alternating reading this and playing the first 2 dragon quest games is like having wines paired with courses

"Mercurial Tolkien"

Every once in a while you run into a book that completely defies your expectations from the initial chapter. E. R. Eddison's early 20th Century fantasy classic The Worm Ouroboros does this *after* the first two chapters. . . by completely discarding the framing device used to begin the story. No, really. The story begins on Earth, and seems to be taking an Earthling protagonist, Lord Lessingham, on an ethereal night journey to a fantasy version of Mercury. Riding on a chariot driven by winged coursers, Lessingham is given a guided tour by a little black martlet. Lessingham and the martlet watch the plot unfold without being seen by any other characters in the first two chapters, commenting occasionally. Without warning, Lessingham and the martlet disappear completely and are never heard from again after the second chapter. This would be like Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Past vanishing after they visit Fezziwig’s party, and the rest of A Christmas Carol becomes a story about Prince Albert, Queen Victoria, and the Opium Wars. At this point in The Worm Ouroboros, you might begin to feel that you too have become lost in beautiful prose and dense plots.

Eric Rücker Eddison was a sometime member of the famed Inklings (we'll discuss Tolkien later in the review, fear not) and strongly influenced by the Great War, Norse saga literature, and the great epics of classical antiquity. What is produced in Ouroboros is both the best and the worst of the aesthetic this school had to offer. It deftly nails the epic without becoming a turgid exercise as Rings becomes after Fellowship - but suffers from the heavy burden of unappealing, unrelatable characters, and a failure to challenge convention in any way. The word that kept coming to my mind throughout reading Ouroboros was: unnecessary. The faux-Jacobean language throughout: unnecessary (except for the scattered, delightful poems*). The bizarre and inconsistent naming conventions: unnecessary. The plot that leads almost joyfully to violence as the glorious answer to every problem: unnecessary.

Comparisons to Tolkien are inevitable, so let's address them out of the gate. The first thing to say is that I think Ouroboros stands up to Tolkien favorably**, in that what Lord of the Rings sets out to do, Eddison does better - even effortlessly. But don't get too excited by that comparison. If you worship Rings and think Tolkien was the greatest author of the 20th Century, I recommend Ouroboros to you enthusiastically. Go on and read it now - go on, get out of here.

Are they gone? Alright now, to the rest of you still here: The problem is not the execution of this idea, it is the entire goal of that school of fantasy Tolkien was a part of. Epics are grand, and we love 'em. No problem there. But this is a regurgitation of past epics with wardrobe and cosmetic changes. There is nothing added; it is all remix. It is as though Eddison assumes that an ancient epics’ weighty themes can be recaptured while bypassing the need to address the concerns and framework of modern readers. Who asked for this treatment, except for escapist reactionaries who pine for a time that never existed? The impossibility of this task should make us appreciate Tolkien, Eddison, et al - with the same "appreciation" we might bestow on a squirrel desperately trying to climb a 90 degree angle brick wall. I've never understood the appeal here. When you can easily still pick up Homer, Virgil, or Snorri Sturluson, what use is it to retell those epics' stories to modern audiences when you explicitly refuse to offer anything genuinely new to their formulas? But I digress.

Let's dig into the story of Ouroboros. The setting is Mercury, but don't expect any science of Mercury (which was known at the time of Eddison's writing). To paraphrase Mystery Science Theater – “you're wondering how they eat and breathe, and other science facts - just repeat to yourself its just a story, you should really just relax.” This alternative-Mercury (which is straight up called Middle Earth later in the tale) is a war-torn world of giant clashing personalities. The heroes are heroes only in the classic sense, as Achilles was. In other words, powerful superbeings with great passion who behave like privileged jerks in every other way. The first thing you'll probably notice is the aforementioned naming conventions. The main protagonists are the three ruling brothers of Demonland: Lord Juss, Lord Spitfire, and Goldry Bluszco. I am not kidding: they are brothers named by the same parents. They are joined by a fourth companion, Brandoch Daha, greatest swordsman in the land.

The second thing you may notice is: these people are referred to as demons, but they behave more like demi-gods who enjoy fighting. What are they? Their garb and armor are described in lavish detail, but the kind of beings they actually are is kept cloaked in mystery. As far as I can tell, the characters are superhumans and not actual demons, witches, goblins, imps, pixies, etc. But they are referred to with those labels, so it can be confusing.

The world of Eddison is, as one critic described, "barbarically sophisticated." Magic does exist, but it is more alluded to than seen: signs of the zodiac, amulets of protection, dreams of portent, and summoning of ship-destroying monsters. The villains come from Witchland, led by an occasionally reincarnating King named Gorice. Gorice demands the demonlords pay tribute to him or be conquered, and instead is baited into accepting a wrestling match with Goldry Bluszco. After this wrestling match, all hell breaks loose. The whole story is centered around the struggle of the demons and witches and the lengths the characters go to rescue/kill one another and achieve glory. In the end, the resolution leads one to suspect that conflict is an inevitably recurring phenomenon (thus the theme of Ouroboros eating its own tail), and that victory is fleeting because the joy of conflict is the true stuff of life.

The best character in the story, and the one I most enjoyed reading about, was the exiled non-warrior goblin Lord Gro. Gro reacts to these extreme situations much in the way a modern person might: cautiously, sensibly, and with an acute awareness of the enormity of the tragic events surrounding him. I saw this world through his strange eyes. Gro is on the villains' side, yet he is more sympathetic than any of the "good" Demonlords. Lord Juss will dream and speechify for his brothers and friends, but seems oblivious to the lives and feelings of others outside his tribe and his personal conflicts. Though Gro is a traitor several times over, he is not portrayed as wicked. His actions are totally understandable, and not only that: justifiable. Gro is the only character that seemed dynamic to me - in this world of unalterable larger-than-life personalities and clashing destinies, Gro seemed like he just wanted to get back to his homeland and read a book.

A slight advantage over Tolkien is the moral climate of Ouroboros. Tolkien's is a good vs. evil Catholic ethical outlook, with only a few characters having inner turmoil (the bearers of the Ring), which made them pretty much the only interesting characters in Rings. In contrast, Eddison's is an ambiguous and pagan world. This was less about God vs Lucifer, and more about Achilles vs Hector. The villains were portrayed as honorable, though sometimes vicious - never hideous mutant orcs with no redeemable qualities. In that way Eddison better reflected the texture and worldview of the sagas he and Tolkien both drew heavily from.

The women characters are basically without agency and serve as catalysts for moving the plot. I had some hope for the Lady Mevrian, but in the end Eddison uses her as a point of conflict for the passionate men to squabble over. *sigh* Moving on.

In the end, should The Worm Ouroboros be seen as a fantasy masterwork? Yes. But it cannot be a masterwork of the 20th Century. It's out of time and place, and we can appreciate its language and its marvels without falling into the snare of its assumptions. Fantasy must move away from the orbit of Ouroboros in order to create fresh epics.

* Just to show I bear no ill will to Eddison and admire his writing, consider the lovely poetry sample from chapter 7:

"Aske me no more where Jove bestowes,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beautie's orient deepe,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleepe.

Aske me no more whether doth stray
The golden atomes of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to inrich your haire.

Aske me no more whether doth hast
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keepes warme her note.

Aske me no more where those starres light,
That downewards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.

Aske me no more if east or west
The Phenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last Shi flies,
And in your fragrant bosome dyes."

** I exempt Tolkien's far more endearing gem The Hobbit. Along with some of Tolkien's shorter tales, The Hobbit displays the best of what Tolkien could do.

Haunting, horrifying, so beautiful it made me weep, in places unreadable. I am in awe.

Bonus points for originality and flowery Olde English language (nearly to the point of incomprehensibility). Basically a tale of good and evil “great men of history” that endlessly lust for war and famous feats; apparently, the common “little people” be damned. The author used snippets from much older tales, referenced at the end, that livened the work with his own dialog:

But Lord Brandoch Daha, lightly laying his hand on Spitfire's arm, said: "The Ambassador hath not ended his message, cousin, and thou hast frightened him. Have patience and spoil not the comedy. We shall not lack words to answer King Gorice: no, nor swords, if he must have them. But it shall not be said of us of Demonland that it needeth but a boorish message to turn us from our ancient courtesy toward ambassadors and heralds." So spake Lord Brandoch Daha, in lazy half-mocking tone, as one who but idly returneth the ball of conversation; yet clearly, so that all might hear.

Whene'er I bib the wine down. Asleepe drop all my cares. A fig for fret. A fig for sweat. A fig care I for cares. Sith death must come, though I say nay. Why grieve my life's days with affaires? Come, bib we then the wine down Of Bacchus faire to see; For alway while we bibbing be. Asleepe drop all our cares.

Then a faint music, troublous in its voluptuous wild sweetness, floated on the air, and they beheld a lady enter on the dais. Beautiful she seemed beyond the beauty of mortal women. In her dark hair was the likeness of the horned moon in honey-coloured cymophanes every stone whereof held a straight beam of light imprisoned that quivered and gleamed as sunbeams quiver wading in the clear deeps of a summer sea. She wore a coat-hardy of soft crimson silk, close fitting, so that she did truly apparel her apparel and with her own loveliness made it more sumptuous. She said, "My lords and guests in Ishnain Nemartra, there be beds of down and sheets of lawn for all of you that be aweary. But know that I keep a sparrow-hawk sitting on a perch in the eastern tower, and he that will wake my sparrow-hawk this night long, alone without any company and without sleep, I shall come to him at the night's end and shall grant unto him the first thing that he will ask me of earthly things." So saying she departed like a dream. Brandoch Daha said, "Cast we lots for this adventure." But Juss spake against it, saying, "There's likely some guile herein. We must not in this accursed land suffer aught to seduce our minds, but follow our set purpose. We must not be of those who go forth for wool and come home shorn."

But Juss answered and said, "O Mivarsh Faz, know that not for fame are we come on this journey. Our greatness already shadoweth all the world, as a great cedar tree spreading his shadow in a garden; and this enterprise, mighty though it be, shall add to our glory only so much as thou mightest add to these forests of the Bhavinan by planting of one more tree.

"Blame us not overmuch, dear Queen. Who shoots at the mid-day sun, though he be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure he is he shall shoot higher than who aims but at a bush."

And as they walked Prezmyra sang softly: He that cannot chuse but love. And strives against it still. Never shall my fancy move. For he loves 'gaynst his will; Nor he which is all his own. And can att pleasure chuse; When I am caught he can be gone. And when he list refuse. Nor he that loves none but faire. For such by all are sought; Nor he that can for foul ones care. For his Judgement then is naught; Nor he that still his Mistresse payes. For she is thrall'd therefore; Nor he that payes not, for he sayes Within, shee's worth no more. Is there then no kinde of men Whom I may freely prove? I will vent that humour then In mine own selfe love.

What an Ass is he Waits a woman's leisure For a minute's pleasure. And perhaps may be Gull'd at last, and lose her; What an ass is he? What need I to care For a woman's favour? If another have her. Why should I despair? When for gold and labour I can have my share. If I chance to see One that's brown, I love her. Till I see another Browner is than she; For I am a lover Of my liberty.

Homes to the bull. Hooves to the steede. To little hayres Light feete for speed. And unto lions she giveth tethe A-gaping dangerouslye. Fishes to swim. And birds to flye. And men to judge And reeson why. She teacheth. Yet for womankind None of these thinges hath she. For women beautie She hath made Their onely shielde Their onely blade. O'er sword and fire they triumph stille. Soe they but beautious be.

His luck hath gone from him, and he is now one that would fall on his back and break his nose.

So they took their seats, and supper was set before them: kids stuffed with walnuts and almonds and pistachios; herons in sauce cameline, chines of beef geese and bustards; and great beakers andjars of ruby-hearted wine. Right fain of the good banquet were Corinius and his folk, and silence was in the hall for awhile save for the clatter of dishes and the champing of the mouths of the feasters.

Cargo now did off his armour, and Mevrian calling in her women to take this and other gear fared straightway to an inner chamber to change her fashion. Heming said to his brother, "Thou shalt need to go about it with great circumspection, to come off when we are gone so as thou be not aspied. Were I thou, I should be tempted for the rareness of the jest to await his coming, and assay whether thou couldst not make as good a counterfeit Mevrian as she a counterfeit Cargo." "Thou," said Cargo, "mayst well laugh and be gay, thou that must conduct her. And art resolved, I dare lay my head to a turnip, to do thy utmost endeavour to despoil Corinius of that felicity he hath to-night decreed him, and bless thyself therewith."

"He that imagineth after his labours to attain unto lasting joy, as well may he beat water in a mortar.

Swear to me thou wilt not betray me." But Gro said, "How should an oath from me avail thee, madam? Oaths bind not an ill man. Were I minded to do thee wrong, lightly should I swear thee all oaths thou mightest require, and lightly o' the next instant be forsworn."

"Madam, this and thy noble words hath given such rootfastness to the pact of faith betwixt us that it may now unfold what blossom of oaths thou wilt; for oaths are the blossom of friendship, not the root. And thou shalt find me a true holder of my vowed amity unto thee without spot or wrinkle."

"Let my opinion sway thee once. Why, a schoolboy should tell thee, clear thy flank and rear ere thou go forward."

"Of the roads," answered Gro, "a wise man will choose ever that one which is indirect. For but consider the matter, thou that art a great cragsman: think our life's course a lofty cliff. I am to climb it, sometime up, sometime down. I pray, whither leadeth the straight road on such a cliff? Why, nowhither. For if I will go up by the straight way, 'tis not possible; I am left gaping whiles thou by crooked courses hast gained the top. Or if down, why 'tis easy and swift; but then, no more climbing ever more for me. And thou, clambering down by the crooked way, shalt find me a dead and unsightly corpse at the bottom."

"Thou'lt not think me graceless nor forgetful, my lord. All that is mine, O ask it, and I'll give it thee with both hands. But ask me not that I have not to give, or if I gave should give but false gold. For that's a thing not good for thee nor me, nor I would not do it to an enemy, far less to thee my friend."

"Well," he said, "every one as he likes, as the goodman said when he kissed his cow.

I read this solely because it was on a reading list that I had assigned to myself. I know, it is a classic, inspiring to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. The archaic language and the rambling descriptions were barriers for me. I had to set myself a reward to be appreciated at the end of each chapter. There are many better ways to spend hours of your life.

One of my top 5 books of all time.

Despite the 5-star rating, I recognize serious flaws. The Worm Ouroboros won't be for everyone. It's written in prose that can get heavy-handed at times and difficult to decipher. Moreover, it's very male-centric. The men are magnificent warriors while the women are mostly irrelevant. Those magnificent warriors also tend to revel in mass slaughter of their subjects. Thousands of men die in the course of this book but the lordly men seem to only appreciate the glory and honor of it all. The ending of the book - which I won't spoil - really hammers this home.

But the story is epic! It defines what an epic fantasy should be, so much so that I cannot give it other than 5 stars.

n  So strong in properties of ill is this serpent which the ancient Enemy that dwelleth in darkness hath placed upon this earth, to be a bane unto the children of men, but an instrument of might in the hand of enchanters and sorcerers.n

A messenger arrives at Krothering Castle with a demand to the gathered lords of Demonland from the king of Witchland. They are to come to his court at Carcë and swear him fealty as his loyal subjects, or he will enforce his demands by force of arms. Thus begins a grand tale of war that inspired several gargantuan fantasy epics.

E. R. Eddison has now been largely forgotten by the world of fantasy writing, but he remains back there in the shadows as another of the founding fathers of the modern genre. He inspired Tolkien and Lewis (and even attended meetings of the Inklings) and a whole bunch of others. And while this book unfortunately is horribly dated, even for a lover of the archaic like myself, there are plenty of examples of sentences and plot points where Eddison remains an important source of inspiration.

Part of The Worm Ouroboros is a mess. The frame story serves no purpose; the plot, while often interesting, is poorly organised; and the setting is unremarkable. I must admit to some annoyance at the naming practices (Demonland, Witchland, Impland, Goblinland etc.), but I learnt to get used to it eventually.

I am always a fan of flowery writing, and it has the potential to make me instantly fall in love with a story. However, I personally found the general writing style of E. R. Eddison to be tediously boring, with little of the grace and eloquence found in the works of authors he has inspired. On the other hand, Eddison has one big strength when it comes to the writing, and that is that many of his descriptions are positively gorgeous. Like dark Carcë, capital of Witchland…

Dismal and fearsome to view was this strong place of Carcë, most like to the embodied soul of dreadful night brooding on the waters of that sluggish river: by day a shadow in broad sunshine, the likeness of pitiless violence sitting in the place of power, darkening the desolation of the mournful fen; by night, a blackness more black than night herself.

Actually, the entirety of Chapter 4 (Conjuring in the Iron Tower) was absodamnlutely amazing. Which explains why all the quotes in this review can be found in that chapter. Which, unfortunately, also says something about the rest of the book.

That should prove that I can actually say something positive too. And beyond my complaints, I am happy to have read this classic. It is a dated, flawed book, but it is enjoyable in its own way. It is one of the first examples of modern fantasy, and of moving away from the land of fairytales and into the territory of grand stories on an epic scale.

I would also like to give it extra praise for this last quote, which reminded me why I feel so strongly about fantasy…

”And for thirty days and thirty nights wandered I alone on the face of the Moruna in Upper Impland, where scarce a living soul hath been: and there the evil wights that people the air of that desert dogged my steps and gibbered at me in darkness. Yet was I unafraid; and came in due time to Morna Moruna, and thence, standing on the lip of the escarpment as it were on the edge of the world, looked southaway where never mortal eye had gazed aforetime, across the untrodden forests of the Bhavinan. And in that skyey distance, pre-eminent beyond range on range of ice-robed mountains, I beheld two peaks throned for ever between firm land and heaven in unearthly loveliness: the spires and airy ridges of Koshtra Pivrarcha, and the wild precipices that soar upward from the abysses to the queenly silent snow-dome of Koshtra Belorn."

Why read The Worm Ouroboros?

Two reasons, chiefly. The first is that it’s fun; the second is that it’s a pleasure to read something whose author is so obviously in love with the English language, reveling in its intricacies.

To the first reason, if you’re looking for strong, character-driven plots or philosophical ruminations on Man’s condition, look elsewhere. Ouroboros is a celebration of the most pagan warrior virtues of the Western tradition. The basic story is the epic war between Demonland (the “good guys”), ruled by the brothers Juss, Spitfire and Goldry Bluszco, and Witchland (the “bad guys”), ruled by the deliciously wicked Gorice XII. Despite comparisons to Tolkien’s Middle Earth, Eddison’s ethos derives from Homer and the Norse Sagas stripped of their Christian veneer. Our heroes and our villains both are mighty and valiant fighters; and their women are uniformly fair. What sets the Demons and their allies apart is their sense of honor and a barbaric chivalry.

To the second reason: Eddison obviously loves English, most particularly Elizabethan English. Perhaps it’s because I have been reading and watching a lot of Shakespeare these last few months and my brain is more apt to translation than otherwise but I could wish our modern authors were as conscious and as careful and as exuberant in their prose as Eddison. An example taken entirely at random:

n  “Therewith he looked on the Demons, and there was that in his eyes that stayed their speech.

In a while he spake again, saying, `I sware unto you my furtherance if I prevailed. But now is mine army passed away as wax wasteth before the fire, and I wait the dark ferryman who tarrieth for no man. Yet, since never have I wrote mine obligations in sandy but in marble memories, and since victory is mine, receive these gifts: and first thou, O Brandoch Daha, my sword, since before thou wast of years eighteen thou wast accounted the mightiest among men-at-arms. Mightily may it avail thee, as me in time gone by. And unto thee, O Spitfire, I give this cloak. Old it is, yet may it stand thee in good stead, since this virtue it hath that he who weareth it shall not fall live into the hand of his enemies. Wear it for my sake. But unto thee, O Juss, give I no gift, for rich thou art of all good gifts: only my good will give I unto thee, ere earth gape for me’”n

(p. 161).

And this is the tenor for the next 400 pages. Despite that, the prose is very readable and if you can make it past the first chapter or two, the reading is worth the effort. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t want to encounter Elizabethan-style prose in every book I read but one of the things I don’t like about a lot of what passes for literature out there is the dull, turgid writing that ignores English’s rhythms, has its characters talk like denizens of the 21st century, and refuses to push the envelope in what English is capable of.

A third reason I enjoyed The Worm Ouroboros peculiar to myself is Eddison’s ear for names. Sometimes, he produces a real clunker like “Goldry Bluszco” but, on the whole, his instincts are true and when he names a character or a place it “feels” right – Gorice; Corsus, Corund & Corinius (Gorice’s chief generals); Lord Juss; Krothering Keep; Morna Moruna; Lady Mevrian; Carce; and so on.

The gods know I wouldn’t want to live in a world of Demons and Witches but I had a lot of fun vacationing there.

A strange and brilliant book. Eddison's plot here is a basic swords-and-sorcery tale, but the plot isn't the point--- though his Lord Gro is one of the finest characters found in fantasy lit (and rather a hero of mine). The point is the language--- Eddison writes in Thomas Malory's prose, in over-the-top, thundering, complex 15th-c. English that's a delight to read. And there's no good or evil here, just warriors with ambitions and reputations to make--- a world that Agamemnon and Odysseus would've understood instantly. Read the preface, but skim the "Induction" and the first forty or so pages. Then dive headlong into the tale and the language. There's nothing like this anywhere else.

Well, it took me 15 months and a stack of dictionaries, but I've finally finished this epic! I feel as much a sense of accomplishment in the reading as Eddison might have felt in the writing of it!

I don't recall it having been so laborious from my first time of reading back in my teenage years, but I guess without internet reference rabbit-holes to fall down, it would be faster, though somewhat more archaic and obscure.

Anyway, the plot takes precedence over character, and there's barely any plot to speak of, so what you are left with is a framework over which Eddison drapes his sumptuous language, weaving moods and reveries, sometimes loud, brash and theatrical, at othertimes delicate fretworks of bejewelled, gilded traceries. It's definitely a love/hate book, and I've needed my own mood to be right to enter into Eddison's world, but I was happy to take my time and approach it as a feast of many courses, rather than a fast food binge.

At some point I'll write a more cohesive review. Meanwhile, here are some of the thoughts I posted in discussions elsewhere.

I couldn't overstress how much I loved the language in The Worm Ouroboros. While I read, I picked up a couple of modern fantasy novels for some lighter reading and truly, though I enjoyed them, the writing was millions of miles behind. Some of his descriptions of even the simplest, most every day occurances made me pause in consideration and true enjoyment.

As I was reading, especially toward the beginning there seemed to be a lack of character development, but as I continued it seemed rather like a different kind of character development - the reader doesn't get a lot of insight into characters' thoughts, but you do discover who they are by their actions. As someone else mentioned they have more the quality of epic or mythological characters.

I kept wishing for a map to follow their progress round about and back and forth, but oh well.

One of the aspects of the book that bothered me in a couple different ways is the different lands/peoples. There is the lack of differences between some of the peoples though they're called by names that seem to signify differences in the type of being they are, e.g. Witchland, Demonland, Pixieland. The other bother for me was the complete disregard the demons had for the prince of Impland who travels with them, who is a different kind of creature, and definitely fits the whole idea of 2nd class citizen at the very least.

About 2/3rds of the way through I was thinking, in comparison to Lord of the Rings (for example), that there's a weakness in the lack of one purpose or strand through the book... or maybe simply the lack of a stronger purpose. It has quest in it, but it's really about this long struggle against a power that claims sovereignty over the world. Now that I write that I think it's funny that the purpose doesn't seem stronger, but perhaps it just doesn't seem cohesive somehow.

I think the purpose or main strand becomes clear at the end and I'm a bit amazed at how much of import was in the last 80 pages. I was really enjoying the way it was ending...and then Eddison throws that last bit at you and I seriously thought he needed a good talking to, or someone to argue with him about it.........but at the last word I had to nod in understanding. Still a bit in disbelief at what seemed initially a bit out of character for the honorable Lord Juss, but it fits a part of who he is, and, in a certain way, makes the story and central theme somewhat fuller.

Not sure if I can obtain copies of his other books at present, but will definitely look into it in the future.

“The harvest of this world is to the resolute, and he that is infirm of purpose is ground betwixt the upper and the nether millstone.

I just don't think fantasy is my genre, not in the way that it's presented in so formulaic a branding as it seems to be offered nowadays, anyway. There always seems to be an evil dragon, or evil wizard, or evil king, or a magical item that needs to be obtained in a quest that the suddenly appointed and apprehensive hero or heroes must undergo in order to save the world. This is nothing new, and Hollywood has made stacks of money using this formula for decades, in many settings, telling and retelling the same old story. In recent years I've discovered that the term 'monomyth' is, essentially, the descriptor for this type of journey. The one where the hero has been selected by prophecy, or a wise old sage, or hand-selected to do great things, oftentimes against their own will. Another term for this, which is becoming consistently more prevalent in pop culture usage, is the 'Hero's Journey'.

This 'Hero's Journey' is the summarized labeling of the consistent patterns recognized in a number of stories that follow a consistent structure and outline, and which lead our hero down a set of steps they must follow in order to accomplish the tasks laid out before them. The inquiring reader may find it interesting to read a bit on this structure and acquaint themselves in its use as a means to tell a story. Once familiar with the pillars of this formula it is easy to pick see its application in dozens of stories that we all know and love. For a few fantasy specific examples we can look to the Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter. It is precisely this series of events, the 'hero's journey, that, when told in consistently derivative and formulaic ways, becomes uninteresting and boring. We all know what's going to happen, and we all know when it's going to happen because we've seen it time and time again.

One of the the other applications of storytelling in fantasy is the insertion of 'realism' into the genre, which can also have an unfortunate effect if taken to its extremity. The greatest example for this from my own experience is A Song of Ice and Fire. It goes in the opposite direction of not having a specific 'hero' character, presenting the vast majority of its characters with various forms of character flaws that serve to express their humanity. Unfortunately, the series also suffers from a great number of character deaths that don't seem to have any other point than shock value. While this has the possibility of serving the story when utilized to do so it can create an environment where the stakes for success are quite high; if used just to present to the reader that people die suddenly then it is merely a sideshow with nothing to focus on or story to follow. A story without a character is usually a purposeless and aimless quest without purpose, since we have no emotional interest in the outcome of anything, especially if it is rooted in realism in that the characters suffer deaths that have no meaning. This is where A Song of Ice and Fire falls. If there's no hero, or no one to connect with for any length of time, or if the person that I connect with ultimately dies in an unsatisfying manner (without serving the betterment of the story), then the story loses some of its purpose, and therefore the reason that I'm investing my time in it. Sure, a character can have such a death if it serves the purpose of the story as a whole, but when it happens again, and again, and again, with no purpose, then there is no reason to continue with that story. In life, perhaps, death can suddenly occur without any implied meaning or value, in story, authors make decisions that serve or do not serve the story at hand. Meaningless deaths are meaningless to the story, but I digress.

Fantasy, as a whole, has generally failed to keep my interest or truly impress me since I was a boy and had been inundated with  Rankin Bass cartoons,  80's fantasy movies,  video games, and  game books. I greatly enjoyed all these fantasy influences, especially the Lord of the Rings, because they felt new and exciting. Now the typical fantasy story of the underestimated hero on the quest to save the world has well been played, so it takes something different in the setting to really gain my attention. Upon recently completing Of This and Other Worlds, which is a series of essays by C.S. Lewis, among which he discusses his love of fantasy and myth, and because of my general disinterest in the genre, I decided to read one of the novels he mentioned: a foundation novel that influenced him and Tolkien both. With Lewis' enthusiasm and his convincing rhetoric, I hoped to find and rekindle an interest that I just don't seem to have anymore. Thus I chose The Worm Ouroboros.

The Worm Ouroboros was written in 1922, long before the likes of Middle Earth, or Narnia, or Dungeons and Dragons took command of fantasy practically standardizing it into imitative submission. Whether it be barbarians, wizards, orphaned heroes, or evil beasts, we see much of the same played out across thousands of pages, and usually in ridiculously long multi-book epics. I've no particular love of excessively long fantasy tales  and am far more appreciative of a shorter yarn. Eddison manages to get the job done in a mere 300 pages while maintaining the awe and power of heroism his created world. His world was imaginative (though somewhat overly wrought at times), the characters felt like people and not caricatures and, most importantly, I had no idea how the story would play itself out. This is primarily because of the way that Eddison chooses to portray his characters and their morality.

Much of today's fantasy has an assumed cast of 'lesser' or 'evil' races, filled with disfigurements, or different skin colors, or undesirable traits that make them unlikeable, such as orcs, goblins, imps, or house elves. They act as an inferior species and often provide the fodder that the story's heroes need to wade through while attempting to achieve their objective. Eddison does not pursue this route, but populates his world with multi-faceted, depthful characters who are defined by more than just race. Sure, there are wild creatures such as Hippogriffs, and Mantichores that exist in the author's fantasy lands of Mercury, but the most dangerous beast that lives there is man.

In this manner The Worm Ouroboros is similar to A Song of Ice and Fire in that it is political tension between kingdoms which creates the conflict in the narrative, nudging the characters to venture out into dangerous lands on a journey, rather than an artificial instigator like a prophecy, or a magic item. There are quests, and there is a war, but neither of them feels like a forced concoction of modern day role-playing leftovers and rejected Saturday morning cartoon pitches. The disagreement between kingdoms is presented clearly from both sides, establishing stakes that feel applicable and valuable to the story's many characters., and none of them resulting in the 'end of the world'. This maturity in the storytelling seems to be slightly undermined by the rather unique naming conventions.

The men of the land of Mercury rule the kingdoms of Demonland, Impland, Witchland, and Pixyland. These monikers have a sort of juvenility to them as it makes it sound as if the world is divided into a series of oddly themed amusement parks. It would be easy to imagine the residents of such places to be the creatures suggested by their titles, though they hold no descriptive power over their inhabitants whatsoever. They are, in essence, nothing more than names of countries and the citizens that reside in them do not have any specific physical characteristics that represent them as a whole. Demonland's rulers and citizens are referred to as 'demons' and have no attributes as such. I did think this naming scheme was a little silly, and wasn't the only one, as Eddison was criticized for these decisions by his peers. He did state, however, that he had originally created the roots of this story when he was a young man and wanted to stay true to his original invention, which, I suppose, I cannot fault him for. The names serve the reader no difficulty, and actually create a relatively clear image of the political struggle that informs the story.

In which struggle befell the most bloody fighting that was yet seen that day, and the stour of battle so asper and so mortal that it was hard to see how any man should come out from it with life, since not a man of either side would budge an inch but die there in his steps if he might not rather slay the foe before him.

The major conflict of the book is steeped directly in the battle between two of the major powers in the world: Witchland and Demonland. They have recently ended a great war against a race known as the Ghouls in which the two kingdoms were united, and in which the king of Witchland withdrew his army from Demonland's assistance in their greatest hour of need, likely in the interest of assuming power over Demonland should they be conquered in the conflict. The book opens with the king of Witchland, Gorice XI requesting the submission of Demonland, to which the demon rulers will have no such thing.

As I mentioned previously, there are a number of major characters on each side of the conflict, as well as many from other nations in the world who are either married into the associated royal families, or involved with them based on alliances or political influence. In this way the story takes on similarities to works of legend like The Iliad, or Three Kingdoms. The general population of the world, its citizens, and especially the soldiers, fall distinctly into the background of the story while being influenced and led by a number of specifically named characters. This is all the more evident during scenes of battle in which the armies involved are assumed to be present while the action focuses primarily on the duel between principal characters.

In that nick of time came Spitfire through the stour, with a band of Demons about him, slaying as he came. He shouted with a terrible voice, “O Corinius, hateful to me and mine as are the gates of Hell, now will I kill thee, and thy dead carcase shall fatten the sweet meads of Owlswick.” Corinius answered him, “Bloody Spitfire, last of three whelps, for thy brothers are by now dead and rotten, I shall give thee a choke-pear.”

The story and language reads as 16th century English, which is the style the author intended, and which truly adds a great deal of epic weight to the events as they play out. It feels like Shakespeare and the The Iliad with an eleven-year old child in charge of naming conventions. At times the language can interfere with the story, specifically when Eddison gets carried away describing the environment and landscape while several of our characters traverse various portions of the map. At other times it heightens the mood and atmosphere to moments of inspirational quality. It's very effective in creating the mood and tone of legend and mysticism, though I can see it as a barrier to some. I read this on a kindle having downloaded the free version which I've since read is plagued with spelling errors and is a poor port of the story, so my experience may have been hindered by this flaw. I would recommend finding a physical copy to ensure a bit more accuracy.

Know when to speak, for many times it brings Danger to give the best advice to Kings;

The Worm Ouroboros is a book that I do not regret reading though I was pleased to see it come to an end. It was an enjoyable addition to my fantasy experience that, while it had some very powerful moments, did not strike me with the greatness I was hoping for. I think that this is a story that rewards additional readings, and exploration of the language. When I think on specific scenes and moments I'm impressed by their power, and how Eddison successfully uses Jacobean language to heighten their impact. His characters are compelling, defined by their actions and not by simple descriptions. The ones I grewto appreciate for their honor and nobility had their flaws, just as their enemies had respectable and likable traits. I also very much appreciated the prominent and strong female characters, especially Lady Mevrian who is in several of my favorite moments of the book. None of the women are presented or described as weak, just the opposite actually: they are intelligent, charming, challenging of their male counterparts, and very capable of leading and handling the situations presented.

The story is certainly not without its humor either, which, in a story of war and political wrangling, provides a much needed dose of levity and humanity. It makes the characters more believable and enjoyable, rather than just being muscle-laden warriors that seek only the good of a particular kingdom or the death of a foe, they have desires and weaknesses. One of my favorite moments is the following quote in which our band of adventurers is leading a war party through a vast track of waste and expanse. They're weary after days of travel and find themselves resting in a strange tower, marveling at their fortune when a very obvious supernatural woman walks into the room in which they are sheltering:

Then a faint music, troublous in its voluptuous wild sweetness, floated on the air, and they beheld a lady enter on the dais. Beautiful she seemed beyond the beauty of mortal women. In her dark hair was the likeness of the horned moon in honey-coloured cymophanes every stone whereof held a straight beam of light imprisoned that quivered and gleamed as sunbeams quiver wading in the clear deeps of a summer sea. She wore a coat-hardy of soft crimson silk, close fitting, so that she did truly apparel her apparel and with her own loveliness made it more sumptuous. She said, “My lords and guests in Ishnain Nemartra, there be beds of down and sheets of lawn for all of you that be aweary. But know that I keep a sparrow-hawk sitting on a perch in the eastern tower, and he that will wake my sparrow-hawk this night long, alone without any company and without sleep, I shall come to him at the night’s end and shall grant unto him the first thing that he will ask me of earthly things.” So saying she departed like a dream.

I can imagine her exiting the room enticingly leaving our dumbfounded characters to stare for a few seconds before one of them speaks up enthusiastically:

Brandoch Daha said, “Cast we lots for this adventure.”

Or this excerpt, when two opposing leaders cordially share insults:

Juss answered, "Thou dost thee and thou me. And indeed it were folly in either of us twain to bend knee to t'other, when the lordship of all the earth waiteth on the victor in our great contention."

And unto Lord Juss he said, “Of all ensuing harm the cause is in thee; for I am now resolved never to put up my sword until of thy bleeding head I may make a football.

Ultimately, I enjoyed it, and would recommend this book to fans of myth, those who enjoy the Elizabethan playwrights, and fans of fantasy who are not dissuaded by a non-formulaic, non-monomythic story that inspired much of what the genre is today. I respect The Worm Ouroboros for containing a great deal of what I still hope to find in fantasy, should I keep looking - an aspect of mystery and wonder that isn't derided by stock archetypes and generic premises, but one that makes me stop and contemplate the characters and the world; lands that are both representative of things unknown, intriguing, and worth exploring; and a sense of adventure that promises excitement, rather than the tedium of the heroic motions, and which doesn't feel like a well-worn groove on the road to the land of derivative fantasy heroes and villains. The language may be challenging at times, but the moments of true greatness are worth every page, feel unique, and manage to surpass in originality anything that I've read in terms of fantasy for some time. Here's to hoping that the heroes of Eddison's world continue their heroic battle until I return.

Rightfully, having such a timeless life, this King weareth on his thumb that worm Ouroboros which doctors have from of old made for an ensample of eternity, whereof the end is ever at the beginning and the beginning at the end for ever more.”