THE WORM OUROBOROS by E.R. Eddison (London: Jonathan Cape, 1922) Illustrated by Keith Henderson. Link to the 1924 edition.
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THE WORM OUROBOROS is a fantasy novel first published in 1922. The book takes place on a fictional Mercury that appears mainly medieval and partly reminiscent of Norse sagas. It describes the protracted war between the domineering King Gorice of Witchland and the Lords of Demonland, and is slightly related to Eddison’s later Zimiamvian Trilogy.
The Worm Ouroboros is written largely in sixteenth-century English; with Eddison making use of his experience translating Norse sagas and reading medieval and Renaissance poetry.
——16 May 2022
This book, and the Zimiamvia trilogy by the same writer were absolutely seminal in my development as a reader and writer in my pre- and early teens. They were “magic casements opening on the foam of perilous seas in Faery lands forlorn” as Keats puts it. They sit on my bookshelf today, picked up and reread every so often, considered critically anew, cherished, and in a position where I could grab them if I had to evacuate the house. I read them in early secondary school, completely enchanted by the richness (sometimes too rich) of the language, the detailed descriptions (sometimes too detailed) of the settings, the heroic characters (sometimes unbelievably heroic) that inhabited them.
I know now what I did not understand then, that they are flawed in ways all literature of that time was flawed. The author can be racist, classist, prejudiced with all the prejudices of his generation and background. There is no escaping that. One cannot ignore or condone it. I do not.
But without these books I would not have discovered poets and writers from Sappho to Swinburne, philosophical concepts from egoism to existentialism. These books propelled me, gasping for breath, into a world of world literature so immense, so glorious, so overwhelming, that I have never caught my breath yet. Because of them I read Njal’s Saga, Beowulf, Homer, Pindar, Shakespeare, Donne, Spinoza and Kant among many others.
And they taught me one other thing too, an unexpected thing. The female protagonist of the Zimiamvia novels, Fiorinda, is markedly self-determining. Particularly with who she chooses to bed and when - and it is her choice, always - she says “I will be woo’d each time, my friend. Each time.” She is “not to be had in slices, as a man might eat a chicken.” No man owns her, ever. Sex is within her gift, never his right and her choice is made each time.
Without her ever being my role model, that is one lesson I, at twelve, for some reason, internalised. And my God, have I been grateful for that lesson: that sex was my gift, and my choice. I will always be grateful for the fictional character whose voice “not to be had in slices” “woo’d each time” would whisper in my head, now and again, a warning.
E.R Eddison. As a child, you enthralled me with your language. Your description of one single gemstone, the thought of which enchanted me as a child - the pleochroic alexandrite, “wine-red by night, snakish sea-green by day” haunted me for years. I longed to see it, this stone that could change colour. How could something as fixed as a gemstone be mutable? And now that stone is inextricably linked to my friendship with a gay friend of my partner’s. He was a jeweller in Hatton Garden; he and my partner had done geology PhDs together. I nursed him through AIDS including horrifying periods of AIDS-related dementia, of which he died. My friend, two years before he died, made for me an alexandrite ring, knowing how much I loved them. I doubt you would have approved, Eddison. But life is stranger than you think.
Magnificent books, magnificently, shamelessly flawed, sadly flawed, but seminal in my development. I will not say “read them” although lovers of high fantasy - old fantasy, such as Lord Dunsany’s or William Morris’s (authors just as problematic) - would love them. If you do read them, read them twice, once to appreciate the language, the settings, the sheer scale of the storytelling, and once with a critical and exacting eye, interrogating their flaws and considering how they reflect attitudes wholly unacceptable today.
Read them - or don’t. They are true marmite books: people tend to love or loathe them. Me? I will always be glad I read them.
“MATAHARI - Goddes of The Sun” The “Goddess of the Sun” costume embodies a profound connection between human culture and the world. It serves as a reminder of our desire to personify and celebrate the forces of nature. The sun, as the central star of our solar system, symbolizes not only warmth and light but also life, energy, and enlightenment. Designed by world renowned designer from Indonesia, Rinaldy Yunardi, this costume serves a timeless reminder of the profound interplay between human, nature and spirits.
there’s only one thing worse than an awful book, and that is an awful book with ONE tantalisingly compelling element
an awful book is nothing. You can put it down and never think of it again. An awful book with ONE idea that perfectly captures your imagination can chip your soul out through your eyes with every sloppy syntax error and gaping plot hole while you scream, unable to look away
A rare early 18th century Memento Mori band gold known as a skeletal, as the whole length of the skeleton is employed on the outside of the hoop, with other emblems. The earliest known example is dated 1659. This ring is enamelled in black with a full skeleton, twin hearts for love and an hourglass, symbolic of the passage of time and the brevity of life.
