Sweet.

(Not that I got beyond the first chapter, of course. But I liked what I read. I found it delightful, actually. It was like a little treat for my mind. However, I'd be lying to myself - and perhaps to others - if I pretended that I've read it to the end or that I mean to. My interest in the story, as charming as it may be, is just not worth the countless hours I'd have to spend deciphering this man's convoluted prose. It's a bit of a struggle, to be honest. But the book, I am sure, is beautiful on the outside as well as on any given sentence. The cover is probably eye-catching, and the words themselves seem to dance on the page. And I'll hold it dear, not because I understand every bit of it, but because it holds a certain allure that keeps me coming back for more, even if it's just a peek here and there.)

I truly have a great love for Eddison's high fantasy.

Although I initially thought that the first volume of this series wasn't as focused as The Worm Ouroboros, I still persevered. Antiope is a fascinating character that Eddison has crafted, drawing from multiple strands of Norse and Classical mythology.

The more I read Eddison, the more I find myself in agreement with Tolkien's assessment that Eddison's 'peculiarly bad nomenclature' (Letters, p. 377) is'slipshod and often inept' (Letters, p. 258). However, I am certain that I will come back to the other two volumes in this trilogy (now available on Kindle) and also Eddison's Styrbiorn the Strong in 2015.

Undoubtedly, he was the G.R.R. Martin of his era!

The fantasy genre has a tradition of drawing on the heroic mythologies and legends of the Dark Ages. Tolkien and his followers found their sources in the pre-Christian poetry of northern Europe, especially Norse and Anglo-Saxon mythologies. However, Tolkien and Lewis were Christians, and their worldview was different from the cultures that produced the tales they used. This is also true for most of us, even those who are not Christians. That's why the rich and daring Lannisters are the villains in Martin's books, while the humble and unfashionable Starks are the heroes.

Eddison's books are different. His morality is that of the Heroic Age, when great deeds and physical courage were more highly valued than charity, and riches were clearly better than poverty. Both this book and The Worm Ouroboros are about great men doing brave things. I think The Worm is less strange and more enjoyable. It is more recognizable as an important predecessor of Tolkien's work. It has a fantastical quest plot, with medieval characters, and is narrated like a normal book. My experience is that almost all pre-Tolkien fantasy reads more like a fairytale, with events not described as if they are happening in reality, but rather remembered as an old legend. Eddison and Tolkien don't write like that. Presumably, there are important historical factors that allowed for this change. Before them, I imagine it wouldn't have occurred to an author to write "seriously" about imagined worlds, just as in the pre-modern period, people didn't write about everyday life or people except in a comic way.

The differences between Eddison and Tolkien are not just in their worldview. Eddison knew and had translated Icelandic sagas, but he also drew on historical material from the later medieval period and the courtly literary tradition of France, which Tolkien rejected. This is what marks the greatest difference between Martin and Tolkien: the former draws on history and writes about his characters as real, historical people. Tolkien, although he is not writing fairytales, stays within the realm of Romance. It's impossible to imagine a Tolkien character dying on a toilet like Tywin Lannister. Such events are part of a lower register that Tolkien doesn't touch on, except perhaps when it comes to the Hobbits.

departs from the quest plot. Its "story" is mostly presented as condensed reportage or like a historical chronicle. Battles happen, but we're not invited to experience them with the characters or worry about the fate of those involved. The great men will either triumph or die with honor. Regions are listed, and the reader can't be expected to remember where they are in relation to each other. Eddison has none of Tolkien's philological interest in creating a linguistically plausible world. There's an almost aristocratic indifference in giving out silly names like Demonland and Impland.

The real scenes of interest are the conversations held in secluded gardens, which touch on Eddison's philosophical interests. These are enjoyable and very strange, and Eddison has succeeded better than anyone else in creating a convincing reproduction of the language of that period. (Of course, there are many anachronisms, like his use of "skerry," a 17th-century Orkney word that the courtly heroes surely wouldn't have known.) But the purple prose does start to wear thin. There's nothing as arresting as the mountaineering sections of The Worm, and this reads more like a work of experimental Modernism than of fantasy. And there is occasionally a sense of hero-worship. Eddison admires the men he writes about, and the reader has to constantly hear about their daring to do what men of lesser rank would never attempt. This isn't far from the clichés of modern-day fantasy. Tolkien, of course, was also experimental. No one had tried anything like what he was doing. But his work bore fruit, while Eddison's pointed to a path that few have been inclined to follow.

That was a really tough read.

There was nothing quite like the Worm, except perhaps for its complexity.

However, it did not endear itself to me in the slightest, unlike its predecessor.

The story seemed convoluted and difficult to follow, lacking the charm and appeal that made the previous installment so engaging.

I found myself struggling to get through the pages, constantly confused by the twists and turns of the plot.

Maybe it was just my personal taste, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed.

I had been looking forward to reading this, hoping it would live up to the expectations set by its predecessor, but unfortunately, it fell short.

Overall, it was a rather underwhelming experience.

MISTRESS OF MISTRESSES, the initial published novel in E.R. Eddison's renowned Zimiamvian trilogy, presents a captivating world. Similar to Tolkien's Middle-Earth, Zimiamvia mirrors our own, yet with more intense passions. Life, love, and treachery here reach epic proportions. And magic, undoubtedly, is a palpable reality. Mezentius once ruled the Three Kingdoms with a resolute hand. However, his legitimate heir is a weakling, cowering in fear of the power held by his half-brother, Duke Barganax, and the terrifying Horius Parry, the Vicar of Rerek. As Parry and Barganax engage in elaborate manoeuvres, intrigues, and plots, it becomes evident that the new king's days are numbered. The crucial element in controlling the Three Kingdoms lies with Lessingham, Parry's cousin, the only individual both sides can trust. But then, Parry makes the fateful decision that Lessingham must perish. Amidst the clashes between heroes and villains, an even more sinister game unfolds - as the Lady Fiorinda tests her own powers to determine the fates of men...

MISTRESS OF MISTRESSES remains as potent, thrilling, and engrossing today as it was upon its initial publication. Its allure lies in the richly detailed world, complex characters, and the web of intrigues that keep readers on the edge of their seats.

I first came across this book during my twenties, right after delving into Eddison's masterpiece, The Worm Ouroboros. At that time, I never imagined I would pick it up again as I found it rather challenging.

However, recently, an urge compelled me to give it another shot. I soon realized that it couldn't be read in a casual manner like an ordinary novel. Instead, it demanded careful attention, with every sentence being crucial. This was a lesson I initially learned while reading Gene Wolf's The Book of the New Sun.

In Eddison's work, this is due to his use of subtle dialogue, archaic language, and words borrowed from Norse, Scottish, and other sources.

Although ostensibly set in the Heaven of Mercury, readers can disregard that and envision it as an alternate universe where the goddess Aphrodite inhabits the bodies of different women and controls the fates of the characters. It is a purely pagan land filled with noble and heroic figures engaged in romanticized battles and political intrigues.

Despite being a difficult read, the dialogue is outstanding, the plot is excellent, and the characters are fascinating. It is best read in small sections, and the effort is undoubtedly worthwhile.

Though it is the first book in the so-called "The Zimiamvia Trilogy," each book can stand alone, as they actually occur within overlapping time frames. Harper Collins offers a reasonably priced Kindle edition that includes all four of Eddison's novels. I compared it to my print edition, and aside from the absence of the original illustrations, it is professionally produced. (The maps are included, though.)