The Worm Ouroboros

Rating:
Summary: In response to the first review
Review: Comparing Tolkein and Eddison is like comparing apples and oranges. True they're both masters of fantasy, but in different respects. You might as well match up Star Wars and the Matrix as two of the best Sci-fi stories.

It's hard to see, but the same amount of time went into both books, but in different respects. Whereas Tolkein spent his time writing languages, Eddison spent his time writing in colloquial speech and creating a version of the english language akin to old english. Basically they did the same thing, it's just that Tolkien wrote alphabets and dictionaries that had his new language, while Eddison wrote dialogue.

Whereas Tolkein wrote a perfect modern, dark fantasy tale, Eddison wrote a perfect old/romantic light fantasy tale. Basically, as literary works, they're practically equal, when taken for what they are.

Rating:
Summary: Quintessential fantasy adventure
Review: Leave behind your preconceived notions of science (i.e.: the fact that Mercury is, in fact, hardly a habitable planet), ignore the early awkward inconsistencies (where the heck does Lessingham go after the third chapter?) and simply enjoy this book! This is a truly entrancing and magical fantasy the likes of which I haven't seen since...well, since Eddison tripped off this mortal coil. The faux-Elizabethan prose is more than a bit pretentious, admittedly, but I think it adds a wonderful burst of colour to proceedings. And while the pro-war sentiment dates this a good deal, it's still a wild ride. But, as a result, the lords of Demonland (supposedly the "good guys") don't seem appreciably more or less morally virtuous than those of Witchland. In fact, the lords of Witchland come across as a bit more sympathetic mainly because they are more interesting (i.e.: more developed) characters. Whatever. It's far from perfect, but it's still a damn fine read.

Rating:
Summary: The Worm Ouroboros is a wonder; a charm; rich with delight
Review: Mr. E.R.Eddison's master-work, the Worm Ouroboros, is without peer; but the heady and voluptuous beauty of his rich prose, alas, shall find few readers able to admire it. In a word, this book is for the few to whom fantasy means phantasmagorical, noble, ornamental, awe-striking, wondrous. His book is all this, and is like no other. The main action of the book takes place on Mercury, where and Earthly visitor, in a dream, witnesses the titanic war between two mighty kingdoms of that planet. There were never villains so black and pure of quill as the tyrannous King Gorice XII of Carce and his crew. Lord Gro, his henchman, cannot rest from intrigue and treason; the Lords Corsus, Corund and Corinius are tipplers, drunks, gamblers, leachers, and yet stern fighting-men and deadly both on battle-field and sea-fight.

In constrast, the Lords Juss, Spitfire, Gouldry Blazsco and Brandoch Daha are great and noble in a way never seen these days, and rarely seen erenow. They are men of honor, bold in emprise, valiant and fierce as hawks, but well-spoken, gentlemen first and last. To climb the unclimbed mountain at the end of the world, or to wrestle unto death a King for possession of a kingdom, or to rescue a brother from the pale regions of the dead, were all one matter to them; they flinch at nothing. Great wars, opulant prose, women of beauty without compare, bold princes, splendour, horrors stirred up from the pit by unlawful grammery, treasons, escapes, sword-fights, beauties to peirce the heart, all are here in this book: but this book is not meant for all.