventuresome book than Worm Ouroboros, but I might actually prefer it. There are numerous plots, reversals, and sword-strokes, but the action is mostly advanced through (magnificently spoken) dialogue. There is also magic, embodied in the form of Doctor Vandermast, but it is of a very subtle nature. And looming like a shadow over everything else is Love (yes, with a capital \\"L\\") in all its manifold splendors.

It is a tale that weaves together elements of politics, honor, and love, creating a rich and engaging narrative that keeps the reader hooked from start to finish.

I have this distinct feeling that as the story reached its conclusion, things didn't quite gel or come together in a completely satisfying way. However, it's important to remember that this is part of a trilogy. So, perhaps all the loose ends and unanswered questions will be neatly tied up and explained in the second book. What's truly remarkable about this work is its attempt to blend mystery, mysticism, and a lyrical style. Most fantasy writers shy away from such a combination, and very few succeed in pulling it off. Modern readers, accustomed to more typical narrative styles, may find this particular approach a bit challenging. But despite its difficulties, it's well worth reading. It has had a significant influence on later writers, and I firmly believe that some, though not all, fantasy readers will find enjoyment in it for its own unique qualities.

I wasn’t expecting that…

[RANT MODE ACTIVATED]

It’s a phrase that truly sends a shudder down my spine. People often use it, thinking it’s the highest form of praise, but in reality, it implies that an author has pulled a rabbit out of a hat without even providing the hat in the first place. “I wasn’t expecting that” is, frankly, an insult and has nothing to do with the praiseworthy “HOW was I not expecting that.” Plot twists should not just drop out of the sky.

Ahem.

[RANT MODE DISENGAGED]

Nevertheless, in this particular case and in a rather different context (that of the first page), I really wasn’t expecting what I got. I was anticipating, like in The Worm Ouroboros, a Morrisesque opening phrase. After all, The Worm starts with a beautiful and fairytale-like sentence: “There was a man named Lessingham dwelt in an old low house in Wastdale, set in a gray old garden where yew-trees flourished that had seen Vikings in Copeland in their seedling time.” But instead, I got: “Let me gather my thoughts a little, sitting here alone with you for the last time, in this high western window of your castle that you built so many years ago, to overhang like a sea eagle’s eyrie the grey-walled waters of your Raftsund.” This sentence is dreamlike, meditative, and in the first person. Both sentences have a length and a hypnotic rhythm that ebbs and flows like a strange, dark sea, lapping and lulling with the music of its tides the shores of a high island. The island rises, crag upon crag, haunted by gannets, splashed with white and tufts of pinks, up to a plateau where puffins burrow among the grassy tussocks. It rises even higher, towards the cool, clear sky and the drifts of pale cloud in the pale dawn, and there is such peace.

(I’d feel horribly self-conscious about producing such a description if Eddison weren’t the master of the massively imbalanced simile.)

Then, too, I was expecting a Worm-like agglomeration of different ideas, set in a huge adventure story that had accreted over a long period. What I got was a Janus-headed narrative, part tale of civil strife and squabbling princelings, part allegorical-philosophical and whatnot. I like both aspects; I like being baffled.

I was also expecting dialogue with lots of thee-ing and thou-ing, and I wasn’t disappointed. However, it’s important to note that, although it’s denser here than in The Worm, Eddison can carry it off in a way that most authors can’t.

“‘Well’, said Lessingham, ‘I have listened most obediently. You have it fully: there’s not a word to which I take exceptions. Nay I admire it all, for indeed I told you every word of it myself last night.’

‘Then would to heaven you’d be advised by’t,’ said Amaury. ‘Too much light, I think, hath made you moon-eyed’”

I was expecting some mildly obscure vocabulary, and again he delivered, though not to the same extent as in The Worm. There’s something rather flattering about the way both he and Mervyn Peake, if a word has the shape and meaning needed for a sentence, don’t hesitate to use it. It shows a measure of trust in the reader’s intelligence.

[RANT MODE ACTIVATED]

Well, really, if you can’t deal with a few unfamiliar words…! I mean, I understand that an unfamiliar bit of vocabulary can set up a blank note in the symphony, but there are dictionaries and search engines. Can’t you just work it out from context, like children do all the time without even having to think about it?

[RANT MODE DISENGAGED]

So, for example, there are a couple of settlegangs (that patch of horizon where the sun just set), a skerry (a hidden reef), some smaragds (emeralds), and that is absolutely fine because they’re the words he needs to use. They belong in that context.

I was expecting ornamental but perhaps somewhat one-dimensional characters, but I got people with actual depth and inner conflict, like the Vicar of Rerek. True, the goodies are all good-looking and the baddies ugly, but they’re still fine characters. Even the women (and this is an early-to-mid-20th-century fantasy novel) are people as well as symbols.

(Vicar, incidentally, doesn’t mean Anglican clergyman here, but something closer to Governor.)

And I was expecting a lot of fancy gemstones scattered around the place, because he wouldn’t be Eddison if he didn’t raid his wife’s jewellery box. Indeed, he does describe a lot of costumes and interiors, though I think it’s better done here: you get more of a sense that there are bodies in the bodices.

So, quite aside from being a bit shorter than The Worm Ouroboros, I think it’s a much better book. If The Worm is mildly amazing, this is utterly fantastic. Which is what you might hope for in a fantasy. I don’t just want to read it again; I need to.

And now I need to read something ghastly to cleanse my palate.

Mistress of Mistresses is a novel that presents a rich tapestry of elements to explore.

Eddison's use of beautiful and archaic prose creates a fantastical world that is both enchanting and challenging. The detailed descriptions of various settings, from fabulous courts to lonesome valleys, add to the overall atmosphere of the story.

The plot begins with an unnamed narrator at his friend Lessingham's deathbed, delving into their history and introducing a mysterious woman. It then transports us to the world of Zimmimvia, where a power struggle ensues after the king's death.

The characters in the novel engage in a complex web of social customs and loyalties, with virtues often being challenged and becoming vices. Eddison's handling of morality is also notable, as evil has a distinct face in the form of The Vicar.

The metaphysics employed by Eddison, a blend of Plato, Spinoza, and Descartes, adds another layer of depth to the story. The dreamlike sequences and the idea of characters being aspects of something else create a sense of mystery and duality.

Overall, Mistress of Mistresses is a captivating and thought-provoking novel that will appeal to those who enjoy plays like Hamlet and A Midsummer Night's Dream, as well as other works by Eddison such as The King Elfland's Daughter or The Broken Sword.

The prose can be rather challenging to get through, much like The Worm Ouroboros. However, just as with that particular work, it is well worth the effort

(assuming that philosophic high fantasy is to your taste). There are epic battles that will leave you breathless, political scheming that keeps you on the edge of your seat, surreal dream (?) sequences that will make you question reality, and references to Icelandic sagas and Greek myth

that add a rich layer of depth and authenticity. It's all enough to make your head spin, but in a good way. You might just find that you really like it

(or maybe not, but it's definitely an experience worth having).

This fantasy book truly had some magnificent writing. The descriptions were so vivid that they seemed to paint a picture in my mind. There were also a few wonderful set pieces that added to the overall charm of the story.

However, I have to admit that it was a bit challenging to follow at times. Maybe upon rereading, I will be able to fully understand and appreciate all the nuances that I might have missed the first time around.

Another aspect that bothered me was the framing device. It gave me an initial dislike of the main character, Lessingham. He just seemed too heroic and almost too perfect. There was no real depth or complexity to his character, which made him come across as kind of boring. I hope that in future installments, the author will explore his character more and give him some flaws and weaknesses to make him more relatable.

Overall, despite its flaws, I still think this book has potential and I look forward to seeing where the story goes.

Originally published on my blog here in April 2002.

To read Tolkien and Eddison in close succession is to truly understand the superiority of the latter. This is Eddison's second fantasy novel, loosely linked to the first and better-known The Worm Ouroboros. It starts a trilogy that concludes with the unfinished The Mezentian Gate. While the earlier novel is more famous, this one is actually better, and Eddison's talent has clearly grown in the nine years since the publication of The Worm Ouroboros.

When the strong king Mezentius of the Three Kingdoms passes away, his heir Styllis is a feeble young man. He is unable to deal with two particularly powerful subjects, his illegitimate brother Barganax and the sinister Honorius Parry. Styllis soon dies, poisoned, leaving a will that is guaranteed to cause further chaos due to the vagueness of the terms by which Parry is appointed as the guardian of his sister Antiope, now the queen. The other major character is Parry's cousin, Lessingham, whose honor makes him someone Barganax can trust as long as he can prevent Parry from breaking the agreements he makes.

This plot is closely modeled on themes from real medieval history. One such theme is the constant rivalry between monarchs and their most prominent subjects. A regency presented numerous opportunities to the unscrupulous, as much of the state was embodied in the person of the ruler, and it was bound to disrupt the balance between these groups. This could even occur in England, one of the most stable states in Western Europe, as when John of Gaunt was the guardian of Richard II. Most fantasy is based on Tolkien's ideas, which in turn come from the literature of the medieval period, where quests undertaken by individuals or small groups with a spiritual dimension are common. By using real life as his source, Eddison anticipates modern authors interested in politics, such as George R.R. Martin. However, Martin's brutal setting from his Songs of Ice and Fire series is replaced with something more gentle, a dreamlike medieval world seen through a pre-Raphaelite lens.

People often admire the descriptions in Tolkien's novels, but to me, Eddison is superior in this aspect as well as in many others. What he describes may not be as definite, perhaps, but it is infinitely more poetic and suggestive. To me, this invitation to use my imagination is far more satisfying than simply acquiescing in that of the author. Eddison also naturally excels in areas where Tolkien is weak: his characters are much less stereotyped, and he can depict interesting women; he introduces a sexuality that is truly erotic; and he even includes a hint of homoeroticism.

There is also a spiritual side to the stories, which is more of the "things not being what they seem" variety rather than the overt magic more common in fantasy. The way this is done is rather reminiscent of George MacDonald, although it lacks the Christian allegory of, say, Lilith.

Mistress of Mistresses should be more widely recognized as a classic of the genre, but for some reason, it remains relatively unknown.

Maybe four star (but not sure): memorably weird.

The story presents a rather strange and memorable atmosphere. The characters of Lessingham and the Vicar are truly great.

Lessingham is a complex and interesting individual. His actions and thoughts add an element of mystery to the narrative.

The Vicar, on the other hand, has his own charm and idiosyncrasies. His presence enriches the story and provides a different perspective.

Overall, the combination of the memorable weirdness and the great characters makes this a potentially four-star piece. However, there are still some aspects that need further exploration and consideration to determine its exact rating.

It leaves the reader with a sense of curiosity and anticipation, eager to see where the story will lead and how the characters will develop.

Much like many of Eddison's other books, my experience with this one was rather similar. I initially started reading it with a certain degree of interest. I liked the initial premise and the way the story seemed to be unfolding. However, as I delved deeper into the narrative, I found myself struggling to truly get into it. There was something about the writing style or perhaps the pacing that just didn't quite click with me. Eventually, my attention began to wander, and I found myself drawn to other things. I fully understand and appreciate the fact that Eddison is an essential figure in the development of the fantasy genre. His works have had a significant impact on the literary landscape. But despite my best efforts, I just can't seem to find that connection with his writing that so many others seem to have.

**Original Article**: This is a simple article. It needs to be rewritten and expanded.

**Expanded Article**:

This is a rather simple article indeed.

It seems to lack the necessary details and elaboration to make it more engaging and informative.

In order to enhance its quality, it needs to be rewritten and expanded.

We could start by adding more specific examples and illustrations to support the main points.

Additionally, we might explore different perspectives and viewpoints to make the article more well-rounded.

By doing so, the article will become more interesting and valuable to the readers.

It will also be able to convey its message more effectively and leave a lasting impression.

Overall, the process of rewriting and expanding this article is crucial for improving its content and ensuring its success.

I have attempted to read this on several occasions as it is regarded as a classic.

However, I have never managed to progress very far.

It simply fails to engage me.

Perhaps it is due to the writing style, which may seem outdated or overly complex.

Or maybe the subject matter does not resonate with my personal interests.

Despite my efforts, I find myself unable to connect with the story and lose interest quickly.

It's a shame because I know that many people highly regard this work, but unfortunately, it just doesn't work for me.

I will continue to explore other classic literature in the hope of finding something that captures my imagination and holds my attention.

Maybe one day, I will give this particular classic another chance and discover what I missed before.

But for now, I must admit that it has not lived up to my expectations.

As a wren twinkles in and out in a hedge-row, the demurest soft shadow of laughter came and went in Lessingham’s swift grey eyes. “What, were you reading me good counsel? Forgive me, dear Amaury; I lost the thread on’t. You were talking of my cousin, and the great King, and might-a-beens; but I was fallen a-dreaming and marked you not.”

In The Worm Ouroboros, Eddison employed a half-framing device that left many, myself included, feeling annoyed and finding it confusingly pointless. However, after delving into Mistress of Mistresses, I am no longer as certain of that initial judgment. Here, a strikingly similar half-frame serves as the philosophical bedrock upon which the story is constructed. In Ouroboros, the introductory narrator makes an appearance in the first few chapters and then seemingly vanishes entirely. In contrast, in Mistress, the distinct worlds of the narrator and the story intertwine profoundly beneath, within, and above the narrative.


There is a certain dream-like quality to the “real” world in Mistress. It is a world where an adventurer has the power to create his own nation and define his own death. The dream world encroaches upon the real world, and vice versa. These seem to be different levels of reality, not only dispersed in time and space but also in some aspect of consciousness. This complex interplay between the two worlds adds depth and intrigue to the story, making it a truly captivating read.