I swam in the prose style. I think Tolkien might have killed to write this prose. Eddison has a facility with the antiquarian and an ear for music of an order I can only wish were there to enjoy in Lord of the Rings. However, eventually I tired of the crude characterization and plot that can no more achieve high seriousness than Tolkien can work these sentences.

Points for having Dunbar's 'Lament for the Makers' sung in full in some goblin hall.

E. R. Eddison es un poeta épico. Sus fuentes son las mismas de Homero, de Milton, de la epopeya, de los cantos heroicos. Esta obra no es más que la conjugación de un imaginario que está más allá del tiempo, lejano, incomparable y autónomo; una obra de fantasía en toda regla que no intenta desligarse de sus antecedentes, sino que los refuerza, convive con ellos; los pone a dialogar para mostrarnos un abanico de personajes y sus hazañas, sin intervención de una moralidad narratológica. Bélica, apasionante, estéticamente poderosa e injustamente olvidada fuera de los marcos más académicos.

Si la fantasía contemporánea quiere sobrevivir y no ser nada más un producto editorial de turno, debe beber más de Eddison y sus pasajes, sus pasiones, sus pulsiones. No es una historia de origen, pero sus palabras, cada verbo, cada locación, nace desde el lenguaje y para el lenguaje; desde la imaginación y para la imaginación.

Reading any fantasy before JRR came in and starting flooding the world with tiny men and their hairy feet is sometimes a dicey proposition. Not because most of it is bad (probably no better or worse than any fiction written in the 1920s) but because the sensibility is so vastly different. The idea of what fantasy "should" be hadn't exactly been codified so you mostly get people's attempts at trying to figure their way around a genre that hadn't really coalesced into the various styles that we know today. If you're lucky, then you can get someone like Lord Dunsany, who could write compelling about fairies and the like with some of the most elegant prose to be put to paper and still manage to tell his story in less than epic length. Other times, you wonder if they're getting paid by the word (in the case of stuff that made it into pulp magazines, they probably were).

I went through a phase where I decided to find the semi-major works of early fantasy, most of which aren't real well known today. I've tackled Lord Dunsany already and I have "The Well at the World's End" and "Lud-in-the-Mist" floating around somewhere, and while I'm sure those will have their challenges, none of that quite prepares you for what you're going to experience in "The Worm Ouroboros", probably ER Eddison's best known work.

You know you're in for a good time when the introduction goes out of its way to point out the flaws of the book as a way of telling you to look past and forgive all that (my edition is from Replica books, which I didn't buy because it was printed in my home state of New Jersey, but it's certainly a nice touch) before the book even starts, and honestly the two things they highlight (the first chapter and Eddison's apparently overly rich descriptions of banquet halls) aren't even anywhere near deal-breakers. Amusingly, the one line description of the plot doesn't even come close to depicting what happens in the rest of the book. It's not a package really designed to sell people who wouldn't normally be interested in proto-fantasy literature from the early part of the 20th century on the concept. So let me try and do a better job.

So what the heck is all this about? In a nutshell, the dominion of Witchland coverts nearby Demonland and after getting rebuffed decide to go all out, kidnapping one of the main lords and scattering the rest, forcing the good men of Demonland to raise an army, get their dominion back and vanquish their foes in Witchland, all of whom are pretty decent warriors led by a king who seems to both a sorcerer and a Time Lord at the same time.

A couple things are worth noting before you even start. For one, Eddison came up with a lot of these concepts when he was a child and as an adult didn't bother to change any names when he wrote his book out, thus if you're thinking that a book populated by people from the nations of Demonland, Witchland, Goblinland and Impland might have been conceived by a twelve year old, you aren't that far off (oddly enough, everyone in those places are just regular people, though there's a stray reference the folks in Demonland having tiny horns that is never mentioned again). However, the book is much more sophisticated than that, having a pretty decently worked out history (given in the backpages of the book) and a fairly realistic set of relationships between the nations as well as a good amount of shared history from the main characters (years before "Games of Thrones", Eddison's book has the characters reminiscing about the time they engaged in a genocidal war with the population of Ghoulland, eventually wiping them all out) that helps flesh out the proceedings and give some weight. All this helps because instead of trying to write a book that children could read, he decided to write it in a 16th century style of writing, meaning that the only people who would be able to fathom what was going on are readers with a lot of patience, or contemporaries of Chaucer (indeed, letters the characters write to each other that are quoted in the text are as Olde English as ye can get). It's not the worst style in the world to handle, but it is a bit of an adjustment, although I think ultimately the archaic style fits the story he's telling here. For me, it was like watching a Shakespeare play, where the language can come across as gibberish until you start to get into the rhythms of it, then it sounds perfectly natural (it wears off, though, so unless you're able to read the book in one fell swoop be prepared to flail about for a bit everytime you dive back into it while the brain makes the necessary changes). He commits to this pretty much a hundred percent, which is impressive in itself, although a few stray references to tennis balls nearly took me out of the text (this happens at least twice).

It's also a novel completely comprised of action. In a world where we're used to learning about everyone's deepest thoughts, Eddison's characters keep those thoughts to themselves. Unless it's said in the dialogue, the motivations of each character can only be judged by their actions alone (typically involving a sword) and except for a few weak stabs at introspection you've got nothing but raw action and people talking about what they're going to do when it's time for raw action.

With all those caveats, though, is any of this worth it? Surprisingly, for those who have the wherewithal to withstand the battery of really ancient sounding prose, yes. Once you get into the story the prose is extremely well written, able to set atmosphere and mood extraordinarily well. While most writers would take scenes and ramble on for pages of description, Eddison for the most part keeps it fairly normal (for the style, you'll never mistake this for Hemingway) and there are scenes that are completely immersive, not even the battle scenes but some of the quieter moments give him a good opportunity of showing off his skills at painting with color and tone. The plot itself is one overarching event (getting Demonland back and stopping Witchland) with a lot of little events and sideplots going on in the meantime, with alliances bouncing off each other as people weigh loyalty and vengeance and power, the costs of it and what all that means to them. He gives ample time to the folks at Witchland and while some of them have names that make it hard to tell them apart you can also see where he strives to give everyone distinct personalities, even the ladies (not an easy feat for this part of the century) who in some instances are even more bloodthirsty than the men.

He makes some interesting storytelling choices, sometimes taking major events and having them occur offscreen, which at times can give a fairly slow moving book a surprisingly breathless pacing, as if it's always trying to catch up with itself. Magic is mostly kept to a minimum but always present as well, with the characters calling on gods and sometimes seeing those prayers answered in unusual ways. But it doesn't trumpet the weirdest parts of the book, taking them in stride as if this is everyday (the king of Witchland is apparently the same person reincarnated in different guises repeatedly, changing from a wrestler to a sorcerer . . . nobody involved seems to think this is strange) and mythical creatures are treated with equal parts awe and "well, here's another tool for the toolbox".

It's epic event after epic event piling on top of each other so by the time you reach the climax, all the elements have been building to a fever pitch that goes nearly gonzo in how far the book is willing to go to resolve or completely obliterate obstacles in the way of getting to the ending. Those who soldiered bravely through the reams of prose in the earlier pages are rewarded with scenes that are just as off the scale epic as anything ever written in fantasy before and even once everything is resolved (while Demonland are technically the good guys, the book is refreshingly evenhanded in how it treats everyone) you're not prepared for the kind of ending he gives you, which is unlike anything I've read before in its magical strangeness, a kind of "Finnegans Wake" for fantasy that seems to be conscious of not only its own nature but our relationship to myths and legends and how we perceive them. It doesn't seek to elevate the common man as much as depict how we needs lords and kings to fight for us and have all the fun. Its an odd story that has no idea how odd it is, and still retains complete confidence in itself and for the most part justifies that. It's definitely not for everyone, even people who really like fantasy, but for someone able to immerse themselves in it, chances are it'll be nothing like anything they've ever read.

The prose is positively ultraviolet, there are plot holes big enough to march an army through, the author has an exceedingly poor grasp on the concept that women are people, and occasionally a nasty racist stereotype hits you over the head. At a bare minimum it desperately needed another pass by a good editor. It had a certain propulsive energy that kept me reading to the end, but I don't recommend the experience.

Had to put it down after 150 pages. I was thrilled in the beginning with the langorous prose style and similarities to the Icelandic Sagas. That thrill wore off as Eddison spent more and more time describing physical locations and the characters took on an odd similarity to each other. There was only one engaging character and he was seen only sporadically after the first 50 pages, totally unlike the one Icelandic Saga I read (Egil's Saga) which was stuffed with unique and vibrant personalities.

Despite its troubles, Eddison was able to throw down some amazing paragraphs that really burn the brain with their brilliance. Unfortunately these scenes were surrounded by tedium.

Of all the classical pre-Tolkien fantasy this here, Worm Ouroboros, is the best. Really it is quite impossible to offer a succinct review in relation to any quarter of this "magnus opus". Beautiful and far reaching in its depth, it is a vast fantasy book - not vast particularly in pages, in fact its quite short beside our modern greats, such as the song of fire an ice, which I believe is about seven hundred pages? But the vastness lies within the pages, the words the weave the genetic structure of fantasy story telling - for that is what this story is, fantasy in purest, and also rawest form imaginable. With have wild names, and wilder places! The reader is made to move like a wild stag through the clotted glades of literature, breathing in the fresh air of every turned page as we see with our own awe-inspired eyes dreamlike vistas, wonderful and powerful characters, and just as incredible speeches, all woven together with poetical mastery that one cannot help but simply admire, and fall in love with.

On a side note, the story is very dreamlike, or that's how I found it, and perhaps a little too far-fetched. But in all fairness, the writer never intended the book to be straightforward and ordinary. This is fantasy at its most fantasy-like. For a true journey into another universe aI don't think you will find a parallel in this, Eddisons finest Worm Ouroboros.

La literatura épica y la fantástica, principalmente estos géneros, están representadas por la serpiente Uróboros que se come su propia cola, símbolo de la eternidad, "cuyo final siempre está en el principio, y cuyo principio siempre está en el final por siempre jamás".

Es raro encontrar que un autor contemporáneo de estos géneros nos presente una historia fresca, innovadora, que nos atrape desde un inicio y que, además, tenga un valor excepcional dentro del movimiento. Hemos visto incontables escritores que, portando la flama infundida por Tolkien, han fracasado rotundamente en esto. Autores como Martin, Paolini, Jordan, entre otros muchos, inclusive al mismo Tolkien falló de pleno. Todo es un vil refrito de historias previas. Pero cuando menos los autores más remotos a nuestra época tuvieron la suficiente decencia y buena mano de beber del manantial de las leyendas y mitologías. La mayoría de los mencionados arriba solo copian ideas y les cambian nombres para hacerlos pasar por suyas. Pero, acaso, ¿existirá algo verdaderamente original en este mundo?

Eddison fue el padre de todos, al menos de los contemporáneos del siglo XX y XXI. Antes de él hubo muchos, sí, como Lord Dunsany e incluso pondría en el mismo estante a Mary Shelley. Pero en lo que respecta al "rescate" de la literatura épica, Eddison fue el pionero y maestro.

Si bien, como otros, se basa en viejas leyendas (principalmente escandinavas), autores como Homero, Ovidio y Virgilio (podría incluir también a Plutarco, aunque sea más su función de historiador) y material de Shakespeare (siendo amante de la obra del Bardo), Eddison logra arremeter con fuerza el ámbito de la fantasía épica y nos describe un mundo ajeno tan similar al nuestro que dudamos si se referirá a otro o a nuestro propio planeta. Se vale de dioses, costumbres, criaturas e incluso atisbos de sucesos históricos bien conocidos; todo esto para formar un relato excelso, que remonta los deseos más recónditos de la niñez tanto del autor como del propio lector.

Los personajes, descritos con el mayor lujo de detalle, no pelean para liberar al mundo del malvado Rey Oscuro, ni para salvaguardar su hogar de las garras del Enemigo; pelean por el amor a la batalla, al honor, pelean por diversión inclusive, y si llegaran a prevalecer ante su más acérrimo enemigo le honrarán su muerte por el resto de sus días. Así mismo, no tienen un ideal ético que quieran imponer a los demás: no hay una inspiración divina que les obligue o marque el sendero que deban seguir, ni tampoco existe ley alguna que les haga flaquear al momento de enfrentarse a una decisión de vida o muerte, en la que el honor tome parte. Los personajes son, irónicamente, muy humanos, y sus pasos son lógicos.

Un error en los escritores de fantasía es imponer su propio ethos al universo que han "creado", pues generalmente escriben absolutos en cuanto al "bien" y al "mal" se refiere, siendo Tolkien el más representativo de esto. Nos encontramos a personajes que son extremo-buenos, y extremo-malos. Luz y oscuridad. Blanco y negro. Belleza y fealdad. De vez en cuando se atisba una dualidad en uno o dos personajes, que se justifica infructuosamente dicha dualidad al decir que "jamás fueron en realidad buenos/malos". Y el motivo por el cual se desencadenan la serie de eventos siempre es "obligado", en el sentido de que el personaje "no tenía otra opción más que hacer-tal-cosa".

Otros autores imponen sus ideales por medio de los personajes, quieren vendernos la "cajita feliz" de que el mundo en paz es lo mejor a lo que podemos aspirar, que vale la pena luchar por ciertas cosas para poder retirarse a la campiña y vivir y morir tranquilamente en la vejez como un merecido retiro. Otros nos imponen prejuicios tan arraigados, como lo son el racismo, el sexismo y el clasismo (y me refiero principalmente a Tolkien, donde su opus magnum es un verdadero caldo de prejuicios insufribles, vendido a la idea del Bien y el Mal y por lo tanto esos prejuicios son justificables), e incluso el especismo (todos, sin excepción). Eddison, por su parte, omite (la gran mayoría de) estos prejuicios, pues cada personaje es distinto. No hay un Sauron, ni tampoco un Aragorn, y mucho menos un Smeagol/Gollum. Los personajes actúan como quieren, desean y añoran, no porque se les dictó ser así. Y nos es difícil juzgar sus acciones, pues al ver el prisma general de las cosas es muy complejo crucificar a un personaje por X decisión y no sentir una remota pizca de empatía hacia él. Es como si quisiéramos juzgar a Odiseo en su travesía a casa, diciendo que era el malo maloso que asedió a Troya, pero ahora lo vemos sufrir en carne propia y no podemos evitar sentir empatía. Con los personajes contemporáneos es poca o casi nula la empatía que sentimos. Son menos creíbles.

Ahora bien, la idea de la serpiente uróboros es magistral, y refrita por otros autores (principalmente Robert Jordan y Stephen King [sí, para aquellos versados en el universo King recordarán La Torre Oscura y su "final", y La Danza de la Muerte], Michael Ende), los mismos personajes y sucesos parece que fueron copiados vilmente por Tolkien (la reina Sofonisba, el rey Gorice en su torre oscura, los capitanes de Juss, el paso a través del Koshtra Pivrarcha y el Koshtra Belorn, los jinetes en las batallas de Demonlandia, la batalla final a las puertas negras de Carcé, etc.), y después vueltos a copiar por otros autores. La serpiente, entonces, se come su cola una y otra y otra vez.

La única razón por la que no le doy 5 estrellas a esta magnífica obra es la traducción. Uno de los detalles más importantes que Eddison tuvo la gentileza de hacer fue escribirla en un inglés arcaico, antiguo, como los viejos poemas épicos que tanto amaba. Ese es un ejercicio igual o más grande que el inventar una lengua (caso de Tolkien) y a partir de ahí crear la historia. Ha de ser una maravilla leer La Serpiente Uróboros en ese inglés arcaico, como si nos remontáramos a autores de antaño. Y el trabajo de la traducción pudo haber sido magistral si se remontara también a un español arcaico, antiguo, que equiparara a su original inglés. Pero quedará en la imaginación...

Eddison logró lo que tantos otros autores no han logrado hasta la fecha. Es una verdadera lástima que no se le de el reconocimiento que merece, opacado por sosas e insufribles historias de múltiples tomos compuestos por miles de páginas cada uno, llenos de verborrea mierdosa y tramas que no llevan a ningún lado.

Si quieren un relato épico, en toda la extensión de la palabra, acudan a La Serpiente Uróboros, y se encontrarán ante el relato de fantasía épica por excelencia.

The Worm Ouroboros seems to be one of those books that consensus reality has decreed to be Very Important To The History Of Fantasy, which might be true. That fact doesn't make it any easier to read nearly 500 pages of pseudo-Chaucerian language pitting ill-defined characters with zany names against one another. Crucial plot elements are hidden at the end of paragraphs, characters wander into the fog only to reappear hundreds of pages later, and a never-before-seen character recounts an epic battle to his also-never-before-seen father. The oddball narrative and structural choices have as much in common with outsider art narratives like Henry Darger's "Vivian Girls" stories as they do with mythical epics.

The book isn't entirely without charm, though. Its sheer weirdness means that every couple of chapters, something delightfully bizarre gets dropped out of nowhere. A heavily-foreshadowed episode with crocodiles was particularly memorable.

To sum up, this is probably a novel suited for fantasy completists-cum-historians rather than for a person looking for a ripping yarn.

Covered in depth on the Bad Books for Bad People podcast:
http://badbooksbadpeople.com/episode-...

"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.

The Worm Ouroboros is incredibly dense and it’s written in faux Jacobean English. It took me three tries to get through this book, so take that for what it’s worth.

The great thing about it is that it's written from a different perspective than Narnia or Lord of the Rings in that both of those stories are explicitly or implicitly Christian. E.R. Eddison took a very different approach, a pagan one—“pagan” in the sense of the old Vikings or similar–and it gives the story a very different flavor.

It has great battles, great descriptions, and the prose itself is just a challenge and a joy. The book is definitely one of my favorites and one of the novels that had a great deal to do with the author I became. I recommend The Worm Ouroboros if you’re looking for something out of the mainstream and beautiful.

The Worm Ouroboros was published in 1922 so it was on the book shelves for over a decade before the Hobbit came out. Before Tolkien I wasn't sure what fantasy novels were out. I thought he was the first real fantasy author. I was wrong. When I heard about Eddison in our fantasy group I quickly jumped onboard and tackled this high fantasy epic!

This book was interesting. It is very dense and written in faux Jacobean English which made reading it burdensome. The book begins with an emissary from the lords of Witchland going to the demons of Demonland demanding they recognize Witchland as the supreme lords of the land. The two sides decide to settle the debate over a wrestling match. The Demonland winner gets imprisoned and wars erupt between the armies of Witchland and Demonland. The book is filled with mythological creatures, alchemy, war, love, and honor.

Now why 3 stars? Well...the faux Jacobean English really killed it for me. If it was written in standard English it would have been an enjoyable tale. I constantly had to remind myself that I needed to ignore the writing and just focus on the story. It was a struggle to read over 400 pages of this book. Again, the story is great, but the writing was very taxing and I could only read it in about twenty page increments. In my opinion, authors need to write so people understand the story and don't need to translate, comprehend, and read simultaneously.

A friend and I didn't like how Eddison used terminology that conveyed a negative (and confusing) connotation on the groups. We couldn't help thinking Demonland, Witchland, and Goblinland were evil nations, and we had to keep reminding ourselves Demonland were the good guys. When I think of a demon I think of the most evil creature in existence, but in this book they are good guys. What??

I don't know if I'm glad I read it. I don't have the good feeling like I just tackled a giant. It was confusing with all the names, the nations, and the writing, while trying to rewire my brain that demons were good. About two-thirds in, I couldn't wait to finish.

Le había puesto menos estrellas pero creo que si se merece 4. Me sacó carcajadas en público y uno que otro dolor de cabeza, pero al final si lo adoré.

Es un libro un poquitín difícil. Está escrito en inglés anticuado y Edison no se limitó en absoluto a la hora de dar extensas y alzadas peroratas. Pero después de avanzar algunos capítulos se empieza a volver normal y hasta aprecia uno lo copetón y minucioso del lenguaje (así como lo ridículo de mezclar eso con nombres como Goldry Bluzco).

Los personajes son incomprensibles a veces; se comportn como héroes de leyendas y el realismo nada más no existe en este universo, pero a pesar de ello no se mueven en un mundo en blanco y negro. Son caprichosos, vengativos, honorables al más puro estilo nórdico antiguo. Los personajes "buenos" y "malos" pueden gustar o disgustar, sus acciones agradan o exasperar por igual.

Más que nada, aprecio mucho descubrir autores de fantasía pre-Tolkien que hicieron cosas tan hermosas, complejas y elaboradas. Junto a Lord Dunsany, es de lo más bonito y divertido que he leído de ese periodo (1920's).